The Voice in the Fog - Page 75/93

"The Carew cottage was entered last night," said Killigrew, "and twenty

thousand in diamonds are gone. Getting uncomfortably close. You and

your mother, Kitty, had better let me take your jewels into town

to-day."

"We have nothing out here but trinkets."

"Trinkets! Do you call that fire-opal a trinket? Better let me take

it into town, anyway. I'm Irish enough to be superstitious about

opals."

"That's nonsense."

"Maybe."

"Oh, well; if the thought of having it around makes you nervous, I'll

give it to you. The Crawfords and Mr. Forbes are coming down this

afternoon. You must be home again before dinner. Here's the opal."

She took it from around her neck.

"Crawfords? Fine!" Killigrew slipped the gem into his wallet. "I'll

bring them back on the yacht if you'll take the trouble to phone them

to meet me at the club pier."

"I'll do so at once. Good-by! Mind the street-crossing," she added,

mimicking her mother's voice.

"I'll be careful," he laughed, stepping into the launch which

immediately swung away toward the beautiful yacht, dazzling white in

the early morning sunshine.

Kitty waved her handkerchief, turned and walked slowly back to the

villa. Who had passed her in the upper hall? And on what errand?

Neither Thomas nor Lord Monckton, for she had left them on the veranda.

Perhaps she was worrying unnecessarily. It might have been one of her

guests, going down to the library for a book to read.

She met Lord Monckton coming out.

"Fine morning!" he greeted. He made a gesture, palm upward.

A slight shiver touched the nape of Kitty's neck. She had never

noticed before how frightfully scarred his thumbs and finger-tips were.

He saw the glance.

"Ah! You notice my fingers? Not at all sensitive about them, really.

Hunting a few years ago and clumsily fell on the camp-stove. Scar on

my shoulder where I struck as I rolled off. Stupid. Tripped over a

case of canned corn. I have fingers now as sensitive as a blind man's."

"I am sorry," she said perfunctorily. "You must tell me of your

adventures."

"Had a raft of 'em. Mr. Killigrew gone to New York?"

"For a part of the day. Had your breakfast?"

"No. Nothing to do; thought I'd wait for the rest of them. Read a

little. Swim this morning, just about dawn. Refreshing."

"Then I'll see you at breakfast."

He smiled and stepped aside for her to pass. She proved rather a

puzzle to him.