The Luminous Face

“I must inquire of Lane, then; though doubtless he will see you on the matter very soon.”

Belknap departed and first thing he did was to put an advertisement in the Lost and Found columns of several evening papers.

And the next afternoon his zeal was rewarded.

He had instructed the owner of the collar to call at a small shop on a side street, which had no apparent connection with Mr Robert Gleason or his affairs.

By arrangement with the proprietor, Belknap himself was behind the counter and greeted the sweetly smiling young woman who came for the fur.

“Are you sure it’s yours?” Belknap asked the fashionably dressed little person.

“No; are you?” she replied, saucily. “But I can describe mine.”

“Go ahead, then.”

“It’s a soft, gray fur, squirrel it’s called. And it has a label inside with the name of the store where it was bought.”

“Yes? And the store is – ?”

“Cheapman’s Department Store.” She smiled triumphantly. “Guess you’ll have to give up the goods!”

“It looks that way,” Belknap smiled. “Now where did you lose it?”

“Haven’t the least idea. Somewhere between starting out from home and getting back there.”

“Day before yesterday?”

“Yep. I went to a whole lot of places – ”

“Mention some. You see, the store you speak of sells a good many fur collars, so it all depends on where you left yours.”

The girl’s face fell. “Oh, come now,” she said, “s’pose I don’t want to tell?”

“Then I shall think you’re putting up a game on me, and trying to get a fur collar that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t. But it does belong to a friend of mine – and I’m after it for her.”

“And she doesn’t want to admit where she lost it?”

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t. But you see, I don’t know all the places she went to, and – ”

“Look here, Miss – you’ll have to give your name, you know.”

By this time the girl looked decidedly frightened. “I don’t want to,” she said, almost crying. “Let the old fur go – I don’t want it! I wish I’d kept out of this!”

“Tell me who sent you here, and you can keep out of it.”

The girl brightened decidedly, and looked at Belknap.

“Honest,” she said; “if I tell you who sent me, can I go home?”

“Certainly you may. I’ve no right to detain you.”

“All right, then, it was Mary Morton.”

“Address?”

She gave a street number in the Longacre district, and hurried away almost before Belknap finished writing it down.

Thanking and remunerating the shopkeeper for the use of his premises, Belknap went directly to the address he had obtained.

“Like as not she’ll be out,” he thought, “but if she is, I’ll go again. I’ll bet it’s one of Gleason’s lady friends, and though I’ve no idea she shot him – yet, she might have. Anyway, I’ll get a line on his gay acquaintances. It’s bound to be the owner of the collar, for her friend described it exactly, and gave the right maker’s name.”

Reaching the address given him, Belknap felt a sudden qualm of suspicion. It did not look at all like a boarding house, theatrical or any other kind. In fact it was a shop where electrical goods were sold.

“Upstairs, I s’pose,” Gleason mused, and went in.

But nobody at that number could tell him anything of Miss Mary Morton. No one had ever heard of her, and Belknap was confronted with the sudden conviction that he had been made a fool of!

“Idiot! Dunderhead!” he called himself, angrily, as he left the place. “I am an ass, I declare! That little snip jack took me in completely, with her honest gray eyes! Well, let me see; I’ve a start. That girl described that fur too accurately not to be the owner herself, and I’ll track her down again yet. It can’t be a hard job. I’ll see her picture in some theatrical office or somewhere.”

But it was a hard blow, and Belknap felt pretty sore at Prescott’s jeers when he learned the story.

“Anyway, it’s given us a way to turn,” said Belknap. “We’ve got the fur.”

“Yes,” grinned Prescott, wickedly, “we’ve got the fur, and that’s as fur as we have got!”

CHAPTER VII – Barry’s Suspect

After the funeral of Robert Gleason, Lane, his lawyer, went to the Lindsay home, for the purpose of reading to the family the will of his late client.

There was no one present except the three Lindsays and Doctor Davenport. The physician was keeping watch over Millicent Lindsay, for her volatile nature and nervous condition made him fear a breakdown.

But Millicent was quiet and composed, only an occasional quiver of her lip or trembling of her fingers betrayed her agitation.

Phyllis’ eyes were bright with repressed excitement, but she, too, preserved her poise.

Louis, however, was in a high state of nervous tension. He was jumpy and erratic of speech and gesture, and again, he would relapse into a sulky mood and become perversely silent.

The little party gathered in the library and Lane read the will of Robert Gleason.

The terms were simple. Except for bequests to some personal friends and some charities, the fortune was equally divided between Millicent, his sister, and Phyllis, her stepdaughter.

No mention whatever was made of Louis, and the young man burst forth into a torrent of angry invective.

“Hush, Louis,” Doctor Davenport said, sternly; “such talk can do you no good, and it is a disgrace to yourself to speak so of the dead!”

“I don’t care,” Louis stormed, “why did he leave a lot to Phyllis, and nothing to me? I’m no relative of his, but neither is Phyl!”