CHAPTER IV
Hutchinson Hatch was a newspaper reporter, a long, lean, hungry lookingyoung man with an insatiable appetite for facts. This last was, perhaps,an astonishing trait in a reporter; and Hatch was positively finicky onthe point. That's why his City Editor believed in him. If Hatch had comein and told his City Editor that he had seen a blue elephant with pinkside-whiskers his City Editor would have _known_ that that elephant wasblue--mentally, morally, physically, spiritually and everlastingly--notany washed-out green or purple, but blue.
Hatch was remarkable in other ways, too. For instance, he believed inthe use of a little human intelligence in his profession. As a matter offact, on several occasions he had demonstrated that it was really anexcellent thing--human intelligence. His mind was well poised, hismethods thorough, his style direct.
Along with dozens of others Hatch was at work on the Randolph robbery,and knew what the others knew--no more. He had studied the case soclosely that he was beginning to believe, strangely enough, that perhapsthe police were right in their theory as to the identity of the Burglarand the Girl--that is, that they were professional crooks. He could do athing like that sometimes--bring his mind around to admit thepossibility of somebody else being right.
It was on Saturday afternoon--two days after the Randolph affair--thatHatch was sitting in Detective Mallory's private office at PoliceHeadquarters laboriously extracting from the Supreme Intelligence theprecise things he had not found out about the robbery. Thetelephone-bell rang. Hatch got one end of the conversation--he couldn'thelp it. It was something like this:
"Hello!... Yes, Detective Mallory.... Missing?... What's her name?...What?... Oh, Dorothy!... Yes?... Merritt?... Oh, Merryman!... Well, whatthe deuce is it then?... _SPELL IT!_... M-e-r-e-d-i-t-h. Why didn't yousay that at first?... How long has she been gone?... Huh?... Thursdayevening?... What does she look like?... Auburn hair. Red, you mean?...Oh, ruddy! I'd like to know what's the difference."
The detective had drawn up a pad of paper and was jotting down whatHatch imagined to be the description of a missing girl. Then:
"Who is this talking?" asked the detective.
There was a little pause as he got the answer, and, having the answer,he whistled his astonishment, after which he glanced around quickly atthe reporter, who was staring dreamily out a window.
"No," said the Supreme Intelligence over the 'phone. "It wouldn't bewise to make it public. It isn't necessary at all. I understand. I'llorder a search immediately. No. The newspapers will get nothing of it.Good-by."
"A story?" inquired Hatch carelessly as the detective hung up thereceiver.
"Doesn't amount to anything," was the reply.
"Yes, that's obvious," remarked the reporter drily.
"Well, whatever it is, it is not going to be made public," retorted theSupreme Intelligence sharply. He never did like Hatch, anyway. "It's oneof those things that don't do any good in the newspapers, so I'll notlet this one get there."
Hatch yawned to show that he had no further interest in the matter, andwent out. But there was the germ of an idea in his head which would havestartled Detective Mallory, and he paced up and down outside to developit. A girl missing! A red-headed girl missing! A red-headed girl missingsince Thursday! Thursday was the night of the Randolph masked ball. Themissing Girl of the West was red-headed! Mallory had seemed astonishedwhen he learned the name of the person who reported this last case!Therefore the person who reported it was high up--perhaps! Certainlyhigh enough up to ask and receive the courtesy of policesuppression--and the missing girl's name was Dorothy Meredith!
Hatch stood still for a long time on the curb and figured it out.Suddenly he rushed off to a telephone and called up Stuyvesant Randolphat Seven Oaks. He asked the first question with trepidation:
"Mr. Randolph, can you give me the address of Miss Dorothy Meredith?"
"Miss Meredith?" came the answer. "Let's see. I think she is stoppingwith the Morgan Greytons, at their suburban place."
The reporter gulped down a shout. "Worked, by thunder!" he exclaimed tohimself. Then, in a deadly, forced calm:
"She attended the masked ball Thursday evening, didn't she?"
"Well, she was invited."
"You didn't see her there?"
"No. Who _is_ this?"
Then Hatch hung up the receiver. He was nearly choking with excitement,for, in addition to all those virtues which have been enumerated, hepossessed, too, the quality of enthusiasm. It was no part of his purposeto tell anybody anything. Mallory didn't know, he was confident,anything of the girl having been a possible guest at the ball. And whatMallory didn't know now wouldn't be found out, all of which was a sadreflection upon the detective.
In this frame of mind Hatch started for the suburban place of theGreytons. He found the house without difficulty. Morgan Greyton was anaged gentleman of wealth and exclusive ideas--and wasn't in. Hatchhanded a card bearing only his name, to a maid, and after a few minutesMrs. Greyton appeared. She was a motherly, sweet-faced old lady ofseventy, with that grave, exquisite courtesy which makes mere man feelashamed of himself. Hatch had that feeling when he looked at her andthought of what he was going to ask.
"I came up direct from Police Headquarters," he explaineddiplomatically, "to learn any details you may be able to give us as tothe disappearance of Miss Meredith."
"Oh, yes," replied Mrs. Greyton. "My husband said he was going to askthe police to look into the matter. It is most mysterious--mostmysterious! We can't imagine where Dollie is, unless she has eloped. Doyou know that idea keeps coming to me and won't go away?"
She spoke as if it were a naughty child.
"If you'll tell me something about Miss Meredith--who she is and allthat?" Hatch suggested.
"Oh, yes, to be sure," exclaimed Mrs. Greyton. "Dollie is a distantcousin of my husband's sister's husband," she explained precisely. "Shelives in Baltimore, but is visiting us. She has been here for severalweeks. She's a dear, sweet girl, but I'm afraid--afraid she has eloped."
The aged voice quivered a little, and Hatch was more ashamed of himselfthan ever.
"Some time ago she met a man named Herbert--Richard Herbert, I think,and----"
"Dick Herbert?" the reporter exclaimed suddenly.
"Do you know the young gentleman?" inquired the old lady eagerly.
"Yes, it just happens that we were classmates in Harvard," said thereporter.
"And is he a nice young man?"
"A good, clean-cut, straightforward, decent man," replied Hatch. Hecould speak with a certain enthusiasm about Dick Herbert. "Go on,please," he urged.
"Well, for some reason I don't know, Dollie's father objects to Mr.Herbert's attentions to her--as a matter of fact, Mr. Meredith hasabsolutely prohibited them--but she's a young, headstrong girl, and Ifear that, although she had outwardly yielded to her father's wishes,she had clandestinely kept up a correspondence with Mr. Herbert. LastThursday evening she went out unattended and since then we have notheard from her--not a word. We can only surmise--my husband and I--thatthey have eloped. I know her father and mother will be heart-broken, butI have always noticed that if a girl sets her heart on a man, she willget him. And perhaps it's just as well that she _has_ eloped now sinceyou assure me he is a nice young man."
Hatch was choking back a question that rose in his throat. He hated toask it, because he felt this dear, garrulous old woman would have hatedhim for it, if she could have known its purpose. But at last it came.
"Do you happen to know," he asked, "if Miss Meredith attended theRandolph ball at Seven Oaks on Thursday evening?"
"I dare say she received an invitation," was the reply. "She receivesmany invitations, but I don't think she went there. It was a costumeaffair, I suppose?"
The reporter nodded.
"Well, I hardly believe she went there then," Mrs. Greyton replied. "Shehas had no costume of any sort made. No, I am positive she has elopedwith Mr. Herbert, but I should like to hear from her to satisfy myselfand explain
to her parents. We did not permit Mr. Herbert to come here,and it will be very hard to explain."
Hatch heard the slight rustle of a skirt in the hall and glanced towardthe door. No one appeared, and he turned back to Mrs. Greyton.
"I don't suppose it possible that Miss Meredith has returned toBaltimore?" he asked.
"Oh, no!" was the positive reply. "Her father there telegraphed to herto-day--I opened it--saying he would be here, probably to-night, andI--I haven't the heart to tell him the truth when he arrives. Somehow, Ihave been hoping that we would hear and--and----"
Then Hatch took his shame in his hand and excused himself. The maidattended him to the door.
"How much is it worth to you to know if Miss Meredith went to the maskedball?" asked the maid cautiously.
"Eavesdropping, eh?" asked Hatch in disgust.
The maid shrugged her shoulders.
"How much is it worth?" she repeated.
Hatch extended his hand. She took a ten-dollar bill which lay there andsecreted it in some remote recess of her being.
"Miss Meredith did go to the ball," she said. "She went there to meetMr. Herbert. They had arranged to elope from there and she had made allher plans. I was in her confidence and assisted her."
"What did she wear?" asked Hatch eagerly.
"Her costume was that of a Western Girl," the maid responded. "She worea sombrero, and carried a Bowie knife and revolver."
Hatch nearly swallowed his palate.