With a sigh of disappointment, Mary Louise thanked the clerk and left. Nothing had been gained by that visit.
“It must be lunch time,” she decided, after glancing in vain at her wrist, where she was accustomed to wear her watch. “I guess I’ll go back to the house.”
The minute she entered the door of Stoddard House, the most terrible commotion greeted her. A woman’s shriek rang through the air; someone cried out, “Catch her—she’s fainted!” the elevator doors slammed, and people appeared from everywhere, in wild confusion.
Mary Louise dashed through the door to the desk just in time to see Mrs. Macgregor, the wealthy widow who lived in room 201, drop down on the bench beside the elevator. Women pressed all around her prostrate figure: guests, maids, Mrs. Hilliard, and the secretary, Miss Horton, who offered a glass of water to the unconscious woman. But nobody seemed to know what it was all about.
Presently Mrs. Macgregor opened her eyes and accepted a sip of the water. Then she glared accusingly at Mrs. Hilliard.
“I’ve been robbed!” she cried. “Five hundred dollars and a pair of diamond earrings!”
“Do you feel any better now, Mrs. Macgregor?” inquired Mrs. Hilliard, as the stricken woman sat upright on the bench.
“Better!” she repeated angrily. “I’ll never feel better till I get my money back again.”
Mary Louise repressed a smile. Macgregor was a Scotch name.
“Now, tell us how it happened,” urged Mrs. Hilliard. “When did you first miss the money?”
“Just a few minutes ago, when I came out of my bath.” She became hysterical again. “Lock the doors!” she cried. “Search everybody! Call the police!”
Mary Louise caught Mrs. Hilliard’s eye.
“Shall I?” she asked.
Mrs. Hilliard nodded. “And tell the janitor to lock the doors and station himself at the front to let the guests in who come home, for the girls will be coming into lunch from work. Today’s a half holiday.”
By the time Mary Louise had returned, she found the crowd somewhat dispersed. The servants had gone back to their work, but several new arrivals had joined Mrs. Hilliard and Mrs. Macgregor. The two Walder girls, about whom Mary Louise had heard so much, were there, and Mrs. Hilliard introduced them. They were both very attractive, very much the same type as Mary Louise’s own friends in Riverside. Much more real, she thought, than Pauline Brooks, with her vivid make-up and her boastful talk.
“That is a great deal of money to keep in your room, Mrs. Macgregor,” Evelyn Walder said. “Especially after all the robberies we’ve been having at Stoddard House.”
“That’s just it! It was on account of these terrible goings-on that I took the money and the diamonds from a little safe I have and got them ready to put into the bank. Somebody was too quick for me. But I’m pretty sure I know who it was: Ida, the chambermaid!”
“Oh, no!” protested Mrs. Hilliard. “Ida has been with me two years, and I know she’s honest.”
“Send for her,” commanded Mrs. Macgregor.
While they were waiting for the girl to appear, Mrs. Macgregor explained more calmly just what had happened.
“I had the money and the diamonds in a bag on my bureau,” she said. “I was running the water in my bathroom when I heard a knock at the door. I unlocked it, and Ida came in with clean towels and a fresh bureau cover. While she was fixing the bureau cover, I hurried back to the bathroom, put the towels away, and turned off the water. My bath salts fell out of the closet when I opened the door to put the towels away, so I was delayed two or three minutes gathering them up. I heard Ida go out and close the door behind her, and I got into my bath. When I came back into the bedroom, my bag was gone.”
“But you didn’t scream immediately,” observed Mrs. Hilliard. “You must have waited to dress.”
“I had dressed in the bathroom, before I knew the bag was stolen.”
“Wasn’t anybody else in your room all morning, Mrs. Macgregor?” Mary Louise couldn’t help asking.
“Only Miss Stoddard. She had gone out to buy me some thread—she does my mending for me—and she stopped in on her return from the store and took some of my lingerie to her room.”
At this moment the chambermaid, a girl of about twenty-two, approached the group. Either she knew nothing about the robbery, or else she was a splendid actress, for she appeared entirely unconcerned.
“You wanted me, Mrs. Hilliard?” she inquired.
“Listen to the innocent baby!” mocked Mrs. Macgregor scornfully.
Ida looked puzzled, and Mrs. Hilliard briefly explained the situation. The girl denied the whole thing immediately.
“There wasn’t any bag on the bureau, Mrs. Macgregor,” she said. “I know, because I changed the cover.”
“Maybe it wasn’t on the bureau,” admitted Mrs. Macgregor. “But it was somewhere in the room. You’re going to be searched!”
The girl looked imploringly at Mrs. Hilliard, but the latter could not refuse to grant Mrs. Macgregor’s demand.
“I can prove I didn’t take any bag,” said Ida. “By Miss Brooks. I went right into her room next and made her bed. She can tell you I did. She was just going out—I’m sure she’ll remember.”
“Is Miss Brooks here?”
“I think she left the hotel about fifteen minutes ago,” stated Miss Horton, the secretary. “Before Mrs. Macgregor screamed.”
“Well, we can ask her when she comes back,” said Mrs. Hilliard. “Where were you, Ida, when I sent for you?”
“Still in Miss Brooks’ room,” replied the girl tearfully. “I was running the vacuum cleaner, so I never heard the disturbance.”
Mrs. Hilliard turned to Mrs. Macgregor. “If Ida did steal your bag,” she said, “she would have to have it concealed on her person. Mary Louise, you take Ida to my apartment and have her undress and prove that she isn’t hiding anything.”
Without a word the two girls did as they were told and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Mary Louise felt dreadfully sorry for her companion, who by this time was shaking and sobbing. She put her arm through Ida’s as they entered Mrs. Hilliard’s apartment.
“You know, Ida,” she said, “if you did do this it would be lots easier for you if you’d own up now. The police are bound to find out anyhow, sooner or later.”
“But I didn’t, miss!” protested the other girl. “I never stole anything in my life. I was brought up different. I’m a good girl, and my mother would die if she knew I was even accused of stealing.”
Instinctively Mary Louise believed her. Nevertheless, she had to do as she was told, and she carefully made the search. But she found nothing.
Satisfied, she took the girl back to Mrs. Hilliard. The police had already arrived, and more of the hotel guests had returned. Miss Stoddard was sitting beside Mrs. Macgregor, and Mary Louise longed to suggest that she—or rather her room—be searched.
However, the police attended to that. One officer took each floor, and everybody’s room was systematically gone through. But the valuable bag could not be found.
The doors of the hotel were unlocked, and everybody was allowed to go in and out again as she pleased. Mary Louise watched eagerly for Pauline Brooks, hoping that she would prove Ida’s alibi, but Miss Brooks did not return. Undoubtedly she had a date somewhere—a lively girl like Pauline could not imagine wasting her Saturday afternoon on “females,” as she would call the guests at Stoddard House.
The dining-room doors were thrown open, and Mary Louise and Mrs. Hilliard went in to their lunch together. The older woman seemed dreadfully depressed.
“Mrs. Macgregor is leaving this afternoon,” she said. “And the Weinbergers go tomorrow. If this keeps up, the hotel will be empty in another week.... And I’ll lose my position.”
“Oh, I hope not,” replied Mary Louise. “Everybody can’t leave because things are stolen, for there are robberies everywhere. The big hotels all employ private detectives, and yet I’ve read that an awful lot of things are taken just the same. Some people make their living just by robbing hotel guests. So, no matter where people go, they run a risk. Even in homes of their own.”
“Yes, that’s true. But Stoddard House has been particularly unlucky, and you know things like this get around.”
“I’m going to do my best to find out who is the guilty person,” Mary Louise assured her. “And this morning’s robbery ought to narrow down my suspects to those who were at the house at the time. At least, if you can help me by telling me who they are.”
“Yes, I think I can. Besides Mrs. Macgregor and myself, there were only Miss Stoddard, the two Weinbergers, Mrs. Moyer, and Miss Brooks. All the rest of the guests have positions and were away at work.”
Mary Louise took her notebook and checked off the list.
“That does make it easier, unless one of the help is guilty. They were all here at the time.... But of course the thief may be that same man who stole my watch.”
“Yes, that’s possible, especially if he is an accomplice of one of the guests—of Miss Stoddard, for instance.”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about her. She was in Mrs. Macgregor’s room, you know.” But Mary Louise did not tell Mrs. Hilliard about seeing Miss Stoddard sneaking out of the pawnshop.
“You better go to a movie this afternoon, Mary Louise, and forget all about it for the time being,” advised the manager. “Shan’t I ask the Walder girls to take you along? They usually go to a show.”
“No, thanks, Mrs. Hilliard. It’s very thoughtful of you, but I want to go back to the department store and make another inquiry about the lost girl I’m trying to trace. I’d like a chance to talk to Miss Stoddard too, and to Pauline Brooks when she comes back. Maybe she saw the thief, if she came out of her room when Ida said she did.”
“Well, do as you like. Only don’t worry too much, dear.”
Mary Louise finished her lunch and went out into the open air again. Now that she was becoming a little more familiar with the city, she thought she would like to walk along Chestnut and Walnut streets, to have a look at the big hotels and the expensive shops. The downtown district was thronged with people, shopping, going to matinées, hurrying home for their weekend holiday; the confusion was overwhelming after the quiet of Riverside. But Mary Louise enjoyed the excitement: it would be something to write home about.
At Broad and Walnut streets she stopped to admire the Ritz Hotel, a tall, imposing building of white stone, where Pauline Brooks had said that her aunt usually stayed when she was visiting Philadelphia. What fun it would be to have luncheon or tea there some day! If only she had somebody to go with. Perhaps Pauline would take her, if she asked her. Mary Louise wanted to be able to tell the Riverside girls about it.
Half a block farther on she saw Pauline herself coming towards her, accompanied by a stout, stylishly dressed woman and a very blond girl of her own age.
“That must be Pauline’s aunt,” Mary Louise thought, noticing what a hard, unpleasant face the woman had, how unattractive she was, in spite of her elegant clothes. “No wonder Pauline doesn’t want to live with her!”
“Hello, Pauline!” she said brightly. It was wonderful to meet somebody she knew in this big, strange city.
Pauline, who had not noticed Mary Louise, looked up in surprise.
“Oh, hello—uh—Emmy Lou,” she replied.
Mary Louise laughed and stood still. “We’ve had all sorts of excitement at Stoddard House, Pauline. I want to tell you about it.”
The woman and the blond girl continued to walk on, but Pauline stopped for a moment.
“You mean besides last night?” she asked.
“Yes. Another robbery. Mrs. Macgregor——”
“Tell me at supper time, Emmy Lou,” interrupted Pauline. “These people are in a hurry. I’ve got to go.”
Mary Louise was disappointed; she did so want to ask Pauline whether Ida’s story were true. Now she’d have to wait.
She continued her walk down Walnut Street until she came to Ninth, then she turned up to Market Street and entered the department store where she had made the inquiries that morning concerning Margaret Detweiler.
There were not so many people visiting the employment manager that afternoon as in the morning: perhaps everybody thought Saturday afternoon a poor time to look for a job. Mary Louise was thankful for this, and apologized profusely for taking the busy woman’s time again.
“I couldn’t find anybody by the name of Ferguson at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel now,” she said, “or any trace of Margaret Detweiler at all, there. But after I left the hotel it occurred to me that if you would give me the address that Margaret had while she was working here, I might make inquiries at the boarding house, or wherever it was that she lived. They might know something. Do you think that would be too much trouble?”
“No trouble at all,” replied the woman pleasantly. She told the clerk to look in the files again. The address was a number on Pine Street, and Mary Louise asked where that street was located, as she copied it down in her notebook.
“Not far away,” was the reply. “You can easily walk there in a few minutes.” She gave Mary Louise explicit directions.
It was a shabby red-brick house in a poor but respectable neighborhood. A colored woman answered Mary Louise’s ring.
“Nothing today!” said the woman instantly, without giving Mary Louise a chance to speak first.
“I’m not selling anything,” replied the girl, laughing. “I wanted to ask the landlady here about a girl named Margaret Detweiler who used to live here. Could you ask her to spare me a minute or two?”
“All right,” agreed the servant. “Come in.”
She ushered Mary Louise into a neat but gloomy parlor, and in a couple of minutes the landlady appeared.
“I understand you want to ask me about Miss Detweiler?” she inquired.
“Yes,” answered Mary Louise. “I am trying to find her for her grandparents. The employment manager of the department store said she lived here. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is. Miss Detweiler lived here for about five months. She seemed like a nice quiet girl, with no bad habits. She paid regular till the last month she was here, when she took sick and had to spend a lot of money on medicines and doctor’s bills. Then, all of a sudden, she slipped away without payin’ her bill, and I never saw her again.”
“She owes you money?” demanded Mary Louise.
“No, she don’t now. A couple of weeks after she left, she sent it to me in a registered letter. So we’re square now.”
“Didn’t she send her address?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Where was the letter postmarked?”
“Center Square. A little town up the state.”
“Do you still have the envelope?”
“No, I haven’t. But I remember the name, because I used to know folks at Center Square.”
“Didn’t Margaret say anything in her letter about how she was getting on or what she was doing?” asked Mary Louise.
“There wasn’t any letter. Just a folded piece of paper.”
“Oh, that’s too bad! And what was the date?”
“Sometime in January. Let’s see, it must have been near the start of the month, for I remember I used some of that money to buy my grandson a birthday present, and his birthday’s on the seventh.”
“Well, I thank you very much for what you have told me,” concluded Mary Louise. “Maybe it will lead to something. I’ll go to Center Square and make inquiries. You see,” she explained, “Margaret Detweiler’s grandparents are very unhappy because they haven’t heard from her, and I want to do all in my power to find her. Margaret is all they have, and they love her dearly.”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“And may you have good luck, my dear child!” she said.
When Mary Louise returned to the hotel, she found everything quiet. She went immediately to the fourth floor; Mrs. Hilliard was in her sitting room, knitting and listening to the radio.
“Has anything happened since I left?” asked the girl eagerly.
“No,” replied the manager. “Except that another guest has departed. Your friend Pauline Brooks came back, packed her bag, paid her bill, and left. Of course, she was only a transient anyway, but the hotel is so empty that I was hoping she would stay a while.”
“I met her on the street with her aunt,” Mary Louise said. “But she didn’t have time to talk to me. Did you question her about Ida’s story?”
“Yes, and she said it was true that Ida did come into her room to make the bed at that time, because she, Miss Brooks, had slept late. But she didn’t know how long the maid had stayed because she left the hotel before Mrs. Macgregor discovered her loss and screamed. So it is possible that Ida went back into Mrs. Macgregor’s room.”
“Personally I believe the girl is innocent,” stated Mary Louise.
“So do I. As I said, she has been with me two years, and I have always found her absolutely trustworthy. It probably was a sneak thief. The police are on the lookout for somebody like that.”
“Did you talk to Miss Stoddard?”
“No, I didn’t. She went out this afternoon.”
“She’ll bear watching,” remarked Mary Louise.
“I think so too,” agreed the other.... “Now, tell me what you did with yourself this afternoon.”
Mary Louise related the story of her visit to Margaret Detweiler’s former boarding house and the scant information she had obtained. “Is Center Square far away?” she asked.
“Oh, a couple of hours’ drive, if you have a car. But do you really think it would do you any good to go there? The girl was probably only passing through and stopped at the postoffice to mail her letter to the landlady.”
“Yes, I am afraid that is all there was to it. But I could at least make inquiries, and after all, it’s the only clue I have. I’d never be satisfied if I didn’t do the very best I could to find Margaret for her grandparents.”
Mary Louise stayed a little longer with Mrs. Hilliard; then she went to her own room to dress for dinner. But suddenly she was terribly homesick. Jane and the boys would be coasting all afternoon, she knew, for there would still be plenty of snow left in the country, and there was a dance tonight at another friend’s. Max would be coming for her in his runabout; she would be wearing her blue silk dress—and—and——Her eyes filled with tears. Wasn’t she just being terribly foolish to stay here in Philadelphia, missing all those good times? And for what? There wasn’t a chance in the world that she’d discover the thief, when even the police were unsuccessful.
“But I’ll never learn to be a detective until I try—and—learn to accept failures,” she told herself sternly, and she knew that, all things considered, she had not been foolish. It might be hard at the time to give up all the fun, but in the long run it would be worth it. She ought to be thanking her lucky stars for the chance!
Somewhat reassured, she dressed and went downstairs to the reception room, where the radio was playing. She found the two Walder girls, whom she had met at noontime when Mrs. Macgregor raised the commotion. Mary Louise greeted them cordially.
“It’s beginning to rain,” said Evelyn Walder, “so Sis and I thought we’d stay in tonight and try to get up a game of bridge. Do you play, Mary Lou?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Mary Louise. “I love it. Whom shall we get for a fourth? Mrs. Hilliard?”
“Mrs. Hilliard doesn’t like to play, and besides, she has to get up and answer the telephone so much that she usually just knits in the evenings. Maybe we can get one of the Fletcher girls.”
“No, I heard Lucy say that they had a date,” returned Ruth Walder.
Mary Louise looked disappointed; she was so anxious to meet all the guests at Stoddard House. She had an inspiration, however. “How about Miss Stoddard?” she asked. “Does she play?”
The other two girls looked at Mary Louise in amazement.
“Sure, she plays bridge,” replied Evelyn. “But we don’t want her! If you don’t mind my slang, I’ll say she’s a pain in the neck.”
Mary Louise smiled: she thought so too.
“Mrs. Weinberger is nice, even if she is a lot older than we are,” observed Ruth. “And she loves to play, because her daughter goes out every Saturday night with her boy-friend, I think.”
The others agreed to this suggestion, and Mrs. Weinberger accepted the invitation immediately. So the evening passed pleasantly, but Mary Louise did not feel that she had learned anything of value to her job.
The party broke up about ten-thirty; Mary Louise went to her room and took out her notebook.
“It’s getting so confusing,” she mused. “So many things stolen, so many people involved. These two robberies since I came—the one in my room last night, and Mrs. Macgregor’s today—make five in all. I wonder if they could all have been done by the same person. Maybe—maybe it’s a secret band of some kind! With Miss Henrietta Stoddard as its leader!”
Her one determination, when she awakened the next morning, was to have a talk with Miss Stoddard. Accordingly, after breakfast she asked Mrs. Hilliard how that could best be arranged.
“Miss Stoddard always goes to Christ Church,” was the reply. “Why couldn’t you plan to go with her?”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Mrs. Hilliard! I always did want to visit Christ Church—we read so much about it in history.”
“I’ll ask her to take you with her,” offered the manager, “when she comes out of the dining room.”
The arrangement was easily made, and a couple of hours later Mary Louise met Miss Stoddard in the lobby of the hotel. Today the spinster was not wearing the shabby brown suit; indeed, she looked quite neat and stylish in a dark blue coat trimmed with fur.
The rain had washed most of the snow away, and the sun was shining, so both Mary Louise and Miss Stoddard thought it would be pleasant to walk down to Second and Market streets, where the historic church was situated. For a while they talked of its significance in colonial Philadelphia, and Miss Stoddard promised to show Mary Louise the pew in which George Washington and his family had worshiped.
It was Miss Stoddard, however, who gave the conversation a personal turn.
“You saw me come out of that pawnshop yesterday, didn’t you, Miss Gay?” she inquired. “I wanted to ask you not to say anything about my visit to Mrs. Hilliard or to any of the other guests.”
“But it is nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Stoddard,” protested Mary Louise. “Lots of people pawn things.”
“I know. But not women of my type, usually. I’m rather hard pressed for money now, so I sold an old brooch of my mother’s. It didn’t bring much.”
Mary Louise nodded and looked at her companion. But she could not tell whether she were telling the truth or not.
“Then,” continued Miss Stoddard, “my visit might look suspicious to some people—after all these robberies at the hotel.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“But it really proves my innocence, because if I had taken all that money of Mrs. Macgregor’s I shouldn’t be rushing to a pawnshop now to get a little more.”
That was a good point; Mary Louise had not thought of it before.
“Who do you think did all the stealing, Miss Stoddard?” she asked point-blank.
“The Weinberger girl! I suppose you’d call her a woman, but she seems like just a girl to me. She and the young man she goes with are in league together. I think he’s out of work, and the two of them have been planning to get married. So they’ve been stealing right and left.”
“Even her own mother’s watch?”
“Yes, even that.”
Mary Louise was silent. It was an entirely new idea to her. Yet it was possible; the Weinbergers had been at Stoddard House ever since the things began to be stolen. If Hortense Weinberger were going to marry this young man of hers, she could use the silverware, the vase, and the painting in her new house or apartment. The watches could be pawned, and the money would be enough to keep the young couple for a while.... Yes, the explanation was logical.
“I have reason to believe that this couple will elope tonight,” announced Miss Stoddard.
Mary Louise’s eyes opened wide with excitement. “If that man is the thief, and if I can see him to identify him,” she said, “maybe that will solve the mystery. You remember, Miss Stoddard, a man stole my watch. He was short and of slight build—but of course I couldn’t see his face. Is Miss Weinberger’s friend like that?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him. But I overheard a phone call, and Hortense Weinberger said she’d slip out about eleven tonight. Could you be watching then?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Mary Louise joyfully. Oh, suppose it were true, and she could identify the man! Wouldn’t it be too wonderful?
“I think you’re terribly clever, Miss Stoddard,” she said, “if you really have found the solution. It will mean so much to Mrs. Hilliard. She has been worried to death.”
They had been so interested in their conversation that they did not realize how near they were to the church. In another minute they were walking reverently into the old building, and for the next hour and a half, robberies and mysteries were forgotten in the solemn beauty of the service. Nor did they refer to the subject afterwards, but walked back to the hotel talking about historic Philadelphia.
Mary Louise went to her room after dinner and wrote down everything Miss Stoddard had said about Hortense Weinberger. The explanation was so plausible that she could hardly wait for the evening to come, with her chance to identify her own particular burglar. If he were the man who had entered her room, the whole thing would be solved and she could go home for Christmas! Oh, how glad she was that she had had that talk with Miss Stoddard!
In the midst of her daydreams a knock sounded at the door. A maid handed her a card with the name “Max Miller” engraved on it.
Mary Louise let out a wild whoop of joy and, not waiting to explain, dashed past the maid and down the steps to the lobby. And there he was. Good old Max—looking handsomer than ever! Mary Louise could have hugged him in her delight.
“Max! You angel!” she cried. “How did you know I’d be so glad to see you?”
“Because I knew how glad I’d be to see you,” he replied, still holding onto her hand.
Mary Louise withdrew it laughingly.
“Women talk,” she reminded him, glancing about her.
“O.K.,” he grinned. “How are you? Solved your mystery yet?”
“Oh no. I’ve had my own watch and five dollars stolen—that’s all!”
“And you call this a good time! Well, Mary Lou, you certainly can take it.... But haven’t you had enough, little girl? Please come home with me!”
Mary Louise’s eyes flashed in anger.
“Is that what you came here for, Max Miller?” she demanded.
“No—oh, no! I didn’t expect you’d come home. I just wanted to see you, so I drove down. Started early this morning. Now let’s go places and do things!”
“Where? You can’t do much in Philadelphia on Sunday.”
“Anywhere. We can take a drive and have our supper at some nice place away from this henhouse.”
“Now, Max——”
“Get your coat and hat. There’s a good girl.”
“But, Max, you must be sick of driving. And if you expect to start back tonight——”
“I don’t. I’m staying over at the Y.M. for a couple of days. So I can watch you. Now, don’t get excited! I have your parents’ consent. In fact, they thought it was a bully idea. You may be a wonderful detective, Mary Lou, but just the same you’re a darned pretty girl. And pretty girls alone in strange cities....”
“I have Mrs. Hilliard,” she reminded him.
“Yes, I know. That’s what makes itlookall right. But it doesn’t make you safe, just the same. You could easily be kidnaped.”
“You’re not going to follow me everywhere I go, are you?” she asked, in concern.
“No. Just keep an eye on you for a couple of days. And maybe help you a bit. With a car at your disposal, you may be able to clear up things quicker and go home in time for the senior prom. That’s my little scheme, in a nutshell.”
“It will be wonderful,” agreed Mary Louise. “I’ll admit there have been moments when I’ve been homesick, Max.” Her eyes brightened. “I know where I want to go this afternoon! To Center Square.”
“Where’s that?”
“I don’t know. Out in the country somewhere—you can look it up on your map.”
“O.K. I’m ready, Mary Lou. The car is at the door. Run up and get your hat and coat. Wrap up warmly. It’s a lot warmer, and most of the snow’s gone, but you know my runabout isn’t like a heated limousine.”
In five minutes she was back again, looking very pretty in her squirrel coat, with its matching toque. Leaving word for Mrs. Hilliard that she would not be back for supper, she got into the car with Max.
As the couple started, Mary Louise explained why she wanted to go to Center Square: that her project had nothing to do with the thefts at the hotel but was the hope of tracing Margaret Detweiler. And she told her companion the facts she had learned about the girl.
“I’m even more anxious to find her than to solve the mystery at Stoddard House,” she said, “because of those two old people. It’s just too dreadful for them.”
Max nodded. He knew the Detweilers and felt extremely sorry for them. Everybody in Riverside liked them and pitied them in their distress.
“I just can’t bear to tell them that Margaret was dismissed from the department store for stealing,” she added.
“I wouldn’t,” advised Max. “Better tell them nothing at all than that. It wouldn’t help any and would only cause them unhappiness.”
Mary Louise asked about everything that had happened at Riverside since she had left. It had been only two days, but it seemed like an age. Max described the party the night before, but it was a poor affair without Mary Lou, according to his idea, and he had left early so he could get off at daybreak this morning.
The day was clear and warm, and except for the slush on the roads the drive was delightful. The young people were happy to be together again and enjoyed every minute of it.
It was already dusk of the short winter day when they arrived at Center Square and stopped at the country hotel.
“We’re going to want dinner in an hour or so,” Max told the clerk. “But first we want to see whether we can locate a girl who was here late last winter. Did a young woman named Margaret Detweiler ever register here?”
The clerk obligingly looked through his book. But the name was not there.
“She’s tall and slender and very dark,” said Mary Louise. “Has wavy hair and an olive complexion.”
The clerk shook his head.
“No, I don’t remember seein’ anybody like that around. Not many strangers come here—except automobile parties sometimes, stoppin’ to eat.”
“Are there any empty houses she might have rented?” was Mary Louise’s next question.
“None rented as I know of. There’s some abandoned houses around, places where people sometimes come just for the summer.”
“Where?”
The clerk gave the directions.
“Now one more question. Where does the postmaster live? For of course the postoffice is closed on Sunday.”
“Sure it’s closed. But the postmaster lives right over top of it. Across the street a way from here.”
Mary Louise and Max went there next and were fortunate enough to find the man at home. When Mary Louise told him about the registered letter and described the girl, he said he believed he did remember. So few people came to the little country town; still fewer registered letters. But Margaret hadn’t stopped in a car, he thought—she had walked from somewhere. No, he was positive she hadn’t been boarding with any of the folks around, or he’d have heard of it.
Well, that was something definite! Maybe she was hiding in one of those empty houses the clerk had spoken of, to escape from the police.
Max turned his car off the main highway into a little dirt road, almost impassable with its slush and snow. He stopped in front of the first empty house which the clerk had described. It was dark and forlorn.
“There would be some sort of light if anybody were living there,” observed Max.
“You can’t tell,” replied Mary Louise. “If Margaret were hiding, she’d be careful about lights. Let’s get out and look.”
“But why should she hide? Didn’t you tell me the employment manager promised not to send her to jail?”
“Yes, but you don’t know what crimes she’s committed since. If she were behaving herself, wouldn’t she have written to her grandparents? Either she’s dead or she’s doing something wrong.”
They waded through slush over their shoe-tops but could see no signs of any life. Mary Louise decided to try another house.
“It’s a wild theory, Mary Lou, but you’re the doctor,” agreed Max. “So long as my bus’ll run, I’m game.”
“You are a sport, Max! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Men are helpful sometimes, aren’t they?”
“I guess they’re absolutely necessary,” replied Mary Louise modestly. “I never seem to be able to get along without them.”
“That’s the proper attitude for a girl,” he answered gayly.
Farther along the road they stopped in front of another empty house. It was situated at the top of a steep incline and almost completely surrounded by trees.
“Can you climb that hill, Max?” she asked.
“I can try—if you think there’s any use,” he replied.
It was a difficult task, for the driveway was so covered with slush that it was hard to tell which was road and which was field. But Max made it in low gear, and they came to a stop in front of a barn, under a big tree.
The house was shabby and unpainted; its windows were covered with boards, and its heavy doors without glass. Mary Louise shuddered: it reminded her of Dark Cedars.
Max turned off the motor and jumped out of the car.
“Nobody home, I guess,” he announced.
From her seat in the car Mary Louise stared at the house, peering into the strip of glass above the boards on the windows. She thought she saw a flicker of light, as if a candle were burning. Yes, she was sure of it—and—a face appeared at the window! Two frightened eyes looked right into hers. A second later another face appeared, more plainly than the first, for this person evidently had hold of the candle. The first face had vanished, and Mary Louise saw only that of an exceedingly ugly woman—someone who looked somehow familiar.
That very instant the tiny light went out, and at the same moment Mary Louise sank unconscious in her seat. A stone, hurled from the tree above her, had hit her right on the head!
Max, who was standing on the ground near by, heard the heavy thud of the stone as it hit the floor of the car. Turning about sharply, he saw Mary Louise slumped in her seat, unconscious from the blow. He flung open the door and jumped in beside her.
“Mary Lou! Mary Lou! Are you alive?” he cried desperately.
The girl did not answer.
“Help! Help!” he shrieked, at the top of his lungs.
A mocking laugh sounded from the tree above. Max looked up, but in the darkness he could see no one. How he wished he had his flashlight! But it was behind in the rumble seat, and he daren’t waste a minute; he must get Mary Lou to a doctor with all possible speed.
Starting his engine immediately—for there was no reply to his call for help—he circled around the tree and crept cautiously down the slippery hill, praying as he had never prayed before. Oh, suppose Mary Louise were dead!
With as much speed as he dared put on, he drove back to the Center Square hotel. As he came to a stop he felt a little movement beside him, and Mary Louise raised her head and opened her eyes.
“Where are we, Max?” she asked. “What happened?”
“Oh, my darling!” he cried, flinging his arm around her shoulders. “You are alive!”
The girl managed a feeble laugh.
“Of course I am. My head hurts dreadfully, though. What happened?”
“You were hit by a stone—see it there, on the floor?—from that tree we were parked under. It knocked you out.... Now, can you manage to walk up to the hotel, or shall I carry you?”
“I can walk,” she replied, taking his arm.
In the light of the hotel doorway Max saw the blood running down her neck. He wiped it with his handkerchief.
“Can we have a doctor immediately?” he asked the hotel clerk the moment they were inside the door.
“Yes, there’s one in the dining room now, eating his dinner. I’ll call him. An accident?”