CHAPTER XXVII
WHO TOOK THE MANUSCRIPT?
All this time Emily Grimshaw had not taken her eyes away from Irene.Now she turned to the others, contrition written in every line of herface.
“I see it all now,” she murmured. “And I’ve been as big a fool as SarahGlenn for all she was supposed to be crazy.”
“Perhaps it was the fault of that tonic you’ve been taking,” Petersuggested, his eyes twinkling wickedly.
“Piffle!” the old lady snorted. “That’s good stuff, bottled in bond. Awee bit strong, though,” she added, shaking her head, “awee—bit—strong.”
Emily Grimshaw had her poetry and rose, a little unsteadily, preparingto leave. It was then that she thought of the purpose of her visit.
“Young woman,” she demanded of Irene, “if you’re not Joy Holiday, whydid you take those manuscripts?”
“I didn’t take them,” the accused girl answered, regarding her steadilywith those starry eyes that had inspired the loveliest line of _GoldenGirl_.
Judy made an almost inaudible sound of protest. Irene couldn’t keep ondenying it. No one would believe her now. She touched her arm andwhispered, “Tell her, dear. It’s no good pretending. The rest of ushave forgiven you and I’m sure she will too.”
Irene’s eyes widened. “Forgiven me? For what, may I ask? Why, I didn’tsee that poetry from the moment it was taken until I found it lying onmy grandmother’s table.”
“You expect us to believe that, Irene?” This was Peter’s voice, thevoice he would some day use in the court room.
Dale turned on him. “Of course she does. And I do believe it. SarahGlenn may have taken her own poetry——”
“When she was too sick to move out of her house?”
“Or Jasper Crosby may have sneaked into the office,” Dale went on,disregarding his question. “Irene says she didn’t take the poems andthat ends the matter once and forever. If the rest of you want to go ondistrusting her it’s none of my affair but I knew all along that Irenewas too fine, too wonderful——”
Irene herself stopped him. Her voice was almost a command. “Leave themalone, Dale. Why shouldn’t they suspect me?”
“Because you didn’t do it.”
Irene was silent. She couldn’t say any more because the last she knewof the poems they were in Judy’s hands. It was after all lights wereout and they were in bed that she told her.
“You said never to mind the work; you’d straighten things. And thensome one took the poetry out of my hands. Wasn’t it you?”
“It certainly wasn’t,” Judy declared. “I had just opened the door forDale Meredith but he wasn’t there yet.”
“Did you turn your back? Could anyone else have come in?”
“Why,” Judy exclaimed, “I believe they could have—if they had beenvery quick.”
“Uncle Jasper is quick. But why would he take the poetry?”
Now Judy knew! It was like a heavy load falling from her shoulders. Sheremembered what Emily Grimshaw had said about his suing her. He hadschemed to do it and stolen the poetry himself. Besides, he may havesuspected Irene’s identity and been afraid she would find out too much.
Irene’s eyes sought Judy’s and found in them understanding andsympathy. She had told the truth, and, with Judy to explain, everyonewould believe her. But she couldn’t forget that it was Dale Meredithwho had believed her without an explanation.
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The Yellow Phantom Page 28
