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Page 21
Leo crouched a little way off, his eyes jubilant, his tail beating the
ground, evincing the greatest satisfaction. All present knew that the dog
rejoiced at the death of his master.
Alexandrine took a step toward the dead man, her back to the
horror-stricken group by the gate. She stopped suddenly, and lifted
something from the ground.
Darby, alert and watchful, was by her side in a moment.
"What have you there?" he demanded.
"My glove which I dropped," she answered, quietly, holding up the dainty
bit of embroidered kid.
The detective turned away satisfied; but Margie saw the girl's hand
shake, and her lips grow pale as marble, the moment Darby's keen eye was
removed from her face.
The discovery of the remains was followed by a long and tedious
investigation. There was an inquest, and a rigid examination of every
person who could by any possibility be imagined capable of throwing any
light on the murder, and after all was over, the mystery was just as dark
as it was at first.
Nothing was found to furnish the slightest clue to the assassin, except
a white cambric handkerchief just inside the graveyard, marked with the
single initial "A" in one corner. This handkerchief might have belonged
to the murderer, and it might have belonged to Mr. Linmere,--that could
not be determined. The article was given into the keeping of Mr. Darby;
and after three days lying in state at Harrison Park, the body of Mr.
Linmere was taken to Albany, where his relatives were buried, and laid
away for its last sleep.
Mr. Trevlyn offered a large reward for the apprehension of the murderer,
or for information which would lead to his apprehension; and the town
authorities offered an equal sum. Mr. Darby was retained to work upon the
case, and there it rested.
Margie uttered no word in the matter. She was stunned by the suddenness
of the blow, and she could not help being painfully conscious that she
felt relieved by the death of this unfortunate man. God had taken her
case into his hands in a manner too solemnly fearful for her to question.
* * * * *
Three months after the death of Paul Linmere, Margie met Archer Trevlyn
at the house of Alexandrine Lee. He was quite a constant visitor there,
Mrs. Lee told her, with a little conscious pride, for young Trevlyn was
being spoken of in business circles as a rising young man. He was to be
admitted to partnership in the firm of Belgrade and Co., in the spring.
And this once effected, his fortune was made.
There was a little whist party at Mrs. Lee's that evening, and Margie
was persuaded to remain. After a while the company asked for music.
Whist, the books of engravings, and the _bijoux_ of the centre-table
were exhausted, and small talk flagged. Margie was reluctantly prevailed
upon to play.
She was not a wonderful performer, but she had a fine ear, and played
with finish and accuracy. But she sang divinely. To oblige her friends,
she sang a few new things and then pausing, was about to rise from the
instrument, when Mr. Trevlyn came to her side.
"Will you play something for me?" he asked, stooping over her. His dark,
passionate eyes brought the blood to her face--made her restless and
nervous in spite of herself.
"What would you like?" she managed to ask.
"This!" He selected an old German ballad, long ago a favorite in the
highest musical circles, but now cast aside for something newer and more
brilliant. A simple, touching little song of love and sorrow.
She was about to decline singing it, but something told her to beware
of false modesty, and she sang it through.
"I thank you!" he said, earnestly, when she had finished. "It has done me
good. My mother used to sing that song, and I have never wanted to hear
it from any other lips--_until now_."
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