Half a block farther on she saw Pauline herself coming towards her, accompanied by a stout, stylishly dressed woman and a very blond girl of her own age.
“That must be Pauline’s aunt,” Mary Louise thought, noticing what a hard, unpleasant face the woman had, how unattractive she was, in spite of her elegant clothes. “No wonder Pauline doesn’t want to live with her!”
“Hello, Pauline!” she said brightly. It was wonderful to meet somebody she knew in this big, strange city.
Pauline, who had not noticed Mary Louise, looked up in surprise.
“Oh, hello—uh—Emmy Lou,” she replied.
Mary Louise laughed and stood still. “We’ve had all sorts of excitement at Stoddard House, Pauline. I want to tell you about it.”
The woman and the blond girl continued to walk on, but Pauline stopped for a moment.
“You mean besides last night?” she asked.
“Yes. Another robbery. Mrs. Macgregor—”
“Tell me at supper time, Emmy Lou,” interrupted Pauline. “These people are in a hurry. I’ve got to go.”
Mary Louise was disappointed; she did so want to ask Pauline whether Ida’s story were true. Now she’d have to wait.
She continued her walk down Walnut Street until she came to Ninth, then she turned up to Market Street and entered the department store where she had made the inquiries that morning concerning Margaret Detweiler.
There were not so many people visiting the employment manager that afternoon as in the morning: perhaps everybody thought Saturday afternoon a poor time to look for a job. Mary Louise was thankful for this, and apologized profusely for taking the busy woman’s time again.
“I couldn’t find anybody by the name of Ferguson at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel now,” she said, “or any trace of Margaret Detweiler at all, there. But after I left the hotel it occurred to me that if you would give me the address that Margaret had while she was working here, I might make inquiries at the boarding house, or wherever it was that she lived. They might know something. Do you think that would be too much trouble?”
“No trouble at all,” replied the woman pleasantly. She told the clerk to look in the files again. The address was a number on Pine Street, and Mary Louise asked where that street was located, as she copied it down in her notebook.
“Not far away,” was the reply. “You can easily walk there in a few minutes.” She gave Mary Louise explicit directions.
It was a shabby red-brick house in a poor but respectable neighborhood. A colored woman answered Mary Louise’s ring.
“Nothing today!” said the woman instantly, without giving Mary Louise a chance to speak first.
“I’m not selling anything,” replied the girl, laughing. “I wanted to ask the landlady here about a girl named Margaret Detweiler who used to live here. Could you ask her to spare me a minute or two?”
“All right,” agreed the servant. “Come in.”
She ushered Mary Louise into a neat but gloomy parlor, and in a couple of minutes the landlady appeared.
“I understand you want to ask me about Miss Detweiler?” she inquired.
“Yes,” answered Mary Louise. “I am trying to find her for her grandparents. The employment manager of the department store said she lived here. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is. Miss Detweiler lived here for about five months. She seemed like a nice quiet girl, with no bad habits. She paid regular till the last month she was here, when she took sick and had to spend a lot of money on medicines and doctor’s bills. Then, all of a sudden, she slipped away without payin’ her bill, and I never saw her again.”
“She owes you money?” demanded Mary Louise.
“No, she don’t now. A couple of weeks after she left, she sent it to me in a registered letter. So we’re square now.”
“Didn’t she send her address?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Where was the letter postmarked?”
“Center Square. A little town up the state.”
“Do you still have the envelope?”
“No, I haven’t. But I remember the name, because I used to know folks at Center Square.”
“Didn’t Margaret say anything in her letter about how she was getting on or what she was doing?” asked Mary Louise.
“There wasn’t any letter. Just a folded piece of paper.”
“Oh, that’s too bad! And what was the date?”
“Sometime in January. Let’s see, it must have been near the start of the month, for I remember I used some of that money to buy my grandson a birthday present, and his birthday’s on the seventh.”
“Well, I thank you very much for what you have told me,” concluded Mary Louise. “Maybe it will lead to something. I’ll go to Center Square and make inquiries. You see,” she explained, “Margaret Detweiler’s grandparents are very unhappy because they haven’t heard from her, and I want to do all in my power to find her. Margaret is all they have, and they love her dearly.”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“And may you have good luck, my dear child!” she said.
CHAPTER VII
The Abandoned House
When Mary Louise returned to the hotel, she found everything quiet. She went immediately to the fourth floor; Mrs. Hilliard was in her sitting room, knitting and listening to the radio.
“Has anything happened since I left?” asked the girl eagerly.
“No,” replied the manager. “Except that another guest has departed. Your friend Pauline Brooks came back, packed her bag, paid her bill, and left. Of course, she was only a transient anyway, but the hotel is so empty that I was hoping she would stay a while.”
“I met her on the street with her aunt,” Mary Louise said. “But she didn’t have time to talk to me. Did you question her about Ida’s story?”
“Yes, and she said it was true that Ida did come into her room to make the bed at that time, because she, Miss Brooks, had slept late. But she didn’t know how long the maid had stayed because she left the hotel before Mrs. Macgregor discovered her loss and screamed. So it is possible that Ida went back into Mrs. Macgregor’s room.”
“Personally I believe the girl is innocent,” stated Mary Louise.
“So do I. As I said, she has been with me two years, and I have always found her absolutely trustworthy. It probably was a sneak thief. The police are on the lookout for somebody like that.”
“Did you talk to Miss Stoddard?”
“No, I didn’t. She went out this afternoon.”
“She’ll bear watching,” remarked Mary Louise.
“I think so too,” agreed the other.…“Now, tell me what you did with yourself this afternoon.”
Mary Louise related the story of her visit to Margaret Detweiler’s former boarding house and the scant information she had obtained. “Is Center Square far away?” she asked.
“Oh, a couple of hours’ drive, if you have a car. But do you really think it would do you any good to go there? The girl was probably only passing through and stopped at the post office to mail her letter to the landlady.”
“Yes, I am afraid that is all there was to it. But I could at least make inquiries, and after all, it’s the only clue I have. I’d never be satisfied if I didn’t do the very best I could to find Margaret for her grandparents.”
Mary Louise stayed a little longer with Mrs. Hilliard; then she went to her own room to dress for dinner. But suddenly she was terribly homesick. Jane and the boys would be coasting all afternoon, she knew, for there would still be plenty of snow left in the country, and there was a dance tonight at another friend’s. Max would be coming for her in his runabout; she would be wearing her blue silk dress—and—and—Her eyes filled with tears. Wasn’t she just being terribly foolish to stay here in Philadelphia, missing all those good times? And for what? There wasn’t a chance in the world that she’d discover the thief, when even the police were unsuccessful.
“But I’ll never learn to be a detec
tive until I try—and—learn to accept failures,” she told herself sternly, and she knew that, all things considered, she had not been foolish. It might be hard at the time to give up all the fun, but in the long run it would be worth it. She ought to be thanking her lucky stars for the chance!
Somewhat reassured, she dressed and went downstairs to the reception room, where the radio was playing. She found the two Walder girls, whom she had met at noontime when Mrs. Macgregor raised the commotion. Mary Louise greeted them cordially.
“It’s beginning to rain,” said Evelyn Walder, “so Sis and I thought we’d stay in tonight and try to get up a game of bridge. Do you play, Mary Lou?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Mary Louise. “I love it. Whom shall we get for a fourth? Mrs. Hilliard?”
“Mrs. Hilliard doesn’t like to play, and besides, she has to get up and answer the telephone so much that she usually just knits in the evenings. Maybe we can get one of the Fletcher girls.”
“No, I heard Lucy say that they had a date,” returned Ruth Walder.
Mary Louise looked disappointed; she was so anxious to meet all the guests at Stoddard House. She had an inspiration, however. “How about Miss Stoddard?” she asked. “Does she play?”
The other two girls looked at Mary Louise in amazement.
“Sure, she plays bridge,” replied Evelyn. “But we don’t want her! If you don’t mind my slang, I’ll say she’s a pain in the neck.”
Mary Louise smiled: she thought so too.
“Mrs. Weinberger is nice, even if she is a lot older than we are,” observed Ruth. “And she loves to play, because her daughter goes out every Saturday night with her boy-friend, I think.”
The others agreed to this suggestion, and Mrs. Weinberger accepted the invitation immediately. So the evening passed pleasantly, but Mary Louise did not feel that she had learned anything of value to her job.
The party broke up about ten-thirty; Mary Louise went to her room and took out her notebook.
“It’s getting so confusing,” she mused. “So many things stolen, so many people involved. These two robberies since I came—the one in my room last night, and Mrs. Macgregor’s today—make five in all. I wonder if they could all have been done by the same person. Maybe—maybe it’s a secret band of some kind! With Miss Henrietta Stoddard as its leader!”
Her one determination, when she awakened the next morning, was to have a talk with Miss Stoddard. Accordingly, after breakfast she asked Mrs. Hilliard how that could best be arranged.
“Miss Stoddard always goes to Christ Church,” was the reply. “Why couldn’t you plan to go with her?”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Mrs. Hilliard! I always did want to visit Christ Church—we read so much about it in history.”
“I’ll ask her to take you with her,” offered the manager, “when she comes out of the dining room.”
The arrangement was easily made, and a couple of hours later Mary Louise met Miss Stoddard in the lobby of the hotel. Today the spinster was not wearing the shabby brown suit; indeed, she looked quite neat and stylish in a dark blue coat trimmed with fur.
The rain had washed most of the snow away, and the sun was shining, so both Mary Louise and Miss Stoddard thought it would be pleasant to walk down to Second and Market streets, where the historic church was situated. For a while they talked of its significance in colonial Philadelphia, and Miss Stoddard promised to show Mary Louise the pew in which George Washington and his family had worshiped.
It was Miss Stoddard, however, who gave the conversation a personal turn.
“You saw me come out of that pawnshop yesterday, didn’t you, Miss Gay?” she inquired. “I wanted to ask you not to say anything about my visit to Mrs. Hilliard or to any of the other guests.”
“But it is nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Stoddard,” protested Mary Louise. “Lots of people pawn things.”
“I know. But not women of my type, usually. I’m rather hard pressed for money now, so I sold an old brooch of my mother’s. It didn’t bring much.”
Mary Louise nodded and looked at her companion. But she could not tell whether she were telling the truth or not.
“Then,” continued Miss Stoddard, “my visit might look suspicious to some people—after all these robberies at the hotel.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“But it really proves my innocence, because if I had taken all that money of Mrs. Macgregor’s I shouldn’t be rushing to a pawnshop now to get a little more.”
That was a good point; Mary Louise had not thought of it before.
“Who do you think did all the stealing, Miss Stoddard?” she asked point-blank.
“The Weinberger girl! I suppose you’d call her a woman, but she seems like just a girl to me. She and the young man she goes with are in league together. I think he’s out of work, and the two of them have been planning to get married. So they’ve been stealing right and left.”
“Even her own mother’s watch?”
“Yes, even that.”
Mary Louise was silent. It was an entirely new idea to her. Yet it was possible; the Weinbergers had been at Stoddard House ever since the things began to be stolen. If Hortense Weinberger were going to marry this young man of hers, she could use the silverware, the vase, and the painting in her new house or apartment. The watches could be pawned, and the money would be enough to keep the young couple for a while.… Yes, the explanation was logical.
“I have reason to believe that this couple will elope tonight,” announced Miss Stoddard.
Mary Louise’s eyes opened wide with excitement. “If that man is the thief, and if I can see him to identify him,” she said, “maybe that will solve the mystery. You remember, Miss Stoddard, a man stole my watch. He was short and of slight build—but of course I couldn’t see his face. Is Miss Weinberger’s friend like that?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him. But I overheard a phone call, and Hortense Weinberger said she’d slip out about eleven tonight. Could you be watching then?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Mary Louise joyfully. Oh, suppose it were true, and she could identify the man! Wouldn’t it be too wonderful?
“I think you’re terribly clever, Miss Stoddard,” she said, “if you really have found the solution. It will mean so much to Mrs. Hilliard. She has been worried to death.”
They had been so interested in their conversation that they did not realize how near they were to the church. In another minute they were walking reverently into the old building, and for the next hour and a half, robberies and mysteries were forgotten in the solemn beauty of the service. Nor did they refer to the subject afterwards, but walked back to the hotel talking about historic Philadelphia.
Mary Louise went to her room after dinner and wrote down everything Miss Stoddard had said about Hortense Weinberger. The explanation was so plausible that she could hardly wait for the evening to come, with her chance to identify her own particular burglar. If he were the man who had entered her room, the whole thing would be solved and she could go home for Christmas! Oh, how glad she was that she had had that talk with Miss Stoddard!
In the midst of her daydreams a knock sounded at the door. A maid handed her a card with the name “Max Miller” engraved on it.
Mary Louise let out a wild whoop of joy and, not waiting to explain, dashed past the maid and down the steps to the lobby. And there he was. Good old Max—looking handsomer than ever! Mary Louise could have hugged him in her delight.
“Max! You angel!” she cried. “How did you know I’d be so glad to see you?”
“Because I knew how glad I’d be to see you,” he replied, still holding onto her hand.
Mary Louise withdrew it laughingly.
“Women talk,” she reminded him, glancing about her.
“Okay.,” he grinned. “How are you? Solved your mystery yet?”
“Oh no. I’ve had my own watch and five dollars stolen—that’s all!”
“And you call this a good t
ime! Well, Mary Lou, you certainly can take it.… But haven’t you had enough, little girl? Please come home with me!”
Mary Louise’s eyes flashed in anger.
“Is that what you came here for, Max Miller?” she demanded.
“No—oh, no! I didn’t expect you’d come home. I just wanted to see you, so I drove down. Started early this morning. Now let’s go places and do things!”
“Where? You can’t do much in Philadelphia on Sunday.”
“Anywhere. We can take a drive and have our supper at some nice place away from this henhouse.”
“Now, Max—”
“Get your coat and hat. There’s a good girl.”
“But, Max, you must be sick of driving. And if you expect to start back tonight—”
“I don’t. I’m staying over at the Y.M. for a couple of days. So I can watch you. Now, don’t get excited! I have your parents’ consent. In fact, they thought it was a bully idea. You may be a wonderful detective, Mary Lou, but just the same you’re a darned pretty girl. And pretty girls alone in strange cities.…”
“I have Mrs. Hilliard,” she reminded him.
“Yes, I know. That’s what makes it look all right. But it doesn’t make you safe, just the same. You could easily be kidnapped.”
“You’re not going to follow me everywhere I go, are you?” she asked, in concern.
“No. Just keep an eye on you for a couple of days. And maybe help you a bit. With a car at your disposal, you may be able to clear up things quicker and go home in time for the senior prom. That’s my little scheme, in a nutshell.”
“It will be wonderful,” agreed Mary Louise. “I’ll admit there have been moments when I’ve been homesick, Max.” Her eyes brightened. “I know where I want to go this afternoon! To Center Square.”
“Where’s that?”
“I don’t know. Out in the country somewhere—you can look it up on your map.”
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 35
