“Yes; they finished supper before we did, and have already gone back to the ballroom.” Calhoun-Cooper, who had been watching Marjorie with peculiar intentness, wheeled on Tom. “My congratulations, Captain,” he said sardonically. “You executed my commission with commendable quickness.” “I don’t catch your meaning, sir,” retorted Tom frigidly. “The bracelet was returned to me this evening. My thanks to you--both,” and bowing he turned to the door as the boy brought the lift to a stop. Under the shock of his words Tom and Marjorie stood stock still, eying one another in complete bewilderment, while one question raced through the brains of both: what did the other know of the lost bracelet? “All out,” exclaimed the elevator boy insistently, as he rolled back the door, and Marjorie, recovering herself first, followed Calhoun-Cooper into the reception hall out of which opened the large ballroom and cloak-rooms. Just as Calhoun-Cooper started for the ballroom, Pauline crossed the threshold, and seeing her father, stopped short. “Oh, father!” she exclaimed, making no effort to lower her penetrating voice. “Mother’s pearl necklace has been stolen from her.” CHAPTER XIX FALSE WITNESS MARJORIE handed the menu back to the chef, gave him the completed marketing list, added a few instructions, and made her way to the boudoir. There was no buoyancy in her step, and she looked wretchedly ill as she crossed the threshold into the sunlit room. If Mrs. Fordyce had not been deeply immersed in her own condition, she could hardly have failed to observe the deep circles under Marjorie’s eyes, and the hectic flush in each white cheek. Her sleepless night had left its telltale mark. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Fordyce?” asked Marjorie, walking over to the couch on which the older woman was lying propped up with pillows. “Better, thank you; if this old heart of mine only stops palpitating I will be up and about again in no time. Sit down by me, dear,” and Marjorie took a chair by the couch. “Don’t you think I had better call off the dinner tonight?” she said. “No, indeed,” with emphasis. “These heart attacks are not serious.” Marjorie, perceiving the blueness of her lips and her gray pallor, thought differently, and her heart ached for her gentle benefactress. She longed to take Mrs. Fordyce into her confidence, to tell her all her doubts and fears; but how could she tell the story of the thefts implicating Janet to the mother who adored her? “Janet has set her heart on having this dinner, and I cannot disappoint the child,” went on Mrs. Fordyce. “But I don’t think Janet will enjoy entertaining while you are ill,” said Marjorie. “Tut! Just an indisposition; don’t alarm the child,” sharply. “I wouldn’t think of doing it,” protested Marjorie. “I only feared the sound of the guests’ voices might disturb you.”