  Mary Louise had three separate plans in view for the morning. First, she would visit as many pawnshops as possible in the vicinity and ask to see their displays of watches. Second, she meant to go to Strawbridge and Clothier’s department store and find out whether Margaret Detweiler had worked there, and why and when she had left. And third, she wanted to find some pretext to call on Miss Henrietta Stoddard in her own room and observe her closely. As she walked out of the dining room she met Mrs. Hilliard going towards her little office on the first floor. “Could I see you for a moment, Mrs. Hilliard?” she inquired. “Certainly, my dear. Come into the office with me.” Mary Louise followed her into the room, but she did not sit down. She knew how busy the hotel manager would be on Saturday morning. “I have decided to visit some pawnshops, Mrs. Hilliard,” she said. “I have my own watch to identify, and I got a pretty good description of Mrs. Weinberger’s today. But I want you to tell me a little more about the other things that were stolen.” “The silverware had an ivy-leaf pattern, and the initials ‘S. H.’—for Stoddard House—engraved on it,” replied the woman. “The vase was an old Chinese one, of an odd size, with decorations in that peculiar red they so often use. I believe I can draw it better than I can describe it. But I feel sure you’d never find it in a pawnshop. Whoever stole that sold it to an antique dealer.” However, she picked up her pencil and roughly sketched the vase for Mary Louise, giving her a good idea of its appearance. At the same time she described the painting which had been stolen from Miss Granger’s room—an original by the American artist Whistler. Mary Louise wrote all these facts in her notebook and kept the drawing. “That’s fine, Mrs. Hilliard,” she said as she opened the door. “I’m going out now, and I’ll be back for lunch.” “Good-bye and good luck!” Mary Louise went to her room, and from the telephone book beside her bed she listed the addresses of all the pawnshops in the neighborhood. This was going to be fun, she thought—at least, if she didn’t lose her nerve. She hesitated for a few minutes outside of the first shop she came to. The iron bars guarding the window, the three balls in the doorway, seemed rather forbidding. For Mary Louise had never been inside a pawnshop. “I can say I want to buy a watch,” she thought. “I do, too—I certainly need one. But I’m afraid I’d rather have a brand-new Ingersoll than a gold one that has belonged to somebody else. Still, I don’t have to tell the shopkeeper that.” Boldly she opened the door and went in. She had expected to find an old man with spectacles and a skullcap, the typical pawnbroker one sees in the moving pictures. But there was nothing different about this man behind the counter from any ordinary storekeeper. “Good-morning, miss,” he said. “What can I do for you today?” “I want to look at ladies’ watches,” replied Mary Louise steadily. The man nodded and indicated a glass case on the opposite side of the shop. Mary Louise examined its contents intently. “The fact is,” she said, “my own watch was stolen. I thought maybe it might have been pawned, and I’d look around in the shops first, before I buy one, in the hope of finding it.” “Recently?” “Yes. Last night.” The man smiled. “If it had been pawned last night or this morning, you wouldn’t find it offered for sale yet. We have to hold all valuables until the time on their tickets expires.” “Oh, of course! How stupid of me.... Well, could you tell me whether any ladies’ watches have been pawned here since midnight last night?” “Yes, we’ve taken in two,” replied the man graciously. “And I don’t mind showing them to you. I’m not in league with any thieves. I’m an honest man.” “I’m sure of it,” agreed Mary Louise instantly. But she was disappointed upon sight of the watches. Neither of them was hers, nor did either remotely resemble Mrs. Weinberger’s or any of the other three stolen from Stoddard House. “Thank you ever so much,” she said finally. “I think I’ll look around a little more and ask about my own, and if I can’t find it, I may come back and buy one of yours. Several of those you have are very pretty.” Thoroughly satisfied with her interview, she walked down the street until she came to another shop. It was on the corner of an alley, and just as she approached the intersection she noticed a woman in an old-fashioned brown suit coming out of the side door of the pawnshop. The woman glanced about furtively, as if she did not care to be seen, and caught Mary Louise’s eyes. With a gasp of surprise, the girl recognized her immediately. It was Miss Henrietta Stoddard! Before Mary Louise could even nod to her, the woman had slipped across the street and around the corner, lost amid the Saturday morning crowd that was thronging the busy street. Mary Louise repressed a smile and entered the pawnshop by the front door. She repeated her former experience, with this difference, however: she did not find the shopkeeper nearly so cordial or so willing to co-operate. Finally she asked point-blank what the woman in the brown suit had just pawned. “I can’t see that that’s any of your business, miss,” he replied disagreeably. “But I will tell you that it wasn’t a watch.” Mary Louise wasn’t sure that she believed him. But there was nothing that she could do without enlisting the help of her father. She visited four other shops without any success, and finally decided to abandon the plan. It was too hopeless, too hit-or-miss, to expect to find those watches by that kind of searching. Far better, she concluded, to concentrate on observing the actions of the people at Stoddard House. Especially Miss Henrietta Stoddard herself! So she turned her steps to the big department store where she believed Margaret Detweiler had worked till last Christmas and inquired her way to the employment office. The store was brilliantly decorated for Christmas, and crowds of late shoppers filled the aisles and the elevators, so that it was not easy to reach her destination. Nor was the employment manager’s office empty. Even at this late date, applicants were evidently hoping for jobs, and Mary Louise had to sit down and wait her turn. It was half an hour later that she found herself opposite the manager’s desk. Mechanically a clerk handed her an application to fill out. “I don’t want a position,” Mary Louise said immediately. “I want to see whether I can get any information about a girl named Margaret Detweiler who, I think, worked in your store up to last Christmas. Would it be too much trouble to look her up in your files? I know you’re busy——” “Oh, that’s all right,” replied the manager pleasantly, and she repeated the name to the clerk. “You see,” explained Mary Louise, “Margaret Detweiler’s grandparents haven’t heard from her for a year, and they’re dreadfully worried. Margaret is all they have in the world.” The clerk found the card immediately. “Miss Detweiler did work here for six months last year,” she stated. “In the jewelry department. And then she was dismissed for stealing.” “Stealing!” repeated Mary Louise, aghast at such news. “Why, I can’t believe it! Margaret was the most upright, honest girl at home; she came from the best people. How did it happen?” “I remember her now,” announced the employment manager. “A pretty, dark-eyed girl who always dressed rather plainly. Yes, I was surprised too. But she had been ill, I believe, and perhaps she wasn’t quite herself. Maybe she had doctor’s bills and so on. It was too bad, for if she had come to me I could have helped her out with a loan.” “Was she sent to prison?” asked Mary Louise in a hoarse whisper. Oh, the disgrace of the thing! It would kill old Mrs. Detweiler if she ever found it out. “No, she wasn’t. We found the stolen article in Miss Detweiler’s shoe. At least, one of the things she took—a link bracelet. We didn’t recover the ring, but a wealthy woman, a customer who happened to be in the jewelry department at the time, evidently felt sorry for Miss Detweiler and offered to pay for the ring. We didn’t let her, but of course we had to dismiss the girl.” “You haven’t any idea where Margaret went—or what she did?” “Only that this woman—her name was Mrs. Ferguson, I remember, and she lived at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel—promised Miss Detweiler a job. So perhaps everything is all right now.” “I hope so!” exclaimed Mary Louise fervently. And thanking the woman profusely she left the office and the store. But she had her misgivings. If everything had turned out all right, why hadn’t Margaret written to her grandparents? Who was this Mrs. Ferguson, and why had she done this kindness for an unknown girl? Mary Louise meant to find out, if she could. She inquired her way to the Benjamin Franklin Hotel and asked at the desk for Mrs. Ferguson. But she was informed that no such person lived there. “Would you have last year’s register?” she asked timidly. She hated to put everybody to so much trouble. The clerk smiled: nobody could resist Mary Louise. “I’ll get it for you,” he said. After a good deal of searching she found a Mrs. H. R. Ferguson registered at the hotel on the twenty-third of the previous December, with only the indefinite address of Chicago, Illinois, after her name. Margaret Detweiler did not appear in the book at all: evidently she had never stayed at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel. With a sigh of disappointment, Mary Louise thanked the clerk and left. Nothing had been gained by that visit. “It must be lunch time,” she decided, after glancing in vain at her wrist, where she was accustomed to wear her watch. “I guess I’ll go back to the house.” The minute she entered the door of Stoddard House, the most terrible commotion greeted her. A woman’s shriek rang through the air; someone cried out, “Catch her—she’s fainted!” the elevator doors slammed, and people appeared from everywhere, in wild confusion. Mary Louise dashed through the door to the desk just in time to see Mrs. Macgregor, the wealthy widow who lived in room 201, drop down on the bench beside the elevator. Women pressed all around her prostrate figure: guests, maids, Mrs. Hilliard, and the secretary, Miss Horton, who offered a glass of water to the unconscious woman. But nobody seemed to know what it was all about. Presently Mrs. Macgregor opened her eyes and accepted a sip of the water. Then she glared accusingly at Mrs. Hilliard. “I’ve been robbed!” she cried. “Five hundred dollars and a pair of diamond earrings!” |
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