The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  “Hello, Mary Lou!” he called, gazing admiringly at her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Did you have a good time?”

  “Wonderful!” she replied, hanging up her snowflaked coat. “I’m sorry to be late, Dad, but I had a hard time getting the others home.”

  “That’s all right, Daughter. It won’t take long for me to tell you what I have in mind. It may take longer for you to decide upon your answer.”

  Mary Louise sat down opposite him and waited expectantly, not saying another word.

  “There is a small hotel for women in Philadelphia,” he began. “It is a pretty up-to-date place, though they try to keep their rates down, because it is endowed, and supposedly was started for girls in moderate circumstances. They have been having some trouble lately, valuables have been stolen—and they are practically sure that none of the servants is guilty. So they want a detective.”

  “A detective?” repeated Mary Louise breathlessly. “You mean—”

  “Yes, I mean you, Mary Lou. The proposition was put up to me, and naturally I can’t handle it myself. I was to find them a woman detective for a week or so, and I suggested you. The woman in charge is delighted. She said a young girl like you could work better than anyone else because no one would suspect you of being a detective. And you could have a room near hers, under her protection, you see.

  “Now the great question is: would you want to give up your holiday for this purpose? All those engagements you have—all the fun you have planned with your young friends? Christmas Day alone in a strange city? Would it be worth it to you?”

  It did not take Mary Louise a moment to make her decision.

  “I’d love it, Dad!” she cried ecstatically. “But I shouldn’t know how to go about it,” she added hesitatingly. “What to do—how to begin.”

  “Mrs. Hilliard—she is the hotel manager—would give you all the facts,” explained her father. “I’d go with you and get you started. But you must consider carefully, Mary Lou. Think of your friends and your mother and your own pleasures. You can let me know tomorrow.”

  Mary Louise nodded solemnly.

  “I know, Daddy. But this seems like the chance of a lifetime. Because you see I mean to be a detective when I graduate from high school. This is something definite to go on—a real experience, which I can make use of when I apply for a job.”

  “Yes, of course. And, by the way, there is a salary attached. You are to get twenty-five dollars a week, and an extra bonus if you get any of the lost valuables back.”

  “Oh, Daddy!” The exclamation was almost a whisper, so awed was Mary Louise at the thought of actually earning money in the work that she loved best in all the world.

  “When would I start?” she asked.

  “I could take you with me to Philadelphia tomorrow morning. But that wouldn’t give you much time to write notes to your friends and pack your things. I suppose you’d have a lot of engagements to break.”

  “Yes, but they don’t matter.”

  “Don’t you want to think it over another day? I could come back and take you after the weekend.”

  “No, Daddy, there’s not a question of doubt in my mind. I want to try it and start as soon as possible. Some of the crowd will be at Jane’s tonight, and I can tell them and phone to the others. I’ll pack my clothes before I go. Have you told Mother yet?”

  “No, I haven’t. I thought there was no use stirring her up if you didn’t care to undertake it. But now we’ll have to break the news to her, if you’re sure.”

  “You tell her, Daddy!” urged Mary Louise. “It will be easier.”

  “All right, I will,” he promised.

  A voice sounded from the kitchen. “Mary Louise, could you do an errand for me? You’ll just have time before supper.”

  “Yes, Mother,” replied the girl, jumping to her feet. Then in a whisper to her father she added, “Tell her while I’m gone.”

  Picking up her coat again, she ran out into the kitchen.

  “I want you to take this basket of jellies and fruit cake over to old Mrs. Detweiler,” said Mrs. Gay. “I think it would be nice for them to have the things earlier this year, because they have so little at Christmas time.”

  “Yes it would, Mother,” agreed the girl absently.

  “Ask them whether they’ve heard anything from Margaret,” added Mrs. Gay. “Maybe she’s coming home for Christmas.”

  “She wasn’t home all summer, was she, Mother?”

  “No. And they didn’t hear from her, either. They’re terribly worried. I can’t see why Margaret Detweiler would do a thing like that, when her grandparents have been so good to her all her life. Why, Mrs. Detweiler wore the same dress for five years just so she could put Margaret through high school. And the girl always seemed so grateful and affectionate, too.”

  “Maybe something happened to her,” suggested Mary Louise.

  “Surely they would have heard if it had.… Well, run along, dear. And come right back, because dinner is practically ready.”

  Mary Louise pulled on her beret and her galoshes and went out into the snow again. It was entirely dark now, but the stars were shining, and the air was just cold enough to be invigorating. How good it was to be young and lively and happy! How sorry she felt for this poor old couple whom she was visiting, missing their granddaughter so dreadfully. But perhaps everything was all right. Maybe Margaret Detweiler was coming home for Christmas.

  The small brick house where the old couple lived was only a few blocks from Mary Louise’s home. Half walking, half running, the girl covered the distance in less than ten minutes. She saw a low light in the living room and knocked at the door.

  Both of the Detweilers were well over seventy, and they lived modestly but comfortably on a small pension which Mr. Detweiler received. It had been sufficient for their needs until the death of Margaret’s parents obliged them to take care of their only grandchild. But they had gladly sacrificed everything to give Margaret an education and a happy girlhood. She was older than Mary Louise by three or four years, so that the latter had never known her well. But she had always seemed like a sweet girl.

  Mr. Detweiler opened the door and insisted that Mary Louise come inside. Both the old people loved Mrs. Gay and enjoyed the wonderful presents of her own making she sent every Christmas. They were profuse in their thanks.

  “You must take off your things and get warm before you start out again,” urged Mrs. Detweiler.

  “I’m really not a bit cold,” replied Mary Louise. “And Mother told me to come right back, as supper will be waiting. But she wanted me to ask you whether you had heard anything from Margaret.”

  Tears came to the old lady’s eyes, and she shook her head.

  “Not a thing since last Christmas,” she answered sadly. “You know she didn’t come home then, but she wrote to us and sent us a box of lovely presents. Expensive things, so I knew she must be doing well. She had a position in a Harrisburg store at first, you know, and then she told us she had gotten a fine job in a Philadelphia store. That was where the last letter came from—the last we ever received from her!”

  “Didn’t you write to her?” asked Mary Louise.

  “Yes, of course we did. But the letter was returned to us.”

  “What store was she working in? I am going to Philadelphia for the Christmas holidays, and I might be able to find her.”

  “I’m not sure. But the package was marked ‘Strawbridge and Clothier’ on the box. Did you ever hear of that store?”

  “Yes, I did. And I’ll go there and make inquiries for you, Mrs. Detweiler.”

  The old lady seized Mary Louise’s hand gratefully.

  “Oh, if you could only find her, Mary Louise,” she exclaimed, “we’d be the happiest couple alive!”

  “I’ll do the best I can,” promised the girl as she turned to the door.

  She ran all the way home, eager to find out what her mother was going to say in reply to her father’s startling proposition about her Christma
s vacation.

  CHAPTER II

  The Job

  If Mrs. Gay did not like the idea of losing her daughter for two weeks, at least she kept the feeling to herself. She congratulated Mary Louise heartily on being chosen for a difficult piece of work.

  “You’re a lucky girl!” cried Freckles, Mary Louise’s young brother. “Wish I was old enough to take the job!”

  “You couldn’t take this one, Son,” his father reminded him, “because it’s a woman’s job. A man would be out of place in a woman’s hotel. But Mary Lou can go about unnoticed—people will think she’s just a guest.”

  “Twenty-five bucks a week!” repeated Freckles. “What are you going to do with all that money, Sis?”

  “I don’t know. Wait and see if I earn it. But if I do, we’ll all have something nice out of it.”

  “I wasn’t asking for it!” protested the boy.

  “No, I know you weren’t. But wait, and we’ll see.” She turned to her mother. “The Detweilers haven’t heard a thing from Margaret, Mother. Not since they received a box last Christmas from Philadelphia. But I promised to try to hunt her up for them.”

  “Oh, I feel so sorry for them!” exclaimed Mrs. Gay. “I do hope that nothing has happened to Margaret.”

  “So do I. But, anyhow, that will give me two jobs in Philadelphia.”

  “Yes,” agreed her father, “and you can give that as your reason for being in Philadelphia—to the other guests at the hotel—if you care to.”

  “That’s an idea,” said Mary Louise. “And maybe this is the more important of the two. I’m sure Margaret Detweiler is more precious to her grandparents than money and valuables to the women at that hotel.”

  Though her mother accepted the situation calmly—owing to her father’s persuasion, no doubt—Mary Louise found her best friends less agreeable. Jane raised a howl of protest when she heard of the plan, and Max Miller looked so crushed and unhappy that for a moment or two Mary Louise even considered the idea of giving the whole thing up.

  “I asked you two months ago to go to the senior dance during Christmas week,” he said. “And you promised me faithfully, Mary Lou!”

  “I know, Max. But I couldn’t foresee anything like this coming up.”

  “It spoils my whole vacation. It spoils my whole senior year, because this is the biggest affair we have.… In fact, it spoils my whole life!”

  “Now, Max, be reasonable! We’d have only a few dances together—you’re class president, don’t forget, and you’ll need to perform your social duties—and any other girl will do as your partner.”

  “No other girl will do at all,” he protested stubbornly. “I won’t take anybody else. I’ll go stag. I’d stay home entirely if I weren’t president!”

  “Well, maybe I’ll have the whole mystery solved in the week before Christmas, and get home in time for the dance,” remarked Mary Louise optimistically.

  “More likely you’ll stay a week overtime,” muttered the young man. “Or maybe take on the job for good and never come back to Riverside at all.”

  Mary Louise laughed.

  “You certainly can dish out gloom when you want to, Max! You don’t suppose my parents would allow me to leave high school and take a regular job when I’m only sixteen, do you? I shan’t be seventeen till next spring, you know.”

  But Max refused to be consoled, and Jane Patterson upheld him in his attitude. It was ridiculous, foolhardy, dumb, silly—every adjective she could think of—to go to a strange city and be all alone during Christmas week when you could be having a perfectly wonderful time in Riverside.

  “You’ll get to be a dried-up old maid by the time you’re twenty-five,” she told her chum. “And what good will your career be to you then?”

  “Lots of good,” returned Mary Louise complacently. “If I’m going to be an old maid, I’ll certainly want a career. But I don’t see why a career should interfere with marriage. I’ll have plenty of time to have it first.”

  “All the men will be married by that time.”

  “I’ll take a chance,” laughed Mary Louise.

  Nothing anybody said could stop her. Mary Louise was more thrilled than she had ever been in her life, and she meant to put her whole soul into this job. Not only for her own sake, but for her father’s, as well. In her two previous experiences, personal inclination had made her unravel the mysteries, but now she felt that her father’s reputation was involved. If he recommended someone who was incompetent, a failure would reflect upon him. Oh, she must succeed—if it were humanly possible!

  She left the party early that evening and went home to finish packing her suitcase. Immediately after breakfast the next morning she and her father took the train to Philadelphia.

  The snow had ceased falling, but the country was still covered with white. The sun shone, and the landscape was lovely. Mary Louise had never been to Philadelphia before, and she watched everything eagerly as she approached the terminal. It was a big city, in comparison with Riverside or even Harrisburg. But not so big as New York, which she had visited several times.

  “Where is the hotel, Daddy?” she asked as they left the train. “And what is its name?”

  “It is up near the Parkway, and it is called ‘Stoddard House,’ because a wealthy woman by the name of Stoddard left some money in her will to build it and help keep it up. It is a very attractive place.”

  “I wonder how many rooms it has,” said his daughter.

  “Not so many as you might expect, because I understand the whole first floor is planned for the girls’ social uses. A card room, several small rooms for the girls to entertain callers, a library, a larger reception room for dancing, and the dining room are all part of the plan. But you’ll soon go all over the place and see for yourself.”

  Mary Louise’s eyes sparkled.

  “It is going to be thrilling, Dad!” she said.

  “I hope you don’t run into any danger,” he remarked a little apprehensively. “The Philadelphia police will have your name on file—I saw to that—so the minute you call for help you can get it. And don’t hesitate to phone me long distance any time you need me. I’ll give you my list of addresses for the week. Don’t stop for expense—we can’t consider money in cases like this.”

  Mary Louise nodded proudly. Never in her life had she been so happy. She walked along beside her father with her head high and her eyes shining. Her only misgiving, as they approached the hotel, was caused by her extreme youth. She hoped fervently that nobody would guess her age.

  The hotel was an attractive place. Set back from the street by a small terrace, its trim brick walls and white-painted doorway and windows looked cozy and home-like. What a nice place to live, Mary Louise thought, if you weren’t lucky enough to have a home of your own!

  How thankful she was that the place wasn’t gloomy and tumbledown like Dark Cedars, where she had made her first investigations as an amateur detective! Nobody would be telling her that ghosts haunted the walls of Stoddard House.

  Her father opened the door for her, and she preceded him into the lobby. It was rather small, as lobbies go, with only one counter-desk, one lounge, and a couple of elevators, which you worked yourself, at the side. But doors opened out from the lobby on all sides, revealing glimpses of numerous attractive reception rooms beyond.

  Mr. Gay nodded to the girl at the desk and inquired for Mrs. Hilliard. In a couple of minutes a stout middle-aged woman appeared and smiled pleasantly at him. He introduced Mary Louise.

  “Let’s get back into my office where we can talk undisturbed,” suggested Mrs. Hilliard, leading the way out of a door and along a hall to another smaller room. “Now sit down and I’ll tell you all about our difficulties.”

  Mr. Gay and his daughter made themselves comfortable, and Mary Louise took out her notebook. The same notebook which she had made so valuable on two previous occasions.

  “Last September was the first time we ever had any trouble at all,” began Mrs. Hilliard. “We
lost a complete set of silverware—a dozen each of knives, forks, and spoons. But as these were only plated, the loss did not run into a great deal of money, so we didn’t make much fuss. I supposed that one of the maids stole them—a waitress who left the next day to be married.

  “But I must have been mistaken, for more things disappeared after she left. A very unusual vase we had in the library, quite valuable too, for it had belonged in the Stoddard family. That made it look as if the thief were a connoisseur.

  “The matron and I were watching the help carefully, and we felt sure that none of them was responsible. We hadn’t many guests at the time—there are only about a dozen who live here permanently. And there happened to be only a couple of transients.”

  “What are ‘transients,’ Mrs. Hilliard?” asked Mary Louise, who was unfamiliar with the term.

  “They’re the people who stop in for a day or two—or even a week—and don’t stay permanently,” explained the other.

  “I should think they’d be the people who would be most likely to steal,” observed Mary Louise. “Because they could get away with it more easily.”

  “I thought so too, at first. But when things kept right on being stolen, and the same transients never came back, it began to look to me as if one of the permanent lodgers were responsible.… These two girls—I have forgotten their names—were here when the silverware and the vase disappeared, but they were not here in October when our watches were taken.”

  “How many watches?” asked Mary Louise.

  “Four—including my own!”

  “And were there any transients here at that time?”

  “Just one. A chorus girl named Mary Green. She stayed a couple of days and then said her show was closing up.”

  The young detective wrote all these facts into her notebook and asked whether that was all.

  “Not quite,” replied Mrs. Hilliard. “Last Friday Miss Violet Granger had a valuable oil painting stolen from her room, and a purse containing fifty dollars.… So you see the situation has become pretty serious. Two of our regular guests have moved away because of it, and others have threatened to do so if anything else is stolen.”