He put his arm
around her and drew her close.
"You're like your mother, Susie," was all he dared trust himself to say,
his arms tight around her.
They sat so a moment, lost in memory, until a knock at the door brought
Susie to her feet. A page handed in a little package.
"For Mademoiselle Rushford," he said.
"Thank you," said Susie, and closed the door. "For me?" she repeated, as
she turned back into the room. "What do you suppose it is?"
"The quickest way to find out is to open it, my dear," suggested her
father, drily.
Susie ripped the paper off in an instant, and disclosed a little book
bound in flexible red leather.
"'Who's Who,'" she read, looking at the title, and just then a card fell
out. She stooped and picked it up. "Why, it's from that odious French
detective! Listen, dad--'With the compliments of M. Andre Tellier, who
is sure of Mademoiselle Rushford's gratitude.'"
"Send it back to him," said her father. "Or here, give it to me--I'll go
down and smash his face with it. I ought to have kicked him out of the
house yesterday--I'd have done it but for Pelletan."
"Wait a minute, dad; here's a page turned down. Maybe there's something
he wanted me to see. Oh, yes; it's about Lord Vernon--he meant the book
for Nell--I'll call her," and she started toward the open door into the
inner room.
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