Balcom motioned and stopped her with a gesture.
"One moment, please, Miss Brent," he interrupted. "Before the others
arrive I am going to establish Zita's real position in this house."
All at the table looked at one another in openly expressed astonishment.
Zita, with eyes cast down, hands clasped in her lap, seemed almost
demure, though about her mouth played a faint smile.
Even Paul did not understand this phase of the conspiracy and looked at
his father as much as to say, "I wonder what the old man is up to now?"
Locke was the first to recover his coolness. "Just what, Mr. Balcom, do
you mean?" he asked.
"I mean--" began Balcom, then stopped. "But first I will produce a
witness who can vouch for all the facts which I am about to relate."
Balcom went to the door and opened it. There, bobbing her head and
smirking mechanically, stood that loathsome creature, Old Meg. In these
rich surroundings her frightful squalor was all the more accentuated.
Those at the table drew back in utter disgust as she tottered into the
room. As she passed Zita she paused.
"I held you in these arms when you were but a wee baby," she muttered,
hideously.
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