The Mystery of Murray Davenport - LightNovelsOnl.com
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"What do you mean, dear?"
"The Bagley money--"
"Ah, that money. Listen, dear. Now that I have some right to speak, you must return that money. I don't dispute your moral claim to it--such things are for you to settle. But the danger of keeping it--"
"There's no longer any danger. The money is mine, of Bagley's own free will and consent. I encountered him last night. He is in my secret now, but it's safe with him. We cut cards for the money, and I won. I hate gambling, but the situation was exceptional. He hoped that, once the matter was settled by the cards, he should never hear a word about it again. As he hadn't heard a word of it from me--Davenport--for years, this meant that his own conscience had been troubling him about it all along. That's why he was ready at last to put the question to a toss-up; but first he established the fact that he wouldn't be 'done' out of the money by anybody. I tell you all this, dear, in justice to the man; and so, exit Bagley. As I said, my secret--_our_ secret--is safe with him. So it is, of course, with Miss Hill and Larcher. n.o.body else knows it, though others besides you three may have suspected that I had something to do with the disappearance."
"Only Mr. Bud."
"Larcher can explain away Mr. Bud's suspicions. Larcher has been a good friend. I can never be grateful enough--"
A knock at the door cut his speech short, and the servant announced Larcher himself. It had been arranged that he should call for Edna's orders. That young lady had just intercepted him in the hall, to prevent his breaking in upon what might be occurring between Turl and Miss Kenby.
But Florence, holding the door open, called out to Edna and Larcher to come in. Something in her voice and look conveyed news to them both, and they came swiftly. Edna kissed Florence half a dozen times, while Larcher was shaking hands with Turl; then waltzed across to the piano, and for a moment drowned the outside noises--the jingle of sleigh-bells, and the shouts of children s...o...b..lling in the suns.h.i.+ne--with the still more joyous notes of a celebrated march by Mendelssohn.
THE END.
