CHAPTER VII--CONCERNING DETECTIVES
Kissam kept his word and the interest in the Janney robbery began tolanguish. Detectives still came and went, morning trains still disgorgedreporters, but it was not as it had been. The first, fine carelessrapture of the chase was over; nothing new was discovered, nothing olddeveloped. The house settled back to its methodical regime, the faces ofits inmates lost their looks of harassed distress.
Mr. Janney, though much pacified, was not yet restored to his normalpoise. His wife was now the object of his secret attention, for he knewher to be a very sharp and observant person, and the fear that she might"catch on" haunted him. It was therefore very upsetting when sheremarked one morning at breakfast that "those men didn't seem to bedoing much. They were just where they had been ten days ago."
He tried to reassure her--it would be a long slow affair--didn't sheremember the James case, where a year after the theft the jewels werefound under the skin of a ham hanging in the cellar? Mrs. Janney was notappeased, she scoffed at the ham, and said the detectives were thestupidest body of men in the country outside Congress. She was going tooffer a reward, ten thousand dollars--and then she muttered somethingabout "taking a hand herself." In answer to Mr. Janney's alarmedquestions she quieted down, laughed, and said she didn't mean anything.
She did, however, and had Mr. Janney known it wakeful nights would againhave been his portion. But she had no intention of telling him. She hadseen that he was worn out, a mere bundle of nerves, and what sheintended to do would be done without his knowledge or connivance. Thiswas to start a private inquiry of her own. The written combination,loose in an unlocked drawer, had influenced her; it was possible someone in the house had found it. She felt that she owed it to herdependents and herself to make sure. And the best way to do this was tohave a detective on the spot--but a detective whose profession would beunknown. Fortunately the plan was workable; there was a vacancy in thehousehold staff. For the past month she had been advocating theengagement of a nursery governess for Bebita.
Two days after her slip to Mr. Janney an opportunity came for broachingthe subject. They were at lunch when Suzanne announced that she intendedgoing to town the next morning. It was about Bebita--the child's eyes,which had troubled her in the spring, were again inflamed and she hadcomplained of pain in them. Suzanne wanted to consult the oculist; shehoped a prescription would be sufficient, but of course if he insistedon seeing the child she would have to be taken in for an examination.
Mrs. Janney thought it the right thing to do and said she wouldaccompany her daughter. Suzanne, who was eating her lunch, paused withsuspended fork and sidelong eye;--why was that necessary, she wasperfectly competent to attend to the matter. Mrs. Janney agreed and saidshe was going on another errand--to see about the nursery governess theyhad spoken of so often. It was time something was done, Bebita wasrunning wild, forgetting all she had learned last winter. Mrs. Janneyhad heard of several women who might answer and would spend the daylooking them up and interviewing them. Suzanne returned to her food."Oh, very well, it might be a good thing, only please get some one youngand cheerful who didn't put on airs and want to be a member of thefamily."
One of Suzanne's fads was a fear of the Pennsylvania Tunnel. Whether itwas a pose or genuine she absolutely refused to go through it, declaringthat on her one trip she had nearly died of fright and the pressure onher ears. Since that alarming experience she always went to the cityeither by the old Long Island Ferry route, or by motor across theQueensborough Bridge.
It being a fine morning they decided to drive in--about an hour'srun--and at ten they started forth. They chatted amicably, for Suzanne,since the robbery and the knowledge that her debts were paid, had beenunusually gay and good-humored. They separated at Altman's, Mrs. Janneykeeping the motor, Suzanne taking a taxi. At four they would meet at atea room and drive home together.
Mrs. Janney's first point of call was a strange place in which to lookfor a nursery governess. It was the office of Whitney & Whitney, herlawyers, far downtown near Wall Street. She was at once conducted intoMr. Whitney's sanctum, for besides being an important client she was apersonal friend. He moved forward to meet her--a large, slightlystooped, heavily built man with a shock of thick gray hair, and eyes,singularly clear and piercing, overshadowed by bushy brows. His son,George, was sent for, and after greetings, jolly and intimate, theysettled down to talk over Mrs. Janney's business.
She told them the situation and her needs--could _they_ find the sort ofperson she wanted. She knew they employed detectives of all sorts andKissam's men had been so lacking in energy and so stupid that she wantedno more of that kind. She had to have a woman of whose character theywere assured, and sufficiently presentable to pass muster with themaster and the servants. Mr. Whitney gave a look at his son and theyexchanged a smile.
"Go and see if you can get her on the wire, George," he said, "and ifshe's willing tell her to come down right now." Then as the young manleft the room he turned to Mrs. Janney. "I know the very person, thebest in New York, if she'll undertake it."
"Some one who's thoroughly reliable and can fit into the place?"
"My dear friend, she's as reliable as you are and that's saying a gooddeal. As to fitting in, leave that to her. In her natural state thereare still some rough edges, but when she's playing a part they don'tshow. She's smart enough to hide them."
"Who is she--a detective?"
"Not a real one, not a professional. She was a telephone girl and thenshe made a good marriage--fellow named Babbitts, star reporter on the_Despatch_. She's in love and happy and prosperous, but now and againshe'll do work for us. It's partly for old sakes' sake and partlybecause she has the passion of the artist--can't resist if the callcomes to her. She came to our notice during the Hesketh case--did someof the cleverest work I ever saw and got Reddy out of prison. The Reddysare among her best friends--can't do too much for her."
Mrs. Janney, who knew the beautiful Mrs. Reddy, was impressed.
"Do you think she'll come?" she asked anxiously.
He gave her a meaning look and nodded;
"Yes. It's an unusually interesting case."
Half an hour later Mrs. Janney met Molly Morgenthau Babbitts and laidthe situation before her. She found the much-vaunted young woman, apretty, slender girl, with crisply curly black hair, honest brown eyes,and a pleasantly simple manner. Mrs. Janney liked what she said andliked her. There was no doubt about her intelligence and as to rousingany suspicions in the household--she would have deceived Mr. Janney--sheeven would have deceived Dixon. As the case was outlined she could nothide her kindling interest and, when she agreed to undertake the work,Mrs. Janney felt that the nursery governess idea had been aninspiration. The interview ended with practical details: Mrs. Babbittswould make her reports to the Whitneys, who would figure as heremployers and would hand on her findings to Mrs. Janney. She wouldarrive by the twelve-thirty train on the following day and be known atGrasslands as Miss Rodgers. As they were separating she asked if therewas a branch telephone on the upper floor and, being told that there wasin an alcove off the main hall, requested that her room might be near itas the telephone played an important part in her work.
Suzanne's course had a curious resemblance to her mother's, though herplan of procedure was different.
From the day after the robbery she had developed an interest in thetelephone "Red Book." She had taken it to her room and turning to theD's studied the list of detective agencies. After much comparison andcogitation she had copied down the name of one Horace Larkin, whoappeared to be in business by himself and whose office was in a centraland accessible part of the city.
After she had parted from her mother she went to a department store,shut herself in a telephone booth, and called up Mr. Larkin. A masculinevoice, that of Larkin himself, had answered, and explaining her desireto see him on important business, he had made an appointment to meet herthat afternoon at the Janney house on Fifth Avenue.
This was an excellent
place for Suzanne's purpose, closed for thesummer, its porch boarded up, its blue-blinded windows proclaiming itsdesertion. An ancient caretaker occupied the basement with her niece,Aggie McGee, to help and be company. Mrs. Janney never went there, butnow and then Suzanne did, generally on a quest for some needed garment,so that her presence in the house was in no way remarkable.
The appointment was for two and, after telling Aggie McGee that agentleman would call and to show him into the reception room, sheretired to the long Louis Quinze salon and threw herself on a sofa. Shewas a little scared at what she had planned but she did not let heruneasiness interfere with her intention, for, her mind once set on agoal, she was as determined as her mother. Stretched comfortably on thesofa, her glance traveling over the covered walls, the chandelier, amisshapen bulging whiteness below the frescoed ceiling, she carefullythought out what she would say to Mr. Larkin.
A ring of the bell brought her to a sitting position, her hands pushingin loosened hairpins. She waited listening, heard the opening andclosing of doors and then Aggie McGee's head appeared between theshrouded portieres and announced, "The gentleman to see you, ma'am."
Her first impression of him was as a tall, broad-shouldered shape,detailless against the light of the window. Then, as she sunk into achair, motioning him to one opposite, a nearer view showed him as afine-looking man, on to forty, with a fresh-colored, rounded face, itsexpression smilingly good-humored. After the unkempt and slouchydetectives she had seen at Grasslands his appearance, natty, smart,almost that of a man of fashion, surprised and pleased her. She had aninstinctive distaste for all ungroomed and ill-dressed people and seeinghim so like the members of her own world, she felt a rising confidenceand reassurance. Also his manners were good, respectful, businesslike.The one thing about him that suggested the wily sleuth were his eyes,very light colored in his ruddy face, small, shrewd and piercing.
He came to the matter of the moment without any preamble. Yes, he knewof the robbery and knew who she was; he supposed she had called him upto consult him about the case.
"Of course, Mr. Larkin," she said, "that's what I wanted. But before Isay anything it must be understood between us that this--er--sending foryou--is entirely my affair. I want to employ you myself independently ofthe others."
He nodded, showing no surprise;
"You want to put your own detective on the case."
"Exactly. You're to be employed by me but no one must know you are orknow what you're doing."
He smothered a smile and said:
"I see."
"I don't think the men that are working over it now are very clever orinterested. They just poke about and ask the same questions over andover. The way they're going I should say we'd never get anything back.So I decided I'd start an inquiry of my own and in a direction no oneelse had thought of."
Mr. Larkin gave a slight movement an almost imperceptible straighteningup of his body:
"Do you mean that you suspect some one?"
Suzanne looked at the arm of her chair and then smoothed its linen coverwith delicate finger tips. A very slight color deepened the artificialrose of her cheek.
"I'm afraid I do," she murmured.
"Afraid?"
She nodded, closing her eyes with the movement. She had the appearanceof a person distressed but resolute.
"I can't help suspecting some one that I don't like to suspect. Andthat's why I want your assistance."
"I don't quite understand, Mrs. Price."
"_This_ is the explanation. If it were known that this person was guiltyit would ruin and destroy them. My idea is to be sure that they didit--have evidence--and then tell my mother. We could keep quiet aboutit, get the jewels back and not have the thief disgraced and sent tojail."
"Oh, I see. You want to face the party with a knowledge of their guilt,have them restore the jewels, and let the matter drop."
"Precisely. And I don't want to say anything until I'm sure, can comeout with everything all clear and proved. That's _where_ I expect you tohelp, put things together, find out, work up the case."
"Who is the person?"
Her color burned to a deep flush; she leaned toward him, urgent, almostpleading:
"Mr. Larkin, I hardly like to say it even to you, but I must. It's mymother's secretary, Miss Maitland."
He looked stolidly unmoved:
"She lives in the house?"
"Yes, for over a year now. My mother thinks everything of her, wouldn'tbelieve it unless it was proved past a doubt."
"What are your reasons for suspecting her?"
Suzanne was silent for a moment moving her glance from him to thewindow. Mr. Larkin had a good chance to look at her and took it. Henoticed the feverish color, the line between the brows, the tightenedmuscles under the thin cheeks. He made a mental note of the fact thatshe was agitated.
"Well that night, the night of July the seventh," she said in a lowvoice, "I was wakeful. I often am, I've always been a nervous, restlesssort of person. About half past one I thought I heard a noise--some oneon the stairs--and I got up and looked out of my door. I can see thehead of the stairs from there, and as it was very bright moonlight anyone coming up would be perfectly plain--I couldn't make a mistake--whatI saw was Miss Maitland. She was going very carefully, tiptoeing alongas if she was trying to make no noise. At the top she turned and wentdown the passage to her own room which is just beyond my mother's."
She paused and shot a tentative look at him. He met it, teetered hishead in quiet comprehension and murmured:
"She didn't see you?"
"Oh no, she was not looking that way. And I didn't say anything or thinkanything then--thought she'd gone downstairs for something she'dforgotten. The next day it had passed out of my mind; it wasn't until Iheard that the jewels were gone that it came back and then I was tooshocked to say a word. It all came upon me in a minute--I remembered howI'd seen her and remembered that she knew the combination of the safe."
"Oh," said Mr. Larkin, "she knew that, did she?"
"Yes, she keeps her account books and money in there, things she uses inher work. You see she's been thoroughly trusted--never looked upon asanything but perfectly honest and reliable."
"Then she's filled her position to Mrs. Janney's satisfaction?"
"Entirely. Of course we really don't know very much about her. She washighly recommended when she came, but people in her position if they dotheir work well--one doesn't bother much about them."
"Have you noticed anything in her conduct or manner of life lately thatcould--er--have any connection with or throw any light on such anaction?"
Suzanne pondered for a moment then said:
"No--she's always been about the same. She's gone into the city morethis summer than she did last year, on her holidays, I mean. And--ohyes, this may be important--that night, when we came home from dinner,she asked my mother if she could have the following day--Saturday--intown. Mrs. Janney said she might and she went in before any of thefamily were up."
"Um," murmured Mr. Larkin and then fell into a silence in which heappeared to be digesting this last item. When he spoke again it was topropound a question that ruffled Suzanne's composure and caused her blueeyes to give out a sudden spark:
"Do you happen to know if she has any admirer--lover or fiance oranything of that sort?"
"I know nothing whatever about it, but I should say _not_. Certainly Inever heard of such a person. I never saw any man in the least attractedby her and I should imagine she was a girl who had no charm for theother sex."
Mr. Larkin stirred in a slow, large way and said:
"Such a robbery is a pretty big thing for a girl like that to attempt.She must know--any one would--that jewels like Mrs. Janney's are hard todispose of without detection."
Suzanne shrugged, her tone showing an edge of irritation:
"That may be the case, I suppose it is. But couldn't she have beenemployed by some one--aren't there gangs who put people on the spot torob for them?"
&nbs
p; "Certainly there are. And that would be the most plausible explanation.Not necessarily a gang, however, an individual might be behind her. Atthis stage, knowing what I do, that would be my idea. But, of course, Ican say nothing until I'm better informed. What I'll do now will be tolook up her record and then I think I'll take a run down to Berkeley andsee if I can pick up anything there."
Suzanne looked uneasy:
"But you'll be careful, and not let any one guess what you're doing orthat you have any business with me?"
He smiled openly at that:
"Mrs. Price, you can trust me. This is not my first case."
After that there was talk of financial arrangements and future plans.Mr. Larkin thought he would come out to Berkeley in a day or two andtake a lodging in the village. When he had anything of moment to imparthe would drop a note to Mrs. Price and she could designate a rendezvous.They parted amicably, Suzanne feeling that she had found the right manand Mr. Larkin secretly elated, for this was the first case of realmagnitude that had come his way.
At the appointed time Suzanne met Mrs. Janney at the tea room and on theway home they exchanged their news. The nursery governess had beenfound, approved and engaged, and the oculist had said to go on with thelotion and if Bebita's eyes did not improve to bring her in to see him.Both ladies agreed that their labors had exhausted them, but each lookedunusually vivacious and mettlesome.