CHAPTER IX
SUSPICIONS
It was twelve o’clock when Judy and Pauline, her head held high, walkedinto the house. All the lights were on and the radio was going inPauline’s parlor room, but, as no one was there, they went on throughto the roof garden. Irene looked up from the hammock.
“Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed. “Dale and I have been so worried.We couldn’t imagine where you were.”
Pauline noticed the familiar use of his first name and winced. Theyoung author had been sitting beside Irene, and now he rose and stoodsmiling. Again Pauline felt as if she wanted to run away, but this timeit was impossible.
Judy excused their lateness as well as she could without telling themshe expected that they would be dancing. Irene soon explained that.
“You missed the most wonderful time,” she said. “Dale was going to takeus to a hotel roof garden to dance, but when you didn’t come in we hadto wait.”
“You could have left a note,” Pauline replied. “I’m sorry to havespoiled your date.”
“It isn’t spoiled,” Dale returned. “With your consent, we are goingtomorrow night.”
“Why _with my consent_? Irene is old enough to take care of herself.”
“But can’t you see?” he protested. “I want all three of you to come.”
“You can leave me out.”
“Why, Pauline,” Irene exclaimed, “I thought——”
“Never mind what you thought,” Judy interrupted. She knew that Irenehad been about to say she thought Pauline wanted to meet interestingpeople. Then Dale would know she thought him interesting, and thatwouldn’t be a very good thing to reveal right then. But Judy spoke moresharply than she realized, and her tone held the smallest hint ofsuspicion.
Irene’s expressive eyes were dark with reproach. “Judy!” she cried,almost in tears, “Now what have I done to offend you?”
“Nothing, dear. Nothing at all. I’m just tired.”
“You must be tired,” Dale put in. “Who wouldn’t be, after such a hecticday? But why take it out on Irene? She isn’t to blame if Her Majestymakes a grouch of herself.”
“Of course not,” Judy agreed, not quite sure that she spoke the truth.Certainly Irene _had_ had something to do with Emily Grimshaw’s grouchfor the old lady had not been herself since the moment she set eyes onthe dainty figure in yellow, curled on her sofa in the office thatmorning.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she went on to explain. “Her Majesty,as you call her, acted queer and talked to herself like a crazy personall day. I didn’t dare speak to her for fear she’d go off in a fitagain. She thinks someone, or something, came into the office. Did youever hear of a person named Joy Holiday?”
“No, never,” Dale replied.
Then Judy turned to Irene. “Did you?”
“You know I didn’t,” she replied in surprise. “Why, Judy, you knoweveryone I know at home, and I have no friends here except Pauline. Whydo you ask?”
“Because Emily Grimshaw thinks someone named Joy Holiday took thosepoems that were lost.”
“What poems?” asked Pauline.
“The ones Irene and I were reading this morning. Something happened tothem. They aren’t anywhere. Of course someone took them, but thestrange part of it is, we were the only ones in the office.”
“And you missed them right after Emily Grimshaw had that queer spelland collapsed?” Dale asked.
“Pretty soon afterwards.”
“I thought there was something fishy about that at the time,” hedeclared, “and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if the old lady made awaywith them herself.”
“But why should she? What would be her object in taking poems sheexpected to publish and then pretending not to know what happened tothem?”
“It’s beyond me! Maybe she didn’t. They might have been accidentallybrushed off the table when someone passed.”
“In that case they would have been on the floor,” Judy replied.
Dale Meredith was coming to some rapid conclusions, she thought—toorapid to be sincere expressions of his opinion. But what use could asuccessful young author make of faded manuscripts of melancholy poetry.A plot for a story, perhaps. That was pure inspiration! Those queer oldpoems might furnish plots for a great many mystery stories if anyonehad the patience to figure them out. Ghosts ... towers ... thrills ...shivers ... creeps.... Dale Meredith could do it, too. All he neededwas a little time to study the originals. The revised poems withcorrections and omissions, Judy could see, wouldn’t do half so well.
But that would be cheating, stealing. No, there was another word forit—plagiarizing. That was it. But Judy had hoped that Dale was toofine a man to stoop to anything like that, even to further theinterests of his stories.
“Better to crumble in a tower of flame....”
A line from one of the missing poems, but it did ring true. It was farbetter that Judy’s plans for both her friends should crumble before theflame that was her passion for finding out the truth.
When she came into the room she had noticed Dale Meredith’s portfolioon top of the radio. It was the same portfolio that he had carried onthe bus, the same portfolio that he had taken away with him when heleft Emily Grimshaw’s office. Now Judy remembered watching Dale andIrene from the office window as they walked through Madison Square.Irene had carried nothing except her brown hand bag. That was far toosmall to hold the manuscript. But Dale’s portfolio——Why, even now itbulged with papers that must be inside! Yes, Judy had to face it, DaleMeredith might have taken the poems. They might be inside that veryportfolio!
Excusing herself, she went inside. Blackberry followed at her heels.
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