  “Do you feel any better now, Mrs. Macgregor?” inquired Mrs. Hilliard, as the stricken woman sat upright on the bench. “Better!” she repeated angrily. “I’ll never feel better till I get my money back again.” Mary Louise repressed a smile. Macgregor was a Scotch name. “Now, tell us how it happened,” urged Mrs. Hilliard. “When did you first miss the money?” “Just a few minutes ago, when I came out of my bath.” She became hysterical again. “Lock the doors!” she cried. “Search everybody! Call the police!” Mary Louise caught Mrs. Hilliard’s eye. “Shall I?” she asked. Mrs. Hilliard nodded. “And tell the janitor to lock the doors and station himself at the front to let the guests in who come home, for the girls will be coming into lunch from work. Today’s a half holiday.” By the time Mary Louise had returned, she found the crowd somewhat dispersed. The servants had gone back to their work, but several new arrivals had joined Mrs. Hilliard and Mrs. Macgregor. The two Walder girls, about whom Mary Louise had heard so much, were there, and Mrs. Hilliard introduced them. They were both very attractive, very much the same type as Mary Louise’s own friends in Riverside. Much more real, she thought, than Pauline Brooks, with her vivid make-up and her boastful talk. “That is a great deal of money to keep in your room, Mrs. Macgregor,” Evelyn Walder said. “Especially after all the robberies we’ve been having at Stoddard House.” “That’s just it! It was on account of these terrible goings-on that I took the money and the diamonds from a little safe I have and got them ready to put into the bank. Somebody was too quick for me. But I’m pretty sure I know who it was: Ida, the chambermaid!” “Oh, no!” protested Mrs. Hilliard. “Ida has been with me two years, and I know she’s honest.” “Send for her,” commanded Mrs. Macgregor. While they were waiting for the girl to appear, Mrs. Macgregor explained more calmly just what had happened. “I had the money and the diamonds in a bag on my bureau,” she said. “I was running the water in my bathroom when I heard a knock at the door. I unlocked it, and Ida came in with clean towels and a fresh bureau cover. While she was fixing the bureau cover, I hurried back to the bathroom, put the towels away, and turned off the water. My bath salts fell out of the closet when I opened the door to put the towels away, so I was delayed two or three minutes gathering them up. I heard Ida go out and close the door behind her, and I got into my bath. When I came back into the bedroom, my bag was gone.” “But you didn’t scream immediately,” observed Mrs. Hilliard. “You must have waited to dress.” “I had dressed in the bathroom, before I knew the bag was stolen.” “Wasn’t anybody else in your room all morning, Mrs. Macgregor?” Mary Louise couldn’t help asking. “Only Miss Stoddard. She had gone out to buy me some thread—she does my mending for me—and she stopped in on her return from the store and took some of my lingerie to her room.” At this moment the chambermaid, a girl of about twenty-two, approached the group. Either she knew nothing about the robbery, or else she was a splendid actress, for she appeared entirely unconcerned. “You wanted me, Mrs. Hilliard?” she inquired. “Listen to the innocent baby!” mocked Mrs. Macgregor scornfully. Ida looked puzzled, and Mrs. Hilliard briefly explained the situation. The girl denied the whole thing immediately. “There wasn’t any bag on the bureau, Mrs. Macgregor,” she said. “I know, because I changed the cover.” “Maybe it wasn’t on the bureau,” admitted Mrs. Macgregor. “But it was somewhere in the room. You’re going to be searched!” The girl looked imploringly at Mrs. Hilliard, but the latter could not refuse to grant Mrs. Macgregor’s demand. “I can prove I didn’t take any bag,” said Ida. “By Miss Brooks. I went right into her room next and made her bed. She can tell you I did. She was just going out—I’m sure she’ll remember.” “Is Miss Brooks here?” “I think she left the hotel about fifteen minutes ago,” stated Miss Horton, the secretary. “Before Mrs. Macgregor screamed.” “Well, we can ask her when she comes back,” said Mrs. Hilliard. “Where were you, Ida, when I sent for you?” “Still in Miss Brooks’ room,” replied the girl tearfully. “I was running the vacuum cleaner, so I never heard the disturbance.” Mrs. Hilliard turned to Mrs. Macgregor. “If Ida did steal your bag,” she said, “she would have to have it concealed on her person. Mary Louise, you take Ida to my apartment and have her undress and prove that she isn’t hiding anything.” Without a word the two girls did as they were told and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Mary Louise felt dreadfully sorry for her companion, who by this time was shaking and sobbing. She put her arm through Ida’s as they entered Mrs. Hilliard’s apartment. “You know, Ida,” she said, “if you did do this it would be lots easier for you if you’d own up now. The police are bound to find out anyhow, sooner or later.” “But I didn’t, miss!” protested the other girl. “I never stole anything in my life. I was brought up different. I’m a good girl, and my mother would die if she knew I was even accused of stealing.” Instinctively Mary Louise believed her. Nevertheless, she had to do as she was told, and she carefully made the search. But she found nothing. Satisfied, she took the girl back to Mrs. Hilliard. The police had already arrived, and more of the hotel guests had returned. Miss Stoddard was sitting beside Mrs. Macgregor, and Mary Louise longed to suggest that she—or rather her room—be searched. However, the police attended to that. One officer took each floor, and everybody’s room was systematically gone through. But the valuable bag could not be found. The doors of the hotel were unlocked, and everybody was allowed to go in and out again as she pleased. Mary Louise watched eagerly for Pauline Brooks, hoping that she would prove Ida’s alibi, but Miss Brooks did not return. Undoubtedly she had a date somewhere—a lively girl like Pauline could not imagine wasting her Saturday afternoon on “females,” as she would call the guests at Stoddard House. The dining-room doors were thrown open, and Mary Louise and Mrs. Hilliard went in to their lunch together. The older woman seemed dreadfully depressed. “Mrs. Macgregor is leaving this afternoon,” she said. “And the Weinbergers go tomorrow. If this keeps up, the hotel will be empty in another week.... And I’ll lose my position.” “Oh, I hope not,” replied Mary Louise. “Everybody can’t leave because things are stolen, for there are robberies everywhere. The big hotels all employ private detectives, and yet I’ve read that an awful lot of things are taken just the same. Some people make their living just by robbing hotel guests. So, no matter where people go, they run a risk. Even in homes of their own.” “Yes, that’s true. But Stoddard House has been particularly unlucky, and you know things like this get around.” “I’m going to do my best to find out who is the guilty person,” Mary Louise assured her. “And this morning’s robbery ought to narrow down my suspects to those who were at the house at the time. At least, if you can help me by telling me who they are.” “Yes, I think I can. Besides Mrs. Macgregor and myself, there were only Miss Stoddard, the two Weinbergers, Mrs. Moyer, and Miss Brooks. All the rest of the guests have positions and were away at work.” Mary Louise took her notebook and checked off the list. “That does make it easier, unless one of the help is guilty. They were all here at the time.... But of course the thief may be that same man who stole my watch.” “Yes, that’s possible, especially if he is an accomplice of one of the guests—of Miss Stoddard, for instance.” “Yes. I’ve been thinking about her. She was in Mrs. Macgregor’s room, you know.” But Mary Louise did not tell Mrs. Hilliard about seeing Miss Stoddard sneaking out of the pawnshop. “You better go to a movie this afternoon, Mary Louise, and forget all about it for the time being,” advised the manager. “Shan’t I ask the Walder girls to take you along? They usually go to a show.” “No, thanks, Mrs. Hilliard. It’s very thoughtful of you, but I want to go back to the department store and make another inquiry about the lost girl I’m trying to trace. I’d like a chance to talk to Miss Stoddard too, and to Pauline Brooks when she comes back. Maybe she saw the thief, if she came out of her room when Ida said she did.” “Well, do as you like. Only don’t worry too much, dear.” Mary Louise finished her lunch and went out into the open air again. Now that she was becoming a little more familiar with the city, she thought she would like to walk along Chestnut and Walnut streets, to have a look at the big hotels and the expensive shops. The downtown district was thronged with people, shopping, going to matinÉes, hurrying home for their weekend holiday; the confusion was overwhelming after the quiet of Riverside. But Mary Louise enjoyed the excitement: it would be something to write home about. At Broad and Walnut streets she stopped to admire the Ritz Hotel, a tall, imposing building of white stone, where Pauline Brooks had said that her aunt usually stayed when she was visiting Philadelphia. What fun it would be to have luncheon or tea there some day! If only she had somebody to go with. Perhaps Pauline would take her, if she asked her. Mary Louise wanted to be able to tell the Riverside girls about it. Half a block farther on she saw Pauline herself coming towards her, accompanied by a stout, stylishly dressed woman and a very blond girl of her own age. “That must be Pauline’s aunt,” Mary Louise thought, noticing what a hard, unpleasant face the woman had, how unattractive she was, in spite of her elegant clothes. “No wonder Pauline doesn’t want to live with her!” “Hello, Pauline!” she said brightly. It was wonderful to meet somebody she knew in this big, strange city. Pauline, who had not noticed Mary Louise, looked up in surprise. “Oh, hello—uh—Emmy Lou,” she replied. Mary Louise laughed and stood still. “We’ve had all sorts of excitement at Stoddard House, Pauline. I want to tell you about it.” The woman and the blond girl continued to walk on, but Pauline stopped for a moment. “You mean besides last night?” she asked. “Yes. Another robbery. Mrs. Macgregor——” “Tell me at supper time, Emmy Lou,” interrupted Pauline. “These people are in a hurry. I’ve got to go.” Mary Louise was disappointed; she did so want to ask Pauline whether Ida’s story were true. Now she’d have to wait. She continued her walk down Walnut Street until she came to Ninth, then she turned up to Market Street and entered the department store where she had made the inquiries that morning concerning Margaret Detweiler. There were not so many people visiting the employment manager that afternoon as in the morning: perhaps everybody thought Saturday afternoon a poor time to look for a job. Mary Louise was thankful for this, and apologized profusely for taking the busy woman’s time again. “I couldn’t find anybody by the name of Ferguson at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel now,” she said, “or any trace of Margaret Detweiler at all, there. But after I left the hotel it occurred to me that if you would give me the address that Margaret had while she was working here, I might make inquiries at the boarding house, or wherever it was that she lived. They might know something. Do you think that would be too much trouble?” “No trouble at all,” replied the woman pleasantly. She told the clerk to look in the files again. The address was a number on Pine Street, and Mary Louise asked where that street was located, as she copied it down in her notebook. “Not far away,” was the reply. “You can easily walk there in a few minutes.” She gave Mary Louise explicit directions. It was a shabby red-brick house in a poor but respectable neighborhood. A colored woman answered Mary Louise’s ring. “Nothing today!” said the woman instantly, without giving Mary Louise a chance to speak first. “I’m not selling anything,” replied the girl, laughing. “I wanted to ask the landlady here about a girl named Margaret Detweiler who used to live here. Could you ask her to spare me a minute or two?” “All right,” agreed the servant. “Come in.” She ushered Mary Louise into a neat but gloomy parlor, and in a couple of minutes the landlady appeared. “I understand you want to ask me about Miss Detweiler?” she inquired. “Yes,” answered Mary Louise. “I am trying to find her for her grandparents. The employment manager of the department store said she lived here. Is that correct?” “Yes, it is. Miss Detweiler lived here for about five months. She seemed like a nice quiet girl, with no bad habits. She paid regular till the last month she was here, when she took sick and had to spend a lot of money on medicines and doctor’s bills. Then, all of a sudden, she slipped away without payin’ her bill, and I never saw her again.” “She owes you money?” demanded Mary Louise. “No, she don’t now. A couple of weeks after she left, she sent it to me in a registered letter. So we’re square now.” “Didn’t she send her address?” “No, she didn’t.” “Where was the letter postmarked?” “Center Square. A little town up the state.” “Do you still have the envelope?” “No, I haven’t. But I remember the name, because I used to know folks at Center Square.” “Didn’t Margaret say anything in her letter about how she was getting on or what she was doing?” asked Mary Louise. “There wasn’t any letter. Just a folded piece of paper.” “Oh, that’s too bad! And what was the date?” “Sometime in January. Let’s see, it must have been near the start of the month, for I remember I used some of that money to buy my grandson a birthday present, and his birthday’s on the seventh.” “Well, I thank you very much for what you have told me,” concluded Mary Louise. “Maybe it will lead to something. I’ll go to Center Square and make inquiries. You see,” she explained, “Margaret Detweiler’s grandparents are very unhappy because they haven’t heard from her, and I want to do all in my power to find her. Margaret is all they have, and they love her dearly.” The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “And may you have good luck, my dear child!” she said. |
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