  The Pearsons’ home, an attractive house of the English cottage type, was half a mile from Mrs. Grant’s, in the best residential section of Riverside. Mary Louise, noticing Miss Grant’s increasing weakness, suggested a taxicab. The old lady scorned such a proposal. “Use your common sense, Mary Louise!” she commanded, in that brusque manner which Jane so resented. “You know I’ve lost five hundred and fifty dollars, and now you suggest that I throw money away on luxuries like taxicabs!” “I’ll pay for it,” offered the girl. “I have my purse with me.” “Fiddlesticks!” The hot sun of the June day poured mercilessly down upon their heads as they made their slow progress along the streets of Riverside, but Miss Grant refused to give up, although it was evident that she was suffering intensely. When they finally reached the porch of the Pearson home she almost collapsed. Corinne Pearson was sitting in the swing, idly smoking a cigarette when the little party arrived. She was a blonde, about nineteen years of age, pretty in an artificial way. Even her pose, alone on the porch, was theatrical. She rose languidly as her great-aunt came up the steps. “Mother’s inside, Aunt Mattie,” she said, ignoring the two girls completely. “I’ll go and tell her that you are here.” Miss Grant opened her eyes wide and looked sharply at Corinne. “Don’t trouble yourself!” she snapped, gasping for breath. “It’s you I came to see, Corinne Pearson!” The girl raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “Really? Well, I am honored, Aunt Mattie.” There was nothing in her manner to indicate nervousness, and Mary Louise began to wonder whether Harry Grant’s story were really true. “You won’t be when I tell you why I’m here! Though of course you can guess.” Miss Grant paused and took a deep breath. “It’s about that money you stole from my safe!” “What money?” The girl’s indifference was admirable, if indeed she were guilty, as Harry Grant claimed. “You know. Eight hundred and fifty dollars in bills and five hundred in gold pieces.” Corinne laughed in a nasty superior way. “Really, Aunt Mattie, you are talking foolishly. I’m sorry if you have been robbed, but it’s just too absurd to connect me with it.” “Stop your posing and lying, Corinne Pearson!” cried the old lady in a shrill voice. “I know all about everything. Harry Grant has confessed.” Mary Louise, watching the girl’s face intently, thought that she saw her wince. Anyway, the cigarette she was smoking dropped to the floor. But her voice sounded controlled as she spoke to her great-aunt. “Please don’t scream like that, Aunt Mattie,” she said. “The neighbors will hear you. I think you had better come inside and see Mother.” “All right,” agreed the old lady. Then, turning to the girls, she requested them to help her get to her feet. “I’ll help you,” offered Corinne. “These young girls can wait out here.” “No, they can’t, either! They’re coming right inside with me!” Corinne shrugged her slim shoulders and opened the screen door. Her mother, a stout woman of perhaps forty-five, was standing in the living room, which opened directly on the porch. “Why, Aunt Mattie!” she exclaimed. “This is a surprise. You must be feeling better——” “I’m a lot worse!” interrupted the old lady, sinking into a chair beside the door. “Your daughter’s the cause of it, too!” “My daughter? How could Corinne be the cause of your bad health, Aunt Mattie? You’re talking foolishly.” “Don’t speak to me like that, Ellen Grant Pearson! Your daughter Corinne’s a thief—and she stole my money, out of my safe. Night before last, when she went upstairs to get that old lace dress of mine.” “Impossible!” protested Mrs. Pearson. “You didn’t, did you, Corinne?” “Certainly not,” replied the girl. “I think Aunt Mattie’s mind is wandering, Mother. Send these girls home, and I’ll call up Uncle John. He’ll come and drive Aunt Mattie back to Dark Cedars.” “You’ll do nothing of the kind!” announced Miss Grant. “There’s not a thing the matter with my mind—it’s my side and my breathing.” She turned to her two young friends. “Jane, you tell them all about everything that has happened since I was robbed.” Jane nodded and again related the story, telling of their wild ride in Harry Grant’s car, the capture of the satchel with the bills in it, and concluding with Harry’s confession concerning Corinne’s part in the crime. Mrs. Pearson leaned forward in her chair, listening to the recital with serious attention, but her daughter acted as if she were bored with such nonsense and wandered about the room while Jane was talking, rearranging the flowers on the tables and lighting herself a fresh cigarette. “It isn’t true, is it, dear?” asked Mrs. Pearson eagerly. Corinne laughed scornfully. “It’s just too absurd to contradict,” she replied. “Uncle Harry made it all up about me just to save his own face.” She turned about and faced her great-aunt. “You know yourself, Aunt Mattie, that if I had stolen that money I wouldn’t pay him four hundred dollars just to buy me some clothes in New York. It’s all out of proportion.” Miss Grant nodded: she could see the sense to that. A hundred dollars would have been ample commission. “May I say something?” put in Mary Louise meekly. “Certainly,” replied Miss Grant. The girl felt herself trembling as all eyes in the room turned upon her. But she spoke out bravely, disregarding Corinne’s open scorn. “I believe I can explain why Miss Pearson divided the money evenly with Mr. Harry Grant,” she said. “It was a clever trick, to throw the suspicion on him. Because you know, Miss Grant, if you saw him drive home with a new car, wouldn’t you naturally jump to the conclusion that he had bought it with your money?” The old lady nodded her head: the idea sounded reasonable to her. “And as for Miss Pearson’s evening dress and cloak,” continued Mary Louise, “if she didn’t buy them in Riverside, you’d probably never know what she paid for them, or suspect them of being particularly expensive.” “That’s true, Mary Louise,” agreed Miss Grant. “I’d never dream anybody would spend four hundred dollars for two pieces of finery.” Exasperated with the discussion, Corinne Pearson started towards the stairway. “I’m not going to listen to any more of this ridiculous babble!” she said to her mother, with a scathing glance towards Mary Louise. “You’ll have to excuse me, Aunt Mattie,” she added condescendingly. “I have a date.” “You stay right here!” commanded the old lady. “I’m not through with you. You hand over that other fifty-dollar bill!” Corinne shrugged her shoulders and looked imploringly at her mother, as if to say, “Can’t something be done with that crazy woman?” Mrs. Pearson looked helpless: she didn’t know how to get rid of her aunt. The situation was apparently at a standstill. Corinne Pearson wouldn’t admit any part in the theft, and Miss Grant refused to allow her to go off as if she were innocent. But Mary Louise, recalling Harry Grant’s explanation of the use to which Corinne had put that last fifty-dollar bill, had a sudden inspiration. She stood up and faced Mrs. Pearson. “May I use your telephone?” she asked quietly. “Why, yes, certainly,” was the reply. “Right there on the table.” Again all eyes in the room were turned upon Mary Louise as she searched through the telephone book and gave a number to the operator. Everybody waited, in absolute silence. “Hello,” said Mary Louise when the connection was made. “Is this the Bon Ton Boot Shop? Yes? Can you tell me whether you took in a fifty-dollar bill yesterday from any of your customers?” It seemed to her that she could actually feel the tenseness of the atmosphere in that room in the Pearsons’ house while she waited for the shop girl to return with the information she had asked for. Her eyes turned towards Corinne to see how the question had affected her, but Mary Louise could not see her face from where she was seated. In another moment the voice at the other end of the wire summoned her thoughts back to the phone. And the answer was in the affirmative! “So you did take in a fifty-dollar bill?” Mary Louise repeated for the benefit of her listeners. “Could you possibly read me the number engraved on it?” Her hand trembled as she fumbled for her little notebook in which the notations were made, and Jane, guessing her intention, dashed across the room to assist her. When the salesgirl finally read out the number on the bill, Mary Louise was able to check it with the one marked “missing.” It was the identical bill! “Will you keep it out of the bank for an hour or two—in case we want to identify it—for a certain purpose?” she inquired. “My name is Mary Louise Gay—Detective Gay’s daughter.... Oh, thank you so much!” She replaced the receiver and jumped up from the chair, squeezing Jane’s arm in delight. She noticed that Miss Grant’s black eyes were beaming upon her with admiration and that Mrs. Pearson’s were shifting uneasily about the room. Corinne was standing at the window with her back to the other people. Suddenly she burst into hysterical sobs. Wheeling about sharply, she turned on Mary Louise like a cat that is ready to spit. “You horrible girl!” she screamed. “You nasty, vile creature! What right have you——” “Hush, Corinne!” admonished Miss Grant. “Be quiet, or I’ll send you somewhere where you will be! Dry your eyes and sit down there in that chair and tell us the truth. And throw that cigarette away!” Frightened by her great-aunt’s threat, the girl did as she was told. “I suppose you won’t believe me now when I tell you that I didn’t take any gold pieces,” she whined. “But that’s the solemn truth. I admit about the bills——” “Begin at the beginning,” snapped Miss Grant. “All right. It was night before last, when Mother and I walked over to ask you for money for a dress. It means so much to me to look nice at the dance on Saturday night——” “I don’t care what it means to you,” interrupted the spinster. “Go ahead with your story.” “Well, I thought it was pretty stingy of you not to help me out, Aunt Mattie,” continued Corinne. “But I never thought of taking the money till I went up in your room.” “How did you get the safe open?” “That’s the queer part. It was open! I thought you had forgotten to close the door.” Miss Grant gasped in horror. “I never forget. Besides, I saw that the lock had been picked. Somebody did break it, if you didn’t, Corinne.” “There wasn’t a bit of gold there, Aunt Mattie. I’m willing to swear to that!” Corinne looked straight into the old lady’s black eyes, and Mary Louise could see that her aunt believed her and was already trying to figure out who else was guilty. “No, you didn’t have time to fiddle with a lock,” she agreed. “I can believe that.... I think I was right in the beginning: Elsie must have stolen the box of gold pieces.” “Of course!” cried Corinne in relief. “That would explain it perfectly. An ignorant child like her would want only the gold—that’s why the paper money and the bonds were untouched. Did you lose the bonds too, Aunt Mattie?” “No, they were still there. I put them in the bank today, with the eight hundred dollars these girls got from Harry Grant.... Well, Corinne, you did give your uncle Harry that money then?” “Yes, I did. For the exact purpose he told you about.” Mary Louise sighed. They were right back where they started, with only this difference: that while Elsie had been suspected of the theft of the whole amount in the beginning, now she was thought to be guilty of stealing only the gold. But stealing is stealing, no matter what the amount, and Mary Louise was unhappy. Miss Grant grasped hold of the arms of her chair and struggled to her feet. She stood there motionless for a moment, holding her hand on her side. The flush on her cheeks had disappeared; her face was now deathly white. Both girls knew that she could never make that climb in the heat to Dark Cedars. “You won’t do anything to Corinne, will you, Aunt Mattie?” pleaded Mrs. Pearson fearfully. “No—I guess not. Go get me—” Mary Louise expected her to ask for aromatics, to prevent a fainting fit, but she was mistaken—“go get me—my fifty dollars—what you have left of it, Corinne. You can owe——” But she could not complete her sentence: she reeled, and would have fallen to the floor had not Mary Louise sprung to her side at that very second. As it was, Miss Grant fainted in the girl’s arms. Very gently Mary Louise laid her down on the davenport and turned to Mrs. Pearson. “Water, please,” she requested. But it failed to revive the patient. “I think she ought to go to the hospital, Mrs. Pearson,” she said. “There’s something terribly wrong with her side.” Mrs. Pearson looked relieved: she had no desire to nurse a sick old lady in her house, even though she was her aunt. She told Corinne to call for an ambulance. It was not until two white-uniformed attendants were actually putting her on the stretcher that Miss Grant regained consciousness. Then she opened her eyes and asked for Mary Louise. “Come with me, child!” she begged. “I want you.” The girl nodded, and whispering a message for her mother to Jane, she climbed into the ambulance and rode to the hospital with the queer old spinster. |
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