Torn between a desire to find out what had actually happened and a fear of throwing suspicion upon the man who was Irene’s ideal, Judy stood in the center of the room staring at Dale Meredith’s portfolio. Blackberry sat on the floor at her feet, and the thumping of his tail on the rug played a drumlike march in time to her heartbeats. This was nonsense—just standing there. It was her duty to find out the truth.

She took a quick step forward and reached for the portfolio, accidentally stepping on the cat’s tail. He yowled! Judy almost dropped the papers that she held, caught at them, told in one glance that she had been wrong and was about to put them back when the door slowly opened.

There was no way out. Dale and the two girls came into the room, stopped and stood speechless. Blackberry looked up at them as though expecting to be commended for sounding the warning.

“That cat’s as good as a watchdog,” Dale broke the silence by saying.

“I suppose I do look something like a burglar,” Judy retorted. “I’m not going to apologize for anything either. I simply had to know.”

“Know what?” Pauline asked.

“She wanted to find out if I took the lost poetry,” Dale explained. “That’s clear enough, and don’t think for a moment that I blame her. Any good detective would have done the same thing. Being a comparative stranger, I am the logical one to suspect. Irene, we all know, is above suspicion.”

“Well then, who did take the papers?” Pauline asked.

Dale only shook his head, refusing to propound any more theories about the affair. Judy turned to him gratefully.

“I felt sure you would be dreadfully mad at me for snooping in your personal belongings,” she said. “It’s nice to have you uphold me in my crude bit of detecting, and I do appreciate it. What puzzles me is this: nobody left the room ahead of you except——”

“Except me,” Irene broke in, “and you may be sure I didn’t take those papers.”

“We’re sure, aren’t we?”

Judy turned to the others and Dale nodded solemnly. It was Pauline who looked a little doubtful.

“What! Don’t you believe in her too?” Judy asked in surprise.

Pauline shrugged. “I suppose so, if she says she didn’t take them.”

“Then we all believe in each other, and it seems that even Emily Grimshaw believes in us,” Judy went on. “It appears that the next thing to do is find out who Joy Holiday is and how she could have entered the office without our knowing.”

“You’re pretty keen on solving this mystery, aren’t you?” Dale inquired.

“It’s just the way I am,” Judy replied. “I couldn’t bear not knowing. And I suspect that this Joy Holiday, whoever she is, had something to do with Miss Grimshaw’s collapse. Maybe tomorrow, if she’s in a pleasant mood, I’ll ask her about it.”

“Go easy,” Dale warned. “I’m beginning to think there’s more to this missing poetry business than may appear on the surface. What were they—very valuable manuscripts?”

“Valuable?” Judy repeated thoughtfully. “Why, I believe they were.”

“There was Golden Girl,” Irene put in. “You said that was valuable. It’s beautiful, too. I read it over and over and over——”

“You’re getting sleepy, Irene. And no wonder!” Pauline looked at her wrist watch a second time to make sure. Then she turned to Dale. “One o’clock! Oh, what a calling down I’ll get from Father if the housekeeper catches sight of you leaving at this hour of the night. Better tiptoe down the back stairs.”

“Okay! How about that roof garden tomorrow night?”

“Not tomorrow night,” Irene pleaded. “I’ll be too tired. Can’t we wait?”

“Saturday, then. How about it, Pauline?”

“I said I wasn’t going.”

“But you must go. We won’t go without her, will we, Irene?”

She shook her bright head and laughed, “Indeed we won’t. Don’t be a goose!”

Did they want her, too, Judy wondered. Then she thought of Emily Grimshaw, and her doubts vanished. She might have something interesting to tell them about Joy Holiday.