  When Mary Louise returned to the hotel, she found everything quiet. She went immediately to the fourth floor; Mrs. Hilliard was in her sitting room, knitting and listening to the radio. “Has anything happened since I left?” asked the girl eagerly. “No,” replied the manager. “Except that another guest has departed. Your friend Pauline Brooks came back, packed her bag, paid her bill, and left. Of course, she was only a transient anyway, but the hotel is so empty that I was hoping she would stay a while.” “I met her on the street with her aunt,” Mary Louise said. “But she didn’t have time to talk to me. Did you question her about Ida’s story?” “Yes, and she said it was true that Ida did come into her room to make the bed at that time, because she, Miss Brooks, had slept late. But she didn’t know how long the maid had stayed because she left the hotel before Mrs. Macgregor discovered her loss and screamed. So it is possible that Ida went back into Mrs. Macgregor’s room.” “Personally I believe the girl is innocent,” stated Mary Louise. “So do I. As I said, she has been with me two years, and I have always found her absolutely trustworthy. It probably was a sneak thief. The police are on the lookout for somebody like that.” “Did you talk to Miss Stoddard?” “No, I didn’t. She went out this afternoon.” “She’ll bear watching,” remarked Mary Louise. “I think so too,” agreed the other.... “Now, tell me what you did with yourself this afternoon.” Mary Louise related the story of her visit to Margaret Detweiler’s former boarding house and the scant information she had obtained. “Is Center Square far away?” she asked. “Oh, a couple of hours’ drive, if you have a car. But do you really think it would do you any good to go there? The girl was probably only passing through and stopped at the postoffice to mail her letter to the landlady.” “Yes, I am afraid that is all there was to it. But I could at least make inquiries, and after all, it’s the only clue I have. I’d never be satisfied if I didn’t do the very best I could to find Margaret for her grandparents.” Mary Louise stayed a little longer with Mrs. Hilliard; then she went to her own room to dress for dinner. But suddenly she was terribly homesick. Jane and the boys would be coasting all afternoon, she knew, for there would still be plenty of snow left in the country, and there was a dance tonight at another friend’s. Max would be coming for her in his runabout; she would be wearing her blue silk dress—and—and——Her eyes filled with tears. Wasn’t she just being terribly foolish to stay here in Philadelphia, missing all those good times? And for what? There wasn’t a chance in the world that she’d discover the thief, when even the police were unsuccessful. “But I’ll never learn to be a detective until I try—and—learn to accept failures,” she told herself sternly, and she knew that, all things considered, she had not been foolish. It might be hard at the time to give up all the fun, but in the long run it would be worth it. She ought to be thanking her lucky stars for the chance! Somewhat reassured, she dressed and went downstairs to the reception room, where the radio was playing. She found the two Walder girls, whom she had met at noontime when Mrs. Macgregor raised the commotion. Mary Louise greeted them cordially. “It’s beginning to rain,” said Evelyn Walder, “so Sis and I thought we’d stay in tonight and try to get up a game of bridge. Do you play, Mary Lou?” “Yes, indeed,” replied Mary Louise. “I love it. Whom shall we get for a fourth? Mrs. Hilliard?” “Mrs. Hilliard doesn’t like to play, and besides, she has to get up and answer the telephone so much that she usually just knits in the evenings. Maybe we can get one of the Fletcher girls.” “No, I heard Lucy say that they had a date,” returned Ruth Walder. Mary Louise looked disappointed; she was so anxious to meet all the guests at Stoddard House. She had an inspiration, however. “How about Miss Stoddard?” she asked. “Does she play?” The other two girls looked at Mary Louise in amazement. “Sure, she plays bridge,” replied Evelyn. “But we don’t want her! If you don’t mind my slang, I’ll say she’s a pain in the neck.” Mary Louise smiled: she thought so too. “Mrs. Weinberger is nice, even if she is a lot older than we are,” observed Ruth. “And she loves to play, because her daughter goes out every Saturday night with her boy-friend, I think.” The others agreed to this suggestion, and Mrs. Weinberger accepted the invitation immediately. So the evening passed pleasantly, but Mary Louise did not feel that she had learned anything of value to her job. The party broke up about ten-thirty; Mary Louise went to her room and took out her notebook. “It’s getting so confusing,” she mused. “So many things stolen, so many people involved. These two robberies since I came—the one in my room last night, and Mrs. Macgregor’s today—make five in all. I wonder if they could all have been done by the same person. Maybe—maybe it’s a secret band of some kind! With Miss Henrietta Stoddard as its leader!” Her one determination, when she awakened the next morning, was to have a talk with Miss Stoddard. Accordingly, after breakfast she asked Mrs. Hilliard how that could best be arranged. “Miss Stoddard always goes to Christ Church,” was the reply. “Why couldn’t you plan to go with her?” “That’s a wonderful idea, Mrs. Hilliard! I always did want to visit Christ Church—we read so much about it in history.” “I’ll ask her to take you with her,” offered the manager, “when she comes out of the dining room.” The arrangement was easily made, and a couple of hours later Mary Louise met Miss Stoddard in the lobby of the hotel. Today the spinster was not wearing the shabby brown suit; indeed, she looked quite neat and stylish in a dark blue coat trimmed with fur. The rain had washed most of the snow away, and the sun was shining, so both Mary Louise and Miss Stoddard thought it would be pleasant to walk down to Second and Market streets, where the historic church was situated. For a while they talked of its significance in colonial Philadelphia, and Miss Stoddard promised to show Mary Louise the pew in which George Washington and his family had worshiped. It was Miss Stoddard, however, who gave the conversation a personal turn. “You saw me come out of that pawnshop yesterday, didn’t you, Miss Gay?” she inquired. “I wanted to ask you not to say anything about my visit to Mrs. Hilliard or to any of the other guests.” “But it is nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Stoddard,” protested Mary Louise. “Lots of people pawn things.” “I know. But not women of my type, usually. I’m rather hard pressed for money now, so I sold an old brooch of my mother’s. It didn’t bring much.” Mary Louise nodded and looked at her companion. But she could not tell whether she were telling the truth or not. “Then,” continued Miss Stoddard, “my visit might look suspicious to some people—after all these robberies at the hotel.” “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” “But it really proves my innocence, because if I had taken all that money of Mrs. Macgregor’s I shouldn’t be rushing to a pawnshop now to get a little more.” That was a good point; Mary Louise had not thought of it before. “Who do you think did all the stealing, Miss Stoddard?” she asked point-blank. “The Weinberger girl! I suppose you’d call her a woman, but she seems like just a girl to me. She and the young man she goes with are in league together. I think he’s out of work, and the two of them have been planning to get married. So they’ve been stealing right and left.” “Even her own mother’s watch?” “Yes, even that.” Mary Louise was silent. It was an entirely new idea to her. Yet it was possible; the Weinbergers had been at Stoddard House ever since the things began to be stolen. If Hortense Weinberger were going to marry this young man of hers, she could use the silverware, the vase, and the painting in her new house or apartment. The watches could be pawned, and the money would be enough to keep the young couple for a while.... Yes, the explanation was logical. “I have reason to believe that this couple will elope tonight,” announced Miss Stoddard. Mary Louise’s eyes opened wide with excitement. “If that man is the thief, and if I can see him to identify him,” she said, “maybe that will solve the mystery. You remember, Miss Stoddard, a man stole my watch. He was short and of slight build—but of course I couldn’t see his face. Is Miss Weinberger’s friend like that?” “I don’t know. I never saw him. But I overheard a phone call, and Hortense Weinberger said she’d slip out about eleven tonight. Could you be watching then?” “Yes, yes!” cried Mary Louise joyfully. Oh, suppose it were true, and she could identify the man! Wouldn’t it be too wonderful? “I think you’re terribly clever, Miss Stoddard,” she said, “if you really have found the solution. It will mean so much to Mrs. Hilliard. She has been worried to death.” They had been so interested in their conversation that they did not realize how near they were to the church. In another minute they were walking reverently into the old building, and for the next hour and a half, robberies and mysteries were forgotten in the solemn beauty of the service. Nor did they refer to the subject afterwards, but walked back to the hotel talking about historic Philadelphia. Mary Louise went to her room after dinner and wrote down everything Miss Stoddard had said about Hortense Weinberger. The explanation was so plausible that she could hardly wait for the evening to come, with her chance to identify her own particular burglar. If he were the man who had entered her room, the whole thing would be solved and she could go home for Christmas! Oh, how glad she was that she had had that talk with Miss Stoddard! In the midst of her daydreams a knock sounded at the door. A maid handed her a card with the name “Max Miller” engraved on it. Mary Louise let out a wild whoop of joy and, not waiting to explain, dashed past the maid and down the steps to the lobby. And there he was. Good old Max—looking handsomer than ever! Mary Louise could have hugged him in her delight. “Max! You angel!” she cried. “How did you know I’d be so glad to see you?” “Because I knew how glad I’d be to see you,” he replied, still holding onto her hand. Mary Louise withdrew it laughingly. “Women talk,” she reminded him, glancing about her. “O.K.,” he grinned. “How are you? Solved your mystery yet?” “Oh no. I’ve had my own watch and five dollars stolen—that’s all!” “And you call this a good time! Well, Mary Lou, you certainly can take it.... But haven’t you had enough, little girl? Please come home with me!” Mary Louise’s eyes flashed in anger. “Is that what you came here for, Max Miller?” she demanded. “No—oh, no! I didn’t expect you’d come home. I just wanted to see you, so I drove down. Started early this morning. Now let’s go places and do things!” “Where? You can’t do much in Philadelphia on Sunday.” “Anywhere. We can take a drive and have our supper at some nice place away from this henhouse.” “Now, Max——” “Get your coat and hat. There’s a good girl.” “But, Max, you must be sick of driving. And if you expect to start back tonight——” “I don’t. I’m staying over at the Y.M. for a couple of days. So I can watch you. Now, don’t get excited! I have your parents’ consent. In fact, they thought it was a bully idea. You may be a wonderful detective, Mary Lou, but just the same you’re a darned pretty girl. And pretty girls alone in strange cities....” “I have Mrs. Hilliard,” she reminded him. “Yes, I know. That’s what makes it look all right. But it doesn’t make you safe, just the same. You could easily be kidnaped.” “You’re not going to follow me everywhere I go, are you?” she asked, in concern. “No. Just keep an eye on you for a couple of days. And maybe help you a bit. With a car at your disposal, you may be able to clear up things quicker and go home in time for the senior prom. That’s my little scheme, in a nutshell.” “It will be wonderful,” agreed Mary Louise. “I’ll admit there have been moments when I’ve been homesick, Max.” Her eyes brightened. “I know where I want to go this afternoon! To Center Square.” “Where’s that?” “I don’t know. Out in the country somewhere—you can look it up on your map.” “O.K. I’m ready, Mary Lou. The car is at the door. Run up and get your hat and coat. Wrap up warmly. It’s a lot warmer, and most of the snow’s gone, but you know my runabout isn’t like a heated limousine.” In five minutes she was back again, looking very pretty in her squirrel coat, with its matching toque. Leaving word for Mrs. Hilliard that she would not be back for supper, she got into the car with Max. As the couple started, Mary Louise explained why she wanted to go to Center Square: that her project had nothing to do with the thefts at the hotel but was the hope of tracing Margaret Detweiler. And she told her companion the facts she had learned about the girl. “I’m even more anxious to find her than to solve the mystery at Stoddard House,” she said, “because of those two old people. It’s just too dreadful for them.” Max nodded. He knew the Detweilers and felt extremely sorry for them. Everybody in Riverside liked them and pitied them in their distress. “I just can’t bear to tell them that Margaret was dismissed from the department store for stealing,” she added. “I wouldn’t,” advised Max. “Better tell them nothing at all than that. It wouldn’t help any and would only cause them unhappiness.” Mary Louise asked about everything that had happened at Riverside since she had left. It had been only two days, but it seemed like an age. Max described the party the night before, but it was a poor affair without Mary Lou, according to his idea, and he had left early so he could get off at daybreak this morning. The day was clear and warm, and except for the slush on the roads the drive was delightful. The young people were happy to be together again and enjoyed every minute of it. It was already dusk of the short winter day when they arrived at Center Square and stopped at the country hotel. “We’re going to want dinner in an hour or so,” Max told the clerk. “But first we want to see whether we can locate a girl who was here late last winter. Did a young woman named Margaret Detweiler ever register here?” The clerk obligingly looked through his book. But the name was not there. “She’s tall and slender and very dark,” said Mary Louise. “Has wavy hair and an olive complexion.” The clerk shook his head. “No, I don’t remember seein’ anybody like that around. Not many strangers come here—except automobile parties sometimes, stoppin’ to eat.” “Are there any empty houses she might have rented?” was Mary Louise’s next question. “None rented as I know of. There’s some abandoned houses around, places where people sometimes come just for the summer.” “Where?” The clerk gave the directions. “Now one more question. Where does the postmaster live? For of course the postoffice is closed on Sunday.” “Sure it’s closed. But the postmaster lives right over top of it. Across the street a way from here.” Mary Louise and Max went there next and were fortunate enough to find the man at home. When Mary Louise told him about the registered letter and described the girl, he said he believed he did remember. So few people came to the little country town; still fewer registered letters. But Margaret hadn’t stopped in a car, he thought—she had walked from somewhere. No, he was positive she hadn’t been boarding with any of the folks around, or he’d have heard of it. Well, that was something definite! Maybe she was hiding in one of those empty houses the clerk had spoken of, to escape from the police. Max turned his car off the main highway into a little dirt road, almost impassable with its slush and snow. He stopped in front of the first empty house which the clerk had described. It was dark and forlorn. “There would be some sort of light if anybody were living there,” observed Max. “You can’t tell,” replied Mary Louise. “If Margaret were hiding, she’d be careful about lights. Let’s get out and look.” “But why should she hide? Didn’t you tell me the employment manager promised not to send her to jail?” “Yes, but you don’t know what crimes she’s committed since. If she were behaving herself, wouldn’t she have written to her grandparents? Either she’s dead or she’s doing something wrong.” They waded through slush over their shoe-tops but could see no signs of any life. Mary Louise decided to try another house. “It’s a wild theory, Mary Lou, but you’re the doctor,” agreed Max. “So long as my bus’ll run, I’m game.” “You are a sport, Max! I don’t know what I’d do without you.” “Men are helpful sometimes, aren’t they?” “I guess they’re absolutely necessary,” replied Mary Louise modestly. “I never seem to be able to get along without them.” “That’s the proper attitude for a girl,” he answered gayly. Farther along the road they stopped in front of another empty house. It was situated at the top of a steep incline and almost completely surrounded by trees. “Can you climb that hill, Max?” she asked. “I can try—if you think there’s any use,” he replied. It was a difficult task, for the driveway was so covered with slush that it was hard to tell which was road and which was field. But Max made it in low gear, and they came to a stop in front of a barn, under a big tree. The house was shabby and unpainted; its windows were covered with boards, and its heavy doors without glass. Mary Louise shuddered: it reminded her of Dark Cedars. Max turned off the motor and jumped out of the car. “Nobody home, I guess,” he announced. From her seat in the car Mary Louise stared at the house, peering into the strip of glass above the boards on the windows. She thought she saw a flicker of light, as if a candle were burning. Yes, she was sure of it—and—a face appeared at the window! Two frightened eyes looked right into hers. A second later another face appeared, more plainly than the first, for this person evidently had hold of the candle. The first face had vanished, and Mary Louise saw only that of an exceedingly ugly woman—someone who looked somehow familiar. That very instant the tiny light went out, and at the same moment Mary Louise sank unconscious in her seat. A stone, hurled from the tree above her, had hit her right on the head! |
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