“I hope Mr. Gordon’s sentence will be all that the law allows,” said Miss Gleason. It was apparent to everyone where the shoe pinched. All Washington, which in some ways is like an overgrown village, knew of her relentless and unsuccessful pursuit of Gordon during the month that he had been stationed at the White House, and several of the men present, who had suffered from the same cause, smiled to themselves.
“It is not at all certain he committed the crime,” said Mrs. Macallister, freezingly.
“He virtually admitted it,” retorted Miss Gleason.
“We look on a man as innocent until proven guilty, you know, Miss Gleason,” answered Dick, quietly.
“Well, if he isn’t guilty, who is?” asked Miss Gleason.
“The burglar,” promptly chimed in Peggy.
“Nonsense, my dear; why should such a person use a hat-pin when he had his revolver, and where would he get such a thing?”
For a moment Peggy was at a loss for a reply. She had the same doubt herself, but she was determined not to give in to Miss Gleason, “horrid old cat.” Count de Morny, all unconsciously, came to her rescue. The other guests were silently listening to the discussion.
“I sink Madame Trevor haf stick herself wiz ze pin,” he volunteered, struggling with the langue terrible, which he had never been able to master. “But yes, Monsieur,” catching Dick’s incredulous stare, “did not ze doctaire say it was possible for one who was left handed to strike herself the blow?”
“How do you know Mrs. Trevor was left handed?” demanded Miss Gleason loudly.