“Especially,” chimed in Gretchen, “after all the detective work you did in those three big cases over to New Canaan this summer and fall.”
“You’ve got it,” declared Dorothy, and sipped her coffee. “A robbery is being planned here, Gretchen, a robbery of some very valuable papers from Doctor Winn’s safe. The thieves will probably try to pull it off tonight. These papers, which have to do with an invention of the Doctor’s are worth a million dollars or more to any number of people. So you see the thieves are playing for big stakes, and I might as well tell you that they aren’t the kind that would let a thing like murder stop them. And now that you know the facts, are you willing to go on with it?”
Gretchen seemed horrified that Dorothy should doubt her. “Oh, Miss Jordan, I don’t want to get murdered any more than anybody else—but, I’m not afraid—honest I’m not!”
“I knew you were true blue,” smiled Dorothy. “So we’ll call it a deal, shall we?”
“You bet!” The two girls solemnly shook hands. “What do you want me to do first, Miss Jordan?” Gretchen asked eagerly.
“Move this tray onto the chair over there, please. Then while I’m taking a bath and dressing you might unpack Janet Jordan’s clothes. I’ll choose something to wear later.”
“Very good, Miss Jordan.” The little maid took the tray, then stopped short, her round blue eyes very serious. “But what about the secret service work?”
“Just carry on as usual for the present.” Dorothy slipped out of bed. “And remember—not a word to anyone about what I’ve told you—not even Mr. Tunbridge. I don’t know myself exactly what I’m to do yet. Mrs. Lawson expects me downstairs in about half an hour, so I’ve got to hustle. If I need your help later on, I’ll get word to you somehow.”
“I hope you will need me, Miss Jordan.” Gretchen was taking Janet’s frocks from the wardrobe trunk.
“And I hope I shan’t!” said Dorothy, and she disappeared into the bathroom.
Dorothy came down the wide staircase a few minutes before eleven-thirty. She wore a dark blue morning frock of her cousin’s, its simplicity relieved only by the soft white collar and deep cuffs. Except for being rather tight across the shoulders it fitted her as though she had been poured into it. She had selected this dress because she knew it was just the sort of thing a new secretary would be expected to wear.
She crossed the broad hall to the open door of the library, and there found Mrs. Lawson standing before a window staring into the storm. Although Dorothy’s footsteps made practically no sound on the thick pile of the handsome Bokhara rug, the woman turned like a flash at her entrance.
“Oh, good morning, Janet.” The frown on her face gave way to a pleasant smile. “I hope you were comfortable last night. Did you sleep well?”
“I dropped off as soon as my head touched the pillow,” she answered, taking Mrs. Lawson’s outstretched hand. Dorothy did not believe in telling a lie unless it was in a good cause; but when necessary, she invariably made the lie a good one.
“I hope the storm didn’t wake you,” smiled Laura, holding Dorothy’s hand.
Dorothy did not reply at once. Two long fingers were lightly pressing her wrist, and she saw that Mrs. Lawson’s eyes had strayed to the grandfather’s clock in the corner of the room. “Test number one,” she said to herself. “Mrs. du Val, alias Lawson is counting my pulse. Well, I’ve got a clear conscience, perhaps I can give her a shock.” She drew her hand away and answered the woman’s question in her normal voice. “Oh, the storm! No, I never heard it, Mrs. Lawson. If that hot lemonade had been drugged, I couldn’t have slept any sounder!”
“What makes you say that?” snapped her employer, and beneath the velvet tone, Dorothy sensed the ring of steel.
She dropped her eyes, and turning toward the open hearth, held out her hands to the crackling blaze. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said sweetly and like the clever little strategist that she was, opened her own offensive in the enemy’s territory. “I have the bad habit of occasionally walking in my sleep, Mrs. Lawson—and especially when I spend the night in a strange bed. Perhaps it’s nervousness—I don’t know.”
Mrs. Lawson threw her a sharp glance. “Sit down, Janet,” she suggested, pointing to a chair near the fire, and taking one herself across the hearth. “You’re—I mean, you don’t seem to be at all nervous this morning.”
“Good old pulse!” thought Dorothy. Then aloud—“No, I feel splendidly, thank you. But, you see, I didn’t walk in my sleep last night.”
“But surely you can’t tell when you do it!”
“Oh, yes, I can.” Dorothy’s manner and tone were those of the simple schoolgirl proud of an unusual accomplishment.
“You don’t expect me to believe that you know what you’re doing when you walk in your sleep, Janet. That’s impossible!”
“Not while I’m sleepwalking, Mrs. Lawson. That wasn’t what I said—but when I have been sleepwalking—there’s a difference, you see?”
“Well?” The lady of the house objected to being contradicted and took no trouble to hide it.
“It’s really very simple,” explained Dorothy, painstakingly, as though she were speaking to a rather stupid child. “I found out how to do it. You see, I’ve been walking in my sleep ever since I was a little thing. When I get in bed at night I leave my slippers on the floor beside it pointed outward—away from the bed. We all leave them that way, I guess. It’s the natural thing to do.”
“But what have slippers got to do with it?” Laura was becoming impatient.
“Everything, so far as I’m concerned, Mrs. Lawson. When I’ve been walking at night, I always find them in the morning beside the bed, but pointingtowardit. I evidently slip them off before I get back into bed, and—”
“I’m beginning to think you are quite a clever girl, Janet.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Dorothy with a guilelessness that was sheer camouflage. “Has anybody been saying I’m stupid? I’ve always stood high in my classes at school.”
“Oh, not stupid, child—but nervous—perhaps a little unbalanced, especially this past week.”
Dorothy raised her heavy lashes and looked Mrs. Lawson squarely in the face. This might be a test she was undergoing and it probably was; but here was a heaven sent chance to stir up discord in the enemy’s camp. She must work up to it gradually.
“I know that I was nervous and upset past all endurance.” She leaned forward, her hands on the arms of the chair. “How would you like your father to lock you in your bedroom for a week, without ever coming to see you, or giving you any explanation for such outrageous treatment? Am I a child to be handled like that? To be shipped up here to strangers, whether I wanted to go or not? How would you feel about it, Mrs. Lawson, if you were me? Don’t say you would submit to it sitting down.”
“But I am taking you on as my secretary,” the lady hedged. “Offering you a good position for which you’ll be paid twenty dollars a week. That’s not to be thought of lightly, especially in these times.”
“But it doesn’t seem to strike you that I might like to have something to say about it,” Dorothy replied calmly. “As for the salary—that’s no inducement. My mother left me five thousand a year. I came into the income on my last birthday, so you see I have nearly a hundred dollars a week, whether I work or not.”
“I didn’t know that, of course,” Mrs. Lawson admitted and none too graciously. “Your father wants you to be here while he’s away. I hope you aren’t going to be difficult, Janet.”
“I hope not, Mrs. Lawson. I shall be glad to stay here for a while and do the work you’d planned for me; but if I do, it must be as a guest and not as a paid dependant.”
“But you are a guest, Janet.”
“I shall not accept a salary, Mrs. Lawson.”
“Very well, my dear, if you wish it that way.”
“Thank you very much.”
“To get back to our former topic,” Mrs. Lawson said, and lit a cigarette. “I can understand that your father’s conduct in confining you to your room might be exasperating—but why should it make you nervous? And my husband tells me that when he visited you in your room you acted as though you were in deadly fear of something or somebody every time he saw you. What was the trouble, Janet? Was anything worrying you?”
“Yes, there was, Mrs. Lawson.”
Dorothy looked down at the andirons, and her hands on the chair arms twisted embarrassedly. From the corner of her eye she saw a smile of satisfaction light up the older woman’s face. She knew she was playing with fire and that Mrs. Lawson was watching her as a hawk watches its defenseless prey before it strikes. But all unknown to her inquisitor, Dorothy had been leading her into this trap as a move forward in her own game. Genuine dislike for the woman as well as a mischievous impulse on her part drew her to make the scene as dramatic and convincing as possible.
“Yes—I—I—was afraid,” she went on, dragging out the words slowly.
“Then don’t you think you’d better tell me about it, Janet? I’m nearly old enough to be your mother. Let me take your mother’s place, dear. Give me your confidence. I feel sure I’ll be able to help you, child.”
This reference to Janet’s dead mother by a woman who was the vilest kind of a hypocrite swept away Dorothy’s last compunction. She herself was going to commit justifiable libel. Mrs. Lawson, on the other hand, was attempting to lead Janet Jordan into a confession of shamming sleep at the fateful meeting a week ago. And such a confession meant a sentence of death from this beautiful siren who gazed at her so winningly, who puffed a cigarette so nonchalantly while she waited for an unsuspecting girl to commit herself.
“Well, I don’t know—I can’t help hesitating to tellyou, Mrs. Lawson,” Dorothy began timidly.
“There’s no need to be afraid of anything,” replied the woman, only half veiling the sneer that went with the words.
“Oh, but you see, there is, Mrs. Lawson!” Dorothy’s manner was still indecisive. “I don’t want—in fact, I hate awfully to hurt you this way.”
“Hurt me!” Mrs. Lawson’s cigarette snapped into the fireplace like a miniature comet. “Hurt me, child? What in the wide world are you talking about?”
“Just what I say, Mrs. Lawson.”
Mrs. Lawson sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Janet. Out with it now. What did you fear when you were locked in your room?”
“Your husband, Mrs. Lawson.”
“My husband!”
“Yes.”
“But—why—I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, very well. You asked the question, I was trying to answer it, that’s all.”
Mrs. Lawson bit her lip. She was furious. “As long as you’ve said what you have, you’d better go on with it,” she said acidly.
“There isn’t any more,” returned Dorothy. “That’s all there is.”
“But surely he must have given you reasons for your assertion.” Mrs. Lawson had walked beautifully into Dorothy’s trap. Her own plan to snare an unsuspecting girl had been blotted out by the shadow of the Green Goddess, Jealousy. “Tell me what my husband did or said to make you fear him, and tell me at once.”
“It wasn’t what he did, Mrs. Lawson—it was the way he looked.”
“What do you mean—the way he looked?”
Dorothy had thrust a painful knife into the mental cosmos of her adversary. Now she deliberately turned it in the wound. “Very probably,” she said quietly, looking her straight in the eyes, “you can remember how Mr. Lawson looked when he first made love to you. I don’t want to be made love to, and I don’t likehim, Mrs. Lawson.”
“What did you do?”
“I told him to leave me—and when he would not go, I simply walked into my bathroom and locked the door.”
“But what happened the next time he came? Martin went in to see you every day, didn’t he?”
“He did. But he talked to me through the bathroom door. Just as soon as I heard the key turn in the lock I’d hop in there.”
The man she had been talking about must have been listening just outside in the hall, for now he strode into the room and up to Dorothy. “That,” he said menacingly, “is a deliberate lie, Miss Janet Jordan!”
Dorothy looked up and smiled carelessly at the man. “You’re very polite, Mr. Lawson. Perhaps it isn’t my place to say it to a man old enough to be my father—but eavesdroppers rarely hear good of themselves.”
Martin Lawson, who prided himself upon his youthful appearance, grew angrier than ever. “I—I won’t stand for such outrageous libel,” he thundered. “I’ve always treated you as though you were my own—well, daughter, if you like.”
“Idon’tlike it, Mr. Lawson—but that doesn’t make any difference,” Dorothy’s tone was one of pained acceptance. “If you listened long enough, you will know that I didn’t bring this matter up myself. Mrs. Lawson was asking questions and I was trying to answer them, that’s all. If you prefer it, I’ll say that it was the wind whistling outside the windows that made me afraid.” She looked over at Mrs. Lawson, who was watching them through half shut eyes, as though to say, “—you understand, of course—anything for peace.”
Martin Lawson intercepted the glance and became even more furious, if that were possible. “You—you little viper!” he snarled. “Laura, don’t you believe a word of it. The whole thing’s her own invention—a pack of lies!”
“A silly schoolgirl fancy, if you like, Martin.” Laura Lawson’s tone was expressionless. “But I can understand it just the same. Yes, I can understand it.”
“What do you mean—you understand it?”
“I was a girl once myself,” she replied in the same colorless tone. “And then, you see, I know you very, very well.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“He’s off again,” sighed Dorothy, but quite to herself.
“And you have the nerve to insinuate—?” the angry man went on, beside himself with rage. “You know as well as I do, Laura, that this girl was afraid because of what she saw and heard at the meeting. She—”
“That will be quite enough, Martin.” His wife interrupted him sharply. “And what is more—you probably have not noticed that since Janet has been here and with other people, she is very much herself—and afraid of nothing at all.”
“What meeting is he talking about, Mrs. Lawson?” Dorothy pointedly ignored the angry husband.
Mrs. Lawson stood up. “Never mind that now,” she decreed, albeit pleasantly. “Come along with me to my office. I have some typing I’d like you to do for me before luncheon. Martin!” She swung round on her husband. “You will wait here for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes—I want to talk to you.” She slipped her arm through Dorothy’s and drew her from the room.
Once in the entrance hall, she led her back and under the gallery to a corridor which opened at the right of the broad stairs. Dorothy saw that there were several doors in the right hand wall. Mrs. Lawson stopped at the second of these and opened it.
They walked in and Dorothy saw that they were in the office. It seemed very businesslike and austere after coming from the luxury of the library and spacious hall. Near the one window stood a broad table desk, and opposite that a typewriter desk. Two steel filing cabinets and three plain chairs completed the room’s furnishings. The walls were hung with framed blueprints and a large-scale map of Fairfield County, Connecticut.
Mrs. Lawson took some papers from a drawer in the large desk and handed them to Dorothy. “This is in longhand, as you see,” she explained, “please type it, double space, and I’d like to have a carbon copy.” She glanced at a small wrist-watch set with diamonds. “It is just noon now. Luncheon is at one. Do you think you can finish the work by that time?”
Dorothy glanced at the manuscript. “This won’t make more than four typewritten sheets. I can do it easily in an hour and have time to spare.”
“Good!” The older woman patted her lightly on the shoulder. “Take your time about it. Do you think you can read my handwriting?”
“Nothing could be plainer, Mrs. Lawson.” Dorothy smiled back at her.
“Very well, then. I’ll see you at lunch. The dining room is across the hall from the library.”
At the door, she stopped and turned as though she had just remembered something.
“Don’t let what my husband said bother you, Janet.”
“That’s forgotten already,” Dorothy said easily.
“Like most men, he flies off the handle when irritated. Pay no attention to it.”
“I understand.”
Mrs. Lawson hesitated for the fraction of a second. “By the way, Janet,” she remarked. “When was the last time you walked in your sleep—that you found your slippers pointed toward your bed in the morning?”
Dorothy pretended to think. “Let me see,” she said slowly. “Yes—it was the night before Daddy locked me in my room! I found that I couldn’t get out in the morning, and naturally, I wanted to know the reason why. I still do, for that matter. Except for some foolishness about my being ill, I’m still waiting for an explanation. As a matter of fact, I was perfectly well. I’m terribly annoyed, of course, and it worries me to think that Daddy should act this way, but so far as my health goes, I’ve never felt better.”
“I’m glad to hear it, dear. We’ll check up on your father when he returns. I’m your friend, you know. Don’t let the matter prey on your mind.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lawson. I’ll try to do as you say.” Dorothy thought she was going then, but it seemed that the woman had still another question that she had been holding back.
“When you are in this somnambulistic state,” she said, “when you are sleepwalking, I mean, doesn’t it terrify you to awaken and find yourself out of your bed?”
Dorothy frowned and seemed puzzled. “Perhaps it would,” she admitted. “But then, you see, I can’t remember ever wakening while I was walking during the night. I must sleep very soundly. At school the night watchman or one of the teachers would frequently find me walking about the building. They would lead me back to bed, or just tell me to go there, and I would always obey. Until they told me about it next day, I knew nothing of course. That’s how I got onto the business of the slippers, you see.”
“Oh, yes. I wondered how you’d been able to check on it. Well, I must trot along now and let you get to work. Until luncheon then, my dear.”
She was gone at last and Dorothy made a face at the closed door. “Of all the plausible hypocrites I’ve ever met,” she muttered, “you certainly take the well known chocolate cake!”
She sat down at the typewriter desk, pulled out the machine, and slipped in two sheets of paper and a carbon that she found in one of the drawers. Halfway through a perusal of Mrs. Lawson’s first page, she looked up. The door opened quickly and Mr. Tunbridge came into the room.
“I’ve just a moment,” he prefaced hurriedly. “They mustn’t find me here. What was the row in the library?”
Dorothy explained briefly.
“Fine! Put you through the hoops, eh? I had a good idea she would do something of the kind. You came out of a difficult situation with flying colors, I take it. But be careful about run-ins with Lawson. He’s a slick article—in fact, the two of them are a pair of the slickest articles it’s ever been my misfortune to run across. And they’re going it hammer and tongs in the library right now. I was a bit worried about you, that’s why I took this chance.”
“When do I get my instructions for tonight?”
“Late this afternoon, probably. I’ll get them to you somehow.”
“Thanks. And here’s something else. This script I’m going to type for Mrs. L. has to do with the properties of a highly explosive gas which seems to burn up everything it comes in contact with and lets off fumes of deadly poison while it’s doing that! Shall I make a copy for you?”
“Please do!” His hand rested on the doorknob. “Yes, it’s important that we have a copy. That’s the stuff Doctor Winn has just invented, without a doubt.”
“Awful!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Just think what would happen if that were used in a war!”
“That’s the government’s business, Miss Dixon.”
“‘Ours but to do—and die—’” she quoted and her tone was deadly serious.
“Quite right. But make the carbon copy just the same—and don’t let them catch you at it.”
“I won’t, Mr. Tunbridge.”
“Bye-bye, then. I’ll get along now. There may be some home truths floating out of the library that will give me extra dope on the du-Val—Lawson pair.”
The door closed, and after slipping an extra carbon and a sheet of very thin copy paper into the typewriter, Dorothy read Mrs. Lawson’s treatise on “Winnite and Its Properties” from start to finish.
“Horrible!” she murmured, as she finished reading. “Simply horrible!” Again her eyes sought the last paragraph. “The effect is easily estimated of an airplane dropping a single bomb filled with the explosive, inflammable and deadly poison gas, Winnite, upon Manhattan Island, for instance: the bomb would explode upon detonation and within an inconceivably short space of time, not only would the City of Greater New York be in flames, but every living thing within that area would be dead from the poison fumes. This includes not only human, animal and insect life, but all vegetable matter as well.”
Dorothy sighed. “And I am supposed to help keep this terrible stuff from the hands of thieves so that our government may use it in time of war. Well—we’ll see—and that’s not that by a long shot!”
She put down the manuscript and began to type it.
Dorothy, upon finishing the article on Winnite, laid the original and first carbon copy of the typewritten sheets on Mrs. Lawson’s desk. The almost transparent sheets of the second carbon copy she folded carefully as though she meant to place them in an envelope. But instead of this, her right foot slipped out of its walking pump, the sheer silk stocking followed it. Then she put on the stocking again, but now the soft papers rested between the stocking and the sole of her foot. The pump fitted more snugly than before, although not uncomfortably so. Content with her morning’s work, she had closed the typewriter and was studying the effect of a new shade of powder in her compact mirror when Mrs. Lawson came into the room.
“I take it you’ve finished the work?”
“The original and copy are beside the longhand manuscript on your desk,” said Dorothy, toning down her efforts with the puff. “I’ve read it over and I don’t think you’ll find any mistakes.”
Mrs. Lawson ran her eyes over the typewritten sheets. “They are without a fault,” she declared, placing them in a drawer. “If you take dictation as accurately as you type, Janet, you’ll be the perfect secretary.”
“Thank you,” said Dorothy demurely and slipped the compact into the pocket of her frock. “It is very nice of you to say that.”
“Then we’ll go in to luncheon, shall we? That is, if you’re ready?”
Dorothy stood up. “Quite ready, Mrs. Lawson, and good and hungry, too.”
“Splendid!” enthused her hostess, as they walked down the corridor toward the entrance hall. “Doctor Winn declares this Connecticut Ridge country is the most healthful section of the United States. And even if some people have other ideas on the subject, I can testify that it is a great appetite builder.”
Dorothy smiled, but said nothing. She was wondering how healthful she was going to find this particular spot in the Ridge country after what she had to do tonight.
“Doctor Winn always lunches in his study,” continued Mrs. Lawson. “That is the room just beyond my office. My husband has been called to New York on business. He won’t be back until after dinner tonight, so we will be alone at luncheon.”
For some reason of her own, Laura Lawson had become affability itself. And for this Dorothy gave thanks. That she disliked this truly beautiful creature was only natural. But it is much more pleasant to lunch with a person who puts herself out to be charming and affable, no matter what your private opinion of the other’s character may be.
The dining room proved to be a low-ceiled apartment paneled in white pine; heavy beams of the satin-finished wood overhead, and on the walls several colorful landscapes in oils, evidently the works of artists who knew and loved this Ridge country. A cheerful log fire burned brightly on the open hearth beneath a high mantelpiece. Outside, the heavy snow continued to drive past frosted window-panes, but within all was warmth and coziness.
Dorothy enjoyed the meal thoroughly. Like most girls, she revelled in luxury when it came her way. Not only was her hostess an interesting and entertaining conversationalist, the delicious food served by Tunbridge and a second man in plum-colored knee breeches, added materially to her pleasure. She was really sorry when the butler lighted his mistress’ cigarette and Mrs. Lawson rose from the table.
“I have no work for you this afternoon, Janet,” said the lady, as they strolled into the spacious hall with its suits of polished armor and trophies of war and the chase decorating the walls. “I have some work to complete with Doctor Winn, so I won’t be free to entertain you. There are periodicals and novels in the library. If it weren’t such a beastly day, I would suggest a walk.”
“Oh, I don’t mind a snowstorm!” Dorothy smiled at her. “I’d love to be out in it for a while.”
“But I’m afraid you might get lost. The blizzard is driving out of the northeast—and that means something in this country. You’ll find it more disagreeable than you think.”
“I’m not afraid to walk in a blizzard,” Dorothy argued, “we used to do it a lot at school—I love it.”
“Oh, very well, then,” went on Mrs. Lawson. “I used to enjoy that sort of thing myself. Somebody had better go with you, though. Let me see—” She hesitated. “Oh, yes—Gretchen will be just the person. She’s a nice little thing—a native of Ridgefield, you know. Gretchen can show you round the place, and there’ll be no chance of your getting lost.”
Dorothy was amused by this pretended concern for her safety. She knew that Mrs. Lawson feared she might take it into her head to walk to the railroad station and board the first train back to town. Gretchen as guide and chaperone would be able to forestall anything like that. Mrs. Lawson was not yet sure of the new secretary!
Dorothy’s features betrayed no sign of her thoughts. “That will be ever so much pleasanter than going alone,” she agreed. “Gretchen seems to be a sweet girl. I saw her this morning when she brought my breakfast and unpacked my clothes. I’m sorry, though, that you can’t come too.” Deception, she found, was becoming a habit when treating with her hostess.
“Thank you, my dear—I’m sorry, too.” Mrs. Lawson went toward the tasselled bell rope that hung beside the fireplace. “Run upstairs now and get into warm things. I’ll ring for Gretchen and have her meet you down here in quarter of an hour.”
Fifteen minutes afterward, warmly dressed in whipcord jodhpurs, a heavy sweater and knee-length leather coat of dark green, Dorothy came out of her room onto the gallery, pulling a white wool skating cap well down over her ears. With a white wool scarf twisted about her throat, the long ends thrown back over her shoulders, she looked ready for any winter sport as she ran lightly down the stairs, the rubber soles of her high arctics making no sound on the broad oaken steps.
Gretchen, well bundled up in sweater and heavy tweed skirt was waiting for her.
“You certainly do look like a picture on a Christmas magazine cover, Miss Jordan,” the girl exclaimed, while they walked to the front door. “I’m glad you’ve got warm gauntlets. It’s mighty cold out—you’ll need them.”
Dorothy laughed gaily and swung open the door. “Nothing could be more becoming than your own costume, Gretchen. That light blue skating set is just the color of your eyes.”
“That,” chuckled Gretchen, “is the real reason I bought it.”
They were outside now and standing under the wide porte-cochere of glass and wrought iron.
“It’s glorious out here, and not too cold, either.” Dorothy sniffed the sharp air enthusiastically. “I hate staying indoors on a wild day like this. Look at those big flakes spinning down and sideslipping into the drifts. It makes one glad to be alive.”
“You said it, Miss Jordan. I love it myself—though I never thought of snowflakes being like airplanes before. Which way do you want to go?”
“You’re the leader, Gretchen. Anywhere you say suits me.”
“Then let’s tramp over to the pond, Miss Jordan. The ice ought to be holding. We’ll stop at the garage and fetch a broom along. There’s too much snow for skating, but we might make a slide.”
“That will be fun,” agreed Dorothy, as they came down the steps and swung along the white expanse of driveway. “I haven’t done anything like that since I was a kid. How far’s the pond from here?”
“About half a mile. Doctor Winn owns several hundred acres. It’s down yonder in a hollow. This time of year when the trees are bare, you can see it plainly from the house. Today there’s too much snow.”
“There certainly is plenty of it!” Dorothy was ploughing through the fluffy white mass nearly up to her knees. “A good eighteen inches must have fallen already and it’s drifting fast. If it doesn’t stop by tonight, Winncote will be snowed in for a while. What’s that building over there, Gretchen—gray stone, isn’t it?”
“That’s the laboratory, miss. It’s really a wing of the house. The stables are just beyond, but this storm’s so thick, it blots them out. Well, here we are at the garage. If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll step inside and get a broom.”
“Get two if you can,” suggested Dorothy. “Then we’ll both get some exercise, and they’ll come in handy while we’re getting through the drifts.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Gretchen. She disappeared through a door in the side of the building.
Dorothy looked about her. Rolling clouds of windswept snowflakes made it impossible to see objects more than a few yards away with any distinctness. The dark shadow of low clouds painted the white of her landscape a cold, dull gray. But she noticed, as she waited, that the storm was driving in gusts, that occasionally there would be a short lull when the sun, tinging the sky with rose and yellow, seemed fighting to break its way through to this white-blanketed world. Then Gretchen, a broom in each hand, joined her.
“Whew! that place was stuffy,” she said, handing one of the brooms to Dorothy, and starting ahead at right angles from the way they had come. “Hanley made a fuss giving me two—he would! It’s a wonder the cars don’t melt in there. He keeps the place like an oven. All the help from the city is like that. They can’t seem to get warm enough, and the way they hate fresh air is a caution! I roomed with Sadie, the other chambermaid, when I first came, and you won’t believe it, but that girl had nailed our window shut so it couldn’t be opened! I spoke to Mr. Tunbridge next morning, and he gave me a room of my own. I always did like Mr. Tunbridge. He’s a real gentleman, he is.”
They forged ahead through the drifts to the crossfire of Gretchen’s light chatter, and Dorothy was given a series of entertaining stories concerning the habits of the Winncote servants and their life below-stairs. It was rough going with the storm in their faces, and Gretchen eventually ceased her gossiping from sheer lack of breath. The ground began to slope gently downward, and finally they came to a belt of trees in a hollow. Fifty yards farther on, a broad expanse of white marked the extent of Winncote Pond beneath its thick, flat quilt of snow.
“Think the ice will hold?” Dorothy walked to the brink of the little lake. “I’d hate to go in on a day like this.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I was down here for an hour yesterday afternoon with my skates before the snow began, and it was much warmer then. The ice was wonderful—slick as glass and solid as a rock.”
By dint of considerable exercise they cleared two narrow paths that ran parallel across the ice. Then they commenced a series of sliding contests, each girl on her own ice track. Starting at a line in the snow a few yards above the low bank, they would race forward to the brink and shoot out on the ice, vying with each other to see who could slide the farthest. There were several tumbles at first, but the deep snow along the sides of the tracks prevented bad bumps. Soon, however, they both became adepts at the sport. Dorothy, aided by her extra weight, for she was at least twenty pounds heavier than little Gretchen, invariably won.
After a half an hour of this rather violent sport, they cleared the snow from a fallen tree trunk and sat down for a rest. Here in the hollow, surrounded by trees, the wind lost a great deal of its force. But the snow continued to fall unabated, and their hot breath clouded like steam in the cold air. Their cheeks were tingling crimson from the racing, and both felt in high good spirits.
“I can’t understand why so many rich people go south every winter,” Gretchen said earnestly. “I wouldn’t miss out on this fun—the snow and the skating, tobogganing—for anything in the world.”
“People like that,” decreed Dorothy, “just don’t know how to live. You can have lots of fun in summer, of course. I don’t know which I love the best. But this sort of thing makes you feel just grand. It certainly put the pep into—.” She stopped short and sprang to her feet. From somewhere close by and seemingly below her, had come a low, moaning sound.
Gretchen jumped up. Her doll-like face with its round, blue eyes took on a look of startled wonder. “What was that?” she cried. “It sounded as if I—as if I was sitting on it!”
Again came the low cry in a weird, minor key.
“You were. It’s coming from the inside of this log. An animal of some kind.”
“Why, I guess you’re right. Whatever it is, the thing gave me the heebie-jeebies for a minute.”
The snow had drifted over the butt of the half-rotted tree. Dorothy took her broom and swept it clear.
“The log’s hollow!” she exclaimed and bent down. “Yes, there’s something in there—I can see its eyes—come here, Gretchen! You can see for yourself.”
“Not me!” declared that young woman. “I don’t want to get bit—I mean, bitten, miss.”
“Oh, never mind the grammar.” Dorothy was almost standing on her head, trying to get a better view. “But do cut out the polite trimmings when we’re alone. You’re Gretchen and I’m Dorothy—savez?”
“All right—Dorothy. But please be careful. That thing may jump out at you.”
“I wish it would. Then I’d know what it is. And whatever it is, the animal in there can’t be much bigger than a rabbit. The hole isn’t wide enough.”
“Maybe it is a rabbit.” Gretchen came nearer.
“Did you ever hear a rabbit make a noise like that?” Dorothy’s tone was disdainful.
“Then—maybe it’s a wildcat!” said Gretchen fearfully.
“Well, if it is, it’s a small one. Here, puss—puss. The silly thing is too far in to reach. She just blinks at me.”
“Perhaps she’s hurt and crawled in there to die, Dorothy.”
“Aren’t you cheerful! She probably crawled in there to get out of the storm, and is half-frozen, poor thing.”
“Well, I don’t know what we’re going to do about it,” sighed Gretchen, still keeping her distance.
Once more the low moan came from the log, but now that the end was free from snow, the sound was much clearer.
“That’s no wildcat, either!” Dorothy twisted her head, first to the right, then to the left, in an attempt to get a better light on the log’s occupant. “There’s too much of a whine in that cry. The thing’s probably a young fox. How does one call a fox, Gretchen? I’m hanged if I know.”
“Nor me, neither, Dorothy. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard of anybody wanting to call one.”
They both laughed. “You don’t seem to know much about foxes,” teased Dorothy. “Didn’t you ever see a fox?”
“No. But my father says the way they steal eggs and suck them is a caution.”
“Well,” admitted Dorothy, “we can’t stand around here all day, trying to get frozen foxes out of hollow logs. I’ll try whistling, and you can make a noise like a sucked egg. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to leave him in his lair.” With a wink at the giggling Gretchen, she bent down again and whistled shrilly. “Here, boy!” she called. “Come on out to your mama!”
There was a scrambling noise within the log, and Gretchen started for the pond.
“Oh, be careful, Dorothy! Do be careful!” she cried, as she saw her friend gather a small creature into her arms. “What is it, anyway—is it a fox?”
“No, a first cousin.” Dorothy shook the ends of her wool scarf free from snow and wrapped them around the small animal.
“A first cousin?” Gretchen came nearer. “What in the world do you mean by that?”
“Come and take a look,” her friend invited. “He won’t bite you, will you, boy?”
Gretchen saw her pat a little black nose that poked its way out of the scarf. A long pointed head, brindle and white, in which were set two snapping black eyes, followed the nose. “Why, why, it’s a fox terrier—a fox terrier puppy!” she gasped. “How do you suppose he ever came to crawl into that log?”
Dorothy patted the dog’s head. “Got lost in the storm, I guess. The poor little chap can’t be over three months old. Does he belong up at the house?”
“No, he doesn’t. What’s more, none of the people who live around here have a fox terrier pup that I know of.”
Dorothy examined the pup’s front paws, but did so very gently. “This little man has come a long way.” She covered him again. “The bottom of his feet show it. They’re cut and badly swollen. And he’s half-frozen and starved into the bargain, I’ll bet. Let’s go back to the house and make him comfortable.”
“I’ll carry the brooms,” said Gretchen. “You have an armful, with him. By the way, you’re going to keep him, aren’t you?”
“Surest thing you know! That is, unless someone comes to claim him.”
They trudged off through the trees and up the hill, Gretchen shouldering the brooms.
“What are you going to call him?” she asked, after a while.
“What do you think?”
“Why, I don’t know. Wait a minute, though—there’s a girl who lives over in Silvermine named Dorothea Gutmann. Daddy sometimes does work for her father. Dorothea has a fox terrier pup and she calls him ‘Professor.’ Do you know why?”
“I give up,” said Dorothy, floundering through the snow beside her. “Why does Dorothea Gutmann call her fox terrier pup Professor?”
“Because,” smiled Gretchen in delight, “he just about ate up a dictionary!”
Dorothy laughed merrily, and hugged the warm little bundle in her arms. “And when you’ve got outside a lot of words like that, even a pup would know as much as the average professor, I s’pose.”
“That’s the way Dorothea thought about it. I’ve been over to the Gutmanns a couple of times with Daddy and her dog looks enough like yours to be a twin!”
“We run into doubles nowadays, every day!” Dorothy chuckled. “First it’s Janet and me who can’t be told apart. Then it’s Dorothea’s dog and mine. I know her, too, by the way. She’s in the New Canaan Junior High. But I haven’t seen her puppy. Our names are almost alike, too, but not quite, thank goodness. If any more of this double identity business comes along, I’ll just have to give up. A girl’s got to have some sort of a personality all her own, you know.”
“I wouldn’t let that worry me,” said Gretchen. “There’s only one Dorothy Dixon, after all.”
“Thanks for those kind words, Gretchen. That’s really very sweet of you, though. If the pup was a lady, I’d call him ‘Gretchen’. Since he isn’t, ‘Professor’ will do very nicely. We’ll try him on a dictionary when we get home, that is, after he’s had some nice warm bread and milk, and a good sleep.”
“If,” smiled Gretchen, “what you said just now was meant for a compliment—well, I’m glad Professor is not a lady. You’d better go on to the house, while I drop these brooms in here at the garage. I’ll come to your room just as soon as I can slip into my uniform, and I’ll bring up the bread and milk.”
“I always knew you were a dear,” said Dorothy, and she continued to push her way on toward the house.
After she had changed her clothes and fed the famished pup with a bowl of warm milk and bread, Dorothy took him down to the library. Gretchen brought a small open basket and a blanket and they made him a bed near the open fire. Professor promptly went to sleep, and his mistress curled up in a deep chair beside him, reading and dozing for the rest of the afternoon. To amuse Gretchen, she had placed a dictionary near the basket, to see if Professor would follow his double’s example and so justify his name. When he awoke, however, about four o’clock, he merely jumped out of his bed on to the book, and up to Dorothy’s lap, where he went to sleep again.
“Good ole pup!” Dorothy rubbed his smooth, warm head between his ears. “You show your intelligence by using the dictionary as a stepping stone to better things, don’t you, Prof!”
She yawned, closed her book, and promptly went to sleep again herself.
She awoke with a start, to find Mrs. Lawson smiling down at her. Tunbridge was laying the tea-things on a table at the other side of the fire. “Well, my dear,” the lady said, her eyes on the fox terrier, “I see you’ve found a new friend.”
“Oh, yes, isn’t he just too darling? I found him out in the blizzard, he was half frozen and almost starved!” She went on to tell Mrs. Lawson about it.
“I’m afraid I’m not very fond of animals, Janet.” Dorothy noticed that she did not attempt to touch the puppy. “I don’t dislike them, you understand, but somehow they never seem to like me.”
“That’s too bad,” said Dorothy. “I do hope you won’t mind my keeping him—at least until we learn who his owner is?”
Laura Lawson looked doubtful. “Well, I don’t mind. But—this is Doctor Winn’s house, you know, and his decision, after all, is the one that counts. You will have to ask him about keeping the dog, Janet.”
“Is Doctor Winn going to have tea with us, Mrs. Lawson?”
“He most certainly is, my dear. That is, if you ladies will pour him a cup.”
Dorothy glanced up, and beside her stood an old gentleman, very tall and spare, but bowed with the weight of his years. She knew that the scientist was well over eighty. Catching up the fox terrier, she rose to her feet.
“How do you do, Doctor Winn?” She smiled and offered him her hand.
The old gentleman bent over it with courtly grace. “Good afternoon, Miss Janet Jordan. Welcome to Winncote.” Merry gray eyes twinkled at her from behind pince-nez attached to a broad black ribbon. An aristocrat of the old school, Dorothy thought, as she studied his handsome, clean shaven face crisscrossed with the tiny wrinkles of advanced age. She had imagined him to be quite a different sort of person. His next words proved that he read her thoughts.
“You expected to see a musty old fellow, with a long white beard, wearing a smock stained by chemicals, eh?” He chuckled softly. “Now, tell me, young lady, isn’t that so? Though I admit these flannel slacks and old Norfolk jacket are hardly fashionable habiliments when one is taking tea with ladies!”
He released her hand and smiled a greeting to Mrs. Lawson. The second footman, he of the plum-colored knee-breeches, set the tea table before that young matron, under the supervision of the stately Tunbridge.
Dorothy liked this gallant old scientist and his courtly ways. Her own eyes sparkled gaily back at him. “Yes, you did surprise me, Doctor Winn,” she confessed. “Please don’t think I’m being forward, but—but you seem much more like the English fox-hunting squires I’ve read about, than the world-renowned chemist you really are, with stacks of letters after your name. But ever so much nicer, and jollier, you know!”
Doctor Winn beamed. “Now that, my dear, is a most charming compliment. Old fellows like me aren’t used to compliments from young ladies, either. Do sit down again, please, and tell me how you like Winncote and our New England snowstorms. We old people need young folks around. I can see that we are going to be good friends.”
He sat down in a chair the butler drew up for him.
“Mrs. Lawson will tell you,” replied Dorothy, “that I love it out here in the country.” She accepted a cup of tea from Tunbridge and added sugar and a slice of lemon. The butler was followed by his liveried assistant, bearing silver platters of hot, buttered scones and tiny iced cakes. Professor immediately began to show interest in the proceedings. Dorothy held him firmly out of harm’s way, and placed her tea and eatables on the broad arm of her chair.
Mrs. Lawson looked up from her place behind the shining silver and old china of the tea table. She smiled graciously. “Oh, yes, Janet loves blizzards, too, Doctor Winn. She went out for a walk this afternoon and acquired a fox terrier puppy, as you see.”
“And naturally, she wants to keep him.” The old gentleman leaned forward in his chair, the better to look at Professor. “You certainly may, Janet. And by the way, I hope you’ll agree that it’s an old man’s privilege to call you by your first name?”
“Oh, that is sweet of you!” Dorothy cried delightedly, and the Doctor’s chuckle echoed her pleasure.
“The dog’s got a fine head—a very fine head, indeed. If anybody advertises for him, or comes to claim him, I’ll take pleasure in buying the puppy for you.”
“Why, you’re nicer every minute,” declared Dorothy. “Isn’t he, Professor?”
The pup yawned with great indifference, which set all three of them laughing. His mistress put him in his blanket where he promptly curled up and fell into slumber once more.
“I sadly fear,” said Doctor Winn, as he polished his pince-nez with a white silk handkerchief, “that you are a good deal of a flirt Janet. But inasmuch as I am old enough to be your grandfather, or great-grandfather, for that matter, you are pardoned with a reprimand.” He chuckled deep in his throat, a habit he had when pleased. “Now tell me, how you happened to find him out in the snow.”
Dorothy recounted the story in detail. When she came to the part about Gretchen’s fear of the wildcat and the fox, even Mrs. Lawson, who was none too sure she liked the turn things were taking, broke into a merry peal of laughter.
“Capital, capital!” Doctor Winn beamed. “I only wish I’d been there to see it. But why, may I ask, do you call him Professor?”
Dorothy explained about the dictionary and Gretchen’s idea of the pup’s resemblance to Dorothea Gutmann’s fox terrier.
“Better and better,” exclaimed the Doctor. “This is the jolliest tea we’ve had in this house for ages. We need young people around us to be really happy. You and I and Martin, Laura, have been working too hard of late. ‘All work and no play’—We’ve been bothering too much about things scientific, and neglecting things personal. Well now, we can rest a while, and become human beings again.”
Mrs. Lawson leaned forward eagerly. “Then, the formula is complete?” she asked in a low voice, in which Dorothy detected the barely controlled tremor of excitement.
“Yes, indeed. Finished and locked in my safe. I added the final figures and quantities three-quarters of an hour ago. Tomorrow, or if the weather doesn’t clear by then, the next day at latest, I shall take it on to Washington.”
“I congratulate you, Doctor. And I know that once it is in the hands of the government, a great load will be taken off your mind.”
“You’re right, my dear, you are right. I’ve been jumpy as a cat with eight of its lives gone for the past year.” He turned to Dorothy. “Thank goodness, you’re young and without responsibilities, Janet. There are so many unscrupulous people about nowadays. If those papers were lost or stolen, there is no telling what would happen. I dare not think of it. The whole world might suffer if that formula got into the wrong hands!”
Dorothy could not help thinking that the world at large would be much better off if the formula were destroyed. She, therefore, merely nodded and looked impressed. How this gentle, kindly old man could have brought himself to invent such a ghastly menace to life, she found it difficult to understand.
Laura Lawson stood up. “Doctor Winn likes to dine early, Janet, so if we are to be dressed by six-thirty, we had better start upstairs.”
“My word, yes!” The old gentleman snapped open the hunting case of his repeater and got stiffly to his feet. “Time flies when one is enjoying oneself. It’s nearly six o’clock. This has been very pleasant indeed, the first of many afternoons, I hope.” He snapped the watch shut and returned it to his pocket. “You ladies will excuse me, I’m sure.” He bowed to them both, and holding himself much more erect than he had formerly, walked stiffly from the room.
“He’s simply darling,” exclaimed Dorothy in a hushed voice.
“Yes, he’s a very simple and a very fine old gentleman,” said Laura Lawson. She seemed lost in her thoughts and evidently unaware that she uttered them aloud. “Sometimes—I hate to hurt him so.”
“Why—why, what do you mean?” Dorothy could have bitten her own tongue out for speaking that sentence.
“Mean—? Oh, nothing, child. Run along now, and change. But take your dog with you. I’ll see that one of the men gives him a run in the stables while we’re at dinner.”
“Thank you very much,” said Dorothy. She turned the sleeping pup out of his bed, caught up the basket, and with Professor at her heels, ran lightly from the room.
Just outside the door she collided with Tunbridge, and Professor’s basket was jerked from her grasp.
“Oh, I’m so very sorry, Miss Jordan!” His acting was perfect. Dorothy knew that Mrs. Lawson was close behind them. Then as they both stooped to retrieve the basket their heads came close together. “Under your pillow!” It was hardly more than the breath of a whisper, but Dorothy caught the words, nodded her understanding, and stood up.
“I’m afraid I’m to blame, Tunbridge. I didn’t see you coming.”
“Not at all, Miss. It was my fault, entirely. Very clumsy of me I’m sure!”
From the corner of her eye Dorothy caught a glimpse of Laura Lawson watching them from the doorway.
“Don’t let it worry you, Tunbridge. I’m not hurt, neither is the basket. Professor will probably park himself on mypillowtonight, anyway. Puppies have a way of doing such things, you know. So it really wouldn’t matter much if you had smashed it.”
She gave him a nod, and picking up the dog made for the staircase.
“So instructions are waiting under my pillow,” she mused, as she slowly mounted the broad stair. The afternoon had been a pleasant one, but the evening, with those instructions ahead of her, portended to be something quite different. It had been so nice and cheerful, chatting round the tea table; so cozy sitting before the glowing logs, just talking of jolly things and forgetting all worry and responsibility. Of course, beyond the curtained windows, the blizzard howled. And it whipped the swirling snowflakes into disordered clouds with its arctic lash before it let them seek the shelter of their fellows in the drifts. She felt very much as though she too were a snowflake, tossed hither and thither on the storm of circumstance, to be whipped forward by the secret lash of underlying crime.
If she could only drop down on to her bed and sleep—and awake to find it all a bad dream! She sighed and went toward her door on the gallery. Her pillow held no peace for her tonight—nothing more nor less than detailed instructions as to how Tunbridge wished her to rob a safe. Why didn’t the man do his own stealing? Her part was to take Janet’s place out here, and kill suspicion in Laura Lawson. Well, she’d done that, hadn’t she? And now they loaded this other job on to her. It wasn’t fair. She had done enough—she’d—
“Oh, shucks!” She pulled herself up mentally as her hand fell on the doorknob. “I’ll be losing my nerve altogether, if I let my thoughts run on this way. D. Dixon, you justmust notfunk it!”
She turned the knob and entered her room.
When Dorothy went down to dinner that evening, she knew exactly what she had to do. After reading Tunbridge’s note which she found had been slipped between the pillow case and the pillow itself, she had memorized the combination to Doctor Winn’s safe, and destroyed the missive as she had his warning of the night before. After a bath and a complete change of clothing, she felt refreshed and in a much better frame of mind. She had selected one of the prettiest gowns in Janet’s wardrobe, a turquoise blue crepe, with a cluster of silver roses fastened in the twisted velvet girdle, put on slippers to match, and surveyed the result in the mirror.
“Decidedly becoming, my girl,” she smiled at her reflection, and gave a last pat to her shining bob that she had brushed until it lay like a bronze cap close about her shapely head. “Might as well look my best at my criminal debut!” She made a face at herself, turned and kissed the sleeping puppy in his basket, and went downstairs.
Doctor Winn and Mrs. Lawson were standing talking in the entrance hall, near the fireplace. The old gentleman, dressed in immaculate dinner clothes, looked more than ever like the English squire in his ancestral hall. He came forward to meet her, both hands outstretched.
“As charming as an English primrose and twice as beautiful!” he greeted gaily.
“Thank you kindly, sir.” She dropped him a little curtsey and let him lead her to Mrs. Lawson.
“Our little secretary has blossomed into a very lovely debutante,” he beamed.
Dorothy bit her lip, remembering her own phrase of a few moments before, then smiled at her employer. Mrs. Lawson was regal in black velvet, trimmed in narrow bands of ermine. She returned Dorothy’s smile, and lifted her finely pencilled brows at the Doctor. “Oh, you men. You are all alike. A pretty gown, a pretty face intrigues you, young or old. Pay no attention to his flattery, Janet. I can hardly blame him, though. You look lovely tonight. That is an exquisite frock. Did you buy it abroad?”
“Oh, no, at a little place on fifty-seventh street.” Of course Dorothy had no idea where Janet had bought the dress. “It is a Paris model, though, Mrs. Lawson.”
“I thought as much. Ah, here comes Tunbridge with the cocktails. I wonder which side of the fence you are on?”
“I’m—I’m afraid I don’t know quite what you mean, Mrs. Lawson.”
“I’ll explain,” broke in the old gentleman. “I’m the prohibitionist in this house, Janet. Mrs. Lawson is one of the antis. She likes a real cocktail before dinner. I prefer one made of tomato juice.”
Mrs. Lawson had already helped herself to a brimming glass and a small canapé of caviar from the silver tray Tunbridge was holding.
“Oh, I love tomato cocktails,” smiled Dorothy. She took one from the man and helped herself to the caviar. “Daddy asked me not to drink until I was twenty-one—and I’m not so keen on the idea, anyway.”
“I try to keep an open mind about such things,” the Doctor said seriously, “but I’ve never found that the use of alcohol did anyone any good. Well, here’s your very good health, ladies!” He raised his glass of tomato juice and drank.
Dinner was announced a few minutes later. Doctor Winn offered his right arm to Mrs. Lawson and his left to Dorothy and they walked into the dining room. Dorothy did not enjoy that meal as much as she had her luncheon. True, the food was delicious and the panelled room with its cheerful fire on the hearth and the soft glow of candle light was delightfully homey, while Doctor Winn’s easy chatter and fund of interesting reminiscence helped to break the tedium of the courses. But Dorothy found it difficult to play up to his amusing sallies. The old gentleman appeared to be in very good spirits indeed. Laura Lawson, on the other hand, was unusually quiet. At times she seemed distrait and merely smiled absently when spoken to. She drank several glasses of claret, but hardly touched her food. Dorothy felt surer than ever that the Lawsons had planned their coup for tonight. She shrewdly surmised that this cold-blooded adventuress had become fond of the genial, fatherly old man, and realized that at his age the blow she contemplated might very well prove a fatal one.
As the dinner wore on, Dorothy felt more and more ill at ease. The sight of Tunbridge, soft-footed and efficient, waiting on table or superintending his satellite of the plum-colored kneebreeches, sent her thoughts to the night’s work ahead every time the detective-butler came into the room. She was glad when at last the meal was over and they repaired to the library where after-dinner coffee was served. Dorothy rarely drank coffee in the evening, but tonight she allowed Tunbridge to fill her cup a second time. There must be no sleep for her until the wee hours of the morning, and she knew from former experience that the black coffee would keep her awake.
Mrs. Lawson, after wandering aimlessly about the room, finally picked up a technical magazine and commenced to read. Doctor Winn suggested a game of chess to Dorothy. She was fond of the ancient game and told him so. Many a tournament she and her father had played with their red and white ivory chessmen. Dr. Winn was a brilliant player, of long experience. Soon he began to compliment Dorothy upon a number of strategic moves. But although several times she managed to place his king in check, it was invariably her own royal chessman who was checkmated in the end. As the evening wore on, the beatings became more frequent, for Dorothy simply could not keep her mind on the game.
For a while she sat watching the log fire and talking to the Doctor in a desultory way while Mrs. Lawson continued to read. Then as the grandfather clock chimed ten, Laura Lawson laid down her magazine and stood up.
“I think I’ll go to bed now, if you don’t mind.” The half stifled yawn, sheer camouflage thought Dorothy, was nevertheless a masterpiece of deception. “I’ve a bit of a headache, so I’ll say good night.”
Doctor Winn and Dorothy got to their feet. “I’m for bed myself,” announced the old gentleman, “and in spite of the coffee you drank after dinner, I know you’re sleepy, Janet. Your chess playing toward the end proved it.” His eyes twinkled at her. “But in storm or clear weather, there’s nothing like the air of this Connecticut Ridge Country to make one eat and sleep. By the way, Laura, when do you expect Martin?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Doctor—he won’t be back tonight. He phoned me from town just before dinner, that on account of the blizzard, he had decided to stay in until tomorrow. If you need him sooner, he said to call up the Roosevelt. He always stops there, you know.”
“Yes, yes, but I shan’t need him, thank you.” He turned to Dorothy. “The railroad has taken upon itself to discontinue all service to Ridgefield,” he explained. “Branchville is our nearest station, and driving will be difficult tonight. There must be very deep drifts by this time.”
“I should think it would be mighty unpleasant to get stuck out in a blizzard like this. I’m glad I don’t have to go out into it. But in a way I’m thankful for the snow, because we ought to have a white Christmas, and it’s ever so much more fun.”
“Bless my soul! I’d entirely forgotten that Christmas comes next week. Well, this year we must celebrate the Yuletide in the good old fashioned way. Thank you, Janet, for reminding me.”
Good nights were said, and a few minutes later Dorothy was again alone in the Pink Bedroom. Or so she thought, as she entered. But at once she noticed that a single shaded wall-light sent a pleasant glow from the bay window, and curled up in the cushioned recess, Gretchen was reading.
Dorothy stopped short in surprise and the girl sprang to her feet. “Oh, Miss—Miss Jordan, Mr. Tunbridge told me to come and help you undress and get ready for the night. Of course I didn’t know if you would want me—” then she added in a whisper, “but he thought you might be sort of blue and I could cheer you up, I guess.”
Dorothy smiled at Gretchen’s pretty, earnest face. “Why, of course I want you, Gretchen. Tunbridge is very thoughtful. I’ve never had the luxury of a personal maid and I don’t know that I’ll ever feel helpless enough to need one! But if you want to stay and talk, I’d love it.”
“But I can help you, too,” Gretchen insisted. “I’m not really a trained maid, you know, but Nanette—that’s Mrs. Lawson’s French maid—has been teaching me. Gee, I’d certainly love to beyourpersonal maid, Miss Jordan.”
“Well, you may be, some day, who knows?” she laughed. “But you can help me tonight, though there’ll be no bed for me until much later.”
Gretchen, who was arranging the pillows and smoothing the covers on the bed, turned her head sharply. “Secret Service Work?” she queried in an excited whisper.
Dorothy nodded and tossed her dress on to a chair. She continued speaking in a tone just above a whisper. “At twelve o’clock tonight I’ve got to go downstairs and commit justifiable burglary in Doctor Winn’s office. The real thief will be along later—at least, I hope so, for everybody’s sake. In the meantime I want you to do something for me—will you?”
“I sure will, miss—gee, this is exciting!”
“Don’t let it cramp your style.” Dorothy laughed, and pulling off her stocking, she handed Gretchen the packet of thin paper, the manuscript on “Winnite” that she had typed that morning. “When you finish up in here, I want you to find Mr. Tunbridge and give him these papers. You’d better pin it inside your uniform now, and be very careful that nobody sees you giving it to him.”
“You can trust me,” declared Gretchen, and she put the papers safely within her dress. “Is Mr. Tunbridge really a detective?”
“He certainly is, Gretchen.”
“I’d never have guessed it if you hadn’t told me. But then, I suppose not looking like one makes him all the better?”
“That’s the idea.” Dorothy put Janet’s quilted satin dressing gown on over her pajamas. “Now that I’m ready for bed, and you’ve put all my clothes away so nicely, I think you’d better run along, Gretchen. Not,” she amended, “that I wouldn’t love to talk to you while I’m waiting for twelve o’clock, but we must not let certain people in this house get wise to our friendship.”
“And Mrs. Lawson is one awful snoopy lady,” Gretchen observed candidly. “Well, good night, Miss Jordan. Thank you a lot for letting me in on this. I’ll see that Mr. Tunbridge gets your papers all right. Good night—and take care of yourself.” She stood before Dorothy with an anxious frown on her honest brow. “I sure do wish you the very best luck!”
Dorothy grinned. “Thank you. I certainly need it. Good night.”
The door closed upon the little maid and Dorothy looked at her wrist watch. It was ten minutes to eleven. For a time she sat on the edge of her bed and stared unseeingly at the rug under her feet. Presently she got up, locked her door, turned off her lights and went over to the window. She drew aside the curtains and was surprised to see that it had stopped snowing. There was no moon, but what sky she could see was fairly a-crackle with stars. The heavy blanket of snow looked silver in the starlight. A remote world and cold. Dorothy allowed the curtains to drop back into place, and sat down on the window seat. Lost in thoughts pleasant and unpleasant, she sat there for the next hour, while the faint noises of the big house gradually subsided into stillness.
At exactly five minutes to twelve, Dorothy raised the window, letting in the cold night air. Then she turned off the heat and got into bed. After lying there for possibly a minute, she threw back the covers, thrust her feet into the fur-lined slippers she had left at the bedside and moved like a dim shadow to the closet.
It was crowded with Janet’s suits, coats and frocks, and she was careful not to disturb them on their hangers, as she pushed between them in the darkness to the rear wall and pressed her foot on the board in the corner. The panel slid upward with a noiselessness that spoke for well-oiled machinery somewhere in the walls. Dorothy stepped cautiously through the opening. Her fingers sought the handle to this sliding door, found it, and she pulled the panel down again.
Then for the first time she made use of the small flashlight which she carried in the pocket of her gown. She saw that she was standing on the top step of a narrow circular stair that wound downward. Off went her light again—she was taking no unnecessary chances tonight—and with her hand on the metal handrail, she felt her way slowly down the stair, holding her free hand well in advance of her body.
When her extended fingers touched a wall that blocked further progress, she felt with a slippered foot out to the right. The board gave slightly, the wall panel moved upward and she stepped forth to find herself in the great fireplace of the entrance hall, just beyond the embers of the dying logs. The hall was illuminated in the dim glow of a night light in the ceiling. As she turned to pull down the sliding shutter, there came a streak of white from the dark passage and Professor bounded into the hall.
Dorothy was completely startled, and just as exasperated as she could be. She could not call him, for the slightest sound might bring the wakeful enemy to the spot. The pup, after his long sleep, was playful, and scampered about madly, his bright eyes watching her every move. She attempted to catch him, but he eluded her with an agility that made her still more angry. He seemed to think that this was a splendid game, raced across the floor in high glee, but ever watchful to keep beyond her reach.