The Third Girl Detective

by Margaret Sutton

  “It’s still here,” the clerk told her. “No one has even inquired about it, so far as I know.”

  That confirmed her suspicion—the owner was afraid to come for it. The reason why might prove interesting.

  Next, she telephoned the Bryants’ house. Mrs. Bryant was surprised and pleased to hear from her. Vicki asked whether she could come over to see them, and added that she’d like to bring a friend to meet them. “Soon, please? It’s important.”

  “We’d be delighted to see you and your friend,” said Mrs. Bryant, “but it can’t be this morning. We’re expecting guests for lunch at twelve thirty. Why don’t you and your friend come at two?”

  “At two,” Vicki repeated. She longed to ask whether the luncheon guests would include Mr. Dorn, or whether the Bryants had heard from Dorn yesterday or today. But she couldn’t very well ask. “We’ll be there at two. Thank you very much, Mrs. Bryant.”

  Lucy had come in, wearing a bathrobe, and heard Vicki make the appointment. She looked woebegone, still lost. Vicki had to encourage her.

  “Yes, I know my grandparents want me,” Lucy said excitedly, “but the other ‘Lucy’—Is she more attractive than I am?”

  “Not nearly as likable,” Vicki said to soothe her.

  “I can’t help feeling nervous, though, especially since you’ve told me what Mr. Dorn’s been up to,” Lucy said.

  “Come on. Let’s find you some clothes that will fit you and be becoming.”

  Vicki borrowed from her own and Jean’s wardrobes. She made herself presentable, then Mrs. Duff gave them a quick lunch. As they ate, the girls debated whether Lucy still had, in certain ways, the hardest part of her ordeal to struggle through.

  On the way over to the Bryants’, Lucy was silent and preoccupied. She wore the silver ring, and had the family documents in her purse. When she saw the mansion her grandparents lived in, she hesitated. Vicki took her hand and escorted her up the marble steps.

  “I’ll never fit in here,” Lucy whispered, as they followed the butler toward the room with the parakeets.

  “Yes, you will,” Vicki whispered back. “Wait and see.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were waiting for them. Vicki’s heart sank when she saw that ‘Lucy’—the false Lucy—was with them. She had wanted so much to talk to them alone! Mrs. Bryant rose and came forward to greet the two girls.

  “How nice to see you, Vicki. And I’m so glad you’ve brought your friend. I asked our Lucy to stay and meet her.”

  The true Lucy stared at the impostor. There was no real resemblance between them, except that both were brown-haired, around the same age, and either Lucy might have once been the little girl in the snapshot. The true Lucy must have seen the silver ring on the other Lucy’s hand, for she thrust her hand in her pocket to hide her own silver ring. Vicki took her friend’s arm, to give her courage.

  As Mr. Bryant and the sophisticated-looking girl rose from the sofa, Vicki said, “This is my friend from San Francisco, Lucy Rowe.” It took all her courage to come right out and say that. She watched the false Lucy closely.

  “Lucy Rowe!” Mrs. Bryant exclaimed, and a look of wonder crossed her face.

  “What a coincidence,” the other girl said, after a pause. “How do you do, Miss Rowe?”

  Lucy was unable to speak. She looked into Mrs. Bryant’s face with her feelings naked in her eyes. Marshall Bryant said:

  “Quite a coincidence, eh, Miss Vicki? Two girls with the same name. Well, well. Let’s all sit down, anyway.” He sat down heavily. “I ate too much lunch.”

  Lucy stared at her grandfather. She stayed as close as she could to Vicki, her hand still in her pocket.

  “How odd that we’ve never met,” the false Lucy said smoothly to the true Lucy. “I’m from San Francisco, too, you know.”

  “It—it is quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” Mrs. Bryant said shakily.

  Vicki drew a deep breath and said what sooner or later had to be said. “It’s more than a coincidence, Mrs. Bryant. This young woman is—is your granddaughter, and I can—”

  “That’s preposterous!” the false Lucy exclaimed. She was furious. “I am the Bryants’ granddaughter, and I resent—”

  “—and I can prove it,” Vicki went on evenly. “There has been a terrible mistake here. If one can call it a mistake.”

  Marshall Bryant snorted. “Young lady, you’re having a pipe dream. Thurman Dorn is a good man, a good lawyer. He doesn’t make mistakes. Do you think I’d hire an incompetent man?”

  Vicki was shaking all over. “It isn’t simply a mistake, Mr. Bryant. Forgive me for contradicting you, but Mr. Dorn has deliberately brought you the wrong girl.”

  “Rot!” the big man said, and the false Lucy drew herself up in scorn. Only Mrs. Bryant, her hands trembling so badly that she had to clasp them, said to the newcomer:

  “Tell me, my dear. Do you believe yourself to be our granddaughter?”

  Slowly Lucy drew her hand out of her pocket and extended it. “Here is the ring you gave my mother. And here are photographs of us all—and a letter you wrote my mother—”

  The false Lucy laughed. No one took the things Lucy offered. She stood there abashed. The false Lucy cried, “Why, Grandpa, they’re fakes—forgeries, that’s all.” Mrs. Bryant glanced back and forth between the two Lucys, bewildered and hurt. Finally she reached out and took the photographs and letters, and examined them.

  “Marshall,” she said, “I did write this letter to Eleanor.” He made a gesture of disbelief. Mrs. Bryant turned to the newcomer. “Where did you get this letter?”

  “Mother gave it to me. Just as she gave me this ring.”

  “I also have my mother’s ring.” The false Lucy indignantly held up her hand with the silver ring. She was still assured, but her face had turned a sickly white.

  Marshall Bryant exploded. “Someone here is lying! If you think I’ll set aside the detailed proof of my lawyer, and reject this lovely young woman we’re so fond of—if you expect me to take the word of a girl I’ve never seen or heard of before—Why, it is preposterous! Vicki, where in the world did you find this girl, and what in the world are you thinking of?”

  Vicki said as bravely as she could, “Mr. Bryant, I have proof that she is your granddaughter, if you’ll only listen to me.”

  “I think we’d better listen, Marshall,” said Mrs. Bryant. “I—er—before Mr. Dorn had found Lucy, I requested our young friend—since she sometimes flies in and out of San Francisco—to see whether she could learn anything about our granddaughter.”

  “You did!” Marshall Bryant turned to Vicki. “And you actually investigated? But you’re not a trained investigator.”

  “Just the same, please listen to what I found out,” Vicki pleaded.

  The butler came in to say that Mr. Thurman Dorn was at the door, and asked whether the Bryants would see him.

  “We certainly will see him!” Mr. Bryant said. “Right away! Lucky for us he’s here.”

  Mrs. Bryant murmured that this seemed to be their day for coincidences. Vicki said, “This is no coincidence, either, Mrs. Bryant. Mr. Dorn has just flown in from San Francisco where he was yesterday—intending to stop me from bringing Lucy to you.”

  Marshall Bryant stared at her as if she were out of her mind, and the false Lucy smiled pityingly.

  They waited for Dorn. Lucy said to Vicki, very low, “This is scarcely the reception I’d dreamed of.”

  Dorn came in. His suit was rumpled, as if he had slept in it all night. However, he was as self-possessed as ever, and gave Vicki and her Lucy a look of utter contempt.

  “I see these two fakers beat me here,” he said. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bryant, Lucy. How are you, sir? May I impose on your hospitality and ask for some hot coffee? I’ve just flown to San Francisco and back on your behalf. I flew all last night on a wretchedly slow coach plane, a
long, roundabout Dallas-Memphis local,” he said disgustedly. “The only plane I could get on last night without a reservation—”

  He sank into a chair. Vicki and Lucy exchanged glances. Getting here before Dorn hadn’t done them much good. Marshall Bryant spoke to him sympathetically while Mrs. Bryant ordered the coffee.

  Vicki decided to attack Dorn before he could attack her.

  “Mr. Dorn, I’ve found out how your mother, Mrs. Heath, lured Lucy out of San Francisco—”

  “Your mother?” said Mr. Bryant in surprise.

  “—and kept Lucy virtually a prisoner in—”

  “Stop lying!” Dorn ordered. “You’re a ridiculous little amateur detective who’s been meddling—”

  “—prisoner in a lonely house near the Sierra Nevadas, until I got her out of there yesterday! And that’s where you were yesterday, Mr. Dorn—in Pine Top!”

  Dorn’s eyes narrowed. The false Lucy kept perfectly still. The lawyer retorted:

  “Miss Barr, you evidently are stupid and irresponsible. Perhaps this girl with you is, too. Dreaming up some fantastic tale! Prisoner!” He turned to Mr. Bryant. “What has she told you?”

  Mrs. Bryant answered. “They showed us another silver ring, and these photographs and letters.”

  Dorn smiled dryly. “Documents can be forged, or stolen. A silver ring can be copied, too, by a clever jeweler.” He turned to the true Lucy and thundered at her, “How did you manage to steal and forge these things?”

  As Lucy drew back in fright, Vicki said:

  “Any stealing and forging that was done, you did. From the Bryants’ safe here in their house. You borrowed their family documents and the ring—to ‘study.’ You said—”

  Both Bryants were listening to her now. Vicki turned to them.

  “There’s a minister in San Francisco, a Mr. Hall, who’s known Jack and Eleanor Rowe, and Lucy, ever since Lucy was born. Would you take his word?”

  Mrs. Bryant gasped. “What else did you find out? Mr. Dorn, why did you never mention the minister to us?”

  “Because there is no such person in their family history,” he said boldly. “Lucy”—he turned toward the false Lucy—“did you ever know a minister named Hall?”

  “No, our minister’s name was Dr. John Sands.”

  “Ah, you see!” Marshall Bryant said with satisfaction. “I shall get in touch with Dr. Sands.”

  “I wish, Grandpa,” said the false Lucy, “that Dr. Sands was still alive. He’d tell you the truth.”

  The true Lucy said suddenly, “Ask Mr. Hall. I’ll give you his address and telephone number.”

  Marshall Bryant eyed her distrustfully, but his wife said, “You haven’t answered my question, Vicki. What else did you find out?”

  Dorn tried to prevent Vicki from speaking. He heaped her with scorn and flatly denied all allegations—but Mrs. Bryant insisted.

  Vicki started to enumerate her points: the so-called Lucy had not worked for Whitney Decorators because no such firm had ever existed. Her alleged doctor, Dr. Alice James, did not exist. The addresses where she’d said she lived did not exist.

  “Lies, lies!” Dorn said to Mr. Bryant. “I visited every one of those persons and places myself. You have my word for it.”

  Marshall Bryant nodded. Vicki said to him:

  “Mr. Dorn is the one who’s lying. You have only his word for these things, and he and his mother and this girl he misrepresents to be your granddaughter—they’re all in collusion together.”

  “I’ll take you to court for libel, Vicki Barr!” Dorn fairly shouted.

  She ignored that, and appealed to the Bryants. “Send an impartial investigator to San Francisco, or go yourselves. You’ll find out from the Interstate Insurance Company that that’s where Lucy worked, ever since she got out of school. Talk to Mr. Hall. Talk to Jill Joseph who lives in Lucy’s old house in Sutro Heights—she and her parents, the Rossiters, knew Lucy’s parents—”

  “Ridiculous,” said Dorn, with a little laugh. “Perhaps this other girl’s name actually is Lucy Rowe—though I doubt it—but even if it is, that does not make her your granddaughter and your heir. Can’t you see how easy it is for an unscrupulous girl to claim to be your kin whom you’ve never seen? A crude attempt, I must say.”

  Vicki saw that she was getting nowhere. The more points she raised, the more Dorn, with a lawyer’s great verbal skill, twisted and bypassed them. He managed to make Vicki’s statements appear implausible. He enumerated proofs of his own correctness. Lucy, sitting beside her, was numb with misery.

  Vicki looked at the false Lucy and had an inspiration. She addressed her directly, sharply:

  “See here, Dorothy, I know a good deal about you—”

  The false Lucy started.

  “Yes, I know it was you who lost the gold charm inscribed Dorothy on my plane that day. I know you came here from Chicago, not San Francisco—”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Her name isn’t Dorothy,” Dorn broke in.

  “—and I know,” Vicki kept on, “that you arrived two days earlier than you pretended to the Bryants. Where were you those two days?”

  “Lies,” Dorn said. “She—”

  Mrs. Bryant turned to the agitated girl. “Two days earlier? Is this true?”

  “Don’t you know,” Vicki kept at the girl, “that impersonating another person is a crime and you can go to jail for it?”

  “I’m not—I didn’t—” the fake Lucy stammered.

  “You’d better tell the truth,” Marshall Bryant warned her.

  The false Lucy burst into tears. “He talked me into doing it,” she cried. “Thurman said as soon as we were married, my name would be Dorn and no one would ever know of this impersonation. Calling myself Lucy Rowe was just for a little while—”

  Marshall Bryant in his anger was having difficulty in breathing. Vicki feared he might suffer another heart attack. “Just for a little while,” he repeated heavily. “While you tricked us into believing that you were our granddaughter, eh? I suppose you planned to keep up the pretense and call yourself Lucy indefinitely. Only now you’ve lost your nerve!”

  “Thurman never told me that there was a real Lucy Rowe; he never told me I’d be cheating someone,” the other girl asserted, weeping. “Don’t blame me! He and his mother told me that Lucy was dead, only you didn’t know it, and that we might as well have the inheritance for ourselves instead of letting some stupid charities have it. Thurman and Mrs. Heath are to blame, not me.” Dorn tried to break in, but the girl went on half hysterically. “They said that with my dramatic school training and being a quick study, I could easily play Lucy’s part—”

  “You’re telling half-truths,” Dorn said. “You never objected to becoming rich, did you?”

  “Keep quiet, both of you,” Marshall Bryant ordered. The old man turned toward Vicki. “What’s this about Dorn’s mother?”

  “Yes, didn’t you once tell us,” Mrs. Bryant asked the young lawyer, “that your mother in Chicago was widowed and had remarried? What is your mother’s name?” Dorn tugged hard at his mustache and refused to answer. “Mr. Dorn,” Mrs. Bryant reminded him, “we can find out from your law firm.”

  Dorn muttered, “Her name is Heath. Elizabeth Heath. She’s a widow for the second time; she’s alone except for me.”

  “So you thought you’d provide for your mother, yourself, and your fiancée at my expense,” Marshall Bryant said bitterly. “No wonder you were in such a hurry to have me sign over a parcel of stocks and bonds to Lucy—Dorothy—whatever her name is.” The girl gave her name, very low: Dorothy Clinton. “Well, I’ll rescind that immediately!”

  “About Mrs. Heath,” Mrs. Bryant said. “She actually kept this girl, our—our granddaughter”—it was hard for her to reverse her thinking—“out of sight?”

  “Yes, on a pretense of
a job,” Vicki answered. “Not only that! They also planned to get her to go abroad and maybe never return.”

  The Bryants both caught their breaths. Mr. Bryant got up and pulled at the wall cord to summon the butler. “I’m going to call the police,” he said.

  “Wait just a minute, sir,” Dorn said. “You still have no final proof of who this girl is.”

  “I have proof!” the true Lucy spoke up. “I have some proof with me and much more if I can get my things back from Mrs. Heath. Besides, I’m sure Mr. Hall and some of my San Francisco friends and old teachers will come East to vouch for me. They’ve known me all my life, and known my mother and father, too.”

  “All right, all right,” the elderly man said, and passed his hand over his eyes. No one except Vicki noticed the butler waiting at the door. Mrs. Bryant stared dazedly at Dorn.

  “Maybe you’d better start your explanations with the very beginning of this rotten scheme,” Marshall Bryant said. “You’re going to have to explain to us—and the police—sooner or later.”

  Dorn put his head in his hands. “Very well, I will.” Then he said, “I have some papers in my brief case in the hall, sir”—Dorn stood up—“if you’ll permit me to get them.”

  Suddenly he seized the false Lucy by the hand, and they ran out of the room. The butler was so stunned by surprise that he was motionless. So was everyone for a few seconds—until Vicki sprang to her feet. “Don’t let them get away!” She and the butler ran after them. She saw Dorn and the girl racing down the marble steps and along the street.

  Vicki and the Bryants’ man tore after them. They were heading toward a taxicab waiting at the curb a few houses up. Vicki saw a gray-haired woman in the taxi who looked familiar. Mrs. Heath!

  “Driver!” Vicki called out. “Don’t take those people! They’re criminals!”

  “Catch that man!” the butler shouted.

  The taxi driver jumped out and caught Dorn. He struggled to tear free, while Dorothy screamed at the butler to let her go. Vicki reached Mrs. Heath just as the woman tried to slip away. Out of nowhere a policeman appeared on the run.