Very gently indeed, Alderley grasped the handle of the door and stealthily turned it. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose. The young ladies in the somewhat mixed society amongst which he moved neither satisfied his taste nor appealed in any way to his affections. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. He smiled inwardly. She had exposed the real story behind Peters tragedy, that dark, handsome Chuck had killed himself by leaving the car running in the garage, not from a “heart attack” as 111 claimed the party line.
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