“Good-bye and good luck!”
Mary Louise went to her room, and from the telephone book beside her bed she listed the addresses of all the pawnshops in the neighborhood. This was going to be fun, she thought—at least, if she didn’t lose her nerve.
She hesitated for a few minutes outside of the first shop she came to. The iron bars guarding the window, the three balls in the doorway, seemed rather forbidding. For Mary Louise had never been inside a pawnshop.
“I can say I want to buy a watch,” she thought. “I do, too—I certainly need one. But I’m afraid I’d rather have a brand-new Ingersoll than a gold one that has belonged to somebody else. Still, I don’t have to tell the shopkeeper that.”
Boldly she opened the door and went in.
She had expected to find an old man with spectacles and a skullcap, the typical pawnbroker one sees in the moving pictures. But there was nothing different about this man behind the counter from any ordinary storekeeper.
“Good-morning, miss,” he said. “What can I do for you today?”
“I want to look at ladies’ watches,” replied Mary Louise steadily.
The man nodded and indicated a glass case on the opposite side of the shop. Mary Louise examined its contents intently.
“The fact is,” she said, “my own watch was stolen. I thought maybe it might have been pawned, and I’d look around in the shops first, before I buy one, in the hope of finding it.”
“Recently?”
“Yes. Last night.”
The man smiled.
“If it had been pawned last night or this morning, you wouldn’t find it offered for sale yet. We have to hold all valuables until the time on their tickets expires.”
“Oh, of course! How stupid of me.… Well, could you tell me whether any ladies’ watches have been pawned here since midnight last night?”
“Yes, we’ve taken in two,” replied the man graciously. “And I don’t mind showing them to you. I’m not in league with any thieves. I’m an honest man.”
“I’m sure of it,” agreed Mary Louise instantly.
But she was disappointed upon sight of the watches. Neither of them was hers, nor did either remotely resemble Mrs. Weinberger’s or any of the other three stolen from Stoddard House.
“Thank you ever so much,” she said finally. “I think I’ll look around a little more and ask about my own, and if I can’t find it, I may come back and buy one of yours. Several of those you have are very pretty.”
Thoroughly satisfied with her interview, she walked down the street until she came to another shop. It was on the corner of an alley, and just as she approached the intersection she noticed a woman in an old-fashioned brown suit coming out of the side door of the pawnshop. The woman glanced about furtively, as if she did not care to be seen, and caught Mary Louise’s eyes. With a gasp of surprise, the girl recognized her immediately. It was Miss Henrietta Stoddard!
Before Mary Louise could even nod to her, the woman had slipped across the street and around the corner, lost amid the Saturday morning crowd that was thronging the busy street. Mary Louise repressed a smile and entered the pawnshop by the front door.
She repeated her former experience, with this difference, however: she did not find the shopkeeper nearly so cordial or so willing to co-operate. Finally she asked point-blank what the woman in the brown suit had just pawned.
“I can’t see that that’s any of your business, miss,” he replied disagreeably. “But I will tell you that it wasn’t a watch.”
Mary Louise wasn’t sure that she believed him. But there was nothing that she could do without enlisting the help of her father.
She visited four other shops without any success, and finally decided to abandon the plan. It was too hopeless, too hit-or-miss, to expect to find those watches by that kind of searching. Far better, she concluded, to concentrate on observing the actions of the people at Stoddard House. Especially Miss Henrietta Stoddard herself!
So she turned her steps to the big department store where she believed Margaret Detweiler had worked till last Christmas and inquired her way to the employment office. The store was brilliantly decorated for Christmas, and crowds of late shoppers filled the aisles and the elevators, so that it was not easy to reach her destination.
Nor was the employment manager’s office empty. Even at this late date, applicants were evidently hoping for jobs, and Mary Louise had to sit down and wait her turn. It was half an hour later that she found herself opposite the manager’s desk.
Mechanically a clerk handed her an application to fill out.
“I don’t want a position,” Mary Louise said immediately. “I want to see whether I can get any information about a girl named Margaret Detweiler who, I think, worked in your store up to last Christmas. Would it be too much trouble to look her up in your files? I know you’re busy—”
“Oh, that’s all right,” replied the manager pleasantly, and she repeated the name to the clerk.
“You see,” explained Mary Louise, “Margaret Detweiler’s grandparents haven’t heard from her for a year, and they’re dreadfully worried. Margaret is all they have in the world.”
The clerk found the card immediately.
“Miss Detweiler did work here for six months last year,” she stated. “In the jewelry department. And then she was dismissed for stealing.”
“Stealing!” repeated Mary Louise, aghast at such news. “Why, I can’t believe it! Margaret was the most upright, honest girl at home; she came from the best people. How did it happen?”
“I remember her now,” announced the employment manager. “A pretty, dark-eyed girl who always dressed rather plainly. Yes, I was surprised too. But she had been ill, I believe, and perhaps she wasn’t quite herself. Maybe she had doctor’s bills and so on. It was too bad, for if she had come to me I could have helped her out with a loan.”
“Was she sent to prison?” asked Mary Louise in a hoarse whisper. Oh, the disgrace of the thing! It would kill old Mrs. Detweiler if she ever found it out.
“No, she wasn’t. We found the stolen article in Miss Detweiler’s shoe. At least, one of the things she took—a link bracelet. We didn’t recover the ring, but a wealthy woman, a customer who happened to be in the jewelry department at the time, evidently felt sorry for Miss Detweiler and offered to pay for the ring. We didn’t let her, but of course we had to dismiss the girl.”
“You haven’t any idea where Margaret went—or what she did?”
“Only that this woman—her name was Mrs. Ferguson, I remember, and she lived at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel—promised Miss Detweiler a job. So perhaps everything is all right now.”
“I hope so!” exclaimed Mary Louise fervently. And thanking the woman profusely she left the office and the store.
But she had her misgivings. If everything had turned out all right, why hadn’t Margaret written to her grandparents? Who was this Mrs. Ferguson, and why had she done this kindness for an unknown girl? Mary Louise meant to find out, if she could.
She inquired her way to the Benjamin Franklin Hotel and asked at the desk for Mrs. Ferguson. But she was informed that no such person lived there.
“Would you have last year’s register?” she asked timidly. She hated to put everybody to so much trouble.
The clerk smiled: nobody could resist Mary Louise.
“I’ll get it for you,” he said.
After a good deal of searching she found a Mrs. H. R. Ferguson registered at the hotel on the twenty-third of the previous December, with only the indefinite address of Chicago, Illinois, after her name. Margaret Detweiler did not appear in the book at all: evidently she had never stayed at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel.
With a sigh of disappointment, Mary Louise thanked the clerk and left. Nothing had been gained by that visit.
“It must be lunch time,” she decided, after glancing in vain at her wrist, where she was accustomed to wear her watch. “I guess I’ll go back to the house.”
The minute
she entered the door of Stoddard House, the most terrible commotion greeted her. A woman’s shriek rang through the air; someone cried out, “Catch her—she’s fainted!” the elevator doors slammed, and people appeared from everywhere, in wild confusion.
Mary Louise dashed through the door to the desk just in time to see Mrs. Macgregor, the wealthy widow who lived in room 201, drop down on the bench beside the elevator. Women pressed all around her prostrate figure: guests, maids, Mrs. Hilliard, and the secretary, Miss Horton, who offered a glass of water to the unconscious woman. But nobody seemed to know what it was all about.
Presently Mrs. Macgregor opened her eyes and accepted a sip of the water. Then she glared accusingly at Mrs. Hilliard.
“I’ve been robbed!” she cried. “Five hundred dollars and a pair of diamond earrings!”
CHAPTER VI
Saturday Afternoon
“Do you feel any better now, Mrs. Macgregor?” inquired Mrs. Hilliard, as the stricken woman sat upright on the bench.
“Better!” she repeated angrily. “I’ll never feel better till I get my money back again.”
Mary Louise repressed a smile. Macgregor was a Scotch name.
“Now, tell us how it happened,” urged Mrs. Hilliard. “When did you first miss the money?”
“Just a few minutes ago, when I came out of my bath.” She became hysterical again. “Lock the doors!” she cried. “Search everybody! Call the police!”
Mary Louise caught Mrs. Hilliard’s eye.
“Shall I?” she asked.
Mrs. Hilliard nodded. “And tell the janitor to lock the doors and station himself at the front to let the guests in who come home, for the girls will be coming into lunch from work. Today’s a half holiday.”
By the time Mary Louise had returned, she found the crowd somewhat dispersed. The servants had gone back to their work, but several new arrivals had joined Mrs. Hilliard and Mrs. Macgregor. The two Walder girls, about whom Mary Louise had heard so much, were there, and Mrs. Hilliard introduced them. They were both very attractive, very much the same type as Mary Louise’s own friends in Riverside. Much more real, she thought, than Pauline Brooks, with her vivid make-up and her boastful talk.
“That is a great deal of money to keep in your room, Mrs. Macgregor,” Evelyn Walder said. “Especially after all the robberies we’ve been having at Stoddard House.”
“That’s just it! It was on account of these terrible goings-on that I took the money and the diamonds from a little safe I have and got them ready to put into the bank. Somebody was too quick for me. But I’m pretty sure I know who it was: Ida, the chambermaid!”
“Oh, no!” protested Mrs. Hilliard. “Ida has been with me two years, and I know she’s honest.”
“Send for her,” commanded Mrs. Macgregor.
While they were waiting for the girl to appear, Mrs. Macgregor explained more calmly just what had happened.
“I had the money and the diamonds in a bag on my bureau,” she said. “I was running the water in my bathroom when I heard a knock at the door. I unlocked it, and Ida came in with clean towels and a fresh bureau cover. While she was fixing the bureau cover, I hurried back to the bathroom, put the towels away, and turned off the water. My bath salts fell out of the closet when I opened the door to put the towels away, so I was delayed two or three minutes gathering them up. I heard Ida go out and close the door behind her, and I got into my bath. When I came back into the bedroom, my bag was gone.”
“But you didn’t scream immediately,” observed Mrs. Hilliard. “You must have waited to dress.”
“I had dressed in the bathroom, before I knew the bag was stolen.”
“Wasn’t anybody else in your room all morning, Mrs. Macgregor?” Mary Louise couldn’t help asking.
“Only Miss Stoddard. She had gone out to buy me some thread—she does my mending for me—and she stopped in on her return from the store and took some of my lingerie to her room.”
At this moment the chambermaid, a girl of about twenty-two, approached the group. Either she knew nothing about the robbery, or else she was a splendid actress, for she appeared entirely unconcerned.
“You wanted me, Mrs. Hilliard?” she inquired.
“Listen to the innocent baby!” mocked Mrs. Macgregor scornfully.
Ida looked puzzled, and Mrs. Hilliard briefly explained the situation. The girl denied the whole thing immediately.
“There wasn’t any bag on the bureau, Mrs. Macgregor,” she said. “I know, because I changed the cover.”
“Maybe it wasn’t on the bureau,” admitted Mrs. Macgregor. “But it was somewhere in the room. You’re going to be searched!”
The girl looked imploringly at Mrs. Hilliard, but the latter could not refuse to grant Mrs. Macgregor’s demand.
“I can prove I didn’t take any bag,” said Ida. “By Miss Brooks. I went right into her room next and made her bed. She can tell you I did. She was just going out—I’m sure she’ll remember.”
“Is Miss Brooks here?”
“I think she left the hotel about fifteen minutes ago,” stated Miss Horton, the secretary. “Before Mrs. Macgregor screamed.”
“Well, we can ask her when she comes back,” said Mrs. Hilliard. “Where were you, Ida, when I sent for you?”
“Still in Miss Brooks’ room,” replied the girl tearfully. “I was running the vacuum cleaner, so I never heard the disturbance.”
Mrs. Hilliard turned to Mrs. Macgregor. “If Ida did steal your bag,” she said, “she would have to have it concealed on her person. Mary Louise, you take Ida to my apartment and have her undress and prove that she isn’t hiding anything.”
Without a word the two girls did as they were told and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Mary Louise felt dreadfully sorry for her companion, who by this time was shaking and sobbing. She put her arm through Ida’s as they entered Mrs. Hilliard’s apartment.
“You know, Ida,” she said, “if you did do this it would be lots easier for you if you’d own up now. The police are bound to find out anyhow, sooner or later.”
“But I didn’t, miss!” protested the other girl. “I never stole anything in my life. I was brought up different. I’m a good girl, and my mother would die if she knew I was even accused of stealing.”
Instinctively Mary Louise believed her. Nevertheless, she had to do as she was told, and she carefully made the search. But she found nothing.
Satisfied, she took the girl back to Mrs. Hilliard. The police had already arrived, and more of the hotel guests had returned. Miss Stoddard was sitting beside Mrs. Macgregor, and Mary Louise longed to suggest that she—or rather her room—be searched.
However, the police attended to that. One officer took each floor, and everybody’s room was systematically gone through. But the valuable bag could not be found.
The doors of the hotel were unlocked, and everybody was allowed to go in and out again as she pleased. Mary Louise watched eagerly for Pauline Brooks, hoping that she would prove Ida’s alibi, but Miss Brooks did not return. Undoubtedly she had a date somewhere—a lively girl like Pauline could not imagine wasting her Saturday afternoon on “females,” as she would call the guests at Stoddard House.
The dining-room doors were thrown open, and Mary Louise and Mrs. Hilliard went in to their lunch together. The older woman seemed dreadfully depressed.
“Mrs. Macgregor is leaving this afternoon,” she said. “And the Weinbergers go tomorrow. If this keeps up, the hotel will be empty in another week.… And I’ll lose my position.”
“Oh, I hope not,” replied Mary Louise. “Everybody can’t leave because things are stolen, for there are robberies everywhere. The big hotels all employ private detectives, and yet I’ve read that an awful lot of things are taken just the same. Some people make their living just by robbing hotel guests. So, no matter where people go, they run a risk. Even in homes of their own.”
“Yes, that’s true. But Stoddard House has been particularly unlucky, and you know things
like this get around.”
“I’m going to do my best to find out who is the guilty person,” Mary Louise assured her. “And this morning’s robbery ought to narrow down my suspects to those who were at the house at the time. At least, if you can help me by telling me who they are.”
“Yes, I think I can. Besides Mrs. Macgregor and myself, there were only Miss Stoddard, the two Weinbergers, Mrs. Moyer, and Miss Brooks. All the rest of the guests have positions and were away at work.”
Mary Louise took her notebook and checked off the list.
“That does make it easier, unless one of the help is guilty. They were all here at the time.… But of course the thief may be that same man who stole my watch.”
“Yes, that’s possible, especially if he is an accomplice of one of the guests—of Miss Stoddard, for instance.”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about her. She was in Mrs. Macgregor’s room, you know.” But Mary Louise did not tell Mrs. Hilliard about seeing Miss Stoddard sneaking out of the pawnshop.
“You better go to a movie this afternoon, Mary Louise, and forget all about it for the time being,” advised the manager. “Shan’t I ask the Walder girls to take you along? They usually go to a show.”
“No, thanks, Mrs. Hilliard. It’s very thoughtful of you, but I want to go back to the department store and make another inquiry about the lost girl I’m trying to trace. I’d like a chance to talk to Miss Stoddard too, and to Pauline Brooks when she comes back. Maybe she saw the thief, if she came out of her room when Ida said she did.”
“Well, do as you like. Only don’t worry too much, dear.”
Mary Louise finished her lunch and went out into the open air again. Now that she was becoming a little more familiar with the city, she thought she would like to walk along Chestnut and Walnut streets, to have a look at the big hotels and the expensive shops. The downtown district was thronged with people, shopping, going to matinées, hurrying home for their weekend holiday; the confusion was overwhelming after the quiet of Riverside. But Mary Louise enjoyed the excitement: it would be something to write home about.
At Broad and Walnut streets she stopped to admire the Ritz Hotel, a tall, imposing building of white stone, where Pauline Brooks had said that her aunt usually stayed when she was visiting Philadelphia. What fun it would be to have luncheon or tea there some day! If only she had somebody to go with. Perhaps Pauline would take her, if she asked her. Mary Louise wanted to be able to tell the Riverside girls about it.
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 34
