is Mr King Kerry,’ he said gently. ‘I am executing this warrant on information which he has sworn.’
‘It’s impossible – impossible!’ she cried, her eyes filling with tears. ‘It can’t be – there must be a mistake! He couldn’t do it – he wouldn’t do it!’
The detective shook his head.
‘There may be a mistake, Miss Marion,’ he said gently; ‘but what I have said is true.’
The girl sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands.
The detective’s hand fell upon her shoulder. ‘Come along, please,’ he said. She rose, and, putting on her hat mechanically, went down the stairs with the two men, leaving the landlady speechless.
‘Not honest!’ she said at last. ‘My gawd! What airs these shop-girls give theirselves!’
She waited till she heard the front door close, then she stooped to pull the girl’s box from under the bed. If ever there was a time to pick up a few unexpected trifles it was now.
CHAPTER IX
Elsie Marion sat on the wooden bed and stared at the whitewashed wall of her cell. She heard a church clock strike twelve. She had been six hours in custody; it seemed six years. She could not understand it.
King Kerry had parted from her cheerfully that afternoon to go to Liverpool to meet Cyrus Hatparl, newly arrived from America. She had accompanied the millionaire to the station and had stood chatting with him, taking his instructions for the work he wished her to do on the following day.
At Liverpool – so she had gathered from a sympathetic station inspector – he had sworn an affidavit before a justice of the peace, and at the telegraphed request of the Liverpool police a London magistrate had issued the warrant.
Why could he not have waited until he returned? She could have explained – whatever there was to be explained – but he was too impatient to shatter the little paradise which he so lately created. All through the evening she had sat wondering, racking her brains to think of some explanation for this terrible change in her fortunes. The thing was inexplicable – too vast a tragedy for her comprehension.
She had never handled large sums of money; accounts were made up daily, and they had never been questioned. There was another mystery. At eight o’clock that night her dinner had been sent in. It had been brought in a cab from the best hotel in London, the newly erected Sweizerhof; as perfect a meal as even an epicure could desire. She was young and healthy, and in spite of the seriousness of her position, she enjoyed the meal. As to why it came she could only elicit the informationthat it had been ordered by telephone from Liverpool by a gentleman.
The inconsistency of the man was amazing. He could cause her arrest for a charge of stealing a few pounds and could spend almost as much as she was supposed to have stolen on one meal.
One o’clock struck; she tried to sleep but could not.
At half-past one the wardress came down the corridor and unlocked her cell door.
‘Come this way, miss,’ she said, and the girl followed her through another steel-faced door, up a flight of steps to the charge room. She stopped dead as she entered the room, for standing by the inspector’s desk was King Kerry.
He came towards her with outstretched hands. ‘My poor child!’ he said, and she could not doubt the genuineness of his concern. He led her to the desk. The girl was too dazed to resist.
‘I think it is all right, inspector,’ he said.
‘Quite all right, sir,’ said the officer, smiling at the girl. ‘You are at liberty, miss.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ she began. Then King Kerry took her arm and led her from the room.
Outside three cars were waiting and little groups stood on the sidewalk chatting. They turned as if at an order as the two came down the steps of the station, and one came up and raised his hat.
‘I think, sir, we had better go to 107, Smith Street, first,’ he said.
‘I agree, superintendent,’ said Kerry
‘It’s impossible – impossible!’ she cried, her eyes filling with tears. ‘It can’t be – there must be a mistake! He couldn’t do it – he wouldn’t do it!’
The detective shook his head.
‘There may be a mistake, Miss Marion,’ he said gently; ‘but what I have said is true.’
The girl sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands.
The detective’s hand fell upon her shoulder. ‘Come along, please,’ he said. She rose, and, putting on her hat mechanically, went down the stairs with the two men, leaving the landlady speechless.
‘Not honest!’ she said at last. ‘My gawd! What airs these shop-girls give theirselves!’
She waited till she heard the front door close, then she stooped to pull the girl’s box from under the bed. If ever there was a time to pick up a few unexpected trifles it was now.
CHAPTER IX
Elsie Marion sat on the wooden bed and stared at the whitewashed wall of her cell. She heard a church clock strike twelve. She had been six hours in custody; it seemed six years. She could not understand it.
King Kerry had parted from her cheerfully that afternoon to go to Liverpool to meet Cyrus Hatparl, newly arrived from America. She had accompanied the millionaire to the station and had stood chatting with him, taking his instructions for the work he wished her to do on the following day.
At Liverpool – so she had gathered from a sympathetic station inspector – he had sworn an affidavit before a justice of the peace, and at the telegraphed request of the Liverpool police a London magistrate had issued the warrant.
Why could he not have waited until he returned? She could have explained – whatever there was to be explained – but he was too impatient to shatter the little paradise which he so lately created. All through the evening she had sat wondering, racking her brains to think of some explanation for this terrible change in her fortunes. The thing was inexplicable – too vast a tragedy for her comprehension.
She had never handled large sums of money; accounts were made up daily, and they had never been questioned. There was another mystery. At eight o’clock that night her dinner had been sent in. It had been brought in a cab from the best hotel in London, the newly erected Sweizerhof; as perfect a meal as even an epicure could desire. She was young and healthy, and in spite of the seriousness of her position, she enjoyed the meal. As to why it came she could only elicit the informationthat it had been ordered by telephone from Liverpool by a gentleman.
The inconsistency of the man was amazing. He could cause her arrest for a charge of stealing a few pounds and could spend almost as much as she was supposed to have stolen on one meal.
One o’clock struck; she tried to sleep but could not.
At half-past one the wardress came down the corridor and unlocked her cell door.
‘Come this way, miss,’ she said, and the girl followed her through another steel-faced door, up a flight of steps to the charge room. She stopped dead as she entered the room, for standing by the inspector’s desk was King Kerry.
He came towards her with outstretched hands. ‘My poor child!’ he said, and she could not doubt the genuineness of his concern. He led her to the desk. The girl was too dazed to resist.
‘I think it is all right, inspector,’ he said.
‘Quite all right, sir,’ said the officer, smiling at the girl. ‘You are at liberty, miss.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ she began. Then King Kerry took her arm and led her from the room.
Outside three cars were waiting and little groups stood on the sidewalk chatting. They turned as if at an order as the two came down the steps of the station, and one came up and raised his hat.
‘I think, sir, we had better go to 107, Smith Street, first,’ he said.
‘I agree, superintendent,’ said Kerry
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