CHAPTER XXII
TRAPPED
Just as she had expected, Judy found plenty of work waiting for her.The clerk at the hotel desk gave her a pile of manuscripts left byhopeful young authors. She glanced through these, waiting for thetelephone to ring. All of them seemed inexcusably bad. Why, shewondered, did so many people waste their time trying to write when theyhad no idea of plot construction or character development?... Whydidn’t the telephone ring? Peter must have had time to reach the policestation.
One of Emily Grimshaw’s old clients came in and offered Judy anotherbook manuscript. This was better than the others. She promised to readit.
“But where is Miss Grimshaw?” the author asked.
“Away,” Judy said briefly. “She left me in charge.”
Cautioning her to take care of the manuscript, the caller left. Judy’sdespondent mood returned. It all seemed such a futile undertaking,helping struggling young authors who were trying to write about lifewhen life itself was so much more important—Irene’s life.
At last the telephone rang and Judy recognized Arthur’s voice.
“We just missed Peter. Did he call you?”
“Not yet,” Judy answered.
“Then he couldn’t have heard the latest police report! The man who letsgarage space to Jasper Crosby saw him driving out of the garageyesterday, and a girl was with him. It might have been Irene? That wasin the morning, an hour or so after you called at the house. We haven’tlearned anything else.”
“Nothing about the funeral?”
“We haven’t learned anything else,” Arthur repeated. “Jasper Crosby’scar is still out of the garage but the police have the license number.They’ll be watching for him.”
“Do you think he took Irene—away?” Judy’s voice broke. She knew whatmight have happened and so did he. It was impossible to talk.
Dale Meredith called up a little later and seemed very hopeful when helearned that Irene had been seen only the day before.
“She’s alive then!” he cried.
“You mean she _was_ alive,” Judy amended gravely. “She must have beenin the tower, and I was too frightened to do anything then. Now it maybe too late. Jasper Crosby took her away in the car, and there was afuneral since then.”
“I don’t think it was Irene’s funeral. Honestly, I don’t. So keep onhoping and call me as soon as anything new develops.”
Judy promised him that she would and turned to see the door slowlyopening.
There stood Jasper Crosby himself!
“Where’s Emily Grimshaw?” he demanded.
It took courage of the highest order for Judy to answer him calmly, ina businesslike voice. But she knew that she must. He must not know thatshe had ever seen or heard of Irene. She must not reveal that she hadever been near the house with the crumbling tower.
Assuming the manner of a disinterested clerk, she replied, “MissGrimshaw is away. She left me in charge. What can I do for you?”
“Plenty,” he cried. An angry flush spread over his face. “You can tellme for one thing what happened to my sister’s poetry. The publisherssay that they have never seen it.”
Judy pretended surprise. She rose and stood beside the man, her backagainst the door.
“There must have been some mistake,” she went on. “You can search MissGrimshaw’s desk yourself and see if the poems are there.”
“Thanks! I will.”
He made a dive for the desk and began turning over papers recklessly,his hawk eyes searching every one.
Judy, with her back still against the door, turned the key in the lock,slowly, cautiously, so that he would not hear. Now she had himimprisoned in the room. He could not escape. But neither could she! Fora moment she felt completely at his mercy.
“The poems aren’t here,” he announced in a voice that boded no good forJudy.
Quickly, then, she planned her course of action. She breathed a silentprayer that she might not fail. Aloud she said, “I’ll call EmilyGrimshaw and ask her what happened to the manuscripts.”
He muttered something about making it snappy and Judy walked over tothe telephone. She began dialing a number. But it was not EmilyGrimshaw’s number. It was the number Peter Dobbs had given her!
“Hello!” his voice sounded over the wire.
Judy glanced at Jasper Crosby who stood near the desk. He was watchingher like a cat.
“Hello! Miss Grimshaw? This is Judy. Jasper Crosby is here.”
“Who? What?” Peter sputtered.
“Jasper Crosby. He’s here in the office. He wants to know what happenedto the poetry. Will you come right over?”
There followed a moment of silence. Jasper’s eyes seemed to be takingan X-ray picture of Judy’s mind. She felt that he must know she had notbeen talking to her employer. Then Peter’s voice, lowered and tense,“You bet your life I’ll come right over. And I’ll have the whole policeforce with me. Brave little Judy!”
She replaced the receiver and turned to Jasper Crosby.
“She’ll be right over. Will you wait?”
“Wait nothing,” he muttered. “Why should I wait? Say, who was that youwere talking to then?”
“Emily Grimshaw,” Judy lied gallantly.
“Mighty queer. She’s home sick and then you call her up and shepromises to get right up and come. Funny sickness, I call it.”
“Who said she’s sick?”
“Well, she took a fainting spell at the funeral yesterday.”
“Whose funeral?”
He detected the anxious note in her voice and became suspicious.
“Nobody’s business whose funeral it was. Emily Grimshaw can tell you.She was there. I’ll be back later to see about the poetry.”
“You’re not going!” Judy cried in alarm as he turned toward the door.
“Why not? There’s nothing to keep me.”
Judy’s thoughts answered him in a whirl. “Oh, but there is, Mr. Crosby.There’s a locked door to keep you, and if you find out that I locked ityou will know that I set a trap for you, that I must have known aboutIrene’s disappearance. You’ll be furious! You may kill me before Peterand the police get here.”
In reality she said, “Please, Mr. Crosby. Miss Grimshaw will be only aminute and I would like to see this misunderstanding about the poetrycleared up.”
“You would, eh? Interested, aren’t you? So damned interested that yougo prowling around our house like a thief.”
This startled Judy so much that she could only gasp.
“What’d you want of my sister?” he demanded.
“I wanted to tell her about the poetry,” Judy answered quickly. “Yousee, it’s—it’s lost.”
“The deuce it is! Then how’s Emily Grimshaw going to help matters bycoming over?”
“She may know where it is. She was, well—intoxicated when itdisappeared.”
Jasper Crosby gave a dry chuckle. “Eh! heh! She can’t even stay soberat a funeral. I’ll be going now. Got to see a lawyer and sue the oldlady for the loss of my sister’s manuscripts.”
“Oh, no! Wait a minute! Miss Grimshaw may have them. In fact, I’malmost sure she has,” Judy cried in a panic. Anything to stall him,keep him talking until help came.
“Then tell her to send ’em to the publishers and make it snappy! I’mgoing.”
Judy laid her hand firmly on his arm. “You’re not going, Mr. Crosby.You’re going to wait for Emily Grimshaw.”
“Who’s giving orders around here?” he snapped. “I tell you I’m going!”
Wrenching away from her, he bolted for the door.
Judy realized that she had held him off as long as she could. Now ifPeter would only come—and come quickly!
Jasper Crosby tried the door. Then he turned to Judy with an oath. “Sothat’s your game, is it? Well, it won’t work. See? Better give me thatkey right now, sister.”
“I will not give you the key.”
“Then
I’ll take it from you!”
“You can’t!” Judy cried as he lurched toward her. “You don’t know whereit is.”
“Then you’ll tell me!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook heruntil she felt dizzy and faint. “You’ll tell me, do you hear?”
“I will—not,” she gasped. “Let me go!”
His grip on her shoulders tightened. It hurt. It hurt terribly and Judywanted to cry out for help. But if she screamed the hotel clerk wouldforce open the door and Jasper Crosby would be free.
“I’ll tell you wh-where the key is,” she managed to say. “It’s—it’s inthe small drawer of my desk under that pile of typewriter ribbon.”
He looked at Judy shrewdly. He knew better than that. Judy was not usedto deceiving people and her timidity betrayed her.
“You lie!” he shouted. “That key’s on you and I know it. But I don’tneed a key. I’ll break down the door!”
“And rouse the whole hotel?” Judy asked quietly.
His hands clutched her throat now. “Then give me the key!”
She could feel it, the cold little key that she had thrust down herneck. It felt colder still when her breath was short. She tried toscream but found she could make no sound. It was then that she thoughtof his hands on Irene. His relentless hands....
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The Yellow Phantom Page 23
