  For one ecstatic moment Mary Louise stood motionless on the front porch, breathing the cold, delicious air of freedom. Then she ran around the side of the house to the rear to look for her car. At first she thought it was gone, for she could not see it, huddled up close to the barn. But a few steps more revealed it to her view, and, weak as she was, she darted forward eagerly. She decided that she would drive directly to the hotel and have some breakfast; afterwards she would inquire her way to the constable’s house. He could take charge of the valuables in her possession and go back with her to meet the intruder. For Mary Louise had no intention of returning to Philadelphia without first learning that person’s identity. Besides, she had forgotten to bring out with her the basket containing the vase and the picture and the silverware. No use going back to Stoddard House without the entire loot! She climbed into the car and put her foot on the starter—without any success. She pulled out the choke and tried again and again. Five minutes passed. She made one final effort, in vain. The car was frozen! Despair seized her; she did not know what she could do. In her weakened condition, cold and hungry as she was, she did not believe herself physically capable of walking to the hotel. The distance must be at least a mile, although it had seemed so short by automobile. She got out of the car and silently walked back to the front porch of the house, listening for sounds from the prisoner locked within its walls. But she heard nothing until she reached the driveway. Then a young man stepped from behind a tree and almost frightened her to death. He was a tough-looking fellow of about nineteen or twenty, she judged, in slovenly corduroy trousers, a dirty lumber jacket, and cap. He eyed her suspiciously; Mary Louise forced herself to meet his gaze, although she was trembling so that she had to keep her hand on the jewelry in her pocket to prevent its rattling. The young man edged up nearer to her. “You one of Mrs. Ferguson’s girls?” he demanded. “Yes, I know her,” replied Mary Louise. “I——” “You been in the house now?” “Yes,” admitted Mary Louise. “Anything gone?” “No, I don’t think so.” “That’s lucky,” remarked the young man. “I come around last night about six o’clock, same as I do every night, and I seen a window was broke on the side of the house. But I didn’t see nobody prowlin’ around, so I just nailed a board across it. I’m still watchin’ fer that guy that come in a car. You kin tell Mrs. Ferguson he ain’t come back yet.” “What guy?” inquired Mary Louise, feeling more at ease now, since this young man evidently regarded her as one of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang of girls. “That fellow that drove up here last Sunday night,” was the reply. “Didn’t Mrs. Ferguson tell you?” “I haven’t seen Mrs. Ferguson to talk to,” she stammered, hardly able to keep from laughing. “Well, this guy meant trouble, I’m a-thinkin’. He drove up here in a car with a dame alongside of him. I hid in a tree when I heard the car comin’, and when it was under the tree I dropped a rock on the dame’s head. Knocked her out, and the guy had to rush her off to a doctor.” “Suppose you had killed her!” exclaimed Mary Louise solemnly. “I ain’t supposin’. Besides, nobody knows I done it except Mrs. Ferguson and you girls, and if any of you dames tell on me, I’ve got plenty to tell on you!” “No doubt about that,” agreed Mary Louise. “Well, I must be getting on. I’m going to the hotel for breakfast.” “How about my money?” demanded the young man. “Mrs. Ferguson wrote me you’d be along today and said you’d pay me. She promised me ten bucks.” This announcement scared Mary Louise; she didn’t know whether she should pay the man or not, in order to keep up the pretence that she was a member of the secret band. If she refused, mightn’t he knock her down? Yet if she complied with his demand and let him see the roll of bills, what would prevent his stealing them all at once? However, a solution came to her mind, and she decided to risk it. “I haven’t more than five dollars in my purse,” she said, opening it and showing him the contents. “I’ll have to pay you when I get back, after I have something to eat. I’m starved—I didn’t have any supper last night.” “O.K.,” agreed the young man, to Mary Louise’s surprise. “Meet me here in an hour?” “Yes, just about,” returned Mary Louise, hurrying down the driveway. The minute she reached the road, out of sight of the house, Mary Louise started to run, and she kept on running for perhaps a couple of minutes. Then she stopped abruptly, dropping down on the cold, hard ground. She was so faint, she did not believe that she could take another step. “Oh, I must get there!” she panted. “I must—must—must——” But the main highway was not even in sight: only the long, desolate country road before her, without a sign of a person or a house. She staggered somehow to her feet and took two or three steps forward. Utterly exhausted, she sank again to the ground. “A lot of good all my discoveries will do me or the people of Stoddard House,” she mused bitterly, “if I pass out here on the road!” She made another effort to rise, but she was growing colder and weaker every minute. In utter dismay she buried her head in her arms. A sense of numbness began to creep over her as she sat there; she was losing consciousness of where she was when the sharp sound of a motor horn aroused her to her senses. A car stopped opposite her; for one tense second she was afraid to look up for fear the occupants were some of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang. When a pleasant masculine voice addressed her, she felt the tears rush to her eyes in relief. “What is the trouble, my girl?” inquired the man. “Can I help you?” Reassurance and an overwhelming sense of gratitude almost prevented Mary Louise from answering. The man with the kind voice was someone she could trust: she saw by his manner of dressing that he was a Catholic priest. “Oh, yes!” she replied. “Can you take me to the constable? Do you know where he lives?” “Yes, of course I can.” It was an odd request, but the good man asked no questions. He merely got out of his car and lifted Mary Louise in beside him. “I’d tell you the story—only I’m so cold and hungry,” she said. “Maybe—later——” “That’s all right, my child,” he replied soothingly. In less than five minutes he stopped his car in front of a plain brick house and helped Mary Louise to the doorway. “Merry Christmas, Hodge!” he said, when the door was opened to his knock. “This young lady——” “Merry Christmas, Father,” returned the constable, gazing at Mary Louise. Almost instantly he recalled who she was. “Come in, Miss Gay,” he said. “Oh, how can I ever thank you enough?” said Mary Louise, fervently to the priest. But the good man only smiled and departed as quickly as he had appeared. The smell of coffee, of breakfast—for it was only a little after nine o’clock—was overpowering to the hungry, exhausted girl. She sank into a chair with only one cry on her lips: “Coffee!” Before the constable could even ask her a question, his wife hurried from the dining room with a steaming cup in her hands. She was a motherly woman of about forty-five; three children immediately followed her into the living room to see who the stranger was who had arrived so mysteriously. “Drink this, dear,” said Mrs. Hodge, holding the cup to Mary Louise’s lips. “I put cream and sugar in it, so it won’t burn you.” Nothing in her life had ever tasted half so good to the cold, hungry girl as that fragrant cup of coffee. She finished it to the last drop, and a smile broke over her face. “Was that good!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how much better I feel!” “You must have some breakfast now,” urged Mrs. Hodge. “Don’t crowd around Miss Gay so closely, children! She needs room to breathe.” “I’m all right now—really,” said Mary Louise. The warmth of the room was working its magic spell; for the first time now she noticed the Christmas tree and the toys around the floor. “I’ve been locked up alone in that empty house of Mrs. Ferguson’s since five o’clock last night——” she began. But Mrs. Hodge refused to let her talk until she had eaten her breakfast. Mary Louise ate everything that was on the table: a steaming bowl of oatmeal, an orange, half a dozen hot-cakes, two pieces of sausage, a glass of milk, and another cup of coffee. When she had finally finished she said that she believed she had enjoyed that breakfast more than any meal she had ever had. The whole family listened while she briefly told her story. Beginning with the code letter which had directed her to Center Square, she explained how she had broken into the empty house and how she had been imprisoned by a man who was evidently in Mrs. Ferguson’s employ. “He admitted hitting me—only of course he didn’t know it was I—over the head last Sunday. He thinks I’m one of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang. So will you go back with me and arrest him, Constable Hodge?” she asked. “I sure will,” agreed the man, and he told one of his children to run across the yard to get a neighbor to help him. “I found the stolen goods,” concluded Mary Louise, reaching into her dress and producing the roll of bills and taking the bag of jewelry from her pocket. “Will you take charge of it till I can bring my father up to get it? He’s a detective too, you see.” Everyone gasped in amazement at the heap of valuables which Mary Louise displayed before their eyes. The children rushed forward excitedly, and the young detective saw no reason why they should not examine them to their hearts’ content. One of the boys even wanted to count the money. “But how did you get out of that house?” demanded the constable. “Did that man open the door for you?” “Oh no,” replied Mary Louise. “A member of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang came with a key. I slipped out and locked her inside. That’s why we must hurry back, to catch her before she escapes.” Mary Louise rose from her chair. “Can we go now, Constable?” she asked. “Certainly. Yep, here comes my neighbor, who often helps me make arrests. We’ll take him along in case your man or your prisoner gets uppish.” “Could we take a mechanic to fix my car, too?” she asked. “It’s frozen.” “One of the kids will phone to the garage right now to send somebody out.” They gathered up the treasure, and, leaving it in Mrs. Hodge’s care, Mary Louise, the constable, and the neighbor—a husky six-foot fellow—got into the car. The distance which had seemed so long to the girl an hour ago was covered in less than five minutes. At the turn into the driveway, Mary Louise saw the man who was waiting for her. Recognizing the constable at once, he made a quick dash to get away. But he was not fast enough: the constable was out of the car in a second, commanding him to stop and displaying his revolver. With an oath on his lips he surrendered. The constable’s big friend took charge of him while Mary Louise and the officer entered the dark, cold house. The moment they opened the door they heard a girl’s terrified sobs from the living room. “Who—are—you?” she called, in a voice choking with fear and misery. “The Constable of Center Square and Mary Louise Gay!” replied the young detective. The prisoner jumped to her feet and ran out to the open door. “Mary—Louise—Gay!” she repeated incredulously, bursting afresh into tears. But Mary Louise had identified her immediately. She was Margaret Detweiler! |
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