Initials Only | Page 4

Miss Challoner was stretched out upon the couch. She was
dressed as she came from dinner, in a gown of ivory-tinted satin,
relieved at the breast by a large bouquet of scarlet poinsettias. I mention
this adornment, because it was what first met and drew our eyes and the
eyes of every one about her, though the face, now quite revealed, would
seem to have the greater attraction. But the cause was evident and one
not to be resisted. The doctor was pointing at these poinsettias in horror
and with awful meaning, and though we could not hear his words, we
knew almost instinctively, both from his attitude and the cries which
burst from the lips of those about him, that something more than
broken petals and disordered laces had met his eyes; that blood was
there--slowly oozing drops from the heart--which for some reason had
escaped all eyes till now.
Miss Challoner was dead, not from unsuspected disease, but from the
violent attack of some murderous weapon; As the realisation of this
brought fresh panic and bowed the old father's head with emotions even

more bitter than those of grief, I turned a questioning look up at
George's face.
It was fixed with a purpose I had no trouble in understanding.

II
"I KNOW THE MAN"
Yet he made no effort to detain Mr. Slater, when that gentleman, under
this renewed excitement, hastily left us. He was not the man to rush
into anything impulsively, and not even the presence of murder could
change his ways.
"I want to feel sure of myself," he explained. "Can you bear the strain
of waiting around a little longer, Laura? I mustn't forget that you
fainted just now."
"Yes, I can bear it; much better than I could bear going to Adela's in
my present state of mind. Don't you think the man we saw had
something to do with this? Don't you believe--"
"Hush! Let us listen rather than talk. What are they saying over there?
Can you hear?"
"No. And I cannot bear to look. Yet I don't want to go away. It's all so
dreadful."
"It's devilish. Such a beautiful girl! Laura, I must leave you for a
moment. Do you mind?"
"No, no; yet--"
I did mind; but he was gone before I could take back my word. Alone, I
felt the tragedy much more than when he was with me. Instead of
watching, as I had hitherto done, every movement in the room opposite,
I drew back against the wall and hid my eyes, waiting feverishly for

George's return.
He came, when he did come, in some haste and with certain marks of
increased agitation.
"Laura," said he, "Slater says that we may possibly be wanted and
proposes that we stay here all night. I have telephoned Adela and have
made it all right at home. Will you come to your room? This is no place
for you."
Nothing could have pleased me better; to be near and yet not the direct
observer of proceedings in which we took so secret an interest! I
showed my gratitude by following George immediately. But I could not
go without casting another glance at the tragic scene I was leaving. A
stir was perceptible there, and I was just in time to see its cause. A tall,
angular gentleman was approaching from the direction of the
musicians' gallery, and from the manner of all present, as well as from
the whispered comment of my husband, I recognised in him the special
official for whom all had been waiting.
"Are you going to tell him?" was my question to George as we made
our way down to the lobby.
"That depends. First, I am going to see you settled in a room quite
remote from this business."
"I shall not like that."
"I know, my dear, but it is best."
I could not gainsay this.
Nevertheless, after the first few minutes of relief, I found it very
lonesome upstairs. The pictures which crowded upon me of the various
groups of excited and wildly gesticulating men and women through
which we had passed on our way up, mingled themselves with the
solemn horror of the scene in the writing-room, with its fleeting vision
of youth and beauty lying pulseless in sudden death. I could not escape

the one without feeling the immediate impress of the other, and if by
chance they both yielded for an instant to that earlier scene of a
desolate Street, with its solitary lamp shining down on the crouched
figure of a man washing his shaking hands in a drift of freshly fallen
snow, they immediately rushed back with a force and clearness all the
greater for the momentary lapse.
I was still struggling with these fancies when the door