“Were any of you here yesterday morning?” asked Mr. Gay.
Two of the older boys replied that they had been there.
“Did you see the girl then?” persisted the man.
One boy thought that he did remember seeing a young lady—“all dressed up in a silk dress.” But she hadn’t stopped at the pool; she had crossed the bridge fifty yards below and had taken the path right back into the deepest part of the woods.
Mary Louise jumped to her feet. “Come on, Daddy! Let’s get going!”
“How about eating some of those sandwiches your mother packed for us?” suggested her father.
“Oh, no—not yet!” protested Mary Louise. “It’s only eleven o’clock.” She turned to the boys. “Have you seen any gypsies around?”
“A couple of days ago,” was the answer. “I heard they moved on towards Coopersburg. A fellow I know was over there last night and saw them telling fortunes.”
“What’s the best way to Coopersburg?” inquired Mary Louise.
“Through the woods is shortest, I guess. But I don’t know if there’s any path. We always go around by the road.”
“We were going through the woods anyhow,” said Mary Louise. To her father she added, “I do want to see those gypsies again, almost as much as I want to find Elsie.”
She whistled for Silky, and he came running out of the water, shaking himself joyously and rolling over and over on the grass.
“He’s forgotten all about the trail he’s supposed to be following,” remarked Mary Louise, producing the purple calico dress. “Come here, Silky, and sniff this again.”
The couple turned their steps to the bridge and soon were out of the open space, back in the cool shade of the woods. Here the path was narrow and deeply shaded, so that they had to walk single file for a long distance, sometimes picking their way carefully among the thick undergrowth. About noon they stopped to eat the sandwiches which Mrs. Gay had packed and to drink the iced-tea from the thermos bottle.
“It’s still a long walk to Coopersburg,” sighed Mary Louise. “I’d forgotten how these woods wound around. I don’t believe I ever walked this way before.”
“Are you tired?” inquired her father.
“A little. But mostly hot. I’ll soon cool off.”
“We won’t try to walk back,” replied Mr. Gay. “If we don’t find Elsie, we can take a bus back from Coopersburg.”
“I don’t think we should do that, Daddy,” argued Mary Louise. “If we don’t find her or the gypsies either, I think we should come back here and camp for the night. That would give us a chance to make a more thorough search of the woods tomorrow. Because we might easily miss Elsie just by keeping on this path, as we are doing now.”
“Why do you want to find the gypsies, Mary Lou?”
“They may have seen Elsie. For fifty cents that fortune teller will give you any information you want.”
Mr. Gay smiled.
“I’m afraid she’d make up anything she didn’t know,” he remarked.
“Well, she was right about Jane’s lost ring—and about the ruby necklace,” Mary Louise reminded him. “John Grant said so.”
“Yes, but she used her common sense in the first case, and in the second, she may have heard a rumor about the necklace—especially if this particular band of gypsies has been coming to this neighborhood for years.… I wouldn’t attach too much faith to these people, Daughter.”
They gathered up the remains of their picnic lunch and started forward again, with Silky in the lead. On and on they walked for several hours, talking very little, and stopping only now and then for a drink of water from a spring or two which they passed. About three o’clock they came to a widening of the path, and through the trees they could see the fields that surrounded the town of Coopersburg.
With a new burst of energy Mary Louise started to run forward.
“I see some tents, Daddy!” she cried. “And that caravan! Oh, I’m sure it’s the gypsies.”
“Don’t run, Mary Lou!” called her father. “With that heavy pack on your back! I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself.”
“I can’t wait, Daddy.” But she stopped and turned around, removing the pack from her shoulders.
“You keep the packs, Daddy,” she said when he had caught up to her, “and I’ll go ahead. I’d rather see the fortune teller by myself, anyhow. But stay where I can see you—within calling distance. And if I don’t come back in half an hour, come and look for me.”
“Mary Lou, are you expecting any trouble from these gypsies?”
“You never can tell!” she laughingly replied. Blowing him a kiss with her hand, she started to run towards the encampment. When she was about fifty yards away she saw the same children whom she had noticed the day of the picnic, and she looked eagerly for the fortune teller. A few yards farther on she recognized the woman, coming from one of the tents.
It seemed to Mary Louise that an expression of terror crossed the gypsy’s face as the woman caught sight of her. But only for a second; in a moment she was grinning and showing all the gaps in her front teeth.
“Fortune?” she asked immediately, as Mary Louise approached her.
“Yes—that is—not exactly,” replied the girl. However, she held up a silver half dollar in her hand, and the gypsy turned and lifted the flap of the tent.
“Bring the cards out here,” suggested Mary Louise, glancing back towards the woods to make sure that her father was within sight. “It’s too hot to go inside.”
The woman nodded and took the dirty pack of cards out of the pocket of her dress. “Sit down,” she commanded, and Mary Louise did as she was told.
The oddly assorted pair stared at each other for a moment in silence. Mary Louise’s eyes traveled slowly about the gypsy woman, from the top of her black head to the tips of her big old shoes. She examined her dress—of the same deep-blue color which she was wearing the day of the picnic—and she looked at her thin, bony, yet strong hands.… Then, very deliberately, Mary Louise reached into the pocket of her knickers and brought out the strip of blue sateen which she had taken from the window ledge in Miss Mattie Grant’s bedroom at Dark Cedars.
With a triumphant gleam in her eyes, she held the piece of torn material close to the gypsy’s dress. Dirty and spotted as it was, there could be no doubt of its identity. It was a perfect match!
A wild gasp of terror escaped from the gypsy’s lips, and she made a grab at the condemning piece of evidence. But Mary Louise was too quick for her. Springing to her feet, she leaned over and hit the woman right in the mouth with her clenched fist. The gypsy groaned and rolled over in the grass.
Amazed at her own action, Mary Louise stood gazing at the woman in calm triumph. It had been years since she had hit anyone; she was surprised that she had it in her to deal such a blow. But the gypsy was not knocked out—merely stunned.
“Where is Miss Grant’s necklace?” she demanded.
The woman opened her eyes and whimpered.
“It don’t belong to that old witch! It’s mine, I tell you! Was my mother’s, and her mother’s before that. Old woman Grant had no right to it.”
She raised herself to a sitting position, and her black eyes flashed with hatred. “You wait till my man comes back—and see what he’ll do to you!”
Mary Louise smiled confidently.
“I don’t intend to wait,” she replied. “I have a member of the police force right here with me.” She raised her voice and cupped her hands. “Daddy, come!”
A look of awful fright crossed the gypsy’s wrinkled face.
“No! No! Don’t put me in jail! I’ll give you the necklace. But it’s mine—it’s mine by right, I tell you!”
Mary Louise was scarcely listening, so eagerly was she watching her father’s quick approach.
“You can tell that to Detective Gay,” she said finally. “And, by the way, where is the box of gold pieces you stole from Miss Grant?”
“Gold pieces? What? Uh—I neve
r took—” But her tone was not convincing, and seeing that Mary Louise did not believe her, she suddenly changed her story. “I’ll give you the gold pieces if you let me keep my mother’s necklace,” she pleaded.
Mr. Gay reached his daughter’s side in time to overhear this last statement. His eyes were shining at his daughter in speechless admiration.
“Your badge, please, Daddy,” said Mary Louise calmly. “Please show it to this woman.”
Mr. Gay did as he was requested.
“Now go and get the necklace and the gold,” Mary Louise commanded the gypsy.
The woman struggled to her feet.
“First let me tell you about that necklace!” she begged. Her bony hands clutched Mary Louise’s sleeve, and she looked imploringly into the girl’s face. “It was a precious heirloom—has been in our family for years and years. We held it sacred; it brought us good luck. Oh, I can’t bear to give it up now that I’ve got it again!”
Mary Louise glanced questioningly at her father.
“Sit down again,” he said to the gypsy, “and tell us the story.”
“Thank you, sir!” exclaimed the woman, dropping down on the grass at his feet. “I’ll tell you.…
“It goes back fifty years,” she began, talking rapidly, “in my mother’s time, when we used to come here to Cooper’s woods to camp every summer.… I was a child—and so was my little brother. A little fellow of six—my mother’s darling.…
“One day he got suddenly sick. A terrible pain in his side. My mother almost went crazy, for she felt sure he was going to die. We couldn’t do a thing for him; the pain got worse and worse and worse. Then, like a burst of sunshine after a storm, Mr. Grant came riding up to us—and stopped and asked what was the matter. I can remember just how he looked—not a bit like his awful daughter Mattie! He promised to help us, to take my little brother to the hospital and get him well.
“My mother agreed, and she went off with Mr. Grant and the boy. They told her there at the hospital that the child had appendicitis, and Mr. Grant ordered the best doctor in the country.… And my brother got well!
“My mother was so happy that we thought she’d dance forever. She wanted to pay Mr. Grant for the expense, but he was such a generous man he wouldn’t hear of it. So my mother gave him the ruby necklace to keep for her and said she’d be back every summer to see it. If ever Mr. Grant needed money, he was to borrow on it.
“He promised to keep it safe for her, but he never thought of it as his. Each summer we came back and camped on his place—we were always welcome while he lived—and each year we saw the necklace, and he would ask us whether we wanted to take it back. But we said no, because it was safer there, and he was our friend, and we trusted him.
“And then one summer we came back, and old Mr. Grant was gone. Dead. So we tried to tell Miss Mattie Grant about the necklace, but she shut the door in our faces and called the police. For years we couldn’t even come out of Cooper’s woods without meeting a policeman.
“Then my mother died, and my brother died, and I decided I was going to get that necklace back. So this year we came and camped in those woods, and every night I went over to Dark Cedars. Sometimes I’d sneak in while they were eating supper; sometimes I’d climb in a window with a ladder late at night. I began in the attic and went through each room, searching for the necklace.
“The first time I got into Mattie Grant’s room—it was one evening last week, while they were eating supper—I opened that safe of hers. I was sure the necklace would be there. But it wasn’t. I was so mad that I took that box of gold, although I hadn’t stolen anything out of her house before that.”
While the woman paused for breath, Mary Louise recalled the evening of the theft of Miss Grant’s money. This, then, was the explanation of the open safe, from which Corinne Pearson had taken the bills. And it proved, too, that Harry Grant had been innocent of any part in the actual theft.
The gypsy woman continued her story:
“It was you, miss, who gave me the information I wanted, the day you girls and boys had your fortunes told. You told me old Mattie asked you to sleep in her bed while she was away. So I knew that the necklace must be hidden in the mattress.…
“You know the rest. I went to Dark Cedars while you were still at your picnic, and I thought I’d get the necklace before you came home. But you surprised me, and I had to hide in the closet while you got ready for bed.… I—I—didn’t want to hurt you! I only wanted what belonged to me!”
Tears were running out of the woman’s eyes, and she rubbed her hands together in anguish, as if she were imploring Mary Louise for mercy.
“What do you say, Mary Lou?” asked her father.
Mary Louise hesitated.
“I—I—honestly believe she has more right to that necklace than Miss Grant has,” she answered finally. “So, if she will turn over the box of gold, I’m for letting her keep the necklace.… But what do you think, Daddy?”
“It’s your case, dear. You are to decide.”
“Suppose you go with her, Daddy, while she gets both things. And be sure to keep your revolver handy, too,” she added shrewdly.
Mr. Gay smiled: he was delighted with his daughter’s keenness.
The gypsy nodded and, stepping inside her tent, produced the box of gold. The identical tin box which Elsie had mentioned. The necklace she took from a pocket in her petticoat. Meekly she handed both treasures to Mr. Gay.
“How beautiful that necklace is!” cried Mary Louise, in admiration of the sparkling jewels. It was the first time in her life that she had ever seen real rubies, and their radiance, their brilliance, was breath-taking.
“I love them dearly,” said the gypsy, in a hoarse tone, filled with emotion.
Mary Louise took the necklace from her father and handed it back to its real owner.
“You may have it,” she said slowly. “I’ll take the gold back to Miss Grant. But first I must count it.”
“It’s all there,” mumbled the woman, her hands fondling the beloved rubies.
Mary Louise found her statement to be correct, and, handing the box back to her father, she turned to go.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” she exclaimed, glancing at the gypsy. “Have you seen a young girl anywhere around here—or in the woods?”
Before the woman could answer, Silky, who had run straight to the motor truck, began to bark loudly and incessantly. Putting his front feet on the step, he peered eagerly into the caravan, and increased his noise until it reached a volume of which a police dog might have been proud. Nor did he stop until a head showed itself from the door and a voice called him by name.
Mary Louise, watching the little drama, suddenly cried out in joy.
The girl coming from the caravan was none other than Elsie Grant!
CHAPTER XIX
Conclusion
Mary Louise threw her arms around Elsie and hugged her tightly. It was so good to know that she was innocent—and safe!
“You’ve found the gold pieces!” exclaimed the girl, staring at the box in Mr. Gay’s hand. “And the necklace!” she added, as the gypsy proudly put on the jewels and went off to show her people.
“Yes, I’ll tell you all about it later,” replied Mary Louise. “But first I want to hear about you, Elsie: why you are here, and how these gypsies have been treating you.”
“They’ve been treating me splendidly! Much better than Aunt Mattie ever did. You see, they liked my father and my grandfather, and they hated Aunt Mattie. So of course they have a lot of sympathy for me.”
“But when did you come to them?”
“Yesterday afternoon. I was perfectly miserable after Saturday night. I knew Jane suspected me of doing that terrible thing to you, and I never slept a wink the whole night. So I decided to run away. I didn’t think of the gypsies at the time: I just wanted to get out of Riverside. I put on the green silk dress you gave me, and tied up my other things in a bundle, and made off through the woods so that I wouldn’t mee
t anybody.”
“Mrs. Jones saw you go,” said Mary Louise. “It was she who put Daddy and Silky and me on the trail.”
“I took some fruit and some biscuits from the kitchen at Dark Cedars,” Elsie went on to explain. “I thought I’d walk to the nearest town and ask for work. Now that I have some decent clothes, I don’t feel ashamed to be seen.”
“But you came upon the gypsies before you got to any town?” inquired Mr. Gay, who couldn’t keep out of the conversation, although he had not been properly introduced.
“Yes. And I was tired and hungry, so I thought maybe they’d let me stay overnight with them. They were stewing chicken, and it smelled so good.”
“Your aunt Mattie’s chickens,” explained Mary Louise laughingly.
“Really?” asked Elsie in surprise. The idea had not occurred to her.
“Yes. Mrs. Jones saw the gypsies stealing the chickens.… Well, did they give you some supper?”
“They certainly did. Mira—she is the fortune teller—let me sleep in her tent. She said she used to play with my father when he was a little boy, when my grandfather—old Mr. Grant, you recall—let the gypsies camp at Dark Cedars. She told me I could stay with them all my life if I wanted to.”
“You didn’t expect to do it, did you?”
“I wanted to get a job. But there isn’t much I can do, I’m afraid.” The young girl’s voice grew sad; the future looked gray to her.
Mary Louise took her hand.
“You’re coming right back to Riverside with Daddy and me,” she announced. “Your aunt Mattie will have to promise to treat you better, or else she won’t get her gold pieces back!”
“She’ll be furious about the necklace,” said Elsie.
“No, she won’t either. I happen to know that she’ll be thankful to have the matter all cleared up. And she’ll be delighted to get the money, because that is rightfully hers.”
Mr. Gay leaned over and picked up his pack.
“You go get your things together, Elsie,” he said, “and say good-bye to your gypsy friends. We’ll take a bus back to Riverside from Coopersburg.”
“You really want me?” asked the girl.
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 15
