main in ignorance for an extra minute or so. For Marjorie thought that what Billy meant was that Mrs. Russell had neglected some care or made some mistake which had diminished her father's chance of recovery. Idea of the truth could not seize Marjorie yet, though this now further excited and roused her.
The woman's writing desk stood at the wall on Marjorie's right; the top was closed and nothing was upon it. Marjorie rested her hand on it when Billy released her and she looked again at Mrs. Russell. Then Gregg, watching, saw Mrs. Russell's eyes following Marjorie's hand; almost instantly Mrs. Russell lifted her glance but Marjorie seemed to have realized Mrs. Russell's dread. Marjorie stared about and looked down and suddenly flung open the desk, gazed down and saw in a silver frame a picture of her father. She snatched it up; dropped it. A letter lay on one side; letters in handwriting she instantly recognized. She snatched up a letter; held it; crumpled it; dropped it and looked up.
Mrs. Russell was gone.
"Oh, Marjorie! Marjorie!" Billy cried and tried again to gather her in his arms. But she caught his big wrists in her little hands and with a strength that amazed him, she thrust him back from her; so he soon understood and made no more attempt.
"Gregg!" she faced about then, head up and calm. "Who shot father here? Why?"
"Russell," said Gregg. "He tried to blackmail, I think, Marjorie. He wasn't Mrs. Russell's husband. He only used to be." Gregg did not try to make it plainer; and there was no use trying to make it less cruel. Marjorie had it, whatever he said.
