"How absurd. I know Victor better than to believe him capable of
such a suspicion. Just as he knows me better than to believe me
capable of such an act."
"Really. But you were in his rooms secretly just before."
"I went to leave some roses for him," Lucille answered. "And if
you would like to know it, I will tell you this. I left my card
tied to them with a message for him."
Lady Carey yawned.
"A remarkably foolish thing to do," she said. "That may cause you
trouble later on. Great heavens, what is this?"
She held the evening paper open in her hand. Lucille leaned over
with blanched face.
"What has happened?" she cried. "Tell me, can't you!"
"Reginald Brott has been shot in Piccadilly," Lady Carey said.
"Is he hurt?" Lucille asked.
"He is dead!"
They read the brief announcement together. The deed had been
committed by a man whose reputation for sanity had long been
questioned, one of Brott's own constituents. He was in custody,
and freely admitted his guilt. The two women looked at one another
in horror. Even Lady Carey was affected.
"What a hateful thing," she said. "I am glad that we had no hand
in it."
"Are you so sure that we hadn't?" Lucille asked bitterly. "You see
what it says. The man killed him because of his political apostasy.
We had something to do with that at least.
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