CHAPTER XV _An Alibi_
The wooden shack where the Jones family lived was picturesque in itssetting among the cedar trees behind Miss Grant's home. In summer timeMary Louise could understand living very comfortably in such a place.But, isolated as it was, and probably poorly heated, it must be terriblycold in winter.
She ran down the hill gayly, humming a tune to herself and smiling, forshe did not want the colored family to think that her visit was anythingbut a friendly one. As she came to a clearing among the cedar trees shesaw two nicely dressed children playing outside the shack and singing atthe top of their lungs. They beamed at Mary Louise genially and went onwith their song.
"Do you children know Miss Elsie Grant?" she shouted.
They both nodded immediately.
"Sure we know her! You a friend o' hers?"
"Yes," answered Mary Louise. "I've been visiting her, up at her aunt'splace. But she didn't come home for dinner, so I thought maybe she washere."
"No, ma'am, she ain't," replied the older child. "You-all want to seeMa?"
"Yes, I should like to. If she isn't busy."
"Ma!" yelled both children at once, and a pleasant-faced colored womanappeared at the door of the shack. "Here's a frien' of Miz Elsie's!"
The woman smiled. "Come in, Honey," she invited.
"I just wanted to ask you whether you had seen Miss Elsie this morning,"said Mary Louise.
Mrs. Jones opened the bright-blue screen door and motioned her callerinto her house. There were only two rooms in the shack, but Mary Louisecould see immediately how beautifully neat they were, although the colorcombinations made her want to laugh out loud. A purple door curtainseparated the one room from the other, and some of the chairs were redplush, some brown leather, and one a bright green. But there was mosquitonetting tacked up at the windows, and the linoleum-covered floor wasspotless.
"Set down, Honey," urged the woman, and Mary Louise selected a red-plushchair. She repeated her question about Elsie.
"Yes and no," replied Mrs. Jones indefinitely.
"What do you mean by 'yes and no,' Mrs. Jones?" inquired Mary Louise.
"I saw her but didn't have no talk wid her," explained the other. "Shewas all dressed up in a fine dress and had a bundle unde' her arm. Ireckoned she was comin' down to visit us, but she done go off through dewoods. Why you ask, Honey? She ain't lost, am she?"
"She didn't come back for dinner," answered Mary Louise. "So Hannah and Iwere worried."
Mrs. Jones rolled her eyes.
"Runned away, I reckon. Miz Grant didn't treat her good."
"But Miss Grant isn't there--she's in the hospital."
"You don't say!"
"Yes, and I wanted to take Elsie home with me while she was away. So youwouldn't think she'd want to run away now."
"No, you wouldn't. Not when she's got a nice friend like you, Honey.Mebbe she was kidnaped."
"Nobody would want to kidnap Elsie Grant. She's too poor--and her auntwould never pay ransom money."
Mrs. Jones chuckled.
"You right 'bout dat, Honey, fo' sure. Miz Grant's de stingiest whitewoman eve' lived. Wouldn't give away a bone to a dog if she could helphe'self. Served her right 'bout dem chickens!"
Mary Louise turned sharply. "Chickens?" she repeated, trying to keep hervoice calm.
"Yes. Her chickens is bein' stolen all de time. Half a dozen tooncet--and me and Abraham won't lift a finger to put a stop to it!"
"You know who has been taking them?" asked Mary Louise incredulously.
"We knows fo' sure, Honey. But we ain't tellin' no tales to Miz Grant."
"Suppose she accuses your husband?" suggested Mary Louise.
"Dat's sumpin' diff'rent. Den we'd tell. But it'd be safe enough by dattime. De gypsies has wandered off by now."
"Gypsies!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "Did they steal the chickens?"
"Dey sure did. We could see 'em, sneakin' up at night, by de light of demoon. If Miz Grant eve' catched 'em, it'd sure go right bad wid 'em. Shehates 'em like pison."
"But you think the gypsies have gone away, Mrs. Jones?" questioned MaryLouise.
"I reckon so, or dey'd be stealin' mo' chickens. But we ain't seen norheard 'em fo' several nights. Guess dey done cleaned out of deneighborhood."
Mary Louise cleared her throat. She wanted to ask this woman what sheknew about the robbery at Dark Cedars, but she did not like to seemabrupt or suspicious. So she tried to speak casually.
"Since you know about the chickens being stolen, Mrs. Jones, did youhappen to hear anything unusual last night at Dark Cedars?"
"Lem'me see.... Las' night was Sattiday, wasn't it? Abraham done gone tolodge meetin' and got home bout ten o'clock, he said. No, I was in bedasleep, and we neve' wakened up at all.... Why? Did anything happen upthere? Mo' chickens took?"
"Not chickens--but something a great deal more valuable. A piece ofjewelry belonging to Miss Grant."
"You don't say! Was dere real stones in it--genu-ine?"
"Yes."
The colored woman shook her head solemnly.
"Abraham always say de old lady'd come to trouble sure as night followsday. De mean life she's done lived--neve' goin' to church or helpin' depoor. She neve' sent us so much as a bucket of coal fo' Christmas. But wedon't judge her--dat's de Lord's business."
"Did you know she kept money and jewels in her house?" inquired MaryLouise.
"No. It warn't none of our business. Abraham ain't interested in folks'money--only in der souls. He's a deacon in Rive'side Colored Church, youknow!"
"Yes, I've heard him very highly spoken of, Mrs. Jones," concluded MaryLouise, rising from her chair. "If you see Elsie, will you tell her tocome to our house? Anybody can direct her where to find the Gays' home,in Riverside."
"I sure will, Miz Gay. Dat's a perty name.... And you a perty gal!"
"Thanks," stammered Mary Louise in embarrassment.... "And good-bye, Mrs.Jones."
She stepped out of the shack and waved to the children as she passed themagain on her way back to Dark Cedars. Glancing at her watch as sheclimbed the hill, she observed that it was only half-past three. What inthe world would she do to pass the time until her father came for her atfive o'clock?
It occurred to her as she approached Miss Grant's house that she mighttry to interview Hannah concerning her whereabouts the preceding night,and she was thankful to catch sight of the woman in the back yard,talking to William, her husband. It was evident from both the oldservants' attitudes that they were having an argument, and Mary Louiseapproached slowly, not wishing to interrupt.
William Groben looked much older than his wife, although Hannah was by nomeans a young woman. Hadn't she claimed that she had done thehouse-cleaning for forty years at Dark Cedars? Even if she had begun towork there in her teens, Mary Louise figured that she must be fastapproaching sixty. But William looked well over seventy. He was thin andshriveled and bent; what little hair he had left was absolutely white.There could be no doubt about William's innocence in the whole affair atDark Cedars: a frail old man like that could not have managed to handle ahealthy girl like Mary Louise in the manner in which the criminal hadtreated her.
"There ain't no use sayin' another word, Hannah," Mary Louise heardWilliam announce stubbornly. "I ain't a-goin' a-change me mind. Duty isduty, and I always say if a man can't be faithful to his employer--"
"I've heard that before, never mind repeatin' it!" snapped his wife. "Andnobody can say I ain't been faithful to Miss Mattie, fer all hercrankiness. But we've got a little bit saved up, and we can manage tolive on it, with my sister Jennie, without you workin' here. In a placethat's haunted by spirits!"
The man looked up sharply.
"How long do you think four hundred dollars would keep us?" he demanded."Besides, it's invested for us--to bury us. You can't touch that, Hannah.No, I want me regular wages. I like good victuals!"
"So do I. But what's the use of good victuals i
f you're half scared ofyour life all the time? I'll never step inside that there house again!"
William shrugged his shoulders.
"Do as you're a mind to, Hannah--you always have. And I'll go on livin'over to Jennie's with you. But I'm still workin' here in the daytime. Icouldn't let them chickens starve and the garden go to seed. And whatwould become of the cow?"
"You could sell her and turn the money over to Miss Mattie."
William smiled sarcastically.
"And have her half kill me for doin' it? Not me! Besides, it wouldn't befair to the poor old lady in the hospital. Dependin' on me as she is. No,siree! Duty is duty, and I always say----"
"Shut up!" yelled Hannah in exasperation. And then, all of a sudden, shespied Mary Louise.
"Don't you never get married, Miss Mary Louise," she advised. "I neverseen a man that wasn't too stubborn to reason with. Did you find Elsie?"
Mary Louise shook her head.
"No. Mrs. Jones saw her cutting across the woods this morning. But shedidn't stop there."
"I guess she must have them gold pieces of her aunt Mattie's after all,and took her chance to clear out when the clearin' was good. Can't say asI blame her!"
Mary Louise sighed: that was the logical conclusion for everybody to cometo.
"So I think I'll go home now, Hannah," she said. "I won't wait for myfather to come for me. And shall I take the key, or will William want tokeep it?"
"You take it," urged the old man. "I don't want to feel responsible forit. My duty's outside the house."
Hannah handed it over with a sigh of relief.
"I'm that glad to get rid of it! And you tell Miss Mattie that I'm livin'at my sister Jennie's. I'll write the address down for you, if you've gotyour little book handy."
Mary Louise gladly produced it from her pocket: this was easy--gettingHannah's address without even asking for it.
"Is this where you were last night?" she inquired casually, as the womanwrote down the street and number.
"Yes. At least, except while we was at the movies. My sister Jennie madeWilliam go with us--he never thought he cared about them before. But youought to see him laugh at Laurel and Hardy. I thought I'd die, rightthere in the Globe Theater."
William grinned at the recollection.
"They was funny," he agreed. "When the show was over, I just set there,still laughin'!"
"They almost closed the theater on us," remarked Hannah. "It washalf-past eleven when we got home, and that's late for us, even of aSaturday night."
Mary Louise chuckled. She couldn't have gotten any information moreeasily if she had been a real detective. Yet here was a perfect alibi forHannah; if she had been at the movies until half-past eleven, shecouldn't have stolen that necklace from Dark Cedars. Maybe that bit ofdetective work wouldn't make an impression upon her father!
"Of course, I can check up on it at the Globe Theater," she decided inher most professional manner.
She held out her hand to Hannah.
"It's good-bye, then, Hannah--and thank you for all the nice things youcooked for me."
"You're welcome, Miss Mary Louise. And if you come over to see me at mysister Jennie's, I'll make some doughnuts for you."
"I'll be there!" promised the girl, and with a nod to William, she wentaround to the porch to get her suitcase.
Thankful that it was not heavy, she walked slowly down to the road and onto Riverside. She had plenty of chance to think as she went along, buther thoughts were not pleasant. Hannah's alibi only made Elsie's guiltseem more assured. And how she hated to have to tell her father and Janeof the girl's disappearance! There was bound to be publicity now, for thenewspapers' help would have to be enlisted in the search for the missingorphan. Miss Grant would have to know the whole story, including thetheft of the necklace....
Mary Louise shuddered, hoping that she would not be the bearer of theevil tidings to the sick old lady.