She looked puzzled only a second, then laughed as he had not heard her laugh in San Francisco—a natural, musical, merry peal, a girlish laugh that made his heart bound.
“Why, of course,” said she, “it is so easy! There was a reporter who insisted on interviewing Mrs. Winter about her jewelry; and I was shooing him away. Somehow the wires must have crossed.”
“Do you remember—this is very, very pretty, don’t you think? Just like a puzzle falling into place. Do you remember coming here on the day Archie was returned?”
“I surely do; my head was swimming, for Mrs. Winter sent me and I began then to suspect. She told me Brother Cary was in danger; of course I wanted to do anything to help him; and I carried a note to him. I didn’t go in, merely gave the note and saw him.”
“I saw you.”
“You? How?”
“Birdsall and I; we were here, in the patio; we, my dear Miss Janet, were the Danger! You had on a brown checked silk dress and you were holding a wire clipper in your hand.”
“Yes, sir. I saw it on the grass and picked it up.”
She laughed a little; but directly her cheeks reddened. “What must you have thought of me!” she murmured under her breath; and bit the lip that would have quivered.
“I should like to tell you—dear,” he answered, “if you will—O Lord, forgive young men for living! If they are not all coming back to ask me to sing! But, Janet, dear, let me say it in Spanish—yes, yes if you really won’t be bored; throw me that mandolin.”