  Mary Louise was a little awe-struck as she sat down alone in her new bedroom. The first time she had ever been away from home by herself, without any friends! Alone in a big city—working on a job! It seemed to her that she had suddenly grown up. She couldn’t be the same care-free high-school girl who had gone coasting only yesterday afternoon with her friends. A momentary sensation of depression took hold of her as she thought of Jane and the boys and the informal party she was missing that evening. It would be wonderful if Jane could be with her now, sharing her experiences as she always had, helping her to solve this mystery. But such a thing was impossible, of course. Jane wouldn’t want to give up the Christmas gayety at Riverside, and besides, this was a real job. You couldn’t bring your friends along on a real job as if it were only play. Then she thought of that other Riverside girl alone in this big city. Margaret Detweiler, the girl who had so mysteriously disappeared. What could have happened to her? Suppose something like that should happen to Mary Louise! “I’m positively getting morbid,” she thought, jumping up from the chair on which she was seated and beginning to unpack her things. “I’d better get dressed and go down and meet some of the young people. I’ll never accomplish anything by mooning about like this.” She unpacked her suitcase and hung her clothing in the closet. What a neat little room it was, with its pretty maple furniture and white ruffled curtains! So different from the common, ugly boarding-house bedroom! She was lucky to have such a nice place to live in. And Mrs. Hilliard was certainly a dear. She found the shower bath down the hall, and feeling refreshed, slipped into a new wine-red crÊpe, which her mother had bought her especially for the holidays. It was very becoming, and her eyes sparkled as she ran down the steps to the first floor. No use bothering with elevators when she had only one flight to go. Mrs. Hilliard was at the desk, talking to the secretary, who was putting on her hat and coat. “Oh, Mary Louise,” she said, “I want you to come here and register and meet Miss Horton. This is Miss Gay,” she explained, “a young friend of mine. She is visiting me for the holidays, and I forgot to have her register when she came in. But as she is using room 206, and not my apartment, I think she had better register.” Mary Louise nodded approvingly and wrote her name in the book. “You have never come across a girl named Margaret Detweiler, have you, Miss Horton?” she asked. “I want to find her if I can while I am in Philadelphia.” The secretary shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. You might look through the book, though. I can’t remember all the transients who have stopped here at Stoddard House.” “Naturally,” agreed Mary Louise, and she turned the pages eagerly. But of course she did not find the name. Coincidences like that don’t often happen, and besides, she reasoned, if she did find it, it wouldn’t do her much good. That wouldn’t tell her where Margaret was now. “Come into the music room with me,” said Mrs. Hilliard. “I see one of our newest arrivals here—a young girl who came only last week. She can’t be more than nineteen or twenty. I think you’d like each other.” The girl, an attractive brunette with a gay manner and a little too much lipstick, was standing beside the radio, turning the dials. She looked up as Mrs. Hilliard and Mary Louise entered the room. “Miss Brooks, I want you to meet a friend of mine—Miss Gay,” said Mrs. Hilliard. “Perhaps I’d better say ‘Pauline’ and ‘Mary Louise,’ because I know you young people don’t bother with last names.” The girls smiled at each other, and the manager went towards the door. “Would you be good enough to take care of Mary Louise—introduce her to any of the other guests who come in—Miss Brooks? I have to go back to the desk, for the secretary has gone home.” “Certainly,” agreed Pauline immediately. She turned on some dance music. “What do you say we dance?” she asked Mary Louise. “And does everybody call you by both names?” “Most people shorten it to ‘Mary Lou.’ Yes, I love to dance. That’s a dandy fox trot.” The girls stepped off, Pauline talking gayly all the time, asking Mary Louise all sorts of questions: where she was from, how long she was going to stay, and so on. Mary Louise answered pleasantly, happy to have found a new friend. It wouldn’t be so bad without Jane, now that she had found a girl near her own age in Philadelphia, although she thought that Pauline was probably nearer twenty-five than twenty. Middle-aged people like Mrs. Hilliard weren’t so good at guessing young people’s ages, unless they had children of their own. “I wish I could take Pauline into my confidence,” thought Mary Louise, “and have her help me the way Jane did. It would be so much nicer.” But she knew that would not be wise: her father and Mrs. Hilliard wanted her to keep her job a secret. However, she did make it a point to ask Pauline a few questions in return for those she had answered. Not that she was interested in Pauline as a suspect—the girl had only arrived last week, Mrs. Hilliard said—but because she really wanted a young companion while she was in this strange city. “My parents are dead,” Pauline told her. “I have a rich aunt who usually stays at the Ritz when she’s in Philadelphia, but I don’t care enough about her to live with her. I sort of flit from place to place, and write fashion articles for the magazines whenever my income runs short. I have a pretty good time.” “Have you ever stayed at Stoddard House before?” asked Mary Louise. “No, I usually avoid women’s places like Y. W. C. A.’s and girls’ clubs,” was the reply. “But this sort of looked different to me, and I thought I’d give it a try. It’s pretty good, don’t you think?” “I like it very much.” By this time half-a-dozen people had entered the room, and two more couples were dancing. Suddenly Mary Louise felt bewildered. How could she possibly get to know so many people in the short space of two weeks and hope to find the thief? The music changed, and the other dancers left the room. Apparently the dining-room doors were open. “Gosh, I couldn’t introduce you to any of those women, Mary Lou,” said Pauline. “I don’t know any of their names.” “Oh, that’s all right,” agreed the young detective. “I’m not feeling a bit lonely.” “Let’s go eat—or are you supposed to wait for Mrs. Hilliard?” “No, she told me not to. She’s such a busy person, she has to snatch her meals whenever she can. But I’ll be with her in the evenings.” “Exciting life!” observed Pauline. “Maybe I can rake up a date for you later. I’ve got one myself for tonight, and I’ll sound Ben out. If he can get hold of another fellow for tomorrow night——” “Oh, I don’t think I better make any plans,” interrupted Mary Louise. “Though I do appreciate it a lot, Pauline. But you see I am Mrs. Hilliard’s guest. I have to consult her.” “O.K.” The two girls went into the dining room, an attractive place, with tables for two and four persons, and chose one of the smaller ones. “We don’t want any of the old dames parking with us,” observed Pauline, glancing at a couple of elderly women just entering the room. “They cramp my style.” “Rather,” laughed Mary Louise, though she secretly wished she might meet some of the “old dames,” as Pauline called them. Any one of them might be the thief. Pauline Brooks was very different from the girls of Riverside—not nearly so refined, Mary Louise thought—but she was a gay companion and made witty remarks about everything. No doubt she was a clever writer. Just as the girls finished their excellent dinner, Mrs. Hilliard came into the room. Pauline stood up. “I’ll be running along, Mary Lou,” she said. “Now you have company I better leave you and get dressed.” Mary Louise smiled. “Have a good time—and I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Not too early!” warned Pauline. “I’ll probably be dancing till the small hours tonight.” She left the room, and Mrs. Hilliard sat down in her place. “Will you stay here with me while I eat my dinner, Mary Louise?” she asked. “Yes, indeed,” replied the girl. “And did you enjoy your dinner?” “It was wonderful! Just like a fine hotel.” “I think Stoddard House is a fine hotel—on a small scale, of course.... And now I have a suggestion to offer for tonight,” she continued as she ate her dinner. “Some of the regular guests here have a book club which meets once a week. I seldom go to the meetings—I never seem to have time—but I thought I could take you tonight, and in that way you would get acquainted with some of these people. Though I don’t suppose you’ll find the person we’re looking for among them. Thieves aren’t often book lovers.” “But it will help me to get the people sorted out, and I am so at sea,” said Mary Louise. “I think it is a fine idea, Mrs. Hilliard. What time does the club meet?” “Seven-thirty. But we’ll go to my room first, and you can copy down the names of all the guests, and their room numbers.” “Oh, that’s great!” she cried, thankful to be getting at something definite to start with. As soon as Mrs. Hilliard finished her dinner she and Mary Louise took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked down the long corridor to the back of the hotel. Here was Mrs. Hilliard’s own private apartment, a cozy suite of three rooms and a bath. Mary Louise settled herself comfortably in an armchair and took out her notebook. “Do you want the names of the maids?” asked Mrs. Hilliard as she picked up some papers from her desk. “No, not yet,” replied the girl. “You believe in their innocence, so I think I’d rather study the guests first.” Mrs. Hilliard handed her a paper, a methodical list of the bedrooms on the second and third floors, and Mary Louise copied it, just as it was, into her notebook:
“You have quite a lot of empty rooms, haven’t you, Mrs. Hilliard?” inquired Mary Louise, when she had finished her copy. “Yes. It’s always dull at this time of year. And we never are very full. After all, it’s rather expensive, with wages on the scale they are now.” “How much do you charge?” “Fourteen dollars a week. But that doesn’t cover our expenses.” “No, I’m sure it doesn’t. Everything is lovely—I didn’t tell you how much I like my room—and the food couldn’t be better.” “Well, we have an income from the Stoddard estate which helps to pay expenses,” Mrs. Hilliard explained. “There is a woman here named Miss Henrietta Stoddard,” observed Mary Louise, looking at her list. “Is she any relation of the founder?” “Yes, she is her niece. Old Mrs. Stoddard provided in her will that Henrietta should be allowed to live here free all her life, as long as she was single or a widow.” “How old a woman is she?” “About forty-five now, I should judge. And very bitter. She expected to inherit her aunt’s money, and she even tried to break the will. She hasn’t any money—I think she does odd jobs like taking care of children and doing hand sewing for her spending money and her clothing.” “Hm!” remarked Mary Louise. Mrs. Hilliard smiled. “I know what you are thinking—and I kind of think so myself. That Miss Stoddard is the thief. But you’d never believe it to look at her. She’s prim and proper and austere.” “You never can tell,” said Mary Louise. “No, that’s true.... Well, you’ll have a good chance to judge for yourself tonight. Miss Stoddard is the one who is in charge of the book club. There is a library fund in the endowment, and these women decide upon what to buy.” “Tell me which of these guests belong to the club,” urged the girl. “All the regular residents belong, except Miss Violet Granger. She is an artist—she draws for magazines and for an advertising firm—and she always keeps apart from the other guests. She is the one from whom the oil painting and the fifty dollars were stolen.” Mary Louise nodded and put a check beside Miss Granger’s name. “Now,” she said, “I ought to check the names of all the other people who have had valuables stolen. Who else was there?” “Well, as I told you, the hotel itself lost the silverware and the Chinese vase. Then there were four watches stolen—my own, Mrs. Weinberger’s, and the two Walder girls.... By the way, they are lovely girls, Mary Louise—they’ve lived here a couple of years, and I know their families—I’m sure you’re going to like them.... “And the final—at least, I hope it’s the final robbery—was the painting and the money from Miss Granger’s room. But I have a feeling that isn’t the end, and the guests are all nervous too. It’s hurting our business—and—making my own job seem uncertain.” Mary Louise closed her notebook thoughtfully and sighed. “I’ll do the best I can, Mrs. Hilliard,” she promised solemnly. Ten minutes later they took the elevator to the first floor, and Mrs. Hilliard led the way into the library. It was a cheerful room with an open fireplace, a number of comfortable chairs and built-in bookcases around the walls. Miss Henrietta Stoddard, a plain-looking woman with spectacles, sat at the table on one side, with a pile of books and a notebook beside her. She was talking to an elderly woman and a younger one. Mrs. Hilliard introduced Mary Louise. “Mrs. Weinberger and Miss Weinberger,” she said, and Mary Louise immediately placed them as the mother and daughter who lived in rooms 302 and 304. The daughter was complaining to Miss Stoddard. “I don’t see why we can’t have some more exciting books,” she said. “Something a little more youthful.” Miss Stoddard drew the corners of her severe mouth together. “We buy just what the club votes for,” she replied icily. “Because the younger members never come to put in their votes!” returned the younger woman petulantly. “I asked the Walder girls to come to the meeting tonight, but of course they had dates.” She turned eagerly to Mary Louise. “You can put in a vote, Miss Gay!” she exclaimed. “Will you suggest something youthful?” Mary Louise smiled. “I shan’t be here long enough to belong to the club,” she answered. “I’m just visiting Mrs. Hilliard for the vacation.” “You’re a schoolgirl?” “Yes. A junior at Riverside High School.” “Never heard of it,” returned Miss Weinberger, abruptly and scornfully. “I’m afraid it’s not famous—like Yale or Harvard,” remarked Mary Louise, with a sly smile. Miss Weinberger went on talking to the others in her complaining, whining tone. Mary Louise disliked her intensely, but she didn’t believe she would ever steal anything. “What time is it?” demanded Miss Stoddard sharply. “I don’t know. My watch was stolen, you know,” replied Mrs. Weinberger, looking accusingly at Mrs. Hilliard, as if it were her fault. “You never heard anything about those watches, did you?” inquired Miss Stoddard. “No,” replied the manager, keeping her eyes away from Mary Louise. “There was a night watchman that night, but he said he didn’t see any burglar or hear any disturbance.” “The night watchman couldn’t watch four watches,” Mary Louise remarked facetiously. “Yes, there were four stolen,” agreed Mrs. Weinberger. “I suppose Mrs. Hilliard told you?” Mary Louise flushed: she must be more careful in the future. “I think that bleached-blond chorus girl took them,” observed Miss Weinberger. “She was here then and left the next day. That name of hers was probably assumed. ‘Mary Green!’ Too common!” Mary Louise wanted to write this in her notebook, but caution bade her wait till the meeting was over. The door opened, and an old lady came in, leaning on her cane. She was past eighty, but very bright and cheerful, with beautiful gray hair and a charming smile. Mrs. Hilliard sprang up and offered her the best chair in the room and introduced Mary Louise to her. Her name was Mrs. Moyer. Now the meeting began: the guests returned the books they had borrowed and discussed new ones to purchase. At half-past nine a maid brought in tea and cakes, and the evening ended sociably. Thankful to slip off alone to write her observations in her notebook, Mary Louise went to her own room. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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