The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  “And you believed her?”

  “Yes, indeed. We had become quite good friends at supper that night.”

  Mr. Gay laughed. “But what finally led you to suspect her?”

  Mary Louise went on to tell her father in detail about her false suspicions concerning first Miss Stoddard and then Miss Weinberger, and described her visit to the Bellevue and the catching of Pauline Brooks and Mary Green in the very act of stealing.

  “But that wasn’t evidence enough to prove them guilty of the robberies at Stoddard House,” objected her father.

  “I know,” admitted Mary Louise. “But I figured out that there is a whole band of these secret hotel thieves, for I’m pretty sure two other members stole some silverware and a vase from Stoddard House a while ago. I believe, too, that a woman whom Pauline called her aunt is the leader.… And that’s what I want you to do, Dad. Go after her!”

  “But where is she?” he demanded.

  “I think she’s in Baltimore now, at the Hotel Phillips, because that’s where the girls got their money for bail. Five hundred dollars. She’s planning to go to Florida, so you have to hurry.”

  “What could I do with her if I did find her?” inquired Mr. Gay.

  “Couldn’t you arrest her?”

  “Not unless I had some evidence against her.”

  Mary Louise sighed: it was dreadful, she thought, to know that somebody was guilty and not be able to prove it. But she could see that her father was right.

  Mr. Gay was enjoying his lunch. He praised the food and the service to Mary Louise and exclaimed in surprise that the hotel was not well filled.

  “It’s partly because of these robberies,” explained Mary Louise. “Several people have moved out just since I came. No wonder Mrs. Hilliard is worried.”

  “But she feels encouraged since you found two of the thieves, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes, she’s tremendously pleased. She told me I had earned my money, and I could go home. But of course I’m not satisfied. The job’s only half done.”

  The waitress approached the table, and offered a menu.

  “I’ll take plum pudding,” announced Mr. Gay, “in celebration of the season. How about you, Mary Lou?”

  “Chocolate sundae,” was her inevitable choice.

  “Where,” inquired Mr. Gay, turning to his daughter, “did this aunt of Pauline’s live when she was in Philadelphia?”

  “She stayed at the Ritz.”

  “Never at Stoddard House?”

  “Oh no.”

  “Then we’ll make a visit to the Ritz after lunch. And I think I will take the two o’clock train to Baltimore to see what I can find out about the woman. What does she call herself?”

  “Mrs. Ferguson—and sometimes Mrs. Brooks. Possibly there are two different women, but I don’t believe so.… But what will you do at the Ritz, Daddy?”

  “Just make inquiries as to whether anything was stolen while the woman stayed there, and if so, what. That would give me a reason for going after her in Baltimore.”

  “That’s a great idea, Dad!” exclaimed Mary Louise joyfully. “May I go to the hotel with you?”

  “Of course. Now, you run along and get your hat and coat and tell Mrs. Hilliard where you are going, while I order a taxi.”

  It was not until they were in the cab that Mr. Gay remembered to ask how Mary Louise had received the cut on her head. Max had not told him much, he explained, because he wanted to keep it secret from Mary Louise’s mother, to save her unnecessary worry.

  “It was part of my investigation about Margaret Detweiler,” replied the girl, and she hurriedly told her father the reason for her visit to Center Square and its consequences. “But I feel that in some way the two cases are tied up together,” she added, “for the woman who owns the place is named Mrs. Ferguson, and a face which I saw at the window reminded me of the woman Pauline called her aunt. But it’s all very confusing.”

  The taxi pulled up at the Ritz, and Mr. Gay and his daughter got out. With his badge, the former had no difficulty in interviewing the hotel detective immediately. He asked whether any money or valuables had been lost at the Ritz during the past week.

  “Yes,” replied the other, “some money and a valuable bag containing two pearl rings were stolen last Friday. But we suspected a chap who called himself a traveling salesman, and we’re on his track.”

  “Was a Mrs. Brooks staying here at the time?”

  “Yes. I remember her well. With two nieces.”

  “Please describe her,” urged Mary Louise.

  “She is tall and stout—weighs around a hundred and eighty, I should judge. About fifty years old, with black hair done very severely—looks like a wig. Dresses well and wears jewelry. Has false teeth and an ugly mouth, but seems a great favorite with young people.… That’s about all.”

  “That’s enough,” said Mr. Gay. “Now, can you tell me just what was stolen?”

  The detective wrote down the articles on a slip of paper. “A bag containing two pearl rings, and two hundred dollars.” The bag was valuable in itself, being made of gold mesh, he told them.

  “Thank you very much,” said Mr. Gay as he pocketed the list. “I’ll let you know if I have any success.”

  The taxi was waiting outside the hotel, and Mary Louise jumped into it first.

  “I’ll ride to the station with you, Daddy,” she said. “Do you think you’ll be back tonight?”

  “Maybe,” he answered. “But we’ll have a fine Christmas together tomorrow.”

  He was just in time to catch his train. Mary Louise watched it pull out of the station and wondered what in the world she would do to pass the afternoon. Slowly she walked out to the street and looked at the Christmas displays in the shop windows.

  She had gone about two blocks when she stopped to examine a particularly attractive display, featuring a small, real Christmas tree, when she noticed that the shop into whose window she was gazing was a tea room. A cup of hot chocolate ought to taste good, she decided—rich and hot, with whipped cream on the top! So she opened the door and went inside.

  Little did she realize at that moment how thankful she was to be later on for that one cup of chocolate and the plate of little cakes that she ordered!

  CHAPTER XIII

  A Prisoner in the Dark

  While Mary Louise waited for her chocolate to be served, she took the copy of the letter from her handbag and read it again. The woman said she was going to Florida. Oh, suppose her father should be too late to catch her!

  “But if Mrs. Ferguson really is a crook, why should she write all her plans to a prisoner, when she would know that the letter would be censored?” Mary Louise asked herself.

  Her eyes narrowed. The woman had written the letter on purpose to deceive them! She probably had no intention of going to Florida! Perhaps it was a code letter.

  Mary Louise recalled the Lindbergh case, in which the kidnaper had written a letter to a prisoner in which the second word of every sentence was a key, thus forming a message. She decided to try to discover something like that for herself. She read the letter again:

  Dear Girls:

  You poor girls! Meet your misfortune with this $500. U.S. justice is terrible! In what other country would they detain innocent girls?

  Baltimore is where I am now, but I am leaving immediately for a trip to Florida. Margaret can’t go with me on account of school. Will you write to her? Get her address from the phone book.

  Treasure Island is playing at the movies, and we liked it a lot. From my observation it is like the book. C. S. enjoyed it thoroughly. And so did I. Bring me back the book if you go home for Christmas. It was mine anyhow.

  Tonight I am packing. Baltimore is tiresome, and I’ll be glad to leave.

  Love, Aunt Ethel.

  On a page of her notebook Mary Louise wrote down each second word and read the result to herself:

  “Poor—your—courts—what—is—can’t—her—island—”

  �
�Shucks! That doesn’t mean a thing!” she muttered in disgust. “I guess I was crazy. But just the same, it does seem like a dumb sort of letter if it hasn’t some underlying meaning.”

  The waitress brought her chocolate in a lovely little blue pot, and the whipped cream in a bowl. On a plate of the same set, dainty pink and white cakes were piled.

  “It’s a good thing I’m not dieting,” thought Mary Louise, as she poured out a steaming cup of chocolate. “This certainly looks delicious!”

  She wondered idly, as she finished her refreshments, whether she should go to a picture show, just to put in her time. She wasn’t exactly in the mood for that kind of entertainment; her own life was too exciting at the present moment to allow her to feel the need for fiction. So, while she waited for her bill, she glanced again at the letter in her handbag.

  “I might try the first word of each sentence,” she thought. “To see whether I could form a message that way. Though I should think that would be too obvious.… Still, I’ll see what happens.”

  She jotted down the opening word of each sentence on another page of her notebook.

  “You—meet—us—in—Baltimore—Margaret—will—get—treasure—from—C.S.—and—bring—it—to—Baltimore.”

  It was all Mary Louise could do to keep from crying out in her joy. Of course that was the answer! Pauline and Mary were to go to Baltimore. The treasure, the stolen goods, must be in that house at C.S.—Center Square. And “Margaret” would go there to get it!

  Mary Louise no longer had any difficulty in deciding what to do with her afternoon. She’d drive to Center Square as fast as she could—in order to beat “Margaret” there. Oh, how she hoped that the “Margaret” referred to was Margaret Detweiler!

  Her hands actually trembled as she paid the bill, she was in such haste to be off. She hadn’t time to go back to the hotel and inform Mrs. Hilliard of her plan. Later on she was to wish desperately that she had taken that precaution.

  Instead, she hurried to the agency and hired the same car she had driven the previous day. Then she set off on the road which was by this time becoming familiar.

  It was after five o’clock when Mary Louise reached Center Square. The twilight was deepening; already the short winter day was almost at a close.

  “I’ll need a flashlight,” she decided and she stopped in at a country store to buy one.

  When she came out of the store she drove directly to the abandoned house. This time she did not want to take the constable with her, for he would forbid her breaking into the place. Yet that was exactly what Mary Louise meant to do, if she could not be admitted by knocking at the door!

  She turned into the driveway, past the “No Trespassing” sign, mounted the steep incline, and parked her car in an inconspicuous spot behind the house and at the side of the barn.

  “Here’s hoping I don’t get hit with a rock!” she thought recklessly, as she jumped out of the car. The darkness was becoming deeper; the silence was broken only by the moaning of the tree branches in the wind. The place seemed completely deserted.

  With her heart beating fast, Mary Louise ran to the back door of the house and tried it. As she had anticipated, it was securely locked. A moment later she encountered the same condition at the front door. At both entrances she knocked loudly; at neither was there any response.

  “Just the same, I’m going to get in!” she muttered resolutely. “If I have to climb over the porch to a second-story window!”

  She walked around the house again, more slowly this time, examining each window as she passed it. Everywhere she found boards nailed over the glass. On only one window at the side did she discover a partial opening. It was the window through which she had seen the face of the young girl with the ugly woman beside her.

  Mary Louise’s heart leaped up in joy. She could break through that glass and get in!

  The window which she was examining was at least three feet from the ground, and two boards were nailed across the lower sash. But by standing on a log which she dragged to the spot she was able to reach the upper sash. With the aid of a stone she smashed the glass into bits.

  It would have been easier to climb through the opening without her fur coat, but Mary Louise felt sure that she would need its protection in the damp, cold house. How thankful she was later on that she had not yielded to her first impulse!

  She accomplished the feat successfully, however, without even tearing her clothing or breaking her flashlight, and stood on the floor of a room which she soon identified as the dining room.

  It was horribly cold and damp inside the house, but Mary Louise scarcely noticed it at first. A thrill of excitement sent a pleasant glow through her body. She was going to search for the treasure!

  Keeping her flashlight turned on, she gave a quick glance about the room. A table, half a dozen chairs, a sideboard of beautiful mahogany, and a china-closet filled with lovely dishes comprised its furnishings.

  “A good place to begin my search!” she decided, going straight to the attractive sideboard and opening the drawer nearest the top. A luncheon set of exquisite design greeted her eyes.

  “Rather grand for a country place,” she silently commented. “Let’s see what else we can find!”

  A second drawer was entirely empty, but a third contained a full set of silverware. Seizing a spoon in one hand, Mary Louise turned the flashlight on it with the other. A wild cry of joy escaped her lips; the spoon was decorated with an ivy-leaf pattern! Yes, and there were the initials, too—S.H. (for Stoddard House, Mrs. Hilliard had said)—engraved on the stem!

  “So I know that I’m in the right place!” she couldn’t help exclaiming aloud in her triumph.

  The sound of her own voice in the silent, dark house was strange; Mary Louise found herself trembling. But only for a moment: courage and common sense came to her rescue. Hastily she gathered all the silver together and put it in a pile on the dining-room table.

  “I may have to go out through the window again,” she figured, “so I’ll leave my stuff here. But first I’ll try the doors from the inside.”

  There, however, she met disappointment. There were no dead latches on the doors; they were both locked securely, and the keys had been removed.

  Now that she had familiarized herself with the plan of the house, she decided to make a systematic search, beginning with the upstairs and working her way down. Cautiously she ascended the wide stairway in the hall to the second floor.

  There were four bedrooms, she saw by the aid of her flashlight, and a bathroom. A narrow staircase led to an attic above.

  “I might as well begin with the attic,” she thought, “and do the thing thoroughly. That would be a natural place to hide things—especially if there’s a closet.”

  There was a huge closet, she soon discovered, besides two trunks, and all sorts of odds and ends of furniture piled about the room. Naturally, Mary Louise began her search with the trunks: to her delight she found them unlocked.

  “If I only have the same luck that I had in the dining room!” she wished as she began to examine the trays.

  Things had apparently been stuffed in hit-or-miss fashion: ribbons, scarves, odd bits of costumes were all entangled together. Off in a corner of the tray she found a heavy box which looked especially inviting. Opening it excitedly she let out a wild whoop of joy. There was jewelry inside!

  But when she examined the articles one by one she experienced only disappointment. There was nothing valuable in the whole collection; it was merely “five-and-ten-store” stuff, which nobody would wear except to a costume party.

  “I might have expected that,” she mused as she put the box back into the tray. “If this trunk had had anything valuable in it, it would have been locked.”

  Nevertheless, she resolved to make her search thorough and went through both trunks, without any success. Then she directed her attention to the closet.

  This occupied a large space—almost as big as a small room—so that Mary Louise found
that she could easily enter it herself. It was horribly chilly and damp; she shivered, and drew her coat more tightly around her as she continued her task.

  She was peering into a hat box when she suddenly heard a pounding on a wall. She stopped what she was doing and listened intently. Where was the noise coming from? Had someone come in? Was “Margaret” here, or had the police come to arrest Mary Louise for housebreaking? Her hands shook and she turned off her flashlight, waiting tensely in the darkness, while the pounding continued. But she did not hear any footsteps.

  The noise finally ceased, and, reassured at last, Mary Louise turned on her flashlight and resumed her search. But the attic revealed nothing of any importance, not even any loose boards in the walls or floor underneath which the treasure might have been stored.

  With a sigh of disappointment, Mary Louise descended the attic steps.

  Entering the bedrooms one after the other and searching them carefully, she encountered no better results. The bureaus were practically empty; the beds contained only a blanket spread over each mattress, and though Mary Louise felt around them with her hands for hard objects which might be concealed, she found nothing.

  Looking at her watch, she saw to her surprise that it was almost eight o’clock. Supper hour was long past; because of her excitement, and on account of her refreshments in the Philadelphia tea shop, she had not felt hungry. But she was thirsty and was delighted to find running water in the bathroom.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to climb out of that window to get a drink at the pump!” she congratulated herself. And while she was there she methodically searched the bathroom, again without any success.

  “Why, here’s an electric light button!” she exclaimed in surprise. “These people must be rich—they have all the modern improvements. And I’ve been using up my battery!”

  But the light did not turn on; no doubt the current was cut off while the people were away, and Mary Louise had to resort to her flashlight again.

  “Because I started in the attic, the treasure will probably be in the cellar,” she concluded. “I hope my battery doesn’t give out before I get to it.”

  Nevertheless, she meant to proceed with the downstairs first, just as she had planned. She would rather be there if “Margaret” arrived. Oh, how she wished the girl would come! Especially if she proved to be Margaret Detweiler.