CHAPTER XXIX--MISS MAITLAND EXPLAINS
On Saturday afternoon several telephone messages were sent to EstherMaitland at O'Malley's flat. They came from Ferguson, from Grasslands,and the Whitney office. In the two latter cases they were conciliatoryand apologetic and asked that Miss Maitland would see the senders andexplain the circumstances that had so strangely involved her in thecase.
To both her employers and the Whitneys Miss Maitland returned an evasiveanswer. She would be happy to do as they asked, but would have to let afew more days pass before she would be free to speak. Meantime she wouldremain with Mrs. O'Malley, who had offered to keep her, and who hadtreated her with the utmost kindness and consideration. One request shemade--this to the Whitneys--she would like Chapman Price to be advisedof her whereabouts. It would be necessary for her to communicate withhim before she would be able to explain her share in the mystery.
Ferguson's message had been an importunate demand to let him come toher. She refused, said she would see no one until she was at liberty toclear herself, which would not be for some days yet. Her voice showed atremulous urgency, a note of pleading, new to his ears and infinitelysweet. But he could not break down her resolution; she begged him to doas she asked, not to seek her out, not to demand any explanations untilshe was ready to give them. The one favor she granted him was that whenthe time was up and she could break her silence, he could come for her.
This did not happen until Wednesday. That morning she 'phoned to themall that she could now see them and tell them what they wanted to hear.A meeting was arranged at the Whitney office for three that afternoonand Ferguson went to fetch her.
They met in Mrs. O'Malley's front parlor, considerately vacated and withthe folding doors closed against intrusion. Without greeting Fergusontook her hands and held them, looking down into her face. She wasbeaming, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shy. She began to say somethingabout being at last able to vindicate herself, but he cut her off:
"Before you go into that, I want to say something to you."
"No, that's not fair; I must speak first and you must let me. It's myprivilege."
"With the others maybe, but not with me. What I have to say has to besaid _before_ I hear. Esther, do you know what it is?"
She was silent, her head drooping, her hands growing cold in his grasp.He went on, very quietly and simply:
"It's that I ask you to be my wife. And I must ask it before theclearing or vindicating or any rubbish of that sort. I don't know what_you'll_ say to it and I don't want any answer now. That's at your owngood time and your own good pleasure. It's just that I wanted you to seehow I stand and have stood since that night when we walked through thewoods together. Come along now--it's nearly three, and we mustn't keepthem waiting."
It was a very different Esther who sat in Wilbur Whitney's privateoffice, facing those who had once been her accusers. She gave noevidence of rancor, greeted them with a frank friendliness, smiled witha radiance they set down to the rebound from long tension and strain.Suzanne, her jealous fires burned out, could acknowledge now that shewas handsome; Mr. Janney wondered at her look of breeding. "A finegirl," old Whitney thought, as he studied her through his glasses,"spirited and high-mettled as a racer."
"It's a long story," she said, "and for you to understand it I'll haveto go back to a time when none of you had ever heard of me. And before Ibegin, I want to say to Mrs. Janney," she turned to the older womaneagerly earnest, "if I had understood people better, if I hadn't beenhardened and made suspicious by the struggle I'd had, I would havetrusted you and told you more, and all this misery would have beenaverted. So, in a way it was my fault, and being such I've suffered forit.
"I have a half-sister, Florence Jackson, nine years younger than I am;that would make her eighteen. When my stepfather died, ten years ago, heleft us penniless and I had to start in at once to make our bread. Iboarded Florry out with friends and found a position as a schoolteacher. That was only for a year or two; soon I advanced into thesecretarial work which was less fatiguing and better paying. In thefirst place I got, Florry was living near me and on Sundays she used tocome and see me. My employer didn't like it--did not want a strangechild about the house and told me so without mincing words. I wasangry--I was hot-tempered and sensitive in those days and I made a vowto keep my life to myself, be nothing to my employers but a machine whorendered certain services for a certain wage. When I came to you, Mrs.Janney, I should have seen that I was with some one who was big-heartedand generous, but I had been molded and the mold had set in a hard andbitter shape.
"Earning more money I was able to put Florry in good schools. It was myintention to give her a fine education, and equip her for the task ofearning her living. She was quick and clever, but willful and hard tocontrol. I suppose it was because she had had no home influences, noplace that belonged to her. She had to spend her vacationsanywhere--sometimes at the school, sometimes with classmates. It was amiserable life for a child.
"She was always pretty--when she was little people used to stop on thestreets to look at her--and as she grew older she grew prettier. She wascharming, too, there was something about her very willfulness that wascaptivating. The combination worried me; if she had had more balance,been more reasonable, it wouldn't have mattered. But she was the kindwho is always full of wild enthusiasms, going off at a tangent aboutthis, that and the other. Not a promising temperament for a girl who hasto support herself.
"A year ago I got her into a first class school near Chicago--I had metthe principal, who had been very kind and taken her at a greatly reducedrate. It was to be her last year; in June she would graduate and withher education finished, I felt sure I could get her a position in NewYork where I could help her and watch over her. During the winter--lastwinter--her letters made me uneasy. She was discontented, tired ofstudy, wanted to be out in the world doing something. I was prepared fora struggle with her, but not for what happened.
"One day--it was in March--I had a letter from her saying she had runaway from school, was in New York and was looking for a job. I was angryand bitterly disappointed, also I was frightened--Florry in New Yorkwithout a cent, with no one to be with her, with no home or companion. Iwent to the address she gave me and found her in the hall bedroom of athird rate boarding house--a woman on the train had told her of it--fullof high spirits and a sort of childish joy at being free. She did notunderstand my disappointment, laughed at my fears. I lost my temper,said more than I ought--and--well, we had a quarrel, the first real onewe ever had.
"That night I couldn't sleep, blaming myself, knowing that whatever shedid it was my duty to stand by her. The next day I went to the place andfound she'd gone, leaving no address. For three days I heard nothingfrom her and was on the verge of going to you, Mrs. Janney, andimploring your aid and advice, when a letter came. She was all right,she had found paying employment, she was independent at last. In myfirst spare hour I went to her and found her in another boarding house,a cheap, shabby place, but decent. A good many working women livedthere, the better paid shop girls and heads of departments. It wasthrough one of these, a fitter, at Camille's, that she had got work.With her beauty it had been easy--she had been employed as a model atCamille's."
"Camille's!" the word came on a startled note from Suzanne. Estherturned to her:
"Yes, Mrs. Price, and you saw her there--you ordered a dress from amodel that Florry wore."
"The girl with the reddish hair--the tall girl?"
"Yes, that was Florry. She told me afterward how she walked up and downin front of you."
"But--" Suzanne's voice showed an incredulous wonder, "she wasbeautiful; they were all talking about her."
"I said she was--I was not exaggerating. She was satisfied with herwork, liked it, I think she would have liked anything that was novel andtook her away from the grind of study. _I_ didn't like it, but at leastit wasn't the stage, and I set about trying to find something better.That was the situation till April and then--" She paused, her eyesdropped
to the floor. The color suddenly rose in her face and raisingthem she shot a look at Ferguson. He answered it with a slight, almostimperceptible nod and smiled in open encouragement. She took a deepbreath and addressed Mrs. Janney:
"What I have to tell now isn't pleasant for me to say or for you tohear, but I have to tell it for all the subsequent events grew from it.Mr. Price had been to Camille's that first time with his wife."
There was a slight stir in the listening company, a sudden focusing ofintent eyes on the girl, a waiting expectancy in the grave faces. Shesaw it and answered it:
"Yes, he saw Florry. He went again--Mrs. Price was buying severaldresses. After that second visit he waited one night at the side doorused for employees and spoke to her. I can't condone what she did, but Ican say in extenuation that she was very young, very inexperienced, thatshe knew who Mr. Price was, and that she had never in her life met a manof his attractions.
"She didn't hide it from me, was frank and outspoken about the meetingand his subsequent attentions. For he saw her often after that, took herfor walks on Sunday, sent her theater tickets and books. I was filledwith anxiety, besought of her to give it up, but she wouldn't, shecouldn't. Before I went to Grasslands I realized a situation wasdeveloping that made me sick with apprehension. She was in love, madlyin love. I couldn't reason with her, I couldn't make her listen to me;she was blind and deaf to anything but him and what he said.
"I went to Mr. Price and implored him to leave her alone. I had to catchhim as I could--in the halls, at odd moments in the library, for hehated the scenes I made and tried to avoid me. He assured me that hemeant no harm, that her position was hard and he was sorry for her. Ithreatened to tell Mrs. Janney, and he said I could if I wanted, that hewould soon be done with them all and didn't care. I saw then that hetoo, like Florry, was growing indifferent to everything but the hourswhen they were together--that _he_ was in love.
"That was the situation when I went to Grasslands. It was much worsethere--I couldn't see her often, I was in ignorance of how things weregoing with her, for her letters told me little. It was unbearable, and Iwent into town whenever I could; all the extra holidays were asked forso that I could go into the city and see how Florry was getting on. Onone of these visits she told me something that, at the time, I paidlittle attention to, setting it down as one of her passing fancies; shewas interested in the working girls' unions. At Camille's and in theboarding house she had fallen in with a group of girls of Socialisticbeliefs and, through them, had met their organizers and backers. She wasmuch more deeply involved than I guessed. Her fearlessness, her ardorfor anything new and exciting, making her a valuable addition to theirranks. It carried her far, to the edge of tragedy."
She turned to Mr. Janney:
"Do you remember, Mr. Janney, one morning early in July, how I read youan account of a strike riot among the shirtwaist makers when one of thegirls stabbed a policeman with a hatpin?"
The old man nodded:
"Yes, vaguely. I have a dim memory of arguing about it with you."
"That was the time. Well, that girl was Florry. She lost her headcompletely, stabbed the man, and in the tumult that followed, managed toget away through the hall of a tenement house. She was hidden by friendsof hers, Russian socialists called Rychlovsky. I have met them; theyseem decent, kindly people, and they certainly were very good to her.When I read you the article I had no more idea that the girl was Florrythan you had. It was not until the next morning that I received a letterfrom her, telling me what she had done and where she was.
"She wrote two letters, one to me and one to Mr. Price. He had told herthat he would spend his week-ends with the Hartleys at Cedar Brook andshe sent his there. Mine was delivered on the morning of July theseventh but he did not get his until the same evening when he came toCedar Brook from the city. Each of us acted as promptly as we could, buthe went to her before I did, going in that night in his car.
"It seems incredible that he should have done what he did, dared to takesuch a risk. But when he found her cooped up in the rear room of atenement, lonely and frightened, he prevailed on her to go out with himin his motor. He took her for a drive far up the Hudson, not returninguntil after midnight. The Rychlovskys, who had missed her and were in astate of alarm, were furious. When I went there the next day they werevociferous in their desire to be rid of her, saying she would land themall in jail. I was her sister; it was up to me, I must find another lairfor her.
"I had heard of the house in Gayle Street from two girls, art students,who had once lived there. It was the only place I could think of; andwhen I found that the top floor was vacant, I realized that she could behidden in one of the rooms and no one suspect it was occupied. I engagedit and paid the rent, telling the janitor the story of a friend comingfrom the West. Then I took the key back to Florry. The Rychlovskys,pacified by the thought that she would be out of their house, undertookto furnish her with food. They made her promise that she would keep tothe room, light no gas at night, make no noise, and stay away from thewindow. Florry was by this time thoroughly cowed and agreed toeverything. It was through their adroitness that the room passed asvacant. They visited her in the evening, a time when many people cameand went in the house, bringing in her food and carrying away what wasleft in newspapers. They had two extra keys made, one for me, one forMr. Price. I brought her money, Mr. Price books and magazines. He sawher oftener than I did, and gave me news of her. This I asked him to doby letter. I had once met him by Little Fresh Pond, and another time hehad telephoned. I was afraid of repeating the meeting at the pond--wehad both come upon Miss Rogers and Bebita on the way out--and I dreadedbeing overheard at the 'phone.
"All went well for two weeks, though we were terribly frightened, forthe policeman developed blood-poisoning, and for some time hung betweenlife and death. Then the Rychlovskys suggested a plan that seemed to methe only way out of our dangers and difficulties. A friend of theirs, awoman doctor, was one of a hospital unit sailing from Montreal toFrance. This woman, allied with them in their Socialistic activities,agreed to get Florry into her group as a hospital attendant, take her toFrance and look after her. It struck us all as feasible and as lackingin danger as any plan for her removal could be. The doctor was a womanof high character who told the Rychlovskys she would keep Florry nearher as the unit was shorthanded and needed all the workers it could get.The one person who showed no enthusiasm was Florry herself. I knewperfectly what was the matter--she did not want to leave Chapman Price.He tried to persuade her, was as worried and anxious as I was. Thesituation between them had cleared to a definite understanding--when hiswife had obtained her divorce he would go to France and marry Florrythere.
"And now I come to the day of the kidnaping, that dreadful,unforgettable day!
"The morning before--Thursday--I had seen her and found her in a stateof nervous indecision, weeping and miserable. I knew I was to be in townwith Mrs. Price the next day and told her if I could get time I wouldcome to her. Mrs. Price had told me how we were to divide the errandsand I realized, if I could finish mine earlier than she expected, Iwould have a chance of seeing Florry. I had just been paid my salary andthat, with some money I had saved, I brought with me. My intention wasto give all this to Florry and implore her to go with the hospital unit,which was scheduled to leave Montreal early the following week.
"Things worked out as I had hoped. The commissions took less time thanMrs. Price had calculated and I found that I would be able to spend afew minutes with Florry. In case Bebita should mention the excursiondowntown, I ordered the driver to drop me at a bookbindery on the cornerof Gale Street. I could easily explain our stop there by saying that Ihad left a book to be bound.
"When I reached the room I found her in a state of hystericalterror--she said the house was watched. Peeping out through the coarselace curtains that veiled the window, she had several times noticed aman lounging about the corner. At first she had thought nothing of him,but the day before he had reappeared, and stayed about the bloc
k most ofthe afternoon covertly watching the entrance and the upper floor. I wasnearly as frightened as she was--the thing was only too probable. Therewas no difficulty in getting her to go with the hospital ship. She hadonly stayed on in the hope of seeing me and having me tell her what todo.
"I gave her the money and told her to wait until nightfall and then slipout and go to the Rychlovskys. They had promised to help her in any waythey could, and with Bebita waiting in the cab, I couldn't go with her.It was a simply hideous position to have to leave her that way. But itwas all I could think of--it came so unexpectedly I was stunned by it.
"When I reached the bookbindery the taxi was gone! Can you imagine whatI felt? I told the truth when I said my first thought was that Bebitamight have played a joke on me. I _did_ think that, for my mind,confused and crowded with deadly fears, could not take in a newcatastrophe. Then, when I saw Mrs. Price and realized that the child hadmysteriously disappeared, while with _me_, while in _my_charge--I--well, I hope I'll never have to live over moments like thoseagain. I had to keep one fact before my mind--to be quiet, to be cool,not to do or say anything that might betray Florry. If I'd known whatyou suspected, I couldn't have done it. But, of course, I hadn't anyidea then you thought I was implicated.
"Florry had told me she would communicate with Mr. Price and he wouldgive me word of her. The telephone message that Miss Rogers tapped wasthat word; all I received. It relieved me immensely, I began to feel thedreadful strain relaxing, I began to think we were on the high road tosafety. And then came that day here in the office. Shall I ever forgetit!"
She turned to Mrs. Janney:
"If I had had the least idea of what was going to be done here, I wouldhave tried to get to you and have thrown myself on your mercy. But I wascompletely unsuspecting and unprepared, and with Mr. Whitney as thejudge, representing the law, I did not dare to tell the truth, I _had_to lie.
"As you saw, I lied as well as I could, puzzled at first, not knowingwhat you were getting at, to what point it was all leading. Then, whenyou caught me with the tapped message, I saw--I guessed howcircumstances had woven a net about me. I realized there was nothing tobe done but let you believe it, let you do what you wanted with me. Youcouldn't _make_ me speak, and if I could stay silent till Florry was inEurope, hidden, lost in the chaos of a country at war, it would be allright."
She swept their faces with a glance, half pleading, half triumphant.
"She is there now--this morning Mr. Price had a cable from her. I havetold this to Mr. Whitney as well as the rest because I havethought--shut up in O'Malley's flat I had much time for thinking thingsout straight and clear--that after my explanation, no one would want, noone would dare, to bring that unfortunate girl back here to face acriminal charge. She has had her lesson, she will never forget it, theman she wounded is back on the force as good as ever. No human beingwith a conscience and a heart--" she looked at Whitney--"and you haveboth--could want to make her pay more bitterly than she has. She issafe, under intelligent supervision. She can work, be useful, where heryouth and strength and enthusiasm are needed. I did not trust youbefore, Mr. Whitney, but I do now and I know that my trust is notmisplaced."
A murmur, a concerted sound of agreement, came from her listeners.Whitney, pushing his chair back from the desk, said gravely:
"You can rest assured, Miss Maitland, that the matter will die here withus to-day. As you say, your sister has had her punishment. She will stayin France of course?"
"Yes, make her home there, I think. When Mr. Price is free he is to goover and marry her. He intends to sell his business out and offer hisservices to the French government."
There was a moment of silence, then Mrs. Janney spoke, clearing herthroat, her face flushed with feeling:
"As you've said, Miss Maitland, none of this would have happened ifyou'd seen fit to come to me. But it's no use going over that now--we'veall made mistakes and we're all sorry. What we--the Janneys--want to dois to be fair, to be just, and now--if it is not too late--to makeamends. The only way you can show your willingness to forget andforgive, is to come back at once to Grasslands and take things up whereyou left them."
The girl for a moment did not answer, her face reddening with a suddenembarrassment. Mrs. Janney saw the blush, read it as reluctance andexclaimed:
"Oh, Miss Maitland, don't say you refuse. It's as if you wouldn't takemy hand held out in apology, in friendship."
"No, no"--Esther was obviously distressed--"don't think that, Mrs.Janney, it's not that. It's that I can't--I've--I've made anotherengagement--I'm going to marry Mr. Ferguson."
CHAPTER XXX--MOLLY'S STORY
It's my place to finish, tell the end of the story and straighten it allout. Some of it's been cleared up clean, with the people on the spot togive the evidence, some of it we had to work out from what we knew andwhat we guessed. Willitts, who was a gamy guy, told his tale from startto finish, and loved doing it, they said, like an actor who'd rather bedead in the spotlight than alive in the wings. Larkin's part we had toput together from what we could get from Bebita and what Mrs. Price gaveup.
Bebita, the way children do, saw plain and could tell what she saw asaccurate as a phonograph. It made tears come to hear the dear littlething, so sweet and innocent, making us see that even the crooks she waswith couldn't help but love her.
When Miss Maitland got out of the taxi at the bookbindery the drivertold the child that he knew her Daddy and could take her round to seehim while Miss Maitland was in the store. He said it wouldn't take long,that Mr. Price was close by, and they would come back in a few minutesand pick up Miss Maitland. Bebita was crazy to go, and he started,giving her a box of chocolates to eat on the way. Of course she nevercould tell where he went but it could not have been a long distance, orLarkin--we all were agreed that he drove the cab--couldn't have reachedthe Fifth Avenue house as soon as he did. The place was evidently a flatover a garage. He told her her father was waiting there, went upstairswith her, and gave her in charge of a woman called Marion who opened thedoor for them.
During the whole time she was gone she stayed here with Marion, whoevery morning assured her her Daddy would come that day. She said Marionwas very good to her, gave her toys and candies, cooked her meals andplayed games with her. She cried often and was homesick, and Marionnever scolded her but used to take her in her arms and kiss her and tellher stories. She never saw the man again until he came to take her away,but sometimes the bell rang and Marion went out on the stairs and talkedto some one.
One evening Marion said she was going home; it would be a long drive andshe must be a good girl. Marion dressed her and then gave her a glass ofmilk, and kissed her a great many times and cried. Bebita cried too, forshe was sorry to leave Marion, but she wanted to go home. After that theman came and took her downstairs to the taxi and told her to be veryquiet and she'd soon be back at Grasslands. It was dark and they wentthrough the city and then she got very sleepy and laid down on the seat.
No trace of Marion, Larkin's confederate, could be found, and in fact noespecial effort was made to do so. The man was dead, the woman, who hadevidently treated the child with affectionate care, had fled into thedarkness where she belonged. The family, even Mrs. Janney, was contentedto let things drop and make an end.
When it came to Larkin we had to piece out a good deal. We agreed thathe had started in fair and honest, had tried to make good and hadfailed. At just what point he changed we couldn't be sure, but Fergusonthought it was after Mrs. Price threatened to end the investigation.Then he realized that his big chance was slipping by, determined to getsomething out of it, and hit on the kidnaping. It was easy to see how hecould worm all the data he wanted out of Mrs. Price. From what she saidhe'd evidently pumped her at their last meeting in town, finding outjust what her plans were, even to the fact that she intended taking theextra cab from the rank round the corner. _I_ thought that one thingmight have given him the whole idea.
When they stopped at the book bindery he heard Miss Maitla
nd tell Bebitashe would be gone a few minutes and knew that was his opportunity. Hetook the child to the place he had ready for her, made a quickchange--not more than the shedding of his coat, cap and goggles--and ranhis car into the garage below, which of course he must have rented. Thenhe lit out for the Fifth Avenue house, a bit late but ready to report incase Miss Maitland didn't show up before him. Miss Maitland did--he musthave seen her go in--but he rang just the same, which showed what acunning devil he was.
He must have been surprised when he didn't see anything in the papers,but after he'd written the first "Clansmen" letter to Mrs. Price sheexplained that and it made it smoother sailing for him. Knowing her aswell as he did, he planned the letters to scare her into silence, andsaw before he was through he had her exactly in the state he wanted. Theone place where his plot was weak was that an outsider had to drive therescue car. But he had to take a chance somewhere, and this was the bestplace. He'd fixed it so neat that even if the outsider had informed onhim, he'd have been wary, and, as Ferguson thought, not shown up at all.
He'd done it well; as well, we all agreed, as it could be done. What hadbeaten him had been no man's cleverness, just something that neither he,nor you, nor any of us could have foreseen. Ain't there a proverb aboutthe best laid plans of mice and men slipping up when you least expectit? It was like the hand of something, that reached out sudden and camedown hard, laid him dead in the moment when the goal was in sight.
As to Willitts, he was some boy! They found out that he was wanted inEngland, well-known there as an expert safe-cracker and notorious jewelthief. That's where he's gone, to live in a quiet little cell which willbe his home from this time forth. He said he hadn't been in New Yorklong before he heard of the Janney jewels and went into Mr. Price'sservice. But he couldn't do anything while the family were in town. Thesafe was right off the pantry--too many people about--and anyway it wasa new one, the finest kind, that would have baffled even his skill. Hewould have left discouraged but one day Dixon let drop that the safe atGrasslands was old-fashioned, put in years before by the former owners,so he stayed on devoted and faithful.
At Grasslands he had lots of time to try his hand on the ancientcontraption in the passage. He worked on it until he found thecombination and then he lay low for his opportunity. When the row cameand Mr. Price left, he stayed on with him. It was the best thing to doas he could run in and out from Cedar Brook seeing the servants, withwhom he was careful to be friendly.
Before this he'd got wise to the fact that something was up between MissMaitland and Mr. Price. He said it was his business to snoop and hisprofession had got him into the way of doing it instinctive, but I'd setit down as coming natural. Anyway he'd found out that there was a secretbetween them; he'd surprise them murmuring in the hallways and thelibrary, quieting down quick if any one came along. He made the samemistake as the rest of us, thought it was an affair of the heart andgrew mighty curious about it. He didn't explain why he was interested,but if you asked me I'd say he had blackmail in the back of his head.
On the afternoon of July the seventh he biked down from Cedar Brook totake a look round and see how things were progressing. Familiar with theways of the house, he knew the family would be out and stole round pastMiss Maitland's study. No one was there, and, curious as he was, heslipped in to do a little spying--Miss Maitland and Mr. Price separatedwould be writing to each other and a letter might throw some light onthe darkness.
He rummaged about among the papers but found nothing. Scattered over thedesk were bits of the trimming Miss Maitland had been sewing on; a pileof the little rosebuds was lying on the top of her work basket. Reachingover toward a bunch of letters he upset the basket, and, scared, heswept up the contents with his handkerchief, putting them back as quickas he could. This was the way he explained the presence of the rose inthe safe. He was shocked at any one thinking that he had tried to throwsuspicion on such a fine young lady. That night, taking the jewels, hotand nervous, his glasses had blurred the way they do when your faceperspires. He had whisked out his handkerchief to wipe them, and nodoubt a rosebud lodged in the folds had fallen to the ground. Mr.Ferguson didn't believe this--he thought the rose _was_ a plant--but I_did_. It was one of those queer, unexpected things that will happen andthat, for me, always puts a crimp in circumstantial evidence.
After that he went round to the kitchen and heard of the general sortiefor that evening. Then he knew the time had come. He biked back to CedarBrook, saw Mr. Price, and went to his lodgings. Here he found hislandlady's child sick with croup and offered to go for the doctor, whosehouse was not far from Berkeley. It fitted in just right, for if therewas any inquiry into his movements he could furnish a good reason why hewas late at the movies. Before he got to Grasslands he hid his wheel bythe roadside and took a short cut through the woods, lying low on theedge of them until he saw the kitchen lights go out. Crossing the lawn,the dogs ran at him barking, then got his scent and quieted down. At thebalcony he slipped off his rain coat, put on sneakers, unlocked thefront door with Mr. Price's key, and crept in. The job didn't take himten minutes; just as he finished he saw the box of Mr. Janney's cigarsand helped himself to one. He rubbed off his finger prints with an acidused for that purpose, left the broken chair just where it was anddeparted.
In the woods he lit the cigar, carelessly throwing the band on theground. Fifteen minutes later he was at the movies with the Grasslandshelp. When he saw in the papers that a light had been seen by the safeat one-thirty every fear he had died, for at that time he was back atCedar Brook helping his landlady look after the sick child.
He was too smart a crook to disappear right on top of the robbery, andhung around saying he was looking for another place. He met up withLarkin but at first didn't know he was a detective. When the offer camefrom Ferguson he took it, intending to stay a while, then say his folksin the old country needed him and slip away to Spain. It was the dayafter he'd accepted Ferguson's offer that he learned what Larkin was,and saw that both he and the Janneys had their suspicions of ChapmanPrice. This disturbed him, but he couldn't throw up the job he'd justtaken without exciting remark. To be ready, however, he dug up thejewels--he'd buried them in the woods--and put them handy under theflooring of his room.
One day, looking over Ferguson's things, he came on the cigar band inthe box on the bureau. It gave him a jar, for he couldn't see why it wasput there. He'd heard from the servants about Ferguson and Miss Maitlandwalking home that night through the woods and began to wonder if maybethey'd found the band. The thought ruffled him up considerably, and thenhe put it out of his mind, telling himself it was one from a cigarFerguson had brought from Grasslands and smoked in his room.Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he threw it away, very much on thealert, as you may guess.
It wasn't a week later that he had the interview with Ferguson about theband. Then he saw by the young man's manner and words why the littlecrushed circle of paper had a meaning of its own, and knew that the timehad come to vanish. He still felt safe enough to do this without haste,not rousing any suspicion by a too sudden departure. His opportunitycame quickly--on Friday morning he heard Ferguson tell the butler thathe was going to town and would be away for a day or two; by the time hecame back his valet would be far afield.
Right after Ferguson's departure he put the jewels in a bag, and,telling the butler the boss had given him the day and night off,prepared to leave. He was crossing the hall when the telephone rang--mymessage--and being wary of danger, answered it. It was only a ladyasking for Mr. Ferguson, and, calm and steady as his voice had made me,started out for the station. Mice and men again!--I was the mouse thistime. Gracious, what a battered mouse I was!
Well--that's all. The tangled threads are straightened out and the word"End" goes at the bottom of this page. I'm glad to write it, glad to beonce again where you can say what you think, and talk to people likethey were harmless human beings without any dark secrets in their pastsor presents, and, Oh, Gee, how glad I am to be home! Back in my ownlitt
le hole, back where there's only one servant and she a coon, backwhere I'm familiar with the food and know how to eat it, and blessedestof all, back to my own true husband, who thinks there's no sun or moonor stars when I'm out of the house. I'm going to get a new rug for theparlor, a fur-trimmed winter suit, a standing lamp with a Chinese shade,a pair of skates--oh, dear, I'm at the bottom of the page and there's noroom for "End," but I _must_ squeeze in that I got that reward--Mrs.Janney said I'd earned every penny of it--and a wrist watch with acircle of diamonds round it from Dick Ferguson, and--oh, pshaw! if Ikeep on I'll never stop, so here goes, on a separate line
THE END
BOOKS BY GERALDINE BONNER
_Miss Maitland, Private Secretary_ _Treasure and Trouble Therewith_ _The Girl at Central_ _The Black Eagle Mystery_
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