  Mary Louise thought she had never seen anyone change so much in the short space of two years as Margaret Detweiler had changed. How much older she looked, how much sadder, in spite of her expensive clothes! What a strange, trapped expression there was in her eyes, like that of an animal caught in a cage! “You—are—going to arrest me?” the girl stammered, directing her question to the constable. “I am doing just what Miss Gay says, at the present time,” replied the man. “So far, I don’t know that you’re guilty of any crime.” “No, no, don’t arrest Margaret!” protested Mary Louise. “I just can’t believe that she is a member of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang. Why, it’s too impossible!” “No, it isn’t impossible,” said Margaret, more calmly now. “Mrs. Ferguson is a special kind of criminal who makes young girls do her stealing for her. She picks up country girls who don’t know anybody in the city and trains them.... Oh, it’s a long story—and a sad one!” “Do you mean to say that you did steal, Margaret?” demanded Mary Louise incredulously, for she had never believed that story of Margaret’s theft at the department store. “You must tell me the truth! For the sake of your grandparents.” “I can honestly say that I have never stolen anything in my life,” replied the other girl steadfastly. “Mrs. Ferguson soon found out that I was no good for that, so she made me guardian of the treasure. I felt almost as wicked. But I never stole.” “Thank heaven for that!” exclaimed Mary Louise. “But now I’ve lost her valuables, and she’ll send me to prison,” whimpered Margaret. “Oh, Mary Lou, did you take them?” “Yes, I took them. They’re at the constable’s home now, and most of them belong to the guests at Stoddard House in Philadelphia. But you shan’t suffer, Margaret, unless you’re really guilty.” “The young lady is very cold,” remarked the constable. “Hadn’t we better go back to my house, where it’s warm, till your car is fixed, Miss Gay?” “Oh yes, if you will let us!” agreed Mary Louise enthusiastically. She could see that Margaret’s teeth were chattering, and she remembered how cold she herself had been after an hour or so in that empty house. “Wait until I get my other things,” she said, running back into the kitchen for the basket which she had packed early that morning. “I’ll put them into the car and see how soon the mechanic thinks he will have it ready.” She returned in a couple of minutes and found the others already seated in the constable’s sedan. Mary Louise was glad to find that the officer had put Margaret Detweiler in front with him, not beside the tough young man with his huge guardian in the rear seat. She squeezed in next to Margaret, and the car started. “The mechanic is going to drive my car to your place in about half an hour,” announced Mary Louise. “And then we’ll start for Philadelphia.” “Fine!” exclaimed the constable. “That’ll give you girls a chance to get warm. And maybe have a cup of coffee.” “It’s marvelous coffee,” commented Mary Louise. “It just about saved my life.” Not another word was said about the crimes or the secret band. Margaret Detweiler was introduced to Mrs. Hodge as a friend of Mary Louise’s from Riverside, and the two girls spent a pleasant half hour in the constable’s home, sipping their freshly made coffee and looking at the children’s Christmas toys. The constable, who had taken the young thug away, returned just as Mary Louise’s hired car drove up to the door. Mary Louise jumped up and reached for her coat. “Wait a minute!” cautioned the constable. “Company’s comin’ here to see you, Miss Gay! I just met somebody askin’ for you at the hotel.... So don’t be in too much of a rush!” From the obvious twinkle in the man’s eyes, Mary Louise believed that Max Miller must have driven down to Philadelphia again and, missing her there, had naturally traced her to Center Square. But at that same moment a yellow taxi stopped at the constable’s gate, thereby dispelling any such illusion. Max would never ride in a taxicab on his limited allowance! The door of the cab opened, and a tall, handsome man stepped out, paid the driver, and dismissed the cab. It was Mary Louise’s father. Flinging open the door, the girl shouted at him in delight, so loud that Mr. Gay heard her in spite of the noise of the departing cab. In another moment he entered the open door of the house and held Mary Louise tightly in his arms. “Mary Lou!” he cried in delight. “Are you sure you’re all right?” “I’m fine,” she replied, ushering him into the constable’s house. “Merry Christmas, Daddy!” “The same to you, dear.” He gazed at her fondly. “I believe it will be—now. You certainly look happy, Daughter.” “I am, Daddy. These people have treated me royally!” She turned around and introduced her father to Mrs. Hodge and the children, for he had already met the constable. “And, oh, Dad, here is Margaret Detweiler,” she added. “You remember her, don’t you?” “I certainly do,” replied Mr. Gay, extending his hand cordially. “My, but your grandparents are going to be glad to see you, Margaret!” The girl blushed and looked down at the floor in embarrassment. Wisely, Mr. Gay asked no questions. “I have all the stolen valuables, Dad,” continued Mary Louise. “Every single thing that was taken from Stoddard House, and even the money!” Mr. Gay gazed at his daughter in speechless admiration: she had excelled his fondest hopes! “Mary Lou, that’s—wonderful!” he said after a moment.... “I have good news too. I caught your thieves. Seven of ’em. They are in a Baltimore jail now.” Both girls exclaimed aloud in amazement and delight. Margaret Detweiler started forward and clutched the detective’s arm. “It’s really true, Mr. Gay?” she demanded breathlessly. “Mrs. Ferguson—is she in jail too?” “Locked up without any chance of getting out on bail!” he said authoritatively. “Oh, I’m so glad!” murmured the girl thankfully. “Now we’ll be able to take the valuables right back to their owners at Stoddard House, Constable Hodge,” announced Mary Louise. “I’m not afraid to carry them, with Dad beside me.” Mrs. Hodge brought the jewelry and the money from its hiding place and gave it all to Detective Gay. Both he and Mary Louise tried to thank the Hodges for their help and their hospitality; Mr. Gay wanted to give the constable some sort of recompense, but the good man refused. Only after a great deal of persuasion would he accept a five-dollar bill as a Christmas present for his children. “Ready, Daddy?” inquired Mary Louise as she slipped on her coat. “Just a minute,” replied her father. “I want to telephone to Mrs. Hilliard to let her know that you are safe. She’s been terribly worried, Mary Lou.... And shall I tell her that we’ll eat Christmas dinner with her at Stoddard House?” “Oh, yes! I’ve heard about the menu. There won’t be a sweller dinner anywhere in Philadelphia than at Stoddard House. But shall we be in time?” Mr. Gay consulted his watch. “It’s only a little after eleven,” he said. “We ought to make it by one o’clock.” As soon as the telephone call was completed, the three people got into the little car. Mary Louise herself took the wheel, for, as she explained, she was familiar with it by this time. “Now tell me about your experiences, Mary Lou,” urged her father, as soon as they were well under way. Mary Louise explained, for Margaret’s benefit as well as for her father’s, about deciphering the code letter and coming up to Center Square and breaking into the empty house in search of the valuables. But she made light of the coldness and desolation of the dark house and of her own hunger. She concluded with the statement that Margaret had come that morning and let her out with a key. “But how did you happen to have the key, Margaret?” demanded Mr. Gay. “I will have to tell you my whole story from the beginning,” answered the girl. There was a tragic note in her voice, which drew out her listeners’ sympathy, but neither made any comment. “Then you can decide what to do with me,” she continued. “I guess I deserve to go to prison, but when I assure you that I have never done anything wrong except under compulsion, maybe you will not be so angry with me.” “We’re not angry with you, Margaret,” Mary Louise told her. “Only terribly sorry. So please tell us everything. You remember that your grandparents have never heard anything from you since last Christmas.... So begin your story there.” “All right.... Let me see—I was working in that department store in Philadelphia, and doing pretty well, for I got commissions besides my salary on everything I sold. I started in the cheap jewelry department and was promoted to the expensive kind. Christmas brought me in a lot of business, but I guess I overworked, for I got sick the week before and had to stay home and have the doctor. I’d already spent a good deal of money on presents, and when my doctor’s bill was paid I found my salary was all gone. So I went back to the store before I should—on the twenty-third of December, I remember.” “The twenty-third of December!” repeated Mary Louise. “That was the day Mrs. Ferguson registered at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel.” “How did you know, Mary Lou?” demanded Margaret. “I went to the hotel and looked through the old register,” she explained. “But go on, Margaret. What happened then?” “I found that a ring, an expensive diamond ring, had been stolen from our department,” continued the girl. “They insisted that it was taken before I was away, but they couldn’t prove anything. Just the same, I know the store detective had his eye on me.... Well, that very day something else disappeared: a link bracelet. This time they accused me immediately.” “But why?” “I don’t know, except that I was the newest salesgirl in the department—in fact, the only girl. The store detective stepped behind my counter and leaned down to the floor. And he picked that bracelet right out of my shoe!” “How dreadful!” cried Mary Louise. “Somebody had ‘planted’ it there?” “Of course. Mrs. Ferguson had, as I later learned. But at the time I hadn’t a suspicion. She was standing right near the counter, examining some rings. When she heard me accused and told to leave the store, she stepped forward, saying that she was sorry for me. She asked me whether I had any family, and I told her they were too far away for me to go to, without any money. “‘But you’ll have trouble getting a job without a reference,’ she said. ‘So perhaps I had better help you.’” “The sly cat!” cried Mary Louise. Margaret nodded. “But I didn’t know it then. I simply asked her whether she could get me a job, and she told me to come to the Benjamin Franklin Hotel that afternoon and ask for Mrs. Ferguson. “Of course, I went—I had nothing else to do. She engaged me at once as her secretary. We went out to Center Square for a few days, and I met a lot of other girls. Two daughters, two nieces, and a couple of friends. We had a good time, but I didn’t do any work, for she had two servants and a chauffeur, and I felt as if I didn’t earn my pay.” “Did she give you a salary?” asked Mary Louise. “Yes,” replied Margaret. “For the first couple of weeks. But I had to send it to my landlady in Philadelphia. After that, Mrs. Ferguson bought my clothes and paid my hotel bills, but she never gave me any cash.” “So you couldn’t get away!” observed Mr. Gay. “Exactly. Gradually I began to suspect that there was something crooked about this bunch, and then one day I found the diamond ring which had been stolen from the store: among Mrs. Ferguson’s stuff at Center Square!” “What did you do?” demanded Mary Louise. “I showed it to her and said I was going to take it right back to the store, and she stood there and laughed at me. She said it would only prove my own guilt! “The next day we all went to Washington and stayed in different hotels. Mrs. Ferguson kept me with her, but I soon saw through her tricks. Her girls were all skilled hotel thieves. She tried to teach me the business, as she called it, but I refused to learn. So she made me take charge of the stuff they stole. The girls would bring their loot to her, and she’d send me with it to Center Square. Every once in a while she would dispose of it all to a crooked dealer who asked no questions.” “Were you out at Center Square last Sunday, Margaret?” interrupted Mary Louise. “Yes. Mrs. Ferguson and I both went. We had intended to get the place ready to spend Christmas there, but for some reason, Mrs. Ferguson got scared. She said that Mary Green talked too much, and she thought we ought to clear out. She made plans to dispose of everything in Baltimore, and then we were all going to sail to Bermuda.... But why did you ask that, Mary Lou?” “Because I was in that car that drove up to the house then. I saw you and then Mrs. Ferguson. I wouldn’t have thought of its being you, only Mary Green admitted that she knew you. That made me suspicious.” “You disappeared pretty quickly!” “Rather,” laughed Mary Louise, and she told the story of being hit over the head by a rock and of catching the young man and having him arrested that very morning. “That was clever!” approved her father. “Who was he, Margaret?” “A neighborhood bum that Mrs. Ferguson employs to watch the place and keep the people away,” replied the girl. “But I’m afraid I interrupted you, Margaret,” apologized Mary Louise. “Please go on with your story.” “There isn’t much left to tell. I was too far away from home to run away, without any money, and I hadn’t a single friend I could go to. All the store people thought I was a thief, so I knew there was no use asking their help. I just kept on, from day to day, not knowing how it would ever end and never expecting to see my grandparents or my Riverside friends again. Oh, you can’t imagine how unhappy I have been!” She stopped talking, for emotion had overcome her; tears were rolling down her cheeks. Mary Louise laid her hand over Margaret’s reassuringly. “It’s all right now, isn’t it, Daddy?” she said. “We’ll take you home to your grandparents.” “But I can’t go back to them!” protested the other girl. “How can I tell them what has happened? They’d be disgraced for life.” “You can tell them you have been working for a queer woman who wouldn’t allow you to write home,” said Mr. Gay. “A woman whose mind was affected, for that is the truth. There is no doubt that Mrs. Ferguson is the victim of a diseased mind.” “Wouldn’t you ever tell on me?” questioned Margaret. “No, of course not. It was in no way your fault, child.... And now try to be happy. I think I can find you a job in Herman’s Hardware store, right in Riverside. And you can live with your grandparents. They need you.” “It seems almost too good to be true,” breathed the grateful girl. Mary Louise turned to her father. “Now for your story, Dad,” she begged. “About capturing the thieves.” “I think that had better be kept till dinner time,” replied Mr. Gay. “This traffic we’re approaching will require all your attention, Mary Lou. And besides, Mrs. Hilliard will want to hear it too.” |
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