A Lover's Quarrel, or Marion Marlowe's Deceitful Friend — page 20: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

\ MY QUEEN. 17 ® scription we could tell in a minute. There isn’t another woman in the world who looks like Miss Fredericks.” “Then you think it was she?” broke in Marion, quickly. “Oh, Mrs. Burnside, she is so young and so innocent-looking! I thought of her, of course, but it does not seem possible !’’ Mrs. Burnside pursed up her lips and half closed her eyes. She had seen young “innocents” before. Still, she did not wish to misjudge her. “T’ll write and ask Captain Canfield to get me a description of her at once,” said Marion, suddenly. : “T wish you would. It would relieve my mind considerably,” was the honest answer. “Réally, Marion, I can’t help feeling that Miss Fredericks is guilty, and yet there isn’t a ghost of evidence why I should think so.” ning © “Except that she has money, which no one - seems to be able to account for,” said Mar- ion, slowly; “but she told me not ten min- utes ago that she had pawned nearly all of her jewels, so that may explain it all, may it not, Mrs. Burnside?” “It certainly is good evidence,” was the smiling answer; then the lady rose aid went over to a small writing-desk of quartered oak which stood in the corner. “That is a wonderfully pretty desk. What a pity it is marred,” she said, “Come, Marion, let’s ‘try and get: this un- pleasant thought out of our heads. We must not accuse any one of anything until we know them to be guilty; so, now, with your permission, [’il write a letter to my baby! That is the easiest way I know of obliterating all disagreeable thoughts from my heart and gray matter.” She laughed as she spoke, but Marion’s eyes were serious. She had risen as her friend spoke and was examining her desk carefully. “Some one has forced the lock on that desk!” she said, after a second. ‘There was not a scratch on it when I took this apart- ment. That explains how I have lost all of - Bert’s notes and letters!” 7 Once more Mrs. Burnside stared at her absently. questioningly, and Marion was obliged to make another explanation. “T always lock the desk when I go out in the evening, and some one has forced the lock. That is as plain as day. It looks as if it had been done with a penknife.” “Or a pair of scissors,” said Mrs. Burn- side, quickly. “See, Marion, there is where one of the points stuck in while they were prying with the other.”’ Marion examined it critically and then tried the key. It worked all right, for the lock had not béen broken and was as good as ever. “Tt is one of those little, cheap locks. You can open them with a hairpin,” said Mrs. Burnside, disgustedly. “It is a pity that any one should deface the desk when they could have picked the lock easily if they had only known it.” 7 “Probably did not wish to waste time,” said Marion, scornfully; “but who in the, world is interested in my letters? The only ones I have missed are Bert’s old missives!” “It’s a curious coincidence, and it may be a-clew. It’s a pity we are not detectives,” said Mrs. Burnside, smiling. Marion stood forea moment trying to think out the problem, while Mrs. Burnside seated herself at the desk and began her letter to lit- the Ruby. “Pardon me, Mrs. Burnside, for interrupt- ing, but do you know what I am going to do?” asked Marion, suddenly. “I am going on the warpath to find those scissors. They were very thin and very sharp—of that I am certain.” ‘As she spoke, Marion’s eyes had been searching the desk; the next second she caught her breath and bent eagerly forward. “See! Mrs. Burnside!” she said, as she pointed to a tiny bright speck imbedded in the wood about an eighth of an inch from the plate. “The point broke in the wood! Oh. now I am sure I can identify them!” “Don’t touch it!” cried Mrs. Burnside. as Marion attempted to pick it out. “Leave it where it is, girlie, and go and find your scis- sors! When you can put the two together you will have completed your chain of evi- dence !”’ Comichoooks.conm