Judy had a threefold reason for being glad.

She had accomplished Jasper Crosby’s arrest, and except for a few bruises had suffered no ill effects from his frenzied choking.

In spite of doubts and suspicions as to the veracity of the prisoner’s story, part of it must be true. Judy even dared hope that they were near the end of their search for Irene.

Also she was glad that Peter Dobbs had wanted to kiss her. It would be a new confidence to tell Irene when she came home.

All of them were saying “when” now—Arthur and Horace were busy mapping out plans for the day. They telephoned back to Farringdon to find out if anyone had seen Irene. The telephone calls were expensive and brought nothing but disappointment.

Even Pauline Faulkner seemed impressed when she heard of the terrifying things that had happened.

“And here I was in school, not helping at all, but today,” she declared, “I’ll make up for it. There isn’t any more school until graduation and I’m free to help you. Emily Grimshaw’s work has waited so long that there must be a deluge of unread manuscripts.”

“It has waited so long that it can easily wait a little longer,” Judy said.

“But isn’t it important?”

“Not as important as finding Irene.”

“I know, but haven’t you done everything you can do? The boys can keep in touch with the police while I stay here and help you.”

It really was best that way. And how kind of Pauline to offer to help! Dale suggested that she and Judy both go home and rest as soon as the work was done. But, unfortunately, it was Mary’s day off.

“We’ll bring in the dinner,” Horace promised. “Any of you fellows know how to cook?”

Peter Dobbs volunteered.

“And just to make things even,” Arthur put in, “I’ll pay for it.”

Judy laughed and felt better. She tackled the work with some of her old enthusiasm and succeeded in interesting Pauline in an unread manuscript.

After about an hour the telephone rang. It was Dale.

“Sorry,” he said, “but it’s beginning to look as if Jasper Crosby made up his story. No tickets to Farringdon have been purchased for a month.”

“Are you at the police station?”

“Yes, and they’ve made a thorough check-up. The only answer is that Jasper Crosby lied. And he probably lied about Irene, too. I’d like to wring his neck!”

“So would I. But that’s probably better left to the state. I only hope they make a good job of it. If they can prove that he lied it will make some difference in their treatment of him.”

Undoubtedly it did make a difference as a detective called back later, and Judy found herself telling him even more than she had told Lieutenant Collins. The one thing she omitted was the fact that she believed Irene had stolen her grandmother’s poetry. It was Jasper Crosby she was trying to have convicted, not Irene.

The case was being expertly handled. The knowledge that Jasper Crosby was in jail, charged with assaulting Judy and kidnaping Irene, was some satisfaction. They would keep him right there, too, until Irene’s whereabouts were known.

The day dragged on. Emily Grimshaw’s work seemed to take longer now that Judy had lost heart again. It was good to have Pauline there helping. She read. She typed and when everything else was done she asked Judy if she might see her carbon copies of Sarah Glenn’s poetry. “I wanted to read them myself,” she said in explanation. “It’s a slim chance, I know, but it might help us in our search.”

“I’ve studied and studied this one myself,” Judy said as she handed her a copy of that first poem Emily Grimshaw had given her as a test. No wonder she had said there was too much truth in it! The tower of flame, the ghosts—all, all of it might be true. Even the “human tomcat” that the poet had mentioned they believed to mean Irene’s father, Tom Lang.

Now, through these very poems, Irene had found her mother’s people. It would be such a thrilling, romantic thing to happen if only they could talk it over with her. If only they knew where she was. If only she hadn’t taken the manuscripts....

Judy showed Pauline the poem that Jasper Crosby had brought in after Irene’s disappearance. Now that they knew where Irene must have been, they both saw new significance in the lines:

“Jasper Crosby never killed her with love,” Pauline said bitterly. “I only hope——”

“Don’t say it, Pauline!”

She looked sorry. “I won’t say anything more. We’ll just keep on hoping.”

Five o’clock came and Judy closed her desk with a sigh.

“We’ve worked hard,” she said to Pauline, “but I just feel as if another day has been wasted. While we sit here who knows what may be happening to Irene?”

“At least we know that beastly uncle of hers can’t be hurting her any more.”

Judy thought of Pauline’s statement in connection with death—not to be hurt any more. Old people wanted that kind of peace, that freedom from pain and fear. Death could be kind to old people who were through with romance and adventure. But Irene had so much to live for.

“The boys must be there ahead of us,” Judy remarked as she and Pauline came in sight of the house. “See, someone has raised the window.”

“They probably burnt something,” Pauline said shortly.

Apparently she had misgivings concerning Peter’s ability as a cook. It was early for them to be home. Why, it couldn’t have been an hour since they left the police station in Parkville and there would be shopping for them to do besides.

As they turned down the corridor that led to Pauline’s room Judy heard a familiar yowl. Could it be Blackberry asking to be let out?

“But he wasn’t in,” Pauline said. “Don’t you remember? We left him on the roof garden.”

“Maybe the boys let him in. But it’s queer they’re not making any noise. You open the door, Pauline,” Judy whispered. “I have the strangest feeling that something is about to happen.”

Pauline hesitated, glanced at Judy and caught her hand as the door swung open. Neither of the girls had touched it!