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 be your personal 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 unn
ecessary 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.
Dorothy gave it up as a bad job. She dared not pursue him too determinedly, for fear he would bark. She pulled down the sliding shutter in the fireplace, and leaving Professor to his frolic, hurried on to the door of Doctor Winn’s office.
Inside the room with the door shut, her flashlight came into play for the second time. It took her but a moment with the memorized combination at her fingertips to open the safe. The door was surprisingly heavy, but at last the interior of the small vault came within her line of vision. From a drawer she took a folded sheet of white paper. Out of her pocket came a pencil and another sheet of paper. In an amazingly short time she copied the formula and replaced the original in the safe drawer. She tucked the copy into the fur lining of her slipper under her bare foot. Then suddenly she sprang up.
Her heart leaped into her throat. In the corridor just outside there came the sound of a footstep. There was no time to do more than shut off her torch and drop it, together with her pencil, into the waste paper basket. The door opened, lights flashed on, and Martin Lawson walked into the room.
CHAPTER XVII
PROFESSOR MAKES GOOD
In that moment, Dorothy knew what she must do. A shiver ran over her slender frame and she blinked as though partly awakened by the flash of lights. Then, with eyes wide open and staring straight ahead, she slowly walked toward Martin Lawson and the open doorway.
“Stop!”
The command, though low, was uttered in a tone of deadly menace, and Dorothy saw the blue-black muzzle of an automatic revolver pointed at her heart. She stopped on the instant, but continued to stare straight ahead without change of expression. She noted that he wore a soft felt hat pulled over his eyes and a heavy ulster with its broad collar turned up half hiding the lower part of his face. His high arctics bore traces of melting snow.
“Sleepwalking, eh! Well, I don’t believe it.” His sharp eyes took in the open door of the safe. “Snap out of that playacting and tell me what you are doing here!”
Dorothy did not move a muscle.
Without warning, he grasped her wrist and jerked her savagely toward him. She screamed and went limp in his arms. Lawson clapped a hand over her mouth.
“So you’re up to your old tricks again, Martin!”
Mrs. Lawson, fully dressed, and wearing a three-quarters mink coat and brown felt cloche, appeared in the open doorway. “So our little sleepwalker interrupted a very pretty piece of double-crossing!” She pointed toward the safe.
Lawson flung the weeping girl into an arm chair where she lay apparently half stunned and shaking in every limb.
“Double-cross, nothing!” he snapped at his wife. “How do you get that way, Laura? I came in here just now and found Janet in the room.”
“Was she at the safe?”
“No, she wasn’t. She was standing in the middle of the floor. Making her getaway without a doubt when I turned on the lights.”
“Why do you pretend Janet opened the safe? The Doctor, you and I are the only ones who know the combination. Laugh that off if you can, my dear!”
They were both fast losing their tempers.
“Combination or no combination, the safe was open when I got here,” he snarled. “She was after the formula, of course. That father of hers is in back of it. That Irishman is the double-crosser—and how! Figured on working Winnite into his racket without coughing up a cent for it, either. Call me a sucker if you like, Laura. I qualify, and so do you, for that matter. The other stuff’s the bunk.”
Dorothy stopped her pretended crying and lay back as though utterly exhausted. She knew Tunbridge must be up and about. What in the world could the man be doing?
Mrs. Lawson who seemed to be weighing matters, slowly unbuttoned her coat. “If you are so blameless,” she said coldly to her husband, “How do you happen to be here at all? Your part of the job was to bring up the car—or the plane, if it had stopped snowing.”
“Well, it’s no longer snowing, my dear, and the plane is just where it should be. I got tired of waiting, that’s why. Thought there must be a slip-up. You were due out there half an hour ago.”
“And I would have been,” said Laura Lawson evenly, “if that secret service fool hadn’t been snooping outside my door.”
“Tunbridge?”
“Who else!”
“What did you do—croak him?”
“No, I didn’t. He’s not worth burning for.”
As they talked, the two dropped their artificial cloaks of refinement as if they had never been.
“It’s hanging in this state,” sneered Martin.
“What’s the difference! I rang for him, instead. When he knocked on the door, I opened up and beaned him with the poker. He’ll wake up tomorrow with a headache, but I dragged him into my room and tied him up, just to make sure.”
Dorothy’s heart sank to the very soles of her bare feet.
“Atta girl!” cheered Lawson. “That’s the way! And look here, Laura. Just to prove I’m on the straight with you—go over and frisk that kid yourself. She’s got the paper.”
“Thanks—I intended to.” Mrs. Lawson threw a grim smile at her husband and turned to Dorothy. “Pass it over, Janet.”
“But, really, Mrs. Lawson! I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
The woman cut her short. “Stand up and come here!”
Dorothy reluctantly obeyed. “I haven’t any paper,” she protested. “All I know is that I woke up just now and found Mr. Lawson—”
“Hold your tongue!” snapped Mrs. Lawson, and after exploring Dorothy’s empty pockets, ran her fingers over the quilted gown and the girl’s pajamas. In the midst of her search, Professor, still playful, bounded into the room and stood watching them expectantly.
Mrs. Lawson stepped back. “She hasn’t got it, Martin.” Her tone was acid. “What a hard-boiled liar you are, anyway!”
“Hard-boiled, if you like—but no liar.” He strode to the safe and thrust his hand inside. “Here it is,” he called, and held up the paper. “I must have got here before she could nab it.”
Laura Lawson eyed him appraisingly. “Didn’t you say Janet was in the middle of the room when you switched on the light?”
“Sure—she heard me coming, of course.”
“If Janet heard you coming, why didn’t she swing the door shut? Don’t try to pull that stuff on me, Martin. Even if the girl knows the combination she couldn’t open that safe in the dark. Why lie about the business? I know you opened it yourself—and what’s more, while I’ve been wasting time arguing with you and searching Janet, the formula was in your pocket the whole time—that is, until you pretended to take it out of the safe, just now!”
Martin Lawson’s hard and cruel mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “The world is full of liars,” he said equably, “but your husband doesn’t play that kind of a racket, Laura—anyway, not to you.”
“Then prove it by giving me th
at paper!” his wife held out her hand.
“Nothing doing, Sweetheart. The formula will be perfectly safe with me.”
He started to put it in an inside pocket, when Laura Lawson sprang for the paper. She grasped his wrist. There was a tussle and the folded sheet fell to the floor. Professor, seated on his haunches and very interested in these exciting proceedings, dove forward and snapped it up. For half a moment he shook the paper as though he took it for a new species of rat. Then as they went for him, he darted between Martin’s legs and scampered out of the room.
“You big goop!” flared his wife. “Why didn’t you pot the cur!”
She rushed out of the room after Professor while Martin stared rather stupidly at the gun in his hand. Suddenly his eyes took on a particularly hard glint and he swung round on Dorothy.
“This,” he rasped, “is the second time you’ve got me in wrong with my wife, Miss Janet Jordan. And there just ain’t going to be no third time, kid!”
“Wha—what are you going to do, Mr. Lawson?” She was still playing the terrified, innocent Janet, but she no longer feared the man. During the Lawsons’ struggle, she had prepared herself for something like this. She had also shifted her position and was standing near the open door, now several yards away.
“You’re going to answer my questions, Janet—and answer them truthfully, or you’ll do your sleepwalking in another world after this.” He menaced her with the automatic, “It’s the bunk, isn’t it? The sleepwalking, I mean.”
“It sure is, Mr. du Val!” drawled Dorothy with a sweet smile.
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 159
