The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

  “Certainly,” Doris responded a bit stiffly. “I anticipated paying for any services rendered.”

  “There is considerable legal work to be done on this case, Miss Force. I am afraid I cannot start it unless I have a small payment in advance. Say two hundred dollars.”

  “Two hundred dollars!” Doris gasped. “That seems a great deal.”

  “But think of your ultimate gain,” Mr. McDermott reminded her shrewdly. “As I mentioned, there is a vast amount of detail work to be done.”

  “I suppose I can furnish that amount,” Doris agreed reluctantly.

  She had a small sum of money in her own name, but as it was a reserve fund to be used for her education, she disliked to draw upon it. Still, if she could not obtain her rightful inheritance without advancing an attorney’s fee, it seemed foolish not to use some of her bank balance.

  “Oh, yes, there is another little matter,” the lawyer continued. “Before you can claim the fortune, you must prove beyond a doubt that your uncle is actually dead.”

  Doris looked perplexed.

  “But how can I do that? No one knows what became of him. Is there no other way to prove my claim?”

  “Perhaps I can find a way, but I am afraid it will involve considerable expense.”

  “If only I could find someone who could tell me of my uncle’s life and death, it would simplify matters,” Doris commented soberly.

  “Yes, indeed,” the lawyer agreed with a crafty smile, “but you must have a responsible person with a signed statement to prove your right to proceed and inherit the Estate. Whom do you know?”

  Doris could not answer. She knew of no one save Joe Jeffery, who had any knowledge of her uncle’s last days, and certainly he could not be classified as a responsible person. She felt baffled, defeated.

  Before she could answer the question the lawyer had put to her, the door opened and the stenographer announced that Edgar Morehouse was waiting outside.

  “I’ll see him in a few minutes,” McDermott instructed.

  At that moment the hotel-keeper appeared in the doorway, brushing the stenographer aside with an impatient gesture.

  “I’m in a hurry, McDermott,” he said bluntly. “Sorry to break in, but I can’t wait.”

  Doris was angered at the rude interruption, but she quietly arose and turned to leave. She would have walked past the hotel-keeper without a word, but he blocked the door.

  “Wait a minute,” he said with a sarcastic curl to his lip. “I have some news about the fire which I am sure you will want to hear.”

  CHAPTER XXII

  Exonerated

  Doris did not respond, but quietly waited for the hotel-keeper to continue.

  “It’s about that fellow Weiser,” Mr. Morehouse began. “I guess maybe we did accuse him unjustly.”

  “What’s that?” McDermott demanded sharply. “Who says we accused him unjustly?”

  “Well,” Morehouse said lamely, obviously not relishing the story, “the fire inspector went over the hotel building this morning, and his verdict was that the blaze started from a defective flue.”

  “That’s what I thought from the very first,” Doris reminded him a trifle complacently, for she had not forgotten how the hotel man had abused her for voicing her opinion. “You now admit that Mr. Weiser is completely exonerated?”

  “Well, it looks like it. The inspector said the fire couldn’t have started in his room.”

  Doris, chancing to glance toward the lawyer, was surprised to see that he was scowling. It struck her that the turn affairs had taken did not fit in with his scheme of things. He had deliberately built up a case against the magician, and regardless of the facts, did not wish to have it overthrown.

  “I’m very glad to hear the news,” Doris commented, turning to leave. “If I see Mr. Weiser, I’ll tell him.”

  The hotel-keeper closed the door after her, apparently in haste to closet himself with McDermott. Doris wondered what business the two were about.

  “I’m almost certain that if Morehouse had talked with that lawyer before seeing me, he never would have exonerated Ollie Weiser,” she told herself. “I believe McDermott is thoroughly crooked, though I haven’t any real reason for thinking so. Oh, dear, I do wish he wasn’t handling my affairs.” She left the office, thoughtfully making her way down the street. The interview had taken less time than she had anticipated, so there remained at least fifteen minutes before she could expect Dave to call for her.

  “I must kill time some way,” she thought, “so while I’m waiting for Dave, I may as well drop around and tell Ollie Weiser the news. It will take a great load off his mind.”

  Accordingly, she set off for the office of the bus company, which was only a short distance away. Entering, she saw the magician seated at a desk near the window. He nearly upset his chair, so great was his haste to reach her side. Doris did not waste words, for she did not wish to be seen talking with Weiser. Hastily, she told him what she had just learned.

  “They had me in a pretty tight place there for a while,” the magician grinned. “You were the only one who believed that I was telling the truth. I owe you everything.”

  “Not at all. I did speak to Mr. Morehouse in your behalf, but I’m sure my words did not carry much weight with him.”

  Ollie Weiser would have prolonged the conversation, but Doris, her message delivered, was unwilling to linger. She said goodbye and stepped out into the street again. Just as she emerged from the building, she caught sight of Dave in the car. He was heading toward the lawyer’s office, and for one brief instant she hoped he would not see her. However, the next moment, feeling that Dave must judge the situation for himself, she called his name.

  “Hello there!” Dave cried, slamming on the brake and bringing the car to a halt at the curbing. “I wasn’t looking for you here.”

  The smile faded from his face, as he became aware that Doris had just emerged from the office of the bus company. He scowled, as Ollie Weiser came to the huge plate-glass window and waved goodbye to her.

  “Now, don’t look like a thundercloud,” Doris chided as she climbed into the car. “As many a girl has said before: ‘I can explain everything’”

  “You know I don’t watch your every movement,” Dave said reproachfully. “You don’t need to explain anything, unless you wish.”

  “Well, it happens that I want to, Dave.” Doris knew that in spite of her friend’s words, he found it quite impossible not to be jealous of Weiser, so she felt it would be best to clear up the atmosphere.

  “I trust you, Dory. I’m sure you went to that office on urgent business and not to see that—that clumsy, ignorant, brazen—”

  “Never mind the rest of the adjectives,” Doris interrupted, half-laughing. “As a matter of fact, I went there to see Ollie Weiser.”

  “You did?” A hurt look flashed over Dave’s face.

  “Yes, I wanted to tell him that Morehouse has exonerated him of all blame in connection with the fire. I knew he’d want to hear it.”

  “Oh!” Dave smiled again. “That’s different. It was mighty decent of you to take the trouble.”

  “I thought you would see it that way.”

  Doris was relieved that he had not misinterpreted her motive in calling upon the magician; but then, she had known Dave was fair-minded. It was only because he liked her so much that he was troubled with jealousy. She was very fond of Dave, too. If anything had happened to him in the airplane accident—but she resolutely forced the thought from her mind.

  “How are you feeling?” she questioned anxiously. “Don’t you think perhaps you had better see a doctor? It’s possible you may have received internal injuries.”

  “I’d know it by this time,” Dave laughed. “Marshmallow and I are both all right, though for the life of me I don’t understand how we escaped. Mrs. Mallow nearly had heart failure, when she learned about the accident.”

  “I don’t wonder. Kitty and I nearly went crazy, too!”

 
“Marshmallow’s mother tried to put him to bed when he got home, but he balked.”

  “It’s all a huge joke to you two,” Doris chided severely, “but if you had been killed, it wouldn’t have been so funny. Oh, sometimes I wish you’d give up aviation. It’s so dangerous!”

  Dave gazed down at her intently.

  “Would you care—much—if I did get hurt?”

  “Oh, don’t ask such a question. Of course I would! Now you’re just trying to tease me.” She changed the subject, refusing to permit Dave to draw any further admission from her. As they motored swiftly toward the camp she told him of her interview with McDermott.

  “Well, I don’t know how to advise you,” Dave said in perplexity. “I’m like you. I heartily dislike that bird and yet have no reason for it.”

  “He seemed honest enough today, although somehow I had a feeling that he wasn’t entirely in sympathy with my claim for a share in the Estate.”

  “I don’t like his asking for a fee right away.”

  “That’s what I thought. Of course, I can raise the sum, but I want to be sure it’s wisely spent.”

  “Maybe you can look around and find another lawyer.”

  “Possibly,” Doris agreed doubtfully, “but I don’t want to antagonize McDermott. He’s in a position to make my way very difficult.”

  “That’s so, too.”

  “It seems to me that I’ll be practically forced to employ McDermott, Dave. Of course, the money will be well spent, if it results in bringing me the inheritance.”

  “That little word ‘if’ has been the stumbling block in many a deal,” Dave observed pessimistically.

  “I agree, but one has to take some chances. If I only could find someone who could prove that my Uncle John Trent really is dead, it would greatly simplify matters.”

  “But where can you find such a person?”

  “That’s what I don’t know, but I have one glimmer of hope.”

  “What is that?”

  “I am hoping that Mr. Jay may know something of him. He’s lived in Cloudy Cove for years and years, you know.”

  Dave nodded soberly.

  “It wouldn’t do any harm to try him. He’s a mysterious old fellow but very likeable.”

  “I believe I’ll talk with him, just as soon as I get back.”

  Doris did not have an opportunity to interview the old miser until late that afternoon, for upon reaching the camp she found Mrs. Mallow and Kitty still excited over the recent airplane accident. They had told the story to nearly everyone in the camp, and neighbors besieged them for details. Dave and Marshmallow declared that they enjoyed being in the limelight.

  “Everyone has had a narrow escape now, save me,” Mrs. Mallow sighed. “I do all the worrying.” Doris wished to see Mr. Jay alone, but she was not able to slip away from the others until nearly supper time. Hurrying toward the cabin in the woods, she caught a glimpse of the miser down on the beach. He was standing on a high rock, looking out across the water at the brilliant sunset.

  As Doris hurried up, Mr. Jay turned and smiled in a friendly manner.

  “The custard you brought this morning was very good,” he said. “Please thank Mrs. Mallow for me.”

  He turned to look at the sky again, apparently forgetting Doris’s presence. She studied him silently for several minutes, wondering how she had better begin.

  “Mr. Jay,” she said hesitatingly, “there’s something I want to ask you.”

  The old man reluctantly gave her his entire attention.

  “You’ve lived here at Cloudy Cove for a great many years, haven’t you?” Doris plunged on, wishing that Mr. Jay would make it easier for her.

  “Yes,” the miser answered. There was a long pause before he added, “a great many years.”

  “You must know nearly everyone around here, then. Tell me, did you ever hear of a man by the name of Trent? John Trent?”

  Mr. Jay’s eyes lifted quickly, but after the first quizzical glance directed at Doris, he merely shook his head in a bewildered way. He began to edge toward the path.

  “Oh, don’t go, please,” Doris pleaded.

  From the glance he had bestowed upon her she was convinced that Mr. Jay had heard of her uncle. She could not permit him to leave without making a desperate attempt to quiz him. Why was he always so unwilling to answer questions?

  Reluctantly the miser halted, but he avoided Doris’s penetrating eyes. He hung his head as though ashamed to face her.

  “Think hard,” Doris begged. “Have you ever heard of the name?”

  “Sounds a bit familiar,” Mr. Jay admitted, shuffling his feet and dislodging a small stone which fell over the side of the cliff into the cold water.

  “Oh, it would mean so much to me if only you could remember where you heard the name!” Doris could see that the old man was fighting a battle with himself, but just what was causing him such mental anguish she was at a loss to understand. Why had her questions disturbed him?

  “It would mean—a lot to you—to know about John Trent?” Mr. Jay asked in a low voice, but one tense with suppressed emotion.

  Doris nodded eagerly.

  “I knew John Trent quite well,” the miser admitted slowly. A grim smile flickered over his face for an instant. “He was my best friend!”

  “Then surely you can tell me what became of him?”

  There was another long pause and then Mr. Jay said briefly:

  “He died. In a rooming house.”

  “You saw him at the last?”

  “Well, no, I didn’t.”

  “But you know beyond a doubt that he died?” The miser nodded his head morosely.

  “Yes, and mighty glad he was to go. He was tired of life—of everything.”

  Doris could scarcely restrain her excitement, for she felt that now it would be an easy matter to establish her claim to the fortune. She had never ■ known her uncle, but as Mr. Jay’s words made her realize that John Trent had been a very lonely and unhappy man, her pleasure at solving the enigma of his life was tempered with regret.

  Doris felt that she must ask more.

  “Mr. Jay,” she questioned eagerly, “will you come with me to Frank McDermott’s office and sign a statement to the effect that my uncle is no longer living?”

  “Your uncle?” the miser gasped.

  “Yes, I am Doris Force. Surely you knew.”

  “Force! Force!” Mr. Jay muttered. “Thename wasn’t mentioned. I would have noticed.”

  “I am John Trent’s niece,” Doris explained, studying the old man wonderingly. “I must have a signed statement in order to claim the property.”

  “Your name is Force, you say?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jay. My father and mother are not living. I and my Uncle Wardell Force live with Mrs. Mallow.”

  “I see.” Again the old man’s gaze wandered, then came back to Doris’s face.

  “My mother’s name was Trent before she married, and my Uncle John Trent was her brother.” The miser nodded.

  “I have been told that he left some money, and that part of it was to come to me. I need—need it yery much.”

  “You need it—very much?” the man asked the excited girl, who stood before him with pleading eyes.

  “Yes. So you see how important it is that someone who knew my uncle go to Mr. McDermott to sign a statement.”

  Doris could hardly wait for his answer.

  Mr. Jay made no response, but stared at her incredulously.

  Doris thought he did not believe her, so, recalling that at the moment she had in her pocket the photograph which Azalea and Iris Gates had given her, brought it out as proof of her story.

  “See,” she pointed out, “there is a signature on the back.”

  “Where—where did you get this photograph?” Doris explained that the Misses Gates had given it to her, and briefly related the story of her encounter with Joe Jeffery. She observed that Mr. Jay listened intently, hanging upon her every word, but the color had faded from his f
ace, leaving it almost ashen in hue.

  “The Misses Gates are eager for me to settle up the Estate,” she finished. “Now that I have told you everything, will you come with me?”

  For answer, Mr. Jay shrank away, covering his face with his hands. A low cry which was not unlike a sob wracked his body. He turned and fled toward the woods, muttering to himself. Doris started to follow him, as she was afraid from the zig-zag way he was walking, that the old man might fall.

  She decided, however, not to. She merely stared blankly after him.

  She had caught his last words: “Oh! This is killing me!”

  This left her more mystified than ever.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  A Glimmer of Light

  Doris called after Mr. Jay, but he appeared not to hear her. Without glancing back, he staggered into the woods and was soon out of sight.

  “Now, what in the world made him act like that?” Doris asked herself in perplexity. “I wonder if I said anything which offended him?” She was still tempted to follow the miser, but again decided against it. As she made her way slowly back toward the camp, she was sorely troubled. She had hoped that he would agree to sign the paper which would give her an undisputed claim to the Trent fortune, but now it appeared that new difficulties stood in the way. For some reason, Mr. Jay was unwilling to tell what he knew concerning her uncle.

  “Mr. Jay seemed very interested in my story,” Doris thought. “When I spoke of the MisseS Gates, his face lighted up. I wonder if he could have known them, too?”

  Doris did not return immediately to the cabin for she wished to be alone; she desired to have an opportunity to think things out. Sitting down on a mossy log she reflected gravely, recalling everything she knew about the miser. His strange utterance during his recent delirium now took on a special significance. What was it he had said? Something about a ring; then, too, he had mentioned “the Gates.”

  “Is it possible he could have meant Azalea or Iris?” Doris mused. “Or perhaps Locked Gates!” Since coming to Cloudy Cove, she had been obsessed with the idea that she had seen Mr. Jay at some previous time. She recalled that he, too, had mentioned that her face seemed familiar. Yet obviously they had never met before. What was there about the old man that served to remind her of some other person? Who was it that she thought he resembled?