XXI
AND p being cognate letters'! 'M and p being cognate letters'!"
The phrase clung, and Gordon found himself saying it over and over in a sort of singsong as he left the hotel and turned southward along the boulevard. The night had grown dark. Over the lake, away from the effulgence of the city lights, the sky was like black velvet. There was a feeling of rain in the still, mild air.
"'M and p being cognate letters'!"
Back of its absurd babbling his mind was striving to work calmly. "'M and p—'" Could it be Peggy, the girl the reporter had spoken of? Margaret Mills! She had never told him her name, but "Margaret Mills" seemed to touch a chord of memory. Surely he had heard the name before somewhere! Margaret might well be her real name, Peggy only a diminutive—"m and p be-
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