The Third Girl Detective

by Margaret Sutton

  “Well, it was a person-to-person call, but I don’t know whom she was calling. All I heard was the New York telephone number. I guess it’s a business place, because she kept asking for an extension number. I remember the number because it’s an easy one and it’s like one I called a lot when I was a secretary at Interstate Insurance. It’s—”

  “Wait.” Vicki turned on the bedside lamp, took a slip of paper from her purse, and wrote down the New York number. It was not familiar to her.

  “I’m going to keep this number, Lucy.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I don’t know at the moment. Don’t worry. I won’t do anything to embarrass you or get you in trouble. I think you’re already in trouble, being here in this isolated house almost as a prisoner. Why, Lucy, you’re being held here incommunicado! Don’t you realize that?”

  “But I—Mrs. Heath is so nice to me.”

  “Nice! Yes, on the surface, in little things. You’re letting your sympathies blind you to the facts. I’m a great deal more suspicious of this woman and these living arrangements than you are. Listen to me, Lucy! I think you’d better get out of here. Fast. This is an unhealthy situation for you. I wish you’d fly out of here with me tomorrow morning.”

  Lucy hesitated. “It’s so sudden. I need time to think, though what you’re saying is true—I need to think about my grandparents, too. I hardly know how I feel about them.”

  She was leaving the question open. Vicki was dissatisfied with that. Once she herself had left this hidden house, she might not be able to gain entrance and see Lucy again, and she would not be able to communicate with Lucy by telephone or letter. This was their only chance, tonight, to set up some arrangement to help Lucy leave. To escape, actually—because Mrs. Heath would not want to let the girl go.

  Vicki thought hard. If she came back here to get Lucy, she’d better not use a plane and alert Mrs. Heath a second time. She’d better use a car, which she could rent, and which she could park out of sight and sound down the road from the house. Lucy could meet her there. They’d need a signal for the day and hour. If only she could use the telephone! Well, she could, in a way.

  “Lucy, do you know the telephone number in this house?”

  “Yes, I got it from the telephone company man when he hooked up the phone here for us. It’s—” Vicki wrote it down.

  “Lucy, I’m going to come back here secretly and get you. I’ll be waiting in a car at the first sharp curve at the top of the road. It will be noon. All you’ll have to do is slip away and run down the road. Don’t take any luggage with you, not even a coat or purse, nothing to arouse Mrs. Heath’s suspicion. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but—You’re really going to do all this for me? You honestly think I’m not safe here?”

  “Lucy, pay attention! I’ll be waiting at noon.”

  “What day?” The girl sounded frightened.

  “I don’t know the day yet, but on that morning I’ll send you a signal by telephone. I know you can’t receive a phone call, but here’s a way. The telephone will ring, Mrs. Heath will answer it, and I’ll say—”

  Vicki stopped. No, she would be driving from San Francisco to Pine Top that morning. Someone else would have to make that call. The minister? Yes, she could rely on Mr. Hall to do it. Vicki resumed:

  “Mr. Hall, not I, will telephone on that morning. Early, before his church service, if it’s a Sunday. Mrs. Heath will answer and he’ll say it’s the telephone company making a test call, and hang up. Then he’ll call again, right away. You’ll hear the phone ring a second time, but when Mrs. Heath answers, he’ll hang up without speaking. As if it were an error.”

  “And Mrs. Heath will be annoyed enough to mention the two phone calls to me. I’ll be listening every morning for the phone to ring. To ring twice.”

  “Good girl.” Vicki sighed. “I’d much rather you’d fly out of here with me in the morning. It would be surer and safer.”

  “I—I can’t.”

  “Well, the morning you hear the telephone signal, you’re to meet me at noon. Promise, Lucy?”

  The girl took a deep breath. “Promise. But I’m scared.”

  “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  They whispered good night and Lucy crept back to her room.

  CHAPTER X

  The Signal

  Vicki’s departure the next morning did not go well. For one thing, Mrs. Heath was suspicious when Vicki “repaired” the plane engine. “So easily?” she said—and Vicki wondered how much the woman guessed. For another thing, Lucy was fearful again this morning when Vicki hinted, “It’s such a fine, clear day. Just come for a little flight, Lucy.” One look at Lucy’s face showed she longed to leave.

  Mrs. Heath said quickly to Lucy, “I’m not feeling well again this morning. Please don’t leave me alone.”

  Lucy looked at the older woman almost guiltily. “Maybe someday I’ll take a ride with you, Vicki,” was the most the girl would say.

  Her employer sighed. “You girls probably think me very strict, but I’d like to remind you that I’m half ill, I have important work to do. You know very well, my dear,” she said to Lucy, “that I need you.”

  The woman played on the girl’s pity, and Vicki saw that Lucy had not the heart to walk out openly. Also, as Lucy herself had pleaded last night, she obviously needed more time to think. There was nothing now Vicki could do except thank them both and climb into the plane.

  Just before she slammed the door, Vicki called:

  “I should be back in the San Francisco area by noon. Noon.”

  Lucy nodded. She and Mrs. Heath walked a safe distance away from the plane, waving to her. In minutes Vicki took off.

  From the air, the hidden house quickly sank out of sight. Oddly enough, she reached Novato Airport, outside San Francisco, precisely at noon.

  * * * *

  Who was Mrs. Heath? This was what Vicki wanted to learn now. Who was this woman who had coincidentally appeared at the Hotel Alcott and out of the blue offered Lucy a job? Why was she detaining Lucy?

  And who was the “Lucy Rowe” in New York? The girl who had flown into New York on Vicki’s plane, yet had not then worn the silver ring? Suddenly Vicki remembered an incident of that flight with its near-emergency landing—the lost gold charm inscribed Dorothy! It had fallen off someone’s bracelet or out of someone’s purse or pocket. Yet when the stewardess tried to return the valuable trinket, no one had claimed it. Why not? Did Dorothy not wish to identify herself?

  Suppose, Vicki thought in a flash of insight, that the alleged Miss L. Rowe on that flight was actually Miss Dorothy “Somebody.” In that case she wouldn’t dare claim the inscribed charm—it would publicly reveal her to be an impostor. And by now Vicki was convinced that the dark-haired “Lucy” at the Bryants’ house was in fact an impostor.

  “Or am I only guessing about the charm?” Well, she could think of ways to find out when she was again in New York. This afternoon she had other points to check.

  That telephone number in New York which Lucy said Mrs. Heath had called—apparently a business place—who was at the other end? Vicki tried a bold plan. She asked on her hotel phone for that New York number herself.

  She heard the connection go through, heard the San Francisco operator say, “San Francisco calling,” and give the New York operator the number, then a telephone ringing three thousand miles away—ringing as clearly as if it were next door. A crisp, businesslike voice answered. “Two-three-four-five. Good afternoon.”

  Vicki was disappointed. She had hoped that whoever answered would say the firm name—if there were a firm name in this case.

  “Hello?” said the voice in her ear.

  “Hello,” Vicki replied, and swallowed nervously. “This is Mrs. Heath calling.” There, the step was taken!

  “Oh, yes, Mrs.
Heath. One moment, please, and I’ll ring Mr. Dorn.”

  Mr. Dorn! He and Mrs. Heath were linked! She’d never suspected it—Thurman Dorn’s voice came on.

  “Hello, Mother,” he said.

  Vicki nearly dropped the telephone. She was careful not to answer, not to make a sound.

  “Mother? Is anything wrong? Whatever are you doing in San Francisco?” A pause. “Hello? Mother? Hello!”

  Vicki held her breath. She hoped Dorn would think something had gone wrong with their telephone connection. He repeated his hellos, then buzzed his receptionist, and demanded, “What’s happened to my San Francisco call, Sally?”

  “You’re still connected, Mr. Dorn.”

  Now his voice sounded angry. “Mother? Is that you? Hello?”

  Dorn hung up, and Vicki hung up, too. Whew! Her heart was banging away over the discovery.

  In the next instant Vicki realized that by pretending to be Mrs. Heath, she had put herself in a dangerous position. Even more, she had put Lucy in danger! For Thurman Dorn could easily check by calling Mrs. Heath. Then, when she informed him that Vicki Barr had flown in as an uninvited guest at the hidden house, and that Lucy had half wanted to leave with her, Dorn would know Vicki Barr was on their trail. And Lucy might really disappear.

  “Oh, what have I done!” Vicki groaned.

  But it was done now, and no use fretting about it. She had gained an immensely valuable piece of information, but at a high price. She had known all along that the search for Lucy was risky. One thing stood out urgently—now that she had probably aroused Dorn’s suspicions, she must get Lucy out of that hidden house and away from Mrs. Heath as soon as possible. Tomorrow, or next day at the latest. Time was of the essence. She and Lucy would need time, too, to reach the Bryants and some degree of safety. But she was scheduled for a Federal flight day after tomorrow, Sunday. Time!

  Vicki at once telephoned the Federal Airlines office at San Francisco’s International Airport, and asked for her Flight Stewardess Supervisor. But Miss Middleton was in a conference which would last the rest of the afternoon, and no one else was authorized to change Vicki’s flight schedule.

  “Please tell Miss Middleton,” Vicki said into the phone, “I’ll come in to see her tomorrow, at eight in the morning.” A day lost, and no help for it. A day for Dorn to use—

  Mother and son! Mr. Dorn, the lawyer assigned to find Lucy, and Mrs. Heath, the employer who took Lucy away with her to the hills—they were in collusion!

  “The next thing is to prove it,” Vicki realized. “Mr. and Mrs. Bryant are so delighted with their bogus granddaughter that they might never accept the true Lucy without proof.”

  Proof. Facts, which were matters of record. She remembered that Dorn stayed at the St. Clair Hotel from January twelfth to twenty-first, and on February twenty-first, during his first and second visits to “search” for Lucy. Vicki called up the hotel, asked for the man who had advised her before, and inquired:

  “Can you tell me, please, whether a Mrs. Elizabeth Heath was at the St. Clair Hotel around the middle of January? And again in February, around Washington’s Birthday?”

  She waited, then was told:

  “Yes, Mrs. Heath registered here last January twelfth and stayed two days.”

  “Did she leave a forwarding address?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Heath moved from here to the Hotel Alcott.”

  “Was she accompanied by a Mr. Thurman Dorn when she checked in?”

  “We have no record of that.… You’re welcome, Miss Barr.”

  They’d arrived together in San Francisco, and had been discreet enough to register separately. Mr. Dorn must have gained some information quickly about Lucy. For two days later Mrs. Heath had moved into the Hotel Alcott where Lucy had just moved in, too. And Mrs. Heath had lost no time in striking up an acquaintance with Lucy, offered her a job, lured her away from San Francisco where anyone could find her, hid her out in the hills. The next move, Vicki saw plainly, was to lure Lucy into going abroad. A very smooth way to make Lucy disappear, so that they could put their own confederate into the Bryants’ house to inherit the Bryant fortune!

  And Mr. Dorn? While his mother was busy getting Lucy out of the way, what had he been doing? Finding a suitable hide-out house, arranging to rent a car? So Mr. Dorn’s “report” to the Bryants that Lucy was on a trip, was traveling with friends, was a prearranged lie! The same lies as the glib ones the false Lucy told.

  “Never mind reconstructing the details of their scheme,” Vicki told herself. “I haven’t time now. The urgent thing is to go get Lucy.”

  She glanced out the window. It was dusk. She could not do much more today beyond setting up the signal.

  By telephone she reached the minister’s residence but only the secretary was in. Another conference and delay! Vicki made an appointment to see Mr. Hall, or at least talk with him on the telephone, early the next morning after she’d seen her supervisor. She would know by then how much time she had to rescue Lucy.

  She made one further telephone call, to a car rental agency. On a gamble, she reserved a car for either tomorrow or Sunday morning, depending on what free time Federal Airlines allowed her. It was about a three-hour drive to Pine Top—if she made an early enough start and drove fast, she could keep the noon rendezvous.

  Vicki sat down to think over Lucy’s dangerous situation—and her own. She wanted very much to report what she had found to the police, and leave the responsibility for rescuing the girl to them. But she recalled Lucy’s fear that her grandparents did not really want her. Bringing Lucy to them via the police might turn her grandparents against her.

  Vicki sighed. “I’d better get Lucy out of that hidden house before Mrs. Heath and Mr. Dorn think up any new plans for her.”

  * * * *

  Early the next day, Saturday morning, rain poured down. An all-day March rain, from the Weather Bureau prediction. In the hotel room Vicki turned the radio on and heard that small aircraft were ordered grounded, most big commercial airliners continued to fly on schedule, and for drivers road conditions were fair.

  “Fair is good enough to drive to Pine Top,” Vicki decided. “Providing I can get there by noon—first, providing I can get extra time off to allow for any delays or unexpected developments.” For she might not get back from Pine Top today—she might miss her scheduled nine A.M. flight tomorrow.

  She bundled up and went to take the bus out to International Airport. San Francisco was wrapped in fog; it made halos of street lamps and shadows of people. Vicki barely found the bus which appeared to be floating. It crawled at a maddeningly slow pace the thirteen miles out to International Airport.

  “I’ll never be able to reach Pine Top by noon,” Vicki mourned. “Not in this fog. Why, just going to the car rental place and then driving out of San Francisco could take an hour.” She’d have to go tomorrow—unless tomorrow she found herself in uniform aboard the Electra.

  In the fog she groped her way to the Federal Airlines building, using the Hangar One entrance. It was a quarter to eight. Miss Middleton was already in her office. For the first time in her career as a stewardess, Vicki asked to be excused from making a scheduled flight. Miss Middleton, on learning that Vicki had urgent personal business, granted her a leave of absence of three days, to be made up later.

  “Provided,” said the supervisor, “I can find a stewardess to take your place. I’ll phone you at your hotel some time after noon today.”

  That settled it. No trip to Pine Top today.

  Vicki went to one of the telephone booths in the corridor. She called the car rental agency and said she would want a car tomorrow, not today. Then, though it was early to disturb him, Vicki called the minister. He was at breakfast, and very glad and relieved to hear from her.

  “Have you found Lucy, Miss Vicki?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Good, g
ood! Where is she?”

  “At a place called Pine Top, and it isn’t good at all, Mr. Hall. I’m going to get her out of there—tomorrow, I hope—But, in order to rescue Lucy, I’ll need your help here in San Francisco.”

  “Anything you say, Miss Vicki. Your tone of voice alarms me. Do you want to come to see me and talk it over?”

  They discussed meeting. But since Vicki had to be back at her hotel by noon, they decided they might as well talk fully on the telephone. Vicki dropped more coins into the telephone box at the operator’s request.

  “Well, Mr. Hall, Lucy is in serious trouble.” Vicki described the situation with Mrs. Heath.

  “I don’t understand why this Mrs. Heath wants to detain the girl,” said the minister. “It is detention. But why? Can you tell me why?”

  His voice sounded so concerned that Vicki could almost see the minister’s face, his quiet expression and perceptive eyes. Why should she not confide in him? He was Lucy’s good and old friend.

  “Yes, I’ll tell you why, Mr. Hall,” Vicki said into the telephone. “It’s a long story, it goes back to Lucy’s grandparents—”

  “Her grandparents! Her only surviving grandparents are the Marshall Bryants, in New York.”

  “Yes. They want Lucy at last, you see. But a terrible thing has happened because of the inheritance.” Vicki told the minister the whole story of the Bryants, Thurman Dorn, and the false Lucy. Then she told him of her own search which had led her to Lucy and Mrs. Heath and the truth.

  “I am appalled,” the minister said, after she had finished. “Why not go to the police at once?”

  “Because it could ruin Lucy’s first meeting with her grandparents.” Vicki explained Lucy’s nervousness about meeting the Bryants, after years of being ostracized. She mentioned their abhorrence of publicity.

  “Yes, I see,” the minister said reluctantly. “What alternative is there? What do you plan to do, Miss Vicki?”

  She told him of her plan to return to Pine Top. She told Mr. Hall of the telephone signal Lucy was listening for, and described exactly what he must do, and gave him the telephone number of the hidden house.