“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“Won’t you step into my parlor?” he said, politely holding open the door.
They passed in, leaving the officers outside.
Sitting on the bunk with her handkerchief to her eyes was the Bennett girl. Mrs. Trevelyan did not recognize her.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick, my husband and I have come to find out if you have the package I left here last night,” said Lily, formally. She might have been the merest acquaintance. Indeed, from her tone one would have gathered such to have been the case.
Micky hesitated, and looked inquiringly from one to the other.
“Yes,” echoed Sir Hubert with emphasis. “What I want is my wife’s necklace!”
“Necklace?” returned Micky innocently. “Was there a necklace in that package?”
Trevelyan bit his lips, and metaphoricallv kicked himself for a fool.
“Yes,—it contained my necklace,” said Lily, frankly. “I was trying to smuggle it in. I might as well tell you the truth.”
Micky nodded.
“Right-o!” he exclaimed, experiencing one of those quick changes of emotion that Lily262
