Author of
“Mary Louise,” “Mary Louise in the Country,” “Mary
Louise Solves a Mystery,” “Mary Louise and
the Liberty Girls,” “Mary Louise
Adopts a Soldier.”
Dorfield was trying to settle down into its prewar
quiet, but no matter how conservative and
sleepy a town has been, when once it is shaken
up with war activities it finds it difficult to go
to sleep again. It may pull the bedclothes over
its head and bury its ears in the downy pillows
of memories of what it used to be but the
echoes of marching troops, shouting crowds, martial
music, newsboys crying extras, powder mills
and so forth will reach it no matter how soft
the pillows or thick the bedclothes.
The girls of Dorfield found it more difficult to
settle down than anybody else. Fathers had
always been busy, so had mothers. The returning
soldiers had dropped into their old places
and were at work almost as though there had
been no amazing interlude of A. E. F. Only the
girls seemed to be left out of the scheme of
things. Many of them kept on working, although
before the war the idea of making a living had
been undreamed. The girls who, for purely
patriotic reasons, had taken positions left empty
by enlisted men, were loath to go back to the old
state of dependence now that the men had
returned.
“I am tired of being an unproductive consumer
and I don’t intend to stand it any longer,”
declared Elizabeth Wright.
“What are you going to do about it?” asked
Lucile Neal.
“Do! I’m going to get a good job and hold
it. I did the work in the bank just as well as
Price Middleton, although I got only about half
as much pay for it. I can type better than he
can and write a business letter all around him.
When he came back from the war, I stepped out
as gracefully as you please and gave up my job.
Nobody seems to be much worried about my
future, that is, nobody but me, but I’ve been
thinking a lot about what is going to become of
me, not only because of money but because I am
simply bored to death at the prospect of having
no regular occupation.”
“I feel that way too,” said Laura Hilton. “I
do wish Dorfield wasn’t so poky about its girls.
Father says young women ought to stay at home
and preserve fruit, unless it is necessary for the
family finances that they should go out and
work.”
“Always for the good of the family where
the girl is concerned!” exclaimed Elizabeth,
“and never the good of the girl! Suppose there
isn’t any fruit! Suppose there is no sugar to
preserve with! Suppose the beloved family is
not fond of jam! Suppose there are more girls
in the household than there are paring knives!
Suppose one’s mother is so capable and industrious
that there is no work left for the girls to
do! Suppose a million things!”
The group of girls gathered on Colonel Hathaway’s
porch laughed at the vehemence of Elizabeth
Wright’s harangue. Elizabeth had always
been different from the rest of her family, who
were old-fashioned and conservative in their
ideas. She was one of five sisters. The other
four were quite content to live the life of “unproductive
consumers” on the not very large
income which was derived from an estate inherited
by their father. Mr. Wright’s sole occupation
consisted in writing letters demanding
catalogues of rare books. These he pored over
from morning until night. Sometimes, enticed
by the extreme rarity and desirability of a book,
he would decide he must have it in his fine collection
but he usually took so long to decide and
put off so long writing his order that, in nine
cases out of ten, the desired book was sold before
he sent for it.
Mrs. Wright was one of those thoroughly
practical souls who glory in their activity and
efficiency. She did everything so easily that she
had never seen the necessity of teaching her
daughters to do anything.
“They will learn soon enough!” she always
declared. “Nobody taught me! They will
marry and then they will learn.”
Elizabeth always winced when her mother announced
so confidently that her daughters would
marry. Perhaps they would but, on the other
hand, perhaps they wouldn’t. She for one was
sure she would not. Certainly it was not her
aim in life as it seemed to be of her sisters.
Marriage was all right if it was built on true
love, as she was sure this marriage of Mary
Louise’s was to be. In her heart of hearts Elizabeth
wanted to write but she thought she had not
lived long enough to have anything to write
about.
Dear Mary Louise Burrows! How happy she
looked with her friends gathered around her on
her grandfather’s piazza! That piazza was a
favorite place for the girls to assemble and now
that Mary Louise was so soon to marry Danny
Dexter it was almost a daily occurrence for them
to meet there. Irene MacFarlane was there in
her wheel chair, her countenance as calm and
peaceful as ever, while her busy fingers embroidered
a wonderfully dainty bit of lingerie for
her friend’s trousseau. Alora Jones was there,
not looking much happier than she had formerly,
although her three millions had been almost
doubled in the last few years, thanks to the war
activities that wealth had indulged in. Poor
Alora found it difficult to let herself go. Her
wealth made her suspicious. Because she had
been imposed upon once, she was ever looking
out for similar experiences. She was happier
with this band of friends, tried and true, than
with anybody else in the world. Certainly they
wanted nothing from her but friendship and
that her shy heart was eager to give. Her artist
father encouraged her in seeking out these wholesome,
normal girls, hoping through them his
daughter would begin to value life for what it
was worth.
“We are cursed with money, Alora,” he would
say, “but for Heaven’s sake, let’s forget it. In
the meantime we must give and give!”
Pretty Laura Hilton was there, as small and
bird-like as ever. By her sat Lucile Neal, who
had inherited an executive ability from her
father, the owner of the Neal Automobile Factory,
and whose clear judgment was ever in demand
when Mary Louise and her friends had any
project on foot. Edna Barlow, the only poor
girl in the group, was in the hammock with Jane
Donovan, the daughter of Dorfield’s mayor.
All of the girls were sewing on Mary Louise’s
trousseau. It was Irene’s idea that they should
meet together in this way and busy themselves
with this labor of love.
“To return to jobs,” said Elizabeth. “I’m
going to find out what pays best and learn how
to do it and then bust loose from my family.
If they don’t like it, they can lump it. I want a
latchkey and a bank account of my own. As it
is, if I’m not in the house at a certain time,
there is a hue and cry and father begins on what
young ladies did in his day and Gertrude and
Annabel look shocked and Pauline and Margaret
say they would never be guilty of such
unladylike behavior and they all agree that men
don’t like independent girls and I’ll never get
a suspicion of a beau if I don’t mend my ways—as
though I wanted one if I’d have to make
myself over to get him!”
“And what does your mother say?” laughed
Mary Louise.
“Oh, Mother doesn’t say anything. She is
always so busy she doesn’t even know I’m not
there. With two servants in the house Mother
still manages never to be idle one moment in
the day. She is always baking and brewing,
sewing and dusting, cleaning out closets or
bureau drawers, airing beds, rubbing furniture,
cleaning silver, doing a million and one things
that the maids could do just as well as she.
The truth of the matter is Mother should have
had a profession outside of being a wife and
mother. She has too much energy and efficiency
to waste on a mere home.”
“But a mere home is the greatest thing in the
world,” said Mary Louise, softly.
“Oh, yes, it is a good enough place, but it can
be pretty uncomfortable with somebody always
making you move to sweep under you. Why, my
mother could run a big hotel and still have time
to spare to keep the church sewing circle going.”
“She must be very unselfish,” said Laura
Hilton, whose own mother was noted for being
the best dressed and most frivolous woman in
Dorfield, though very charming and kind-hearted
withal.
“Oh, I don’t know about that!” answered
Elizabeth. “She is never so happy as when she
is bustling around doing for people. She would
let all of us girls sleep all day and then cook
breakfast herself and bring it up to us and have
the time of her life doing it. I think it would be
a great deal more unselfish if she would let us
help and expend some of her energy on making
us be a little more efficient instead of being so
perfect herself.”
“Have you decided yet, Mary Louise, where
and when you will be married?” asked Irene,
gently changing the subject. Irene had the
faculty of turning the conversation into smoother
channels when she saw breakers ahead. Criticism
of one’s mother and home was not conducive
to smooth sailing for the ship of conversation.
“About decided,” blushed Mary Louise.
“Danny and I think it would be nice to be
married right here at home with only our intimate
friends present. We haven’t any relations
to speak of, neither one of us. Danny has his
Uncle Jim O’Hara and I have Grandpa Jim—a
Jim apiece and that is all. We have lots of intimate
friends, though, when we begin to count up.
Of course Danny wants to ask every man in his
regiment besides all the friends he has made at
the Neal Automobile Factory.”
“Father and the boys say he is the most popular
man in the works in the short time he has
been with them,” said Lucile.
Mary Louise blushed again. She was frankly
delighted at the praise bestowed upon her fiancé.
Danny’s popularity was very delightful to the
girl and indeed it spoke very well for Danny
Dexter that Dorfield was receiving him with open
arms. He had come to the town unknown, poor,
friendless except for the men in his regiment
who one and all pronounced him a trump. All
of his worldly possessions he could get in his
army kit. But on his battle scarred face was a
smile that was worth more than silver and gold
and when he had won, right under the noses of a
host of admirers, the love of the prettiest and
most attractive girl in town, the rejected and
dejected suitors of Mary Louise Burrows bore
him no grudge but were willing to come dance
at his wedding.
“Here comes Mrs. Markle!” exclaimed Mary
Louise. “She has been so kind to me and Mr.
Markle is perfectly dear to Danny. Both of
them are so charming that we appreciate their
seeing anything in us worth knowing.”
“Pooh!” cried Elizabeth Wright. “Everybody
thinks you and Danny are worth knowing.
The Markles aren’t so much of a muchness.”
“Oh, but they are lovely! Don’t you think
so, Irene?” asked Mary Louise.
“I don’t know them very well,” responded
Irene. “If you like them so much they must be
worth knowing, however.”
Mary Louise looked at her friend, astonishment
expressed in her countenance. That did
not sound like Irene MacFarlane. What faint
praise she gave the Markles! And her voice
sounded so cold. What could be the matter?
Could she be jealous of these new friends?
Hardly that! Of course, Irene had been her
first and only friend when Mary Louise came to
Dorfield and stayed with Irene’s uncle, Mr. Peter
Conant and his wife, dear Aunt Hannah. But
since then she, Mary Louise, had made acquaintance
with almost everybody in town and it would
take all her fingers and toes to count her intimate
girl friends. Irene had never shown jealousy before
but had been as eager to enlarge her acquaintance
as Mary Louise herself. Poor Irene
was lame and had spent the whole of her life
either on her back or in the wheel chair. She
had an intense interest in humanity in general
and girls in particular. Her friendship with
Mary Louise had opened up a new life for the
poor girl, bringing her more and more in touch
with the outside world. But why this coldness
where the Markles were concerned?
Nobody could deny that the Markles were a
delightful couple. Mrs. Markle was a woman of
about thirty, while her husband was nearer fifty
but he seemed to be as fond of young people as
his wife. They were strangers in Dorfield, having
settled there since the war, but already they
had taken a place in the society of the town and
were looked upon as agreeable additions to the
four hundred of Dorfield. Mr. Markle was engaged
in the real estate business, which seemed
to be thriving. To be sure, they lived in a small
apartment, but it was in one of the best houses
in town and, while they were not classed with
the reckless spenders, they entertained frequently
and in lavish style. The soft Persian
rugs and exquisite paintings and etchings filled
their apartment with harmony and beauty. There
were cabinets of rare and wonderful curios, bookcases
of first editions and carved furniture that
looked as though it belonged in museums, so
wonderful was it in design and finish.
CHAPTER II A ROSE AND A SONG
As Mrs. Markle tripped up the steps of Colonel
Hathaway’s porch, where the girls were holding
their sewing bee, one could but wonder why
Irene MacFarlane should have been chary of
her praise of anyone so altogether charming.
She was perfect from the tips of her tiny grey
suede shoes to the hat which shaded the piquant
face at just the right angle. Nature had not
only endowed Hortense Markle with a rare and
glowing beauty but hers also was the gift of
knowing exactly how to clothe that beauty.
Every portion of her costume was as carefully
thought out and planned by the little artist as
had been the rarest of her rugs by some Hindu
weaver or the most choice of her pictures by
some famous painter. She delighted in soft
greys and pastel shades which set off to perfection
her rich, almost oriental, beauty.
“She knows perfectly well if she wore brilliant
colors they would be becoming but would
coarsen her,” Irene said to herself as she
watched the charming little lady mount the steps,
her arm around Mary Louise, who had hurried
down the walk to meet her new friend.
“Oh, why didn’t you girls let me know you
were here sewing? I have been so lonely sitting
up in my stuffy little apartment all alone. Only
think, I might have been here all morning having
such a pleasant time with all of you! I
believe you think I am too old for you.”
This she said so gaily, giving such a ringing
laugh at the thought of anybody’s thinking she
was too old, that all the girls joined in, even
Irene. Irene had wondered at herself as much
as Mary Louise had. For the life of her she
could not account for a feeling of antipathy that
she felt for both Mr. and Mrs. Markle. It was
not like her to take unaccountable dislikes, or
even accountable ones. Her theory of life was
to live and let live and her sympathy embraced
all mankind, good and bad alike. Why could she
not find room in her heart for this charming,
beautiful young woman whose manner to her had
always been gracious and kind?
“It is just a case of Dr. Fell,” Irene said to
herself.
“‘I do not like thee, Dr. Fell—
The reason why I cannot tell;
But one thing ’tis, I know full well:
I do not like thee, Dr. Fell.’”
She determined, however, to keep her unreasonable
sentiments to herself and at least to be
as cordial and polite to Mary Louise’s guest as
she could manage to be.
“We sew here almost every morning,” said
Irene. “We are helping to make Mary Louise’s
trousseau.”
“How charming! Please let me help. Sewing
is my one accomplishment.”
A thimble was found to fit the tapering finger
and Mrs. Markle was soon as busy as the others
in their task of love.
“I wish I could sew better,” exclaimed Elizabeth
Wright. “I am going to have to pick out
this foolish little flower that I have been trying
so hard to make look as though it were growing
on Mary Louise’s camisole. There now! I’ve
cut a hole in it! Oh, what a stupid I am! Right
in the middle of the garment and this crepe de
chine costs ’steen dollars a yard! Oh me, oh
my! I told you girls I ought to go into business
and not try to be so girlie.”
“Let me see if I can’t set you right,” said
Mrs. Markle. “I am past mistress at patching.”
She took the garment from the unresisting
hands of Elizabeth, quickly ripped out the
crooked flower that poor Elizabeth had been
vainly endeavoring to embroider on it and then,
with deft sure fingers and a needle so fine one
could hardly see it, she inserted an invisible patch
where the cruel scissors had slipped. This needle
she took from the lining of her velvet hand bag.
It was much smaller than any found in the work
boxes of the girls. Irene remarked on it.
“I never can get such tiny needles as that,”
she said. “Perhaps if I could manage to shop
for myself I might find one.”
“Oh, I’ll be delighted to give you some!”
cried the older woman. “I am like you: I simply
cannot sew with a spike.”
“That will be very kind of you,” said Irene,
wishing she could be as pleasant to Mrs. Markle
as Mrs. Markle was to her and hoping that her
sentiments were not voiced in her words. She
was trying hard to get over her feeling of dislike
and distrust for the beautiful little lady but,
even though she should give her a thousand fairy
needles, she knew that she could not like her.
She watched the process of putting in the invisible
patch. It was the most perfect piece of
needlework she had ever seen and Irene herself
did all but perfect work.
“How on earth do you do it?” she exclaimed.
“Why, one cannot tell where the patch is!”
The girls crowded around to see the little
patch. If Irene did not know how to do it it
must be wonderful indeed.
“It is quite easy when once you learn,”
laughed Mrs. Markle. “I learned at the convent
in Paris. First be sure and match the warp and
woof of your material. It takes sharp eyes, but
one thread out of place is fatal. Then use a bit
of raveled crepe de chine for your thread and
the rest is all plain sailing. Practice makes perfect.
Now shall I embroider a rose over the
place?”
“Oh, do!” cried Elizabeth, “and please
somebody give me some plain basting to do on
gingham aprons if the bride is to have such
things.”
“Don’t you have to have a pattern for your
rose?” asked Irene, reaching for her workbag.
“I have some patterns here, very pretty ones,
and some tracing paper.”
“No, thank you! I just make up as I go
along—”
“Like the wonderful rug weavers of India,”
cried Alora. “Do you sing a song as you go and
weave the music into your work as they do, Mrs.
Markle?”
“Why, yes, sometimes! But please don’t call
me Mrs. Markle. I’m not so terribly old and
you don’t know how I long to have someone call
me by my own name, Hortense.”
“Doesn’t Mr. Markle?”
“He calls me Pet. Awfully silly, but he
always has. I think it would be so pleasant if
all of you girls would just call me Hortense.
Won’t you?” She smiled so brightly on the
ring of girls grouped around her that they succumbed
to her charms. Even Irene melted a bit
and decided that perhaps she did like the little
lady a tiny bit after all. Anyone who could put
in an invisible patch must be a desirable
acquaintance.
“You see it has been many years since I
have been with my own people and so few ever
call me anything but Mrs. Markle. It is very
lonesome to have persons so formal.”
As she talked she had been deftly outlining a
rose on the front of the camisole, drawing it
with needle and thread with strokes as sure as
those of a great flower painter. Then choosing
her silk from Irene’s basket she began to embroider.
Irene was spellbound in her attention.
The first petal took form under the flying fingers
as though by magic.
And then the woman sang. It seemed hardly
fair that anyone so beautiful and clever as Hortense
Markle should also have a voice, but voice
she did have of a rich depth that thrilled her
audience.
“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying:
And the same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious land of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.”
“Lovely! Lovely!” cried the girls.
“I don’t know that tune,” said Laura Hilton,
who had a sweet little voice of her own with a
bird-like note and was ever in search of songs
that would fit it. “I know the words, Herrick’s,
aren’t they? But the tune is different from any
I have ever heard.”
“It has a kind of teasing quality,” said Alora.
“The tune is my own,” declared the singer.
“Then you can write music too!” cried Irene.
This was surely a remarkable person for her to
take an unreasonable dislike to.
“Not write it—just sing it. I don’t know
one note from the other except by ear,”
answered Mrs. Markle still busily embroidering.
“I think the tune was fine,” put in Elizabeth,
“but I can’t hand a thing to the words. Always
hammering on girls to get married! It sounds
too like home to me. I bet anything old Herrick
was as withered and dried up as a salt herring.
Losing his own prime was nothing. He, as a
man, was perfectly sure that he was still attractive,
married or unmarried—but the poor girls—it
makes me more and more determined to get
me a job.”
They all laughed heartily at Elizabeth’s taking
the song personally and Mrs. Markle was much
interested in what the girl expected to do and
how soon she intended to begin doing it.
“I don’t blame you at all for wanting to do
something. I often feel myself I should like to
but Felix is so opposed. He is away so much I
could easily carry on some occupation besides
home making. What are you thinking of
doing?”
“I don’t know. I can type but I don’t want
to be a stenographer, at least I don’t want to be
a man’s stenographer. Somebody might think
it was up to me to marry the creature. I’d like
to have a shop—a kind of literary work-shop—where
one could get manuscript typed; where budding
authors could have their spelling corrected
and their punctuation put to rights. I’m a queen
bee on spelling and punctuation. I might even
write obituaries and valedictories for the going
and coming. I might combine a kind of clipping
bureau with it for folks who like to see their
names in print. Of course I’d have to have a
partner.”
“The very thing!” cried Mary Louise. “A
friend of mine, Josie O’Gorman, wants to come
to Dorfield to settle and she could go in with
you. Josie is financially independent, but she
says she simply must do something. You know
her father was the great detective. He died last
month,” she explained to Mrs. Markle.
“See, I have finished the rose!” Hortense
interrupted and held it up for their inspection.
It was so natural that one almost expected a
fragrance to arise from it.
“But look! What is that on the edge of this
petal?” cried Irene, who was bending over the
embroidery entranced by its perfectness. “It
looks like a tiny faded place.”
“So it is! That is where the tune got woven
into my picture.
‘The same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.’”
“Oh!” was all Irene could say, but she began
all over to hate Hortense Markle for suggesting
fading flowers where Mary Louise’s trousseau
was concerned. “It wasn’t kind! It wasn’t
kind!” she kept on saying to herself.
CHAPTER III MATRON OF HONOR
“We were speaking of Mary Louise’s wedding
when you came in,” Alora said to Mrs. Markle.
“And Danny’s!” put in Mary Louise.
“Oh, of course, Danny’s! Danny may be a
wonder but he doesn’t count much on his own
wedding day. That day is the bride’s,” laughed
Alora.
“You are to have a church wedding, I
fancy,” said Mrs. Markle.
“No, we are to be married here at home.
Grandpa Jim much prefers it and so do Danny
and I.”
“Oh, then of course it must be at home. Your
house is large but the rooms do not open into
each other for the best effect for a wedding.
Why don’t you be married out of doors?” suggested
Mrs. Markle. “It would be lovely. The
guests could stand all along these terraces or
anywhere they chose and the bridal party could
approach through the opening in that wonderful
old yew hedge. It would be a beautiful picture.
I can see it now!” and she waved her hand
towards the fine old sunken garden which was
the pride of Colonel Hathaway and his granddaughter.
“The very thing!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Don’t you think so, Irene?”
“It would be lovely.”
“Grandpa Jim would like it a lot, I am sure,”
said Mary Louise.
“You are to have bridesmaids, of course,”
continued Mrs. Markle. “Let them dress in
pastel shades of palest and softest hue and
carry sweet peas.”
“That will be great if we have different
colors,” put in Elizabeth. “I am crazy about
being a bridesmaid, but I must say I am not
crazy about going around with about seven twins
for the rest of the summer.”
“You are to have eight bridesmaids, then?”
asked Mrs. Markle as she and her hostess went
down to the garden to plan.
“Yes, eight besides my maid of honor,”
explained Mary Louise. “You see, I couldn’t
bear to leave out any of the girls.”
“And who is the maid of honor?”
“Irene MacFarlane! She is the very best
friend I have in the whole world.”
“But how can she be a maid of honor in a
chair?”
“I don’t know, but she must be. In the house
she can roll around quite easily. I am not sure
about it out of doors but, if she can’t, we will
abandon the idea of having it out in the garden.”
Mary Louise spoke quite decidedly.
“That would be a pity.”
“Yes, but I must have Irene.”
Mary Louise had always said if she ever married
she would have her dear friend as maid of
honor and Irene had felt a fierce pride in the
fact that she was chosen. She realized the
moment the plan was suggested of having the
ceremony out of doors that this honor was not
to be hers. She could run her chair with great
skill on smooth floors but she felt it would be
awkward indeed to try to do it in the garden
and then she felt that in some way she would
mar the picture. She too could close her eyes
and see the effect of the outdoor wedding with
the old yew hedge as a background and the beds
of old-fashioned flowers adding to the beauty of
the scene; the bride in white and the eight bridesmaids
in the pastel shades suggested by Hortense
Markle.
“It will be beautiful and I must quietly get
out of the picture,” Irene said to herself. It hurt
her to think of it. The girl was sure she would
never marry herself, nobody would ever want to
marry such a poor little deformed person. She
had settled that long ago, but it would have been
pleasant to be the next one to the bride. Even
that pleasure must be taken from her and she
herself must be the one to put it away. She
looked sadly after the girls as they trooped into
the garden to join Mary Louise and Mrs. Markle.
“If she only had not suggested the outdoor
wedding!” she sighed. “But I must not harbor
resentment against Mrs. Markle. She is charming
and so clever. Instead I must try to like
her. I wish I could sew as well as she can.”
She picked up the dainty camisole whereon
Hortense had embroidered the exquisite rose and
examined it closely. She took from her basket
a little magnifying glass she occasionally made
use of in doing very fine embroidery. Through
the glass she could see where the patch had been
inserted.
“I must not look at people through a magnifying
glass,” she mused. “If it magnified their
perfections it would be all right, but it seems
only to show up their faults. I have shown a
poor spirit myself this morning, and if I turned
the magnifying glass on my own soul, it would
disclose many ugly patches and gashes.” She
put her hand over her eyes and offered a silent
prayer for a just and contrite spirit.
When the girls came back from the garden,
they found Irene with a smile on her sensitive
face and on her lips a gay little tune she was
humming.
“I do hope you have decided to have the wedding
out of doors,” she cried. “If it is out of
doors, I can see it too, as I will be a spectator.
From my chair I can see the procession as it
comes through the yew hedge and follows the
garden walk.”
“But, Irene—” began Mary Louise.
“Don’t but Irene me,” laughed the girl. “As
for bridesmaids: they are like the purple cow to
me, ‘I’d rather see than be one.’ Let me be
a kind of vestal virgin, stationed near the altar.”
“But I have always said that I would have no
maid of honor but you,” declared Mary Louise,
“and I won’t.”
“You shall have to swallow your words then,
my dear,” insisted Irene.
“If not a maid, you might have a matron,”
suggested Hortense.
“Certainly,” agreed Irene.
“Nobody could take the place of Irene,”
objected Mary Louise.
“But, honey, a place in a wedding procession
is not a place in your heart,” whispered Irene,
drawing her friend close to her.
“I have heard brides say that, unless they
have an attendant, the thing is hard to go
through with,” said Hortense. “Of course you
might go on your grandfather’s arm, but it is
not quite so picturesque as having all girls.
Black coats, when all is told, are ugly affairs.”
“Grandpa Jim would rather not be too much
in evidence, I think. The truth of the matter is
he is afraid he might get stage fright. He says
it is hard enough on him to have to give me
away. Will you be my matron of honor, Hortense?”
“But, my dear, you must have closer and
dearer friends than I am among the young married
people. Nobody who loves you more,
but—”
“Please,” begged Mary Louise.
“Why, of course! I feel more flattered than
I can say.”
And so it was settled.
“We must plan the dresses, making each color
the one the wearer prefers. I must wear pale
grey, as I am merely the bride’s shadow. I must
not show much.”
“And I want pink!” cried one.
“And I blue!” said another. And so on until
all the colors in the rainbow and some others
were appropriated either by the girls present for
themselves or for the absent members.
“Suppose it rains!” suggested Elizabeth.
“But it couldn’t and it wouldn’t!” cried
Lucile. “Not on Mary Louise’s wedding day.”
Irene was quietly gathering up her sewing
things preparatory to her departure. As the
girls discussed their bridesmaids’ dresses, she
glanced at Hortense and could not help noting
a kind of triumph in her bearing.
CHAPTER IV JOSIE O’GORMAN
Detective O’Gorman’s death while he was
abroad on United States Secret Service brought
sadness to the hearts of many, even to some of
the criminals whom his almost uncanny powers
had been instrumental in bringing to justice.
“A good thief has some respect for a good
detective,” one noted cracksman, who was serving
his term in the penitentiary, was heard to
say when the news came that his one-time enemy
was no more. “There is pleasure in trying to
circumvent a man like O’Gorman, but most of
these so-called detectives have gone into the
business because they have failed as life insurance
agents. It is no fun trying to get ahead of
them. They are too easy.”
Little Josie O’Gorman mourned keenly the
loss of her father. He had been everything to
her and it was hard to feel that he was gone and
she was never to see his dear, homely face again.
Not that Josie thought his face was homely.
She considered his funny fat nose more classic
than the one worn by the sculptured Adonis and
much more fitting to follow a scent; and his
round eyes that could narrow down to slits when
he got on the right track in a big case were to
the daughter more expressive than Wallace
Reid’s or any other movie hero’s.
Crushed at first by the blow of his sudden
death, Josie had felt that never again could she
go about the business of living; but the girl
came of sturdy stock and she knew too well that
her father would have been disappointed in her
if she had given up to the grief that was well
nigh overwhelming her.
“I must do as he would wish me to do. He
would never sit and mope,” she declared to herself
and immediately wrote to Mary Louise that
she was thinking of coming to settle in Dorfield,
as Washington was too sad for her right then.
“I am not going to stay with you, though,
honey,” she wrote. “But must have a place of
my own. I’ll engage in some business because
I don’t know how to be idle. I must hunt a
partner and perhaps I might get a flat and go to
housekeeping.”
When Elizabeth Wright told Mary Louise of
her unrest and determination to leave the ranks
of unproductive consumers, Mary Louise immediately
thought of Josie and how well the two
girls might hit it off together.
Josie came, a sad little figure.
“Sadder than she would be if she had on
mourning,” Mary Louise said to herself as she
embraced her friend at the station.
“I guess you expected to see me in mourning,”
Josie said as they took their seats in Mary
Louise’s car. “Somehow I’d like to have it on,
but Father hated it so that I decided not to wear
it. He used to say that people in dripping
black simply exuded gloom and had no right to
impose their sorrows an all around them. I
must do what he wanted.”
“That’s a brave girl!” cried Mary Louise,
holding her close for a moment before she started
the car. “I think the war has changed people’s
ideas concerning mourning. But you should have
a gold star. Your father certainly was serving
Uncle Sam just as much as a soldier.”
“That is what I think and so I have a gold
star, but I wear it where it can’t be seen. It is
just as much satisfaction to me and I can feel
it shining on my heart. But tell me about yourself!
When are you and Danny going to begin
to trot in double harness?”
“In six weeks! This is the fifteenth of April
and we have set the first of June. I am so sorry
you won’t be a bridesmaid.”
“Well, I will be one in spirit, but just now I
can’t quite make up my mind to go through with
it in the flesh. When you wrote asking me, I
was just as happy as could be that you wanted
me, but I felt that I must not try. The fact that
you did ask me though is shining on my heart
just like the gold star.”
“And now I believe I have a partner for you.
I don’t know just what you mean to do and
neither does your partner, but she means to do
something.”
“Well so do I, and that makes a good beginning
towards congeniality,” laughed Josie.
“Have you any ideas?”
“A few!”
“So has Elizabeth Wright.”
“Is that my partner’s name? I know I shall
like her. I always do like Elizabeths. I’m awfully
funny about names. Some names I simply
can’t stand. Persons who have those names have
to prove themselves to be worthy before I accept
them, while the ones who have the names I like
have a hard time proving themselves unworthy.
I try to have an open mind where names are
concerned, realizing that it is no fault of the
namee but of the parents.”
“Did I have to prove myself worthy before
you accepted me?” asked Mary Louise, amused
as usual by her friend’s whimsical way of looking
at things.
“Not at all! Your name was one of my
strongest reasons for coming to your rescue,
hiring myself to Mrs. Conant as a servant so that
I might guard your interests and prove your
grandfather’s innocence. I felt in my heart
that the grandfather of a Mary Louise must be
good.”
“Well, your instincts were right that time.
I believe really and truly that Grandpa Jim is
the best man in the world.”
“Now that my father is gone, I think maybe
he is,” said Josie earnestly.
The girls were silent for a while as they sped
through the streets of Dorfield. Finally, Mary
Louise spoke:
“What are your ideas for an occupation?”
“Of course, my work in life is unraveling
mysteries and I mean to be as clever a detective
as my father’s daughter should be, but I have an
idea that the best way to succeed is to keep it
dark. Now this is my plan: I want to have a
shop of some sort where all kinds of persons will
come, where I can get in touch with all conditions
of folk and they will think I am just the
shopkeeper and have no idea of my real calling.”
“Oh, Josie, you are so clever!”
“Not a bit of it! Don’t begin flattering me
or I’ll approach my work in the wrong spirit.
Father always said one must have a humble and
contrite heart or the fine points would slip by.”
“What kind of shop were you contemplating?”
“Something quite different from any shop
Dorfield now boasts. But you tell me what
this Elizabeth was thinking of so she can get the
credit if she deserves it. We may have had the
same plans in mind. Ideas seem to be in the air
like flocks of birds and the same ones or ones
of the same family light on several persons at
the same time.”
“Elizabeth wants a literary work-shop, where
one could get manuscript typed and corrected.
She thought she might combine a clipping bureau
with it and even write articles for persons who
had not the brains to do their own work. She
says she could do obituaries and valedictories and
club papers for aspiring females, also speeches
for politicians. Elizabeth is very clever but
comes of the stuffiest, most conservative family.
The mother is one of those women who are work
crazy but never want their daughters to raise
their hands and the father is living about fifty
years too late. Mrs. Wright would have been a
wonder if she had had the outlook to go into
business instead of wasting all her energies on
cleaning and cooking and getting husbands for
her daughters. Elizabeth is dead tired of being
what she calls ‘an unproductive consumer.’ The
taste she had of being at work and drawing a
salary during the war has ruined her as far as
taking her place in the family of daughters, all
of them striving towards the matrimonial goal.
Elizabeth is determined to break the bonds.”
“Bully for Elizabeth! She sounds fine to me.
I like the idea of the literary work-shop and
clipping bureau. Does she know short-hand as
well as typewriting?”
“I believe she knows it but has no speed,
having just picked it up by herself.”
“Better and better! She is the kind that
picks things up by herself. When can I see my
partner?”
“She will come to see you this morning.
Elizabeth always wants to get what she is interested
in going immediately. She is like her
mother in some ways but a much more comfortable
person to be with.”
They found Elizabeth Wright awaiting them
when they arrived at Colonel Hathaway’s residence.
“Please excuse me if I have come too soon,
but I couldn’t wait,” she cried as she came forward
to embrace Mary Louise and shake hands
with her future partner.
“You couldn’t come too soon for me, but
Josie may be tired after her long trip,” suggested
Mary Louise.
“Not at all! I never let a trip tire me. My
father used to say that it was nonsense for persons
to get tired on a trip. ‘Just let the engine
do the work and sit back and read and think and
mix with your fellow passengers and you won’t
get tired. The persons who let a journey make
them tired are usually the ones who feel somehow
that they must help pull the cars.’”
Elizabeth laughed. Already she was liking this
funny little friend of Mary Louise. What an
amusing looking person she was! Her features
were not plain, although certainly not beautiful.
Her hair was decidedly red, her face freckled
but with a healthy color which kept the freckles
from being too apparent. Her eyes were her
best points, although at times she could make
those eyes as stolid and dim as a half-wit’s. Her
teeth were excellent, but as she usually laughed
with her eyes one seldom saw her teeth. Elizabeth
thought her face was interesting.
Josie O’Gorman was older than Mary Louise
and her other friends, but there was something
very youthful about her little figure and as she
always dressed in misses’ sizes and cuts she
could easily have passed for seventeen, although
she was at least twenty-two. She said she
bought juvenile clothes because they fitted her
small figure and because they were especially
designed for boarding school girls who were late
for breakfast and had no time to fool with hooks
and eyes. Her favorite style of dress was a
one-piece affair that slipped over her head like
a middy blouse. It hung in straight pleats from
yoke to hem, confined loosely at the waist by a
low hanging leather belt. Her headgear was
always a straight brimmed sailor and her shoes
of a broad-toed, low-heeled, sensible style. In
the winter she wore blue serge in the morning,
white serge in the evening and heavy white rajah
silk for dress-up. In the summer, it was blue
linen in the morning, white linen in the evening
and linen lawn or crepe de chine for dress-up.
Josie always looked fresh and well dressed, if
not in the latest fashion, and she had to take no
thought whatsoever concerning her apparel, not
even as much as a man, since she had no collar
button with which to contend and no stiff collars
to be frayed out by heartless laundries. She
could carry everything she possessed in a small
wardrobe trunk with its convenient compartments
for different garments. She always kept
her clothes in her trunk whether she was at
home or on a visit and a neat handbag ready
packed with a change of linen and toilet articles
in case of a sudden journey being sprung upon
her. That was the result of her father’s
training.
Detective O’Gorman used to say: “If we are
to track criminals we must be as ready as criminals
and I am sure no thief or murderer worthy
of the name would have to stop and pack a grip
to go on an enforced trip whether he knew he
was hounded or not.”
Josie desired above all things to be as much
like her father as a young girl could be like a
middle-aged man and she was bidding fair to
succeed.
She constantly quoted her father, who had been
full of wise saws. Sometimes Josie gave him
credit for sayings that were well known to have
belonged either to Solomon or Good Richard, but
the devoted daughter was sure they had originated
with Detective O’Gorman and those other
two less brilliant gentlemen had plagiarized his
wisdom.
“Now tell us, Josie, what are your plans for
a shop?” suggested Mary Louise after Elizabeth
and Josie had finished sizing each other up.
“I have told Josie what you are contemplating,
Elizabeth.”
“My idea is a kind of higgledy-piggledy place,
a place where one can get anything under heaven
that is needed, because, if we happen not to be
carrying it in stock, we will take orders for it if
there is time to wait for an order or we will go
out and shop for it if the thing can be bought
in Dorfield. We will bargain to furnish anything
from strawberries in January to information
concerning the identity of the doorkeeper in
Congress who dropped dead when news came of
Cornwallis’ surrender. I know of a shop called
‘The Serendipity Shop.’ That, I believe, is the
name Leigh Hunt gave to a place where one
could go in and find out anything. But that has
too erudite and obscure a meaning for us, who
mean to be quite plain and simple. I think
Higgledy-Piggledy Shop would be a grand name
for us. Don’t you?”
“Splendid!” was the verdict of both her
listeners.
“I have perhaps the most complete collection
of encyclopedias and dictionaries outside of the
Congressional Library. Father was daffy about
exact information and had systematically collected
all books that professed to contain such
information from ‘Inquire Within, 3,700 Facts
for the People,’ to the latest and most down-to-date
dictionary of war slang. These books will
be invaluable.”
“Will you let our customers—clients—patients—whatever
we will call them, have
access to these books?” asked Elizabeth.
“Not on your life! No more than doctors let
us read their books for fear we might cure ourselves
and they would be minus fees.”
CHAPTER V THE WRIGHT FAMILY
The Wright family was up in arms over Elizabeth’s
decision “to go into trade.” That was
the way they expressed the fact that their daughter
and sister was going to open up the Higgledy-Piggledy
Shop with the unstylish girl from
Washington.
“What will people say?” questioned Gertrude.
“I haven’t a doubt it will simply ruin her
chances for ever having a proposal,” said Annabel.
“Elizabeth is pretty enough, but she is
so peculiar. Men don’t like peculiar girls.”
“She is so selfish to be doing such a silly
thing,” complained Pauline. “I just know people
will get mixed and think Margaret and I
are the ones.”
“Well, it is too bad,” put in Mrs. Wright, as
she bustled in. “I am sure I have done my best
to make all of you girls have a good time and,
now the war is over, I hoped Elizabeth would be
contented to make her debut in society. Of
course, I could put my foot down and say she
shouldn’t, but I hate to take issue with her—”
“Yes, and if you do she will simply go off
and live with that funny little Miss O’Gorman,
who never had a beau in her life, I could wager
anything. What does Father say?” yawned
Margaret, who was busily engaged in putting an
extra polish on her already highly glazed finger
nails.
“Say about what?” asked Mr. Wright as he
entered the room, his arms laden with pamphlets
with which he was planning to spend a happy
morning.
“Say about Elizabeth’s crazy plan to open up
a foolish shop,” explained Margaret.
“Well, it seems strange to me that one of my
blood should engage in mercantile pursuits.
There has never been a member of the family
that I know of, in trade. What is the nature of
her undertaking?”
Mr. Wright always used the longest words he
could think of. The strange thing was he did
not often seem to have to think of them but had
them on his tongue’s end.
“As far as we can make out they are going
to sell everything from pins to pianos,” said
Gertrude.
“She will have to stop when the warm weather
sets in, because I have taken the lake cottage for
two months, July and August, and expect to close
up the house in town,” declared Mrs. Wright
briskly.
“Why don’t you get it a month earlier and
force Elizabeth to come in June?” suggested
Pauline.
“Good idea! I could get it quite cheaply for
June, they may even let me have it for almost
nothing, as June is an off month for the lake
and it is better for property to have a tenant
than not, especially where one takes such good
care of a place as I am sure I try to do. I shall
have to ask you girls to go in the parlor or
dining room this morning, I am going to have
this room thoroughly cleaned. The books must
be dusted and the walls wiped down. The windows
were washed last week, but it would not
hurt them to be washed again. I may have the
rug beaten too.”
“Oh, Mother, for pity’s sake, the library is
clean enough!” complained Annabel. “Why
don’t you let us stay put?”
“Not at all! I work my fingers to the bone
trying to make a comfortable home for your
father and you girls and all I ask of you is to
move to another room.”
Mr. Wright had settled himself on the sofa
with his catalogues and was loath to move, but
move he must, as a sullen colored maid came in
with broom and rags and ladder and pail.
“I ain’t never wucked fur no lady possessed
with sech a clean devil befo’,” she grumbled as
she began to dismantle the room. “Th’ ain’t
no wonder th’ ain’t no nap lef on this here
cyarpet. It done had all the nap breshed off’n
it. It’s a wonder the winders don’t come inter
holes with all the washin’ they gits. Yo’ maw
don’t let the dus’ git laid befo’ she’s a stirrin’
it up again,” she said to the girls as they reluctantly
trailed from the room.
The abused creatures had hardly settled themselves
in the parlor when Mrs. Wright called
from upstairs:
“Girls, come on up here! Miss Pinkie and
I are ready to try on those shirt waists. All of
you come, as we are ready for all of you.”
Miss Pinkie was the sewing woman engaged
spring and fall for a month at the time to get
the family in order. Mrs. Wright sewed with
her and occasionally one of the daughters condescended
to make buttonholes or put a little
finishing handwork on the garments. Miss Pinkie
was a good sempstress but undervalued her acquirements
so that she was willing to work for
very little money. Mrs. Wright with her usual
efficiency did all the cutting and fitting, although
Miss Pinkie was quite capable of doing it herself.
“Heavens! Mother won’t let us sit still a
minute,” complained Pauline.
“Sometimes I think Elizabeth shows her sense
to get out of it all,” whispered Margaret to Gertrude,
but Gertrude looked so shocked at her
younger sister that Margaret declared she was
just fooling. It did not seem very hard lines
to have to go upstairs and stand to have shirt
waists fitted on one, but the idle Wright girls
felt it to be. How much happier they would
have been if their mother had seen fit to have
them make their own clothes, but that lady
thought she was doing everything in her power
to make her children contented in working for
them from morning until night. It was much
easier to sew for them than to teach them how
to sew.
“I need more buttons,” said Mrs. Wright
briskly as the daughters entered the sewing
room. “Are you going out this morning, any
of you girls?”
“We had not planned to go. We aren’t
dressed for the street,” drawled Gertrude. “We
were up late last night at the dance.”
“Well, never mind, then! I can get them
myself. I am afraid you would not get the right
size anyhow,” was the mother’s cheerful acceptance
of her daughter’s selfishness. “It won’t
take me a minute to get dressed and I can market
for to-morrow while I am down town. I
think I’ll step in and see how that foolish Elizabeth
is getting on while I am near the building.”
Her curiosity was as strong as her disapproval.
“Oh, let’s all of us go!” exclaimed Pauline.
And so the four who were too weary to change
their dresses to go buy buttons went gayly off
to prepare themselves to visit their foolish sister
in what they considered her degrading
stronghold.
“I’ll see the agent and engage the cottage at
the lake for June, while I am down town,” said
Mrs. Wright as she bustled into her street
clothes after having fitted the shirt waists and
given Miss Pinkie minute directions as to how
to sew them up.
Mrs. Wright and her daughters made a handsome
group as together they walked down the
street. The mother had been a very pretty girl
and still was a good looking woman, although
she had no time to give to her own appearance.
She spent all the money and time that could be
spared on beautifying her daughters. Her object
in life was to marry them well and it was said
by the knowing ones of Dorfield that she kept
a list of the eligible young men of the town and
carefully cultivated them in degree according to
their eligibility.
“Who was that young man who bowed to you
just now?” she asked Pauline sharply. “I
never saw him before.”
“He’s a friend of Danny Dexter’s. I met him
last night at the dance. He’s on a newspaper, I
believe.”
“What newspaper?”
“The Recorder. He dances divinely.”
“You did not tell me his name.”
“I don’t know it.”
“Weren’t you introduced?” she asked,
shocked.
“Oh, yes, but I didn’t catch his name. It was
kind of Frenchified in sound.”
“Well you had better find out. He looks quite
nice. We might ask him to call and then have
him down to the lake for a week end. We must
not go to the lake before Mary Louise Burrows’s
wedding. I would not have you girls miss it.”
“I don’t believe for an instant she intends to
ask any of us but Elizabeth, who has to be asked
as she is bridesmaid,” said Gertrude.
“Not ask you! Absurd! You can just leave
that to me. Of course, I know she is supposed to
have only her intimate friends and all that, but
Danny Dexter knows every man in Dorfield and
they are sure to be there.” Quite cheerfully the
Wright girls were willing to leave it to her, for
they felt sure it would come out all right with
such a major general maneuvering for them.
The buttons were bought; the next day’s marketing
done; the real estate agent interviewed
and the cottage at the lake engaged for June at
a bargain; and then the cavalcade started for the
old building where Josie and Elizabeth had
rented a room which they were rapidly converting
into a Higgledy-Piggledy Shop.
“It all seems so vulgar,” commented Pauline,
as with raised skirts she tripped up the far from
clean stairs.
“Not even an elevator,” from Gertrude.
“I’d like to come down here and scrub this
place!” exclaimed Mrs. Wright.
“Well, for Heaven’s sake don’t!” cried Annabel.
“It is bad enough to have one’s sister
keeping a shop without having one’s mother
scrubbing one.”
They all of them laughed at Annabel’s rueful
countenance and, without knocking, opened the
door and walked into the Higgledy-Piggledy
Shop.
CHAPTER VI THE HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY SHOP
It was well named! If higgledy-piggledy meant
topsy-turvy I am sure there was no place on
the globe so suited to that name. Our young
would-be shopkeepers were busily engaged trying
to get order out of chaos when the Wright
family came bursting in on them.
“Heavens, what a mess!” cried Gertrude.
“Yes, but we are not ready for callers,” said
Elizabeth rudely. It was a great irritation to
her that her family should have turned up at
that particular moment. Why couldn’t they let
her alone? After everything should be in order,
she hoped they would come to see how clever
their arrangements were, but just now it was
too much to have them come poking in her place
of business.
“We are very glad to have callers at any
time,” declared Josie, who had been literally
standing on her head in a packing box from
which she had been unearthing the last of the
encyclopedias. The astute Josie had no idea of
going into business with the ill will of anyone it
was possible to avoid. She well understood how
the Wrights looked upon this seemingly mad
venture of Elizabeth’s and she was anxious to
do all she could to make things easier for her
youthful partner.
“Our things have just come and we are trying
to get them placed. Wouldn’t you like me to
show you how nicely we are to be fixed up?”
she asked Mrs. Wright, in whose energetic countenance
she saw some hope of interest.
“Why, yes, I should,” answered that lady,
looking at Josie earnestly. She rather liked
what she saw in Josie O’Gorman’s countenance
and certainly she could not help being interested
in the girls’ plans.
They had rented a long narrow room that
covered the entire second floor of the shabby old
building which was squeezed in between two
sky-scrapers so tightly that it seemed to be
gasping for breath. It had been spared destruction
and improvement because of some hitch in
the title and nobody had been willing to put
money in a piece of property with an unfortunate
name for getting its owner into trouble.
The consequence was that tenants were difficult
to obtain and impossible to hold. Even real
estate agents did not like to handle it. It was
now in the hands of Mr. Markle and it was from
him that Josie and Elizabeth had rented it. On
the ground floor was a cleaning and dyeing
establishment and the third floor was cut up into
several rooms in which various small industries
were carried on.
“It isn’t exactly what we wanted, but it was
cheap and we can make it attractive, I believe,”
Josie explained. “Thank goodness it has a fire
place, not that that makes much difference right
now but when next winter comes we will be glad
of its cheeriness. We are planning to branch
out in so many directions and this huge room
will give us plenty of space in which to expand.
In front we are to have our reception room and
shop where we will display our wares. In the
back I am to live and have kitchen, bedroom and
bath. The middle part is to be our store room.”
“Are you to draw chalk marks to show which
is which?” asked Mr. Wright, who was becoming
more and more interested in her eager little
hostess.
“I am to have partitions made in the back,
not to go all the way to the ceiling but just high
enough to give me some privacy, and we are to
have a huge portiere to divide the front shop
from the store room and a smaller one cutting off
our information bureau. The carpenters are
going to work to-day on our partitions and the
plumbers also are to install our bath tub, kitchen
sink, gas stove, etc. My furniture is here and I
intend to set up housekeeping immediately.”
“Not in all this confusion?”
“But all this confusion will be worse confounded
in a few hours. Mary Louise is coming
in a few minutes and is bringing her own housemaid
to help clean up and Danny Dexter is coming
later in the afternoon with some of his
friends to help.”
Mrs. Wright began to feel sorry that she had
not put off their visit until afternoon. Her ruling
passion of having her daughters receive attention
from young men was uppermost. She
had not thought of this absurd shop as a place
where desirable young men might come. At any
rate, she intended to wait until Mary Louise
should arrive and set the matter at rest in regard
to all of her daughters being invited to the wedding.
While Mrs. Wright’s ruling passion was the
desire to have her daughters popular and married,
another passion was almost as strong in
her bosom and that was, cleaning up. What a
field here presented itself! She was sure she
could take hold of the disorder and get things
cleaned and into place much better than could
Mary Louise’s maid. This Josie O’Gorman
might be able to scrub and clean, but she was
pretty sure her daughter Elizabeth could not; at
least she had never seen her do more than dust
the parlor at home.
“Here, child, give me that hammer! You
don’t know how to open a box,” she said to
Elizabeth, who was drawing nails from the top
of a huge box of books.
“But I can,” insisted Elizabeth; “at least I
can learn.”
“Pooh! Just let me do it.” She grasped the
hammer, but Elizabeth refused to release her
hold.
“I am going to open the box,” she announced
firmly and proceeded to carry out the statement
in spite of her mother’s protests.
Amazement was depicted on the countenance
of Mrs. Wright. Mary Louise arrived just then,
followed by a maid carrying a great basket of
provisions.
“Luncheon!” said Mary Louise. “The carpenters
and plumbers are to have lunch with us.”
“What fun!” exclaimed Josie and Elizabeth.
“I am sorry I can’t ask all of you to join us,”
said Mary Louise, graciously taking in Mrs.
Wright and the four daughters in her polite
smile, “but I did not count noses, or rather
mouths, for so many, and carpenters and plumbers
do eat so much.”
“I think Elizabeth had better come on home
with me,” said her mother a little stiffly. She
did not want to do anything to anger Mary
Louise, but she did think she was coming it a
little strong to be asking one of her daughters to
sit down and eat with the carpenters and plumbers.
No doubt they were very worthy persons
but hardly fit associates for such aristocrats as
the Wrights.
“Indeed I am not coming home,” spoke up
Elizabeth quickly. “I have a great deal to do
this afternoon and you people at home might as
well get used to the idea that I am going to be
away from home every day and all day.”
“By the way, my dear,” said her mother
suavely, “I have rented the lake cottage for
June, July and August, so you shall have to
forego the pleasures of shop keeping for those
months at least, as we are to shut the town
house.”
“Oh, I’ll just stay with Josie then,” said
Elizabeth. “I have no idea of giving up my
business every summer.”
Mrs. Wright looked shocked. This was a new
thing for a member of her family not to be accepting
the arrangements she made for them.
She would have to take this refractory Elizabeth
in hand. In the meantime, she decided not
to let her daughter remain to lunch with carpenters
and plumbers unchaperoned. Besides,
she did so want to get her finger in the pie of
straightening up the debris incident to unpacking.
She was sure Mary Louise’s maid knew
nothing at all about how to go to work to get
the place cleaned up.
“Gertrude, you and Annabel and Margaret
and Pauline can go on home. I am going to
stay and help these girls get this place in order.
I can get it done in no time and then I’ll bring
Elizabeth home with me.”
She began by taking off her hat and jacket and
tying around her ample waist an old curtain that
had been used in packing some of Josie’s
treasures.
Elizabeth was aghast for a moment. It looked
as though her mother could not even let her run
the little shop without her assistance. Where
would be her highly prized independence if Mrs.
Wright was to superintend everything and even
do the cleaning? Why couldn’t she let her
alone? She looked appealingly at her sisters,
who were reluctantly taking their departure.
She caught Margaret’s eye. Margaret was the
sister who was a little like Elizabeth in that she
occasionally rebelled, at least in spirit, against
the state of inertia in which the very managing
mother held her entire family. Margaret was
quick of tongue too and not in the least in awe
of her efficient parent.
“Now, Mother!” she cried, coming to Elizabeth’s
assistance. “I should think you could see
with half an eye that you are not in the least
needed here. For pity’s sake, let Elizabeth have
half a chance and stop butting in.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Wright
severely.
“I mean the girls were getting on perfectly
well here without your assistance and you have
a sempstress at home and the library was in a
sad state when we left and company is coming
to supper—and—-”
“Heavens! I forgot all about that! But this
seems more important. I—”
“Oh, come along, Mother!” insisted Margaret.
Mary Louise and Josie had retired to the back
of the long room. They were intensely sorry for
Elizabeth, but felt that it was something they
could not very well interfere with. If her mother
chose to come down to the shop to make a
nuisance of herself, it could not be helped. After
all she was Elizabeth’s mother and must be
treated with respect. It was with a feeling of
intense relief that they saw her untie the old
curtain and don her hat and coat.
“I cannot stay to-day,” she said as the two
girls came towards her. “I am extremely sorry,
as I am sure I could have straightened you out
in short order. You will never manage to get
all of this trash cleared away, I am sure, unless
you, Miss O’Gorman, are much more capable
than Elizabeth.”
“I am not a bit more, but I am sure we can
do it,” declared Josie with a twinkle in her eye.
“I am much interested in your wedding,”
went on Mrs. Wright, riveting her attention on
Mary Louise. “In fact I am going to put off
our going to the lake for a few days so that we
will be able to attend. I am deeply disappointed
not to be making Elizabeth’s bridesmaid’s dress
myself, but since it was decided Mrs. Barlow was
to make them all, of course, I had to give way
to her. At least, I can have the satisfaction of
making dresses for my other girls.”
“Oh—yes—of course!” Mary Louise managed
to say. “I’ll be so glad to have you stay
over.”
With a triumphant swoop Mrs. Wright gathered
together her four daughters and ushered
them out of the shop and down the dusty stairs.
She was so delighted that her superior management
had drawn from Mary Louise an invitation
for her entire family to the highly desirable wedding
reception that she forgot all about making a
point about taking Elizabeth home for luncheon.
“I hate to leave her,” she said, after Pauline
reminded her of her remissness, “but one can’t
manage everything at once.”
“No?” questioned Margaret with a rising
inflection that might have been taken for impertinence
by her mother had she not been taken up
with gazing at an automobile full of young men
stopping in front of the ramshackle building
where the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop was coming
into being.
“How do you do, Mr. Dexter?” she said
graciously, as the young man who was driving
the car raised his hat.
“I believe my soul they are going up to the
shop,” she said with some irritation to her
daughters. “And what are those things they
are carrying? Why, it is plumbing! There is
a bath tub and pipes right in the car with them.
And look! The car behind them, also full of
young men, is bringing a gas stove.”
“And there is Billy McGraw driving a lumber
wagon!” exclaimed Gertrude.
Billy McGraw was known as the richest young
man in Dorfield, the richest and the best dressed,
and to see him in khaki trousers, evidently left
over from his recent army experience, and olive
drab sweater on top of a load of lumber was too
much for the curiosity of the Wrights.
“What can it mean?” wondered Annabel.
“It means that those are the carpenters and
plumbers who are to lunch at the shop,” laughed
Margaret. “Now aren’t you glad you didn’t
drag Elizabeth away by the hairs of her head?”
“Well, well!” was all Mrs. Wright could
answer, but when she got her breath after the
surprise of finding out who the carpenters and
plumbers were, she began with her usual ease
to congratulate herself on her superior management.
“Sometimes we are wise just to leave things
in the hands of Providence,” she said.
“Yes, but I am afraid Provy would never
have wormed out of Mary Louise an invitation
to her wedding for the entire Wright family,”
said Margaret, pertly. “Some things we must
attend to ourselves.”
CHAPTER VII THE CAPTAIN OF HER SOUL
What a gay luncheon was that given in honor
of the carpenters and plumbers! The huge hamper
produced such a variety of goodies and the
quantity was quite up to the quality, so that
Josie, while she was thankful that Mary Louise
had not invited the Wrights to remain, nevertheless
wondered at her statement that there was
not food enough for the extra mouths. There
seemed to be food enough for a whole regiment,
but when she saw how Danny and his friends
attacked the provisions, she realized that Mary
Louise had not been guilty of the polite fabrication
which she feared.
Empty packing boxes were turned over and
covered with white crepe tablecloths and the
table set with paper plates and drinking cups and
Japanese napkins. Piles of sandwiches, dishes
of salad and cold meats, pickles and olives were
placed thereon and the center decoration consisted
of a great Lady Baltimore cake.
“It’s the birthday cake for the Higgledy-Piggledy,”
explained Mary Louise, sticking in
the center a pink candle.
“But it’s not a year old yet,” objected Billy
McGraw. “It’s just born, I should say.”
“But this is a Japanese spread, you see,”
laughed Mary Louise, “with Japanese napkins
and tablecloths, Japanese crab salad, and so
forth, and you know the Japs count their kids’
birthdays from the time they are born and a
new born Japanese baby is one year old.”
“I sit corrected,” said Billy. “When do we
eat?”
“Isn’t he the limit?” asked James Drake,
another one of Danny’s chums who had fought
with him in the Dorfield regiment. “I have
never seen the likes of Billy for feeding his
face.”
“Some faces are meant to be fed,” suggested
Bob Dulaney, the young newspaper man who
had made such an impression on Margaret
Wright the evening before at the dance. “Billy’s
face is that kind of face, one crying out to be
fed. I was sure relieved when the armistice was
signed before Billy got a chance to catch a bomb
in that mouth of his.”
Billy grinned delightedly at this sally. His
mouth was large, but it was saved from ugliness
by thirty-two perfect teeth.
“What’s the use of my coming safe out of
the trenches if you shoot off your gab and hit me
in my fatal spot, you old ink pot?”
Bob Dulaney was, like Danny Dexter, not a
native of Dorfield, but he had fought with that
regiment during the war and after peace was
declared had drifted to the spot where so many
of his friends lived and, having obtained a position
on the Recorder, had decided to settle in
the pleasant old town. He was a delightful
young man, full of wit and humor and quite as
popular with the regiment as Danny himself.
He had joined Danny in his undertaking of doing
the carpentering and plumbing for the girls,
although he was well known to have absolutely
no mechanical skill.
“The only nail Bob ever hits on the head is
a verbal one,” Danny explained, “but he hits
them all right. He has come along to help lift
and carry, not that he is much on that, unless it
is an argument which is to be carried on.”
“He is some lifter too,” suggested Tim Turner,
one of the other young men.
“Right you are!” laughed James Drake.
“Remember the old cock he lifted off the roost
that night on the outskirts of Nancy?”
“Remember it! I’ll never forget it, and how
he went back for the ding dong,” said Tim.
“What’s a ding dong?” asked Josie, innocently.
“That’s Tim’s French for turkey,” cried
Billy. “He means dindon.”
“Oh,” blushed Josie, “excuse me!”
“Not at all,” said Tim, blushing in his turn.
“You mean you won’t excuse her?” teased
Billy.
“I mean—I mean—Oh you dry up!”
“But when are we to eat?” persisted Billy.
“Laura Hilton and Lucile Neal were coming
in to help us,” said Mary Louise. “They will
be along in a minute. It is really not quite time.
I’m sorry you are so hungry.”
“Sorry! I’m glad, terribly glad—in fact,
I’m thanking God for the room that is in me,”
declared Bob Dulaney. “But let’s wait for the
young ladies if it takes all day.”
“I do wish Irene could have come,” sighed
Mary Louise. “I hated to drive off without
her. She looked so sweet and patient sitting
there in her chair and waving to me as cheerfully
as though she expected to be one of the
party. I left her in our garden where she loves
to wheel her chair.”
“Who is Irene?” asked Bob Dulaney.
“Oh, Irene MacFarlane is my very best
friend,” explained Mary Louise. “She is lame
and has to spend all her waking hours in a
wheel chair. She gets around remarkably well,
but can’t go anywhere unless there is an elevator,
as stairs are too much for her. I do wish
Josie and Elizabeth could have found a place on
the ground floor, just for Irene’s sake.”
“I wish we could have,” said Josie, “especially
as Irene is almost a member of our firm.
She is to take charge of our needlework department,
but we shall have to carry everything to
her.”
“If you only had an elevator,” sighed Mary
Louise wistfully, the picture of her poor friend
still in her mind, sitting so patiently in her chair,
her fair smooth brow expressing peace and contentment
when she must have felt some chagrin
at Fate that she could not join the merry crowd
at the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop.
“I forgot something important!” exclaimed
Danny suddenly. “Can you put off luncheon
just about ten minutes?”
“Why, of course, if you must go,” said Mary
Louise. “Laura and Lucile will be here in two
minutes,” consulting her tiny wrist watch.
“Lucile inherits too much efficiency from her
father ever to be a minute late.”
“Just a minute, sweetheart,” Danny whispered.
“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”
“I doubt that,” smiled Mary Louise with a
meaning understood by the happy Danny.
“Come on, Bob! You are the person who has
to help lift. You come with me, please.”
“More bath tubs or another gas stove?”
asked Bob as he raced down the steps after
Danny. The two young men jumped into the
car and were off and around the corner on two
wheels before an excited cop had time to read
their fast disappearing number.
“My Mary Louise wants something and I’m
going to get it for her.”
“I heard her say she wanted an elevator. Is
that what you are going to get?”
“Yes! When I can manage it, but that shall
have to wait awhile until I can make my plans.
Now I’m going to get Irene and you and I are
going to carry her upstairs. She doesn’t weigh
much.”
“Fine! I reckon we could manage her between
us even though she weighed five hundred. How
did you happen to think of it?”
“Well, you see I feel so terribly unworthy of
Mary Louise that I made up my mind that the
only way I could make up in the least little teensy
weensy bit to her for what she is and what she
has done and is going to do for me in marrying
me is never to let her express a single desire
without trying to gratify it.”
“Mighty noble of you, old fellow, but mightn’t
you spoil her if you persist in such a policy?”
“Spoil my Mary Louise! Why, man, she is
pure gold. You could not spoil her if you tried.
It would have been done long ago by her grandfather
and her friends if it could have been
done. She never wants anything for herself. It
is always for others.”
“Well, I am glad to be doing something for
Miss Burrows, but I am pretty glad if we can
help give the poor lame girl a lift too.”
When Irene saw Mary Louise drive off in her
car with Dilsy, the housemaid, sitting on the
back seat holding the huge hamper of lunch on
her knees, it had taken all of her self-control not
to show how, for the moment, the realization of
her lameness, her handicap, was almost more
than she could bear. She was able to keep an
unruffled brow and to smile bravely, waving her
handkerchief until the car was out of sight.
Then she bowed her head and, in spite of her
determination not to give way, she wept a few
bitter tears.
She said to herself:
“Irene MacFarlane, I am ashamed of you.
The idea of your being such a baby. I know you
are missing lots of fun, about the best kind of
fun. I know you do miss a lot of things, but
stop whining and think of all the wonderful
things that do come to you. Think of the joy of
having such a friend as Mary Louise. Think of
the good health you have in spite of your lameness.
Think of all the books you can read.
Think of the pupils you get in music. Think of
the new Victrola Mary Louise’s Grandpa Jim
gave you. Think of all the wonderful records
you own and all you are to own in future. Think
of the mockingbird singing now in the hedge.
Think of Uncle Peter and Aunt Hannah and how
they love you. Powder your nose this minute
so they won’t know you have been making a
baby of yourself!”
She produced from her work bag a tiny vanity
case and carefully powdered her exceedingly well
formed nose, looking critically at herself the
while.
“You are not a bad looking person, Irene MacFarlane,
but if you turn crybaby you’ll be
hideous. Hold up your head and behave yourself
if you have a spark of sense.” She laughed
and held up her head and then in a low tone
recited Henley’s Invictus.
“It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.”
She had begun in a whisper, but as the poem
clutched her heart strings, as that particular
poem always did, she spoke aloud. Her voice
was singularly clear and musical. She had not
noticed a car stopping at the entrance to Colonel
Hathaway’s nor did she realize that two young
men were walking towards her across the close
cut grass.
Danny and Bob took off their hats and stood
with heads bowed while the girl finished her
impassioned recitation of that gallant hearted
poem.
“I felt kind of like I was in church,” Danny
said to Mary Louise afterwards when telling her
of the occurrence.
“And so you were,” she had replied. “Somehow
the Divine which is within all of us is more
apparent to the naked eye in Irene than in any
one else I know. And where God is, there is his
Church.”
When Irene looked around and saw the two
young men, she was devoutly glad she had powdered
her nose. Irene did have much of the
Divine within her but she also had enough of
the feminine to wish to appear at her best when
good looking young men suddenly came upon
her.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “How do you do,
Danny?”
“I do finely except that I am starving and I
can’t eat until you consent to come eat with us.
This is my friend Mr. Dulaney, Bob for short.
And, Bob, this is our best friend, Miss MacFarlane,
Irene for all times.”
“How do you do, Bob for Short?”
“And how do you do, Irene for all Time?”
He took the lame girl’s hand in his and
looked earnestly in her eyes. The skillful use
of the vanity case did not deceive him. He saw
in her eyes that she had been suffering, and that
not many minutes before. Powdering her nose
had not thrown dust in his eyes if it did fool
Danny. He saw and understood. The calm peace
of her brow he felt was but a camouflage worked
by an indomitable will to conceal the anguish of
soul the poor girl must often have suffered. His
gaze was so kind that Irene felt she had made
a new friend.
“Will you go?” asked Danny. “Lunch in
the shop awaits us.”
“But I can’t get up stairs,” faltered Irene.
“You see, there is no elevator.”
“Yes there is—a human elevator like this,”
and grasping wrists the young men formed what
children call a basket and stooped invitingly in
front of Irene’s chair. “Mary Louise is sad
without you and you know we can’t let Mary
Louise be sad.”
“So are we all, at least so am I, now that I
have seen Irene for all Time. Put on your hat
and come on, please do,” Bob entreated.
“But I am too heavy.”
“Heavy! Why we have carried in a porcelain
bath tub and a gas range. I am no good except
to carry on,” insisted Bob. “Must I tell anyone
you are gone?”
“No, I live right next door, but Aunt Hannah
is out and she will know I am with Mary Louise
if I’m not at home.”
“Here is your hat, so tie it on,” he said, taking
a pretty garden hat from the back of Irene’s
chair. “What a nice hat! I certainly do like
hats that have some raison d’etre. Now this hat
really shades and still one can see under it,” he
laughed, peeping under the brim and, without
any by your leave, he stooped and picked Irene
up in his strong arms and started for the car.
“We don’t need a basket just now, I can
tackle this burden alone. Danny, you can climb
in and get up steam.” Tenderly he deposited
Irene on the back seat and got in beside her and
away they speeded for the postponed luncheon.
“I think it is great for you to pick up and
come without even having to fluff up your hair
or change your dress,” Bob said, looking admiringly
at the neat little lawn frock worn by his
companion.
The first thing one noted about Irene MacFarlane
was her exquisite neatness and freshness.
Her hair was soft and abundant and the glossy
coils gave evidence of much brushing. Her complexion
was clear and, while not rosy, still there
was a soft glow of health in the oval of her
cheeks. No longer was the lame girl delicate
but, under the watchful care of Aunt Hannah and
Mary Louise, she had thrown off the fragility of
her early girlhood and now could boast of almost
perfect health. Of course, her form of exercise
was restricted, but what gymnastics she could
do she did religiously. The consequence was in
those slender arms and well formed shoulders
there was a great deal of strength and under the
artistic tapering of her fingers there was concealed
a grip of steel. The lines of her figure
were good. Nature had meant her for a “perfect
woman, nobly planned,” but the disease which
had attacked her in infancy had withered and
enfeebled the lower limbs.
Irene’s clothes were of extreme simplicity but
her skill with a needle was manifest in the well
fitting frocks which she pressed herself with the
help of a lap-board and an electric iron. There
was never a wrinkle in Irene MacFarlane’s
dress, but nobody ever saw her fussing over her
clothes. When she arose in the morning, she
dressed for the day. Mary Louise used to say
her friend reminded her always of a narcissus
flower, not the hot-house kind but the ones that
came up year after year in Grandpa Jim’s old-fashioned
flower beds.
CHAPTER VIII THE ORCHID BROOCH
“Why don’t we begin on the eats?” demanded
Billy McGraw. “I am starving in the
sight of plenty.”
“He is always that way,” said Tim Turner.
“Ever since the time in the trenches there has
been no satisfying Billy. Bet anything the
trenches will be filled up and leveled over before
Billy is filled up.”
“Well, I hope they will be leveled over before
I am,” laughed Billy, good-naturedly. “It’s so
Miss Wright, I can even eat beans and stew,
two things at which most of the returned soldiers
balk. Still no one answers me—why do we
wait?”
“We are waiting for Danny,” blushed Mary
Louise. “He had to leave for a few moments.”
“Tut, tut! Don’t begin by spoiling him.”
“But you couldn’t spoil Danny,” insisted his
loyal little fiancée. “I don’t know what he went
out for, but I am sure he had some unselfish
reason.”
“You can’t spoil me either,” pleaded Billy.
“Any more than you can gild the lily or paint
the rose. You are already in a state of decomposition,”
put in Tim.
“Somebody take pity on me and feed me!
Danny may be gone a year or so. He often goes
away and doesn’t return. Even now he may be
eating at a restaurant—”
“Here, here’s a sandwich!” said Elizabeth
Wright. “Here are two sandwiches and a
chicken leg.”
“Gee! You are a nice girl,” cried Billy.
“About the nicest girl I know. You’ll be even
nicer if you sit over here by me while I get on
the outside of this ambrosia.”
He looked at Elizabeth Wright with a feeling
of real interest. Up to that moment he had only
regarded her as one of the Wright sisters with
the managing mother of whom he lived in holy
terror. Being an exceedingly well off young
man, he was on Mrs. Wright’s list with triple
stars as one of the most eligible possibilities in
Dorfield. He had felt that the Wright girls were
quite as eager for his attentions as their mother,
but this Elizabeth seemed to be different from
the rest somehow. She did not seem to care
whether he paid her attention or not. To be
sure, she fed him, but it was with the compassion
she might have shown a hungry dog, and
when he asked her to sit down by him on the
window seat while he ate the purloined sandwiches
and chicken leg, she declined, saying she
must help Josie unpack and had no time to
watch the animals feed.
“Cruel!” he murmured through a muffling
tomato sandwich. He could not help smiling to
think how Mrs. Wright would have been shocked
at a daughter of hers refusing even such a simple
invitation as watching a desirable parti eat.
Billy McGraw had been in a fair way to become
spoiled with all the money he could spend.
He was an only child, with a doting mother of his
own and all the managing mammas in Dorfield
reaching out after him for their daughters. But
the war had come just in time to save him not
only from the managing mammas but from himself
and the inevitable spoiling that wealth and
self-indulgence was sure to bring him. He had
enlisted as a private at the first call of his country
and the training he had received in the ranks
was to prove of life-long benefit to him. His was
a lovable nature and it was hardly his fault that
he had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth,
but it was much to his credit that when the test
came he was able to dispense with that same
silver spoon and could manage to stomach the
army beans often without even the formality of
a fork. Now that the war was over he had returned
to Dorfield with more purpose in his life.
He had realized it was up to him to work in spite
of his wealth and, having some mechanical skill,
he had applied to the Neal Automobile Factory for
a job with the determination of learning the business
from the beginning. The consequence was
he was enjoying his short Saturday as much as
any workman in Dorfield. Lunch with a bunch
of interesting girls would fully repay him for the
job of carpentering and plumbing that Danny
Dexter had mapped out for him for the afternoon.
“Here they are!” he shouted, peering down
from the window, and in a moment Danny and
Bob arrived with Irene borne between them in
their improvised basket.
“Oh, Danny! You darling!” cried Mary
Louise, rushing forward and embracing Irene,
who sat smiling like a queen on her throne.
“Here, sit here, Irene, in the seat of honor at the
head of the packing box.”
“Wasn’t it lovely of them to come for me?”
“No lovelier than for you to come with us,”
said Bob Dulaney in an undertone.
Laura and Lucile had arrived exactly on time
and immediately the feast began. There was so
much hilarity that the cleaning and dyeing establishment
below began to wonder what manner of
industry was to be conducted above them and
some of the roomers on the third floor crept down
and peeped in the door to see what all the fun
was about.
In the midst of the luncheon, Mrs. Markle came
tripping up the steps.
“Oh, please excuse me, I had no idea of interrupting
a party,” she said. “I merely wanted
to see Mary Louise for a moment and went by
her home and was sent here by her darling old
colored butler.”
“Oh, but you are not interrupting, Hortense,”
declared Mary Louise, drawing her new friend
into the room and introducing her to Josie and
some of the young men with whom she was not
acquainted. She knew most of the persons seated
around the packing boxes.
“You must sit down and have some lunch,”
said Josie hospitably. She looked keenly at the
new arrival and evidently what she saw pleased
her, as she smiled engagingly, making room for
Hortense at her own right hand.
Indeed it would have been a critical person
who would not have conceded that Hortense Markle
was a delightful picture on that pleasant
Saturday in May. Her gown was, as usual, exquisite.
It was mauve and of soft material that
clung to her shapely form. Her hat, a small
toque, was formed of orchids and her one ornament
was a brooch of wonderful workmanship.
It was an orchid of rare beauty made of gold and
enamel with a large diamond shining like a dew
drop from its centre.
She took her seat, remarking as she did so that,
since she had run in on them, she felt sure she
would make less disturbance by sitting down than
by making all the male guests stand while she
transacted her business with Mary Louise.
“She is a lady of discrimination,” declared
Billy McGraw to Elizabeth, by whom he had
found a seat. “I know you think I am insatiable,
but please take another sandwich and make out
it is for yourself and then slip it to me. It is
working in the factory that makes me so hungry.
Sometimes I get empty enough to chew a rubber
tire.”
“What a pretty woman!” said Bob Dulaney
to Irene, by whose side he had found a seat and
to whom he had been talking steadily during the
gay luncheon.
“Yes, she is lovely,” said Irene, hoping devoutly
her tone of voice was not divulging the
feeling of something akin to hate that she could
not help nursing for the dainty little newcomer,
but, try her best, she could not put into her answer
the enthusiasm that she wished to. Bob looked
at his companion keenly.
“What’s up!” he asked himself. “Whatever
it is, I’ll bet Irene for all Time is in the right.
She doesn’t like the pretty lady and I wonder
why.” But he said nothing to let Irene know he
had fathomed her feelings in the matter.
“Excuse me,” said Billy McGraw, whose eyes
showed plainly the admiration he felt for Mrs.
Markle, “but do you know I think that’s the
most beautiful breast-pin I ever saw except one
I saw like it once.”
“Oh, I didn’t know there was one like it in the
world,” said Mrs. Markle. “I declare these
artists are an unreliable lot. My husband had
this made for me by an old goldsmith in Munich.
It was after his own design. Poor Mr. Markle
worked on it for days and days and took such
delight in the fact that it was to be the only thing
of its kind in the whole world. Now that wretched
old goldsmith has no doubt duplicated it.”
“The one I speak of was made at Tiffany’s.
Of course, it too was supposed to be unique.
Jerald Thomas had it made for his wife. I fancy
old Jerry didn’t do the designing, though, for he
is more of an adept on Wall Street reading the
ticker than he is drawing orchids. I should like
to see it closely if you wouldn’t mind,” he
pleaded. “I have a perfect passion for finely
wrought gold and enamel.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” answered Mrs. Markle,
blushing a bit, which made her even lovelier
than before, “but this brooch is a kind of keystone
to my costume. You girls will understand, I
know,” and she looked appealingly at the females.
“Of course, mere man doesn’t know how a woman
puts on her frock and then pins it at exactly the
right place. I know it doesn’t show, all this care
we take, but I am sure, if we didn’t take the care
and if we put our brooches in the wrong place and
at the wrong angle and had our gowns too tightly
drawn up in front or too much open, then you
would note the difference. I must confess that,
when I dress, I go to work with a certain reverence,
the kind of reverence a painter feels for his
palette and canvas.”
“Well, far be it from me to ruin the picture,”
laughed Billy. “And let me do reverence to the
artist,” bowing low. “It was stupid of me to
look at such perfection and to ‘consider the lilies’
just as though somebody had not been toiling and
spinning to bring forth so much beauty.”
“I know you think I am foolish,” said Mrs.
Markle, blushing again.
“Indeed we don’t, Hortense, we think you are
exactly right not to ruin the effect of your lovely
gown,” put in Mary Louise. “I know just
exactly how it is. Sometimes I have a horrid
time getting myself to look right and nothing
would make me undo the work.”
Everybody laughed at this, as it was a well
known fact among Mary Louise’s friends that
she spent less time in front of the mirror than
any pretty girl ever did. Being blessed with
wavy hair that arranged itself, she had nothing
to do but coil it in a low knot at the nape of
her neck. She had many tastefully chosen gowns
but they must be easy to get into with no complications
of hooks and buttons to madden her.
She often changed her dress on the fly trusting to
luck that she was all right. And she usually was.
“Heavens above! I didn’t mean to get in bad.
Please, Mrs. Markle, forgive me. It has actually
taken my appetite away. I believe everybody
here is down on me,” moaned Billy.
“Not at all, Mr. McGraw, and to show that I
am not I’ll ask you to come call on us at our
apartment and then you can see my little breast-pin
to your heart’s content.”
“Thank you! Thank you! Now I believe I
will have another piece of cake. My appetite is
restored,” grinned Billy.
Bob Dulaney looked thoughtfully at Irene
while the above conversation was carried on. His
eye fell on the brooch at her throat, a pretty little
enameled violet, as modest at the model from
which it was taken and as unassuming as its
wearer. He wondered if Irene could take off her
pin without upsetting her costume. He smiled at
the thought. On Irene’s smooth brow was a
slight pucker and in her honest clear eyes he
could detect a slight suggestion of scorn. It passed
immediately and her usual placid expression returned,
but the young man wondered again what
the lame girl had against the beautiful Mrs.
Markle and if she had any reasons for what he
felt was a distrust of the fair stranger. He
looked up and caught a twinkle in the eye of
Josie O’Gorman. As though conscious that someone
was catching her twinkling when she had no
idea of letting anyone onto the fact that she
was amused, Josie immediately took on the dull
fish-eyed expression which was the despair of
her friends.
“Umhum!” said Bob Dulaney to himself.
“These girls are up to something, at least that
funny red-headed one is.” And having a nose for
news, an essential to every good newspaper man,
he began to go over the situation in his mind.
“Enter a beautiful stranger, known to most
of the company! Immediately Irene, who seems
to be all kindliness and loveliness, shows what
might almost be called temper, except that it was
so carefully kept in that one could hardly see it.
The beautiful stranger refuses with the utmost
tact to take off her breast-pin, giving what seemed
a good excuse and again Irene’s fair brow is
clouded and the little red-headed girl who is
going to help keep the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop
is plainly amused, even delighted, but does not
want anybody to know how she feels. A mystery
is a mystery and, even though it prove
nothing more than some kind of girlish foolishness
or jealousy, me for the solving of it!”
CHAPTER IX THE BOOK OF CRIMINALS
The carpenters and plumbers were soon busy
with their tasks. The old building rang with the
sound of hammer and saw. The partitions for
bedroom, kitchen and bath were up in an inconceivably
short time with the help of the tongue
and groove sealing which had been cut the right
length at the lumber yard under Danny’s directions.
The ready-made doors were hung and the
bath and small gas range put into place by the
muscular Bob and connections made by those
more expert in pipe fitting.
“It has been finished so rapidly it is almost
like the little house Peter Pan built Wendy,”
laughed Elizabeth.
“It is lovely,” said Lucile, “but I’d be afraid
to sleep in a room that had no top to it. Just
think how easy it would be for burglars to crawl
over the partitions and run off with the family
plate!”
“But there is no family plate and what there
is will be out in the shop and not in my bedroom.
Our bedroom, I should say, as I think Elizabeth
will be spending the summer with me,” laughed
Josie. “I’m never afraid and besides I carry
a small automatic for emergencies.”
“You do? How amusing!” said Mrs. Markle,
who had stayed on through the afternoon in
spite of the fact that she had declared she had
only a moment and wanted to see Mary Louise
on some important matter which she forgot to
divulge. She had been very charming and the
young men, one and all, as Billy McGraw
expressed it, “fell for her.”
“Don’t forget you are coming to call on us,”
she said to that young man, sweetly. “I want
you and Mr. Markle to know each other. You are
sure to like each other. I know you think I am
foolish, but my husband is such a dear.”
“Foolish because your husband is a dear?”
“I mean foolish to talk about it. I know it
is not the thing in this day and generation for
the wife to be too much in love with her husband,
but I am hopelessly old-fashioned.”
“You evidently don’t know Dorfield, Mrs.
Markle. It seems to be the style here for wives
to be very fond of their husbands, but, of course,
Dorfield is a million years behind the times,
thank goodness!”
“It is lovely to see a young man who feels
that way about things. So many young men are
inclined to be facetious on the subject. Sometimes
they seem to think I am not worth talking
to because I am so unfeignedly devoted to my
husband. Of course, I could have a much gayer
time if I could disguise my feelings, but I can’t
do it. They seem to think that, because Mr.
Markle is so much older than I am, I must not
be sincere in my protestations of affection. How
absurd they are!”
“Your protestations?”
“No, I mean the young men.”
Now the above conversation sounds very silly
when put down in cold print, but when it was
carried on by a wonderful beautiful young woman
with a voice that thrilled one down the spinal
cord with a certain rich cello quality, eyes that
were so deep and glorious that Billy in looking
in them had a kind of feeling he must catch hold
of something to keep from falling in, and withal
a friendly, sweet, girlish grace, it did not seem
at all silly to Billy McGraw. He forgot all about
what a nice girl Elizabeth Wright was and how
he had fully intended to ask her to go to the
next dance with him, forgot why he had been
asked to have lunch at the Higgledy-Piggledy
Shop, forgot everything but how extremely lovely
Mrs. Markle was and what a lucky dog her old
husband was. Never having met that gentleman,
he pictured him as tottering on the brink of the
grave.
“Hey, Billy, pipe fitting going on! Come on
and help! What do you think you are here
for?” called Danny.
Mrs. Markle blushed again adorably.
“Oh, please go! I am mortified that I should
have kept you chatting with me when they need
you. You see sometimes I get just a teensy bit
lonesome and long for the companionship of
someone nearer my own age, just to talk foolishness
to. My dear husband is so—so—deep and
intellectual—not that you are not intelligent
too—oh, ever so much so, but you don’t mind
stooping to my foolish prattle.”
Billy went off to fitting pipes with quite a glow,
around his generous, boyish heart.
“Poor little girl! I fancy she does get bored
with such an old dry-as-dust as Markle must be.
I’ll see if I can’t give her some good times.”
“Now do tell me something of what your
plans are in this delightful place,” said Mrs.
Markle, joining Josie and Elizabeth, who were
busily engaged in unpacking more and more
books, which Irene, seated on a low chair, was
dusting and placing on the shelves.
“Well, this corner is our information bureau.
These books are all of them different kinds of
encyclopedias. Anybody who wants to know anything
can come to us and we can come mighty
near telling him or her what is wanted.”
“Where did you get such a collection, child?
It is wonderful.”
“It was my father’s,” said Josie, with the
look in her eyes that always came at mention of
her father.
“Your father was the great detective, was he
not?”
“Yes!”
“He was a wonderful man, so I have heard.”
“Yes, he was, thank you.” Josie’s tone was
quite final, so Hortense did not pursue the
subject.
“What else are you to do in your shop?”
she asked.
“Oh, we are to have the literary work-shop, of
which I spoke to you,” said Elizabeth. “And
we are to have antiques of all kinds, and we are
to take orders for sewing and fancy work. We
will order any book direct from the publisher.
We take orders for score cards, menu cards,
name cards, or anything of that sort. Of course,
we don’t do those things ourselves, but we will
take the orders and get a small commission for
them. Now Josie wants to open up a laundry
where we have all kinds of fine laces, table linen,
etc., done up. If that grows we shall have to get
someone to take hold of it, but Josie says she
can wash and iron as well as a blanchisseuse de
fin and, if we don’t get too many orders, she will
attend to that end herself.”
“It is my one accomplishment,” said Josie,
“and I have a passion for it. I’d rather launder
laces and fine linen than do anything in the
world. I am no good at sewing or embroidering,
but I can certainly add to anyone’s needlework
by my manipulation of a flat-iron.”
“How interesting!” said Hortense. “Now
I adore needlework, but am helpless with an
iron and the more I wash things the dirtier they
get. I have just finished some napkins and
despair of ever getting them done up properly.
My maid is a wretched laundress, almost as bad
as her mistress. How I should love to be your
first customer! Please let me bring my damask
to you.”
“Why, of course,” answered Josie. “As soon
as the boys get the gas stove up I am ready for
washing and as soon as they get the electric
wires installed I am ready for ironing.”
Irene had gone on steadily with her dusting
while Hortense had been talking, never once
looking up from her task. Occasionally, she
opened one of the books and glanced at its contents.
What a lot of learning one could find
between the covers of those solid books! One
long narrow book with a binding evidently home-made
attracted her attention. She opened it, but
its contents were still as a closed book to her.
It was closely written manuscript of strange
characters about as unintelligible as the notes of
a stenographer would ordinarily be to her
employer.
“What is this, Josie?”
“Oh, that is my father’s notebook! I am
glad to see it,” exclaimed Josie. “I never intended
to pack it with the other books but in the
confusion of getting off I forgot it. I wouldn’t
lose it for all the wealth of the Indies.” She
clasped it to her bosom.
“That is the one you told me about?” asked
Mary Louise, joining the group in the corner,
“with all the notes he made about criminals and
suspected criminals? Perhaps you don’t know
it, Hortense, but Josie’s father knew more about
the criminals in the United States, and the world
perhaps, than almost anybody.”
“Ah, indeed! The book must be interesting
reading for a student of criminology. I abhor
the subject myself.”
“What’s that you abhor?” asked Bob Dulaney,
who had no occupation for the time being,
having helped lift everything that could be lifted
and so had leisure to join the girls.
“Criminology!”
“Why, it is the most interesting subject in the
world,” said Bob.
“Well, you would like this book then,” said
Mary Louise, explaining it to the newcomer.
Josie stood by with her fishy-eyed expression.
“You don’t mean Detective O’Gorman’s book!
Why, I didn’t know you were the daughter of
Detective O’Gorman. Know about him! I should
say I did. Why, there isn’t a newspaper chap
in the United States that doesn’t know about
him. Gee, I’d like to get my hooks on his book.”
“Well, his book is all pot hooks, so it wouldn’t
do you much good if you did,” laughed Josie,
opening it so he could glance down a page. “I
wouldn’t let it out of my possession for a mint
of money.”
“If it’s something old Lifter wants you had
better nail it down,” said Tim Turner. “Remember
what I told you about the ding dong.”
“I guess it will be safe here,” said Josie, putting
the slim volume of mysterious manuscript
between two ponderous tomes.
“Sure,” laughed Bob, “unless I come snooping
in at night. It wouldn’t be so hard to make
an entrance in this old building.”
“Don’t say such things,” begged Mary Louise.
“I am scared to death to have Josie stay here
by herself as it is.”
“Nonsense!” declared Josie.
“Not nonsense at all!” insisted Mary Louise.
“Anyhow, I am glad you can’t stay to-night.”
“Well, as far as our work is concerned she
can,” declared Danny. “The water and gas
are connected and the walls of her house are
built.”
“She just can’t, though!” said Mary Louise,
putting her arm around her friend. Josie put
on her dull-eyed look and said nothing, only
hugged her darling Mary Louise with warm
affection.
CHAPTER X CHIEF CHARLEY LONSDALE
“Why don’t you like Mrs. Markle?” Josie
asked Irene as they sat in Mary Louise’s car
while she went in a shop on a housekeeping
errand on their way home from the Higgledy-Piggledy
after the strenuous day of unpacking
and carpentering and plumbing.
“Why do you think I don’t like her?” and
Irene tried not to give herself away to the
astute Josie.
“Why, Irene dear, you couldn’t deceive a
flea!”
“I hope I wasn’t rude to her. I try always
to be extra polite to her.”
“Oh, you were polite enough, but your eyes
are ‘wells of truth’ and one only has to look in
them to know what your sentiments are.”
“I didn’t know that! Mercy, what am I to
do? Put on smoked glasses?”
“Fortunately, you are inclined to like mankind,
so won’t have to wear smoked glasses all the
time,” laughed Josie. “But you haven’t told
me why you don’t like her.”
“I have no reason for a strange feeling of
distrust and abhorrence that comes over me when
she approaches. I know she is beautiful and
clever and charming and I fully realize that I
am foolish to harbor such sentiments, but, try
as I may, I cannot get rid of the feeling. It is
one of nameless depression, a kind of smothered
sensation.”
“Like some persons have when cats come in
the room?”
“Exactly! Now do you think I am mean and
silly?”
“No, not in the least! I think you perhaps
have some kind of occult power that I wish I
had myself. Now I don’t fancy the lady myself,
but it is because her name is Hortense.”
“Why, what has that to do with her character?”
“Nothing on earth, but I have an antipathy to
certain names and Hortense is one of them. Of
course, I am well aware of the fact that there are
many good Hortenses, as many as there are good
Josies, but, somehow, it seems that I am not the
one to meet the good ones. They are always a
bit false, the Hortenses I have known. Now
you are thinking I am silly. Confess!”
“No, not at all silly, but a bit unreasonable,”
laughed Irene. “I fancy Mrs. Markle’s parents
gave her that name and she had nothing to do
with it.”
“I am not so sure of that. They may have
named her plain Jane or even Maria or Hannah
and she may have felt Hortense more in keeping.
I’ll give it to her she has wonderful taste
and Hannah would have been out of tone with
her general make-up. Why do you think she
wouldn’t let that young Mr. McGraw see her
pin?”
“Why, wasn’t her reason given sufficient?”
asked Irene.
“Not to me! Either there was something
about the pin she did not want him to see or
she wanted to get him to come to her apartment
and call and thought that would be a good way
to manage it.”
“Oh, Josie, you are hard on her!”
“Well, when you don’t like a person, you might
as well find out why and that is what I am doing.
I am just trying to analyze my emotions and
find a cause for the effect. I must prove to myself
for my own private satisfaction why the bristles
stand up on my spine when the pretty lady comes
around.”
“You did not show you felt that way in the
least. I wish I could hide my feelings as well
as you,” sighed Irene.
“Please don’t try to! You, with your instinct
to detect evil, would prove too valuable to a
would-be detective. Not that I am one,” quickly
added Josie, who was determined not to let anyone
know of her dual occupation.
After an early tea, Josie, in spite of objections
raised by Mary Louise, insisted upon going back
to her Higgledy-Piggledy apartment.
“I might just as well get used to it, honey.
It is going to be in a mess for a while yet, but
if I can be there early and late just so much the
sooner will we begin operations. To-morrow is
Sunday and I can have a nice long day to write
letters that must be written and look over some
papers. That won’t be too much like working
on the Sabbath, and I can begin to work in dead
earnest early Monday morning. I’ll see you at
church to-morrow though, however.”
Josie refused the offer Mary Louise made of
sending her home in her car but insisted her legs
were made to use, and if she got too accustomed
to riding around in cars, it would spoil her for
more primitive forms of locomotion.
Josie did not go directly to her shop after
leaving Colonel Hathaway’s, but slipping down
a side street she walked quietly into the police
station. Josie had a power inherited directly
from her father of being almost invisible, that is
she moved so quietly and was so unobtrusive in
manner and dress that she could pass in a crowd
absolutely unnoticed, and even where there was
not a crowd, she had a way of effacing herself so
that she might stand in one’s presence for
minutes without being observed. And after she
was observed, it would tax the powers of the
most alert to describe the girl, so neutral could
she appear. Her red hair even seemed to become
dun and colorless when she, for some
reason, was intent on being unnoticed.
The police station was quiet. It was too early
for the usual Saturday night bustle of business.
An officer was dozing at his exalted desk with a
great book open in front of him, the book where
the business of the day was recorded. At the door
sat another policeman. He too was napping with
his stiff belt unbuttoned and his helmet cocked
over his closed eyes, his legs stretched out as
though to trip up the unwary.
Josie was far from being in that class, however.
She quietly and lightly jumped over the
hurdle of legs and slipped under the nose of the
man at the desk and made her way down a hall
to the door of the Chief of Police, Captain
Charley Lonsdale.
The chief was not asleep, far from it, but he
was lost in the perusal of some closely written
sheets over which he was knotting his beetling
brows. His door was ajar and with a small tap
to announce herself Josie entered and stood
before him. He grunted in acknowledgment that
he knew someone was in his presence to whom
he would give his attention when he solved some
troublesome problem.
“Well, what is it?” he finally jerked out,
looking up from his papers. “Why, bless my
soul! If it ain’t little O’Gorman. Child, I am
glad to see you. I can’t tell you how I have felt
about your father. Why, we’ll never get over his
loss in the service. What he didn’t know about
criminals was not worth knowing. A good man
too! A good man, for sure! I wish I had him
here right now to help me out with a case. I
don’t see why those fellows in the East think
their crooks are working around here. I don’t
believe they are,” he declared, glancing again
at the papers which had so absorbed his attention
on Josie’s entrance.
“What is the case?” she asked, looking keenly
at the chief.
“Oh, just the same old tale of crooks, but this
time they seem to be stealing lots of things
besides money. They have actually walked off
with the entire furnishings of apartments, rugs,
sideboards, pictures, even beds and wardrobes
and whole sets of china. There must be an unbroken
chain of them extending through the
states. It is post-war conditions that we might
have expected, but it seems to be even worse
than we had anticipated and now they are worrying
me about things that were lost in New York
and Boston. I am sure nobody would come to
Dorfield with stolen goods. Aren’t you?”
Josie said nothing and the chief looked at
her keenly.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you still dabble in detective work?”
“No, I never did dabble.”
“So!” he laughed. “You were in it in dead
earnest.”
“Exactly!”
“Well, you are your father’s own daughter
and waste no words. I reckon you are here
hunting a job.”
“I have a job, sir, I am keeping a shop.”
Josie then told him of the Higgledy-Piggledy
Shop and what her ideas were in regard to the
running of it in connection with a secret detective
service.
“Already I have a clue I want to follow up,
sir,” she told him, “but, of course, if you could
put me on the force it might be a help to me at
some time. The shining star displayed on occasions
sometimes has a good effect.”
“You are right. Sometimes it means more
than a loaded pistol,” laughed the chief.
“Well, good-by, sir,” and Josie flitted from
the chief’s office and by the drowsing attendants
in the outer office without their being conscious
of the fact that she had been in the building.
“What a fine little girl!” mused the chief.
“She knows how to leave when her business is
over with, too. That’s something precious few
folks understand. I wish I had more like her
on the force. I forgot to ask her if she had a
telephone.” He rang his bell, which buzzed teasingly
near the ear of the policeman sprawling
at the door over whose legs Josie had lightly
jumped.
“Casey,” he asked when the huge Irishman
made his appearance trying to conceal the fact
that he was not quite awake, “has the young
lady got out of sight?”
“Yes, sorr, clane out of sight!” And Casey
blinked rapidly.
“Well, that’s all!” said the chief shortly.
“Yes, sorr!” and Casey made a hasty
retreat.
He remarked to the man at the desk, whose
slumbers had also been broken by the buzzer:
“Sure an’ Chief Charley has been slapin’ an’
dramin’ uv the ladies. He was arfter wantin’
to know if the young lady was out uv sight. I
could truthfully tell him she was that. There’s
been no young lady here.”
CHAPTER XI A SKELETON KEY
It was dusk when Josie fitted the great brass
key into the door of the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop.
The place looked very large and bleak and Josie
felt small and lonesome, but she said to herself
that it was no time to give way to such weakness.
She did not switch on the light, although
the amateur plumbers and electricians had not
left until everything was in O. K. condition.
Instead she produced a small search light and
with its aid went to work on a mysterious bit of
business. Peering along the shelves, she put her
hand on the book of her father’s notes, the one
with the home-made binding. Diving into the
tray of a small trunk, she produced a handful of
papers covered with cryptic hieroglyphics similar
to those found in the precious notebook. With
deft fingers she ripped the back from the notebook,
carefully placing the contents in a large
pocket in her petticoat. Securely pinning it
with a huge safety pin, then smoothing out the
loose papers she had extracted from the trunk,
she proceeded to do a clever and neat job of
amateur book binding sewing on the old back of
the notebook. Then she put the book between
the ponderous tomes where it had been before.
Patting her pocket where reposed the precious
notes and also the huge brass key which she
had removed from the door after locking it, Josie
then made her way by the packing boxes and
debris, that all the willing workers had not been
able to clear away on that busy Saturday afternoon,
back to the bedroom. Her little iron bed
was made up with fresh linen and pretty dimity
spread and looked very inviting to the tired girl.
“I’d certainly like to tumble in,” she yawned,
“but this is no time for sleep. Father always
said: ‘Work first and then sleep!’”
Shutting the door to the partition which
divided her bedroom from the shop, she turned
on the shaded reading light which Danny had
placed at the head of the bed, under the directions
of Mary Louise, and drawing up a low
chair she unpinned the notes and drew them
from her pocket.
“Dear Father!” she sighed. “What a man
he was!”
Detective O’Gorman had taught his daughter
the code in which he made his notes and Josie
could read the hieroglyphics as easily as she
could printed English. She could write it as
rapidly as a first-class stenographer can short-hand.
Turning over the leaves she came to one
that riveted her attention.
“Exactly!” she muttered. “He could have
been a great novelist if he had not have been so
busy being a great detective. There never were
such accurate, concise descriptions. Here are
their aliases too: my, what a lot of names they
can answer to—and as many crimes as names
if one can only catch them in the act. They have
so many confederates they always go scot free.
Won’t my father be proud of me if I am the one
to get them? I mean to be that one, too.”
She put the notes back in her pocket, pinning
them carefully as before. Then she produced
from another pocket a small revolver which she
examined critically.
“I’m not going to use it, but it must be ready—in
case—”
She stopped suddenly.
“What’s that? Tenants stumping around
overhead? Rats in the wainscoting? There are
rats.” She listened intently, switching off the
light hanging over her bed.
“That old-fashioned brass lock will be easy
to open with a skeleton key,” she decided. “If
they are coming here it will be only a moment
before they are in the room.” Grabbing her tell-tale
hat and gloves and small bag, she dived
under the bed, the pretty dimity spread hanging
down on the side making a curtain for her
retreat.
The town clock was striking twelve as the
skeleton key finally unlocked the door. Josie
lay very still listening eagerly.
“We might just as well switch on the light,”
said a man’s voice.
“A bit imprudent, but, of course, nobody in
this stupid old town would notice.” The voice
was undoubtedly Mrs. Markle’s.
“I fancy everybody, even the police force, is
asleep by now,” laughed the man.
Josie felt for her detective’s badge pinned in
the breast pocket of her dress, and smiled happily
in her retreat behind the dimity spread.
“Here is the book, Felix, exactly where that
dull little O’Gorman girl put it. Do you think
you will ever be able to make out the code?”
“Sure! There is no code I can’t work. It
may take time but it will be great fun to find
out what that old devil O’Gorman thought of us.
It will be helpful too to find out exactly what
he knew; and think of destroying all trace of
our identity.”
“Umhum! I am dull and my father was a
devil,” mused Josie. “Two more reasons for
catching you red-handed, you Markles!”
“Here are the scissors,” went on the rich
voice of Mrs. Markle. “Let me rip out the
notes, Clumsy! Here, these blank papers can
be stitched in their place. The girl will no doubt
not think of opening this book for weeks, maybe
never, but she knows the code and might want
to read the notes sooner. There you are! Now
put it back in between those big books. Now
shall we be off?”
“Let’s look around now that we are here.
This is a clever idea of that O’Gorman girl’s,
to run this shop. Are you sure she is so dull?”
asked the man.
“Sure! She has a fish eye and a face like a
dumpling.”
“O’Gorman had too, and he wasn’t dull,”
said Mr. Markle with some doubt in his tone.
“Oh, trust me, Felix, to know when a woman
has sense. I don’t believe she even has any
humor.”
Josie smothered a giggle and drew her little
revolver from her pocket. The interlopers were
pushing open the door of her bedroom and
without further ceremony switched on the light.
The girl could see their feet from her hiding
place, and exceedingly shapely, well shod feet
they were.
“A pretty snug place,” said Felix. “Nothing
worth lifting, however.”
“Not now, but wait until they begin to stock
up with antique furniture and jewelry and what
not. There will be plenty then. I am going to
give them lots of work so I can come here often.
One will get to know very desirable persons
through these girls. That little soft fool, Mary
Louise, knows everybody and she is very much
interested in this venture and is going to push
it for all it is worth. My first job for them is
laundering those napkins I have just finished.”
“Oh, what a clever pet it is!” and Felix
stopped and kissed Hortense. “A man never
had such a partner before, I am sure.”
“What an old goose you are!” Her voice
was as pleased and affectionate as any woman’s
might have been who had won her husband’s
approbation by some wifely act.
“Come on now! Let’s get out. We have
what we came for and I am eager to get busy
on that old devil O’Gorman’s code.”
They switched off the light and locked the
door carefully. Josie scuttled from under her
bed and ran to the front window. Peeping down
into the faintly lighted street she saw the
Markles walking off affectionately, arm in arm.
“And poor man, he is going to master
Father’s code so he can read Francis Thompson’s
‘The Hound of Heaven,’” and Josie
allowed herself a good laugh.
The notes Mr. Markle had so carefully carried
off were nothing more than Josie’s lessons she
had written out when her father was teaching
her the code.
“Maybe it will do them some good,” said the
girl with a feeling akin to sympathy in her
heart. “I feel kind of sorry for the poor
wretches. Father said he always felt sorry
for criminals.”
As the girl undressed she recited “The Hound
of Heaven.”
“I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd tears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet—
‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’”
CHAPTER XII BILLY MAKES A CALL
Josie told not a soul of her experience on her
first night spent in the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop.
She felt as though perhaps she should have
taken Chief Lonsdale into her confidence, but
on the other hand was so afraid a mere man
might bungle the thing. Besides she felt a
pardonable pride in the possibility of being the
one to solve a mystery that had been puzzling
the wise heads of the secret service for some
time. Thefts were constantly being reported
from wealthy persons, high in the social world,
from every city in the union. All kinds of
household goods would disappear most mysteriously,
pictures, bric-a-brac, rugs, books;
sometimes even furniture heavy enough to take
two strong men to move, would be spirited
away in a style uncanny to say the least. Unsuspecting
people would lock their apartments
and go off for a pleasant week-end in the country,
perhaps leave servants in charge, and come
home to rooms bereft of all valuables. The
thieves always showed excellent taste and never
stole anything but the best. Similar losses were
reported from East and West, North and South.
Of course our little detective had many misgivings
on the subject of the intimacy between
her dear Mary Louise and the Markles, which
seemed to be growing closer and warmer as the
days went on.
“I am as sure as sure can be of their perfidy.
I certainly did not go to sleep under the
bed and dream that they came in and did and
said what they did, but I must bide my time
or they will get off without my proving anything
of importance on them,” she would say to herself
when she saw Hortense with her arm around
Mary Louise, making a great show of affection.
Hortense Markle knew very well how to make
herself both agreeable and useful. She would
spend hours playing chess with Colonel Hathaway
or she would go to the greatest trouble to
match some bit of lace for Mary Louise. She
spent much of her time engaged in matchless
needlework for the prospective bride. She was
so pleasant, so agreeable and so very pretty
that one could not help liking her. Most of Mary
Louise’s friends found her quite as charming
as Mary Louise did. Irene MacFarlane was
the only one who did not succumb to her
fascination.
Poor Irene! She had many a struggle with
herself on the subject of Hortense Markle.
She felt that her dislike was unreasonable and
endeavored in every way to hide it, but she
was of such a truthful nature that it was impossible
for her to dissemble. In the meantime
preparations for the wedding were under
way and all of the group of girls chosen to
be bridesmaids were busy over their frocks.
Irene was willing to assist in any way, but
Mrs. Markle was the one whose help was
oftener asked.
“It is not that I am jealous,” Irene would
say to herself. “It can’t be that. I have
never been jealous in my life. I have an instinct
of distrust that I can’t overcome. Her
husband affects me the same way. What am
I that I should set myself up as a person
whose instinct is of any value? They must
be all that they seem or so many persons
would not be attracted by them.”
She rather hoped Josie O’Gorman would
feel like discussing the matter with her after
their little talk concerning Hortense Markle
on the day the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop had
its house warming, but the astute Josie did not
mention it again and Irene felt that she must
not be the one to approach the subject.
The Higgledy-Piggledy Shop was getting on
its feet in great shape. It was a novelty in
Dorfield and found its customers because of
its unusualness at first and then those customers
returned because of the efficiency of
the young shopkeepers.
Elizabeth Wright was kept quite busy hunting
up facts for students on many and various
subjects. She had typing to do and even
obituary notices to write and sometimes love
letters to compose for bashful young men and
maidens. It was her lot to write club papers on
every subject from Shakespeare to the musical
glasses.
Josie had felt it necessary to take Elizabeth
into her confidence concerning her being
connected with the secret service, but never
once had she divulged her suspicions of the
attractive Markles. The one little talk she
had had with Irene was the only time she had
let herself go in the least concerning those
persons whom she hoped to catch up with in
some of their supposed villainies. Elizabeth
was as enthusiastic about the beautiful Hortense
as were all of the young people of her
set, in spite of the fact that her sisters and
mother declared the young married woman had
an inclination to monopolize the eligible young
men of their acquaintance. Billy McGraw
certainly was very attentive to her, although
his liking for Elizabeth was growing day by
day.
“She’s such a good fellow,” he would say
to himself, never thinking of her as anything
but a pal, however, while he spent many a
wakeful night tormented by the thought of Hortense
Markle, for whom he had a chivalrous
pity because of being married to such an unsympathetic
middle-aged man. Many were the
calls he made at the Markles’ charming apartment,
when Mr. Markle would make himself
obligingly scarce and leave the young man to
delightful tête-a-têtes with his charming young
wife.
“You promised to let me see the orchid pin
when I came to see you,” he remarked on his
first call, which was on the very next evening
after the luncheon at the Higgledy-Piggledy.
“Why, of course,” she responded readily.
“But I am so sorry it is not here. The catch
was a little weak and Felix took it yesterday
afternoon to the jewelers to have it strengthened.
I would not lose it for worlds with all
of its tender associations. I know you think I
am sentimental.”
“Not at all! That is just the way Vi Thomas
felt about hers, the one that was a counterpart
of yours. By the way, I heard from Jerald
Thomas only yesterday afternoon. It was
something of a coincidence that we should have
been talking about him at luncheon. I have
not heard from him for ages. He tells me that
he and Vi went off to Atlantic City several
months ago for a breathing spell, leaving their
apartment in charge of a trusted butler. They
had wonderful furnishings, rugs, etchings and
so forth. When they came back their place
was cleared of everything in the least valuable.
The butler had gone out to dinner with some
friend he had picked up and had been drugged
and not able to get back to his place, and while
he was sleeping off his drunk, thieves had
simply lifted the whole blooming business. Vi’s
jewels had been taken from the safe too. I
don’t know whether they got her orchid pin or
not.”
“How terrible!” cried Hortense. “I can’t
think of a greater calamity than losing my precious
household goods, things that Felix and I
have so carefully selected and for which we’ve
denied ourselves so much.”
“You have some fine etchings too, have you
not? I don’t know much about etchings, but I
like them a lot.”
“Yes, but don’t look at them now. Felix
adores showing them to people and he knows
all about them. The next time you come he will
take great pleasure in showing them to you.
Just talk to me now.”
“Sure!” said Billy quite flattered that such
a beautiful lady cared to talk to him. “Jerry
and Vi Thomas were quite keen on etchings
too. They had some rare signed proof ones,
and Jerry was very particular about the frames
too. He had some wonderful ebony frames
made that were almost as valuable as the
etchings.”
“How lovely they must have been,” said
Hortense. “Let’s go out on the balcony. It
seems warm in here to me.”
“Why not come for a spin in my car? It’s
parked around the corner.”
“All right! You go and get it and I’ll be
down directly.”
She ushered her caller out and ran back to a
small den in the rear of the apartment where
her husband was busily engaged trying to find
the key to Detective O’Gorman’s cryptic code.
“I’m going out for a ride with Mr. McGraw.
While I am gone, for goodness’ sake take down
from the walls those signed Rembrandts and
Whistlers, the ones in the ebony frames, and
put something else in their places. This callow
youth, Billy McGraw, is a great friend of the
Thomases and has a liking for etchings.”
“Good girl! You didn’t let him see them!”
“Not I! I had to make him look at me
instead.”
He pinched her cheek affectionately and looked
at her with admiration shining in his eyes.
“Please get the mark off the orchid pin soon,
dear, as I need it sorely for my new dress.”
“I’ll do it this afternoon,” he promised.
“I guess this code can keep. It is deucedly
hard. I may have to get you to help me. You
are a clever pet and can jump at a conclusion
it takes a clumsy man days to reach.”
Hortense smiled happily. “There is one
thing I don’t like about this business, Felix.”
“And what is that?”
“I don’t like this thing of having to pretend
to these foolish youths that you are a stern
middle-aged person who is not in the least en
rapport with me. You are so much more wonderful
than any man I ever see anywhere.”
“Well, pet, we trust each other—eh?” and
he looked searchingly in her eyes.
“Oh, Felix, what a question!” and she kissed
him lightly on his smooth, iron-grey hair and
ran off for her ride with Billy McGraw.
CHAPTER XIII BUSINESS COMING ON
True to his determination to let no wish of
Mary Louise’s go unfulfilled, Danny Dexter
rigged up an elevator to the Higgledy-Piggledy
Shop, so that Irene MacFarlane could go there
at any time without waiting for Bob Dulaney or
Danny to carry her upstairs. In days gone by
there had been a dumb-waiter in the back of the
old building but it had long since been abandoned
because of its rusty pulleys and broken cords.
This dumb-waiter shaft had been used by the
shifting tenants as a receptacle for all kinds of
debris. In cleaning it out before he could find
room to rig up the little elevator, Danny declared
there was nothing he didn’t find from
broken baby carriages to old sets of false teeth.
The only drawback to the elevator was that one
must enter by way of the alley, but Irene insisted
that made no difference whatsoever.
Sometimes she came to the shop, which was not
far from her home, propelling herself in her
wheelchair. She would roll up the alley, which
was fortunately paved and not too rough, right
into the little elevator that was the exact dimensions
of her chair. Then with a vigorous
pull on the rope with her strong and capable
hands, she would shoot to the second floor and
roll out into the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop.
Her coming was always greeted with exclamations
of delight by the proprietors of the shop.
Clever Danny had so well rigged the little elevator
that the usual groaning and squeaking
of a misnamed dumb-waiter had been done
away with. Her coming would be unheralded
by bell or knock and she would glide from the
shaft like a veritable fairy princess, so Elizabeth
declared.
Irene’s part in the shop had become a very
important one, so important that Josie and
Elizabeth felt they could hardly do without her.
The lame girl’s skill with the needle was in
great demand, as one of the chief industries of
the unique shop was fine mending, which was
not the long suit of either Josie or Elizabeth.
One of their principles in running their business,
however, was that they must undertake
everything that came their way and then, if
they could not do it themselves, as Josie put it,
they would “farm it out.”
“My, I’m glad to see you!” exclaimed Josie
as Irene came gliding from the elevator into
their midst. “A lot of lace to be mended and
laundered has just arrived. Exquisite stuff and
a hurry call. Can you spend the day and work
on it for us? There will be at least three dollars
in it for you.”
“Of course I can, if you will telephone
Auntie,” and Irene drew from her bag her
thimble and needle case and soon was at work
mending the exquisite point lace that had been
left at the shop only that morning by a wealthy
and particular old lady. At times, where the
work was very delicate, Irene made use of a
magnifying glass, which was as much a part of
her little sewing kit as her thimble and the very
fine needles she delighted in, and the sharp
scissors, no longer than her little finger, and the
assortment of cotton and silk threads.
“I am going to launder the lace that does not
need mending,” said Josie, getting out a diminutive
tub, placing ready an ironing board and
attaching her electric iron.
“And I’ll go on with my typing,” said Elizabeth.
“It is manuscript from a would-be
authoress who is all dashes and an occasional
period when her pen seemed to be out of breath.
I think I should charge extra for punctuation,
don’t you, Irene?”
“Certainly,” laughed Irene, “but how would
you grade your charges?”
“I’ll give a period for nothing. It is a kind
of relief to make a period after such an effusion
as this: ‘His flashing eye was bent on her with
a look of mingled admiration and rage while
in spite of the feeling of uncontrollable fear
that filled her pure heart to the brim the beautiful
girl first breathing a prayer to her
Heavenly Father of whose watchful care she
was ever conscious no matter how severe her
trials and tribulations raised her sad blue eyes
and looked into the bold black ones of the insinuating
villain who had by his machinations
brought her to this lonesome spot where he
hoped to have her in his power and as she
looked into those wicked orbs that seemed to
Elaine very like the lonesome miasmic tarn by
which she had been led on this perilous journey
she felt sure of the power of good over evil and
as the realization of this great truth came to
her the wretch dropped his eyes and turned
away.’ All this without a punctuation mark of
any kind, not even a dash, except at the tail
end where I have thrown in a period. I should
get a tenth of a cent for every comma and at
least a fifth for semicolons—they come high—and
as for a colon: it is worth anything one
wishes to charge. I think there is nothing so
elegant as colons. They have such a knowing
air.”
Irene and Josie laughed heartily at Elizabeth,
who went on with her typing, occasionally
reading to them choice bits from the manuscript.
“Of course, this joking can only be in the
bosom of our official family,” said Elizabeth.
“It would never do to get out that we make
fun of our patrons.”
“And so is that what you do?” was the gay
question flung at them from the door. It was
Hortense Markle. “I knocked, but you were
laughing so gaily and the typewriter was clicking
so noisily that you did not hear.” She
tripped in, laying a large package on the table.
“Come in! We are very glad to see you,”
said Josie cordially, but into her eyes came
the dull fishy look she could assume at will.
Elizabeth spoke hospitably to their guest, moving
some pamphlets from a chair to make room
for her. Irene tried to bring a smile of welcome
to her calm, sweet eyes, but she felt that
anyone who chose to look could easily tell it
was perfunctory.
“I have brought the damask napkins that
you promised to launder for me,” said Hortense,
untying the cord around her package.
“I have just completed the initials and am
anxious to have them done up, as I am sure you
can do them,” smiling and bowing prettily to
Josie. “It is wonderful linen, some Felix got
for me the last time he was in New York. He
paid untold sums for it but he knows how fond
I am of beautiful linen.” She opened up the
package and displayed the napkins, which were
of exquisite damask of a rare and artistic
pattern.
“Why, they have been laundered once,” said
Irene, looking at one of the napkins with the
pleasure she always felt at the touch of fine
fabrics.
“Oh, yes, I often have damask washed before
I embroider it. It is so much softer and more
sympathetic to the needle. Does not resist it
as does unlaundered linen,” explained Hortense
easily.
“We have some lace on hand for to-day.
Would you mind waiting until to-morrow for
your napkins?” asked Josie.
“Not at all! There is no hurry.”
“I must count them and put them down on
our books,” said Josie with a business-like air.
“Why, there are only twenty-two here. How
did you happen not to have the full two dozen?”
“Are you sure? I thought there were two
dozen,” said Hortense, frowning as though trying
to remember where she could have put the
other napkins. “I may have left two at home.”
Josie counted again very carefully.
“Twenty-two! I hope they aren’t lost. Anyhow
they aren’t lost here and that is some
satisfaction for the Higgledy-Piggledies.”
Another tap at the door and in came Bob
Dulaney.
“May I come in? How jolly to find all of
you here!” He bowed to them all but looked
at Irene when he said “all of you.” “And
does the elevator work all right? I was mighty
afraid Danny would slip up on the piece of
work, but that fellow will tackle anything. He
is a wonder for sure.”
“Yes, it works beautifully and I find it the
greatest convenience. I am quite independent
now and can come and go as I will.”
“How jolly it is up here! Aren’t you afraid
at night, Miss O’Gorman?” asked Bob.
“Not a bit! There are too many persons
tramping around overhead for me to be afraid,
but I wouldn’t be afraid anyhow. I guess
nobody would want to hurt me. I haven’t anything
to steal as yet. Of course when we get
in our rare editions that I am to sell on commission
for a man in New York there will be
something; also some antique jewelry and some
bronzes. We may have a few small rugs soon
too.”
Josie turned her dull eyes on Hortense, who
had stopped chatting with Elizabeth and was
listening attentively to the above conversation.
“So you are going to open up your shop in
good earnest, then?” she asked. “How delightful!
It’s such an interesting venture. I do hope
you will succeed.”
“We are sure to if we keep on as well as we
have begun,” said Josie, allowing herself the
satisfaction of a little twinkle in her eye.
“Business is just rolling in.”
“How much will you charge a fellow if he
wants to consult your books?” asked Bob.
“There is no library worthy of the name in
Dorfield and when I want something very badly
I am up against it.”
“Persons are supposed to ask us for information
and we do the searching,” explained Josie.
“But that wouldn’t suit me at all. I like to
see for myself and one bit of information suggests
the advisability of another, and so on. I
could spend days with your various encyclopedias
just on this one article I am getting up for the
Sunday supplement.”
“What is your article on?”
“Criminology! Gee, but I’d like to peek into
that notebook of your father’s!” sighed Bob,
who took his profession of expert reporter and
writer of special articles very seriously.
Josie beckoned to Elizabeth and retiring to
the back of the shop the girls held a short consultation.
Coming forward, Josie said to Bob:
“My partner and I are going to make an exception
in your favor, feeling as we do very
grateful to you and all of Danny Dexter’s friends
for their kindness to us in launching us so beautifully
on our shop-keeping venture. We are
going to let you come and consult our books
whenever you feel like it. We’d rather not have
them taken home unless it is something you find
you can’t possibly finish up here in the shop.”
“But how splendid of you! I don’t deserve
such a favor. I did nothing but lift bath tubs
and things. I can’t accept such kindness, though,
unless you let me pay regular rates for what
information I pick up.”
“We are not so mercenary as all that,” said
Josie, “besides we may need your muscles sometimes
and would not know how to pay for them.
Let’s call it a draw—fifty-fifty. We might even
leave you here sometimes to keep shop for us
if you’ll be good.”
“Good! I’d take in the fancy work especially
well,” laughed Bob. “I hate to seem greedy,
but while I’m poking among your books may I
peek in the wonderful notebook?”
Josie paused a moment, turning dull eyes on
Mrs. Markle, who had been listening intently to
the above conversation, although she seemed to
be interested solely in the lace Irene was mending.
Her dark eyes were sparkling and her
pretty grey suede shoe was nervously tapping
the floor. None of this was lost on Josie.
“You mustn’t let me look in it if you really
don’t want me to,” Bob continued. “I know it
is cheeky of me to ask it.”
“But I will let you,” declared Josie. “I
shouldn’t be so silly about the poor little book.
You may take it home with you if you promise
to take good care of it.” She took the little
book from the shelves and handed it to Bob.
“Keep it tied up carefully; don’t open it now.
I wonder if you can decipher what is in it. I
fancy it would be a tough job. Father wouldn’t
mind, I am sure. He always liked newspaper
chaps, as he called men of your profession, and
used to get them to help him often on cases. He
helped them too. He used to say they had
much more sense about digging out crime and
solving mysteries than the average detective. I
tell you he handed over many a scoop to young
reporters and got them started in their careers
with fine feathers in their caps.”
“I can’t tell you how I thank you,” said Bob,
taking the shabby little book reverently in his
hand and putting it carefully in his breast
pocket. “I’ll guard it with my life. I won’t
have time to look into it for a day or so, however.
And now I’ll be going. I’ll come in day
after to-morrow and get my work in with your
learned books. I do thank you girls more than
I can say. I hope I can lift mountains for you
sometime to show you how I appreciate your
kindness.”
He stopped a moment to have a little talk
with Irene, whose sweet face flushed with pleasure
when he asked her if he might call on her
that very evening. It was nice to be treated just
like other girls.
CHAPTER XIV ANOTHER CLUE
Bob Dulaney had hardly left the shop before
Hortense Markle burst out with the remark:
“Miss O’Gorman, how could you be so
imprudent?”
“Imprudent? I? You mean because I told
Mr. Dulaney he might come keep shop for us?”
asked Josie, looking so stupid Hortense felt like
slapping her. “You don’t think that was
proper?”
“Proper! The idea! My dear girl, I only
meant it was imprudent to let him go off with
that valuable book of your father’s. I am sure
we all feel an interest in you, and such a book
as that is of untold value. Did you not say it
contained notes he had kept almost from the
beginning of his career and had descriptions of
all the noted criminals, convicted and unconvicted?”
“Yes, it has,” answered Josie, putting on the
air of a moron. Her tone was so dull and her
manner so stupid that Elizabeth and Irene, who
well understood the keen intelligence of their
partner, looking on in astonishment. What was
she trying to do?
“Well, knowing that, don’t you think it was a
little too trusting to let a strange young man
simply walk off with that precious book in his
pocket? He might keep on walking and never
come back. Such a treasure as that would be of
more value to a collector than I can tell you and
Mr. Dulaney could realize more from the sale
of such a book than he could make on his tuppenny
articles for Sunday supplements in ten
years’ time.”
Irene’s eyes were flashing. At least now she
had a reason for hating Hortense Markle. What
a cruel suggestion! How could she harbor such
a thought? Bob Dulaney with his frank open
manner and kind, clear eyes, Bob Dulaney a possible
thief! Danny Dexter’s friend! Her friend
too—she felt she could count him among her
real friends. Could she sit there and let such
an imputation go unchallenged? She looked at
Josie in astonishment. Of course it was her
business to combat such an unkind suggestion,
but Josie was looking blank as a whitewashed
fence. Elizabeth, however, arose to the occasion
with:
“I fancy you are mistaken, Mrs. Markle. I
am sure Mr. Dulaney is honor itself. I think he
can be trusted with anything, no matter how
valuable. I’d stake my life on it.”
“And I, mine!” spoke up Irene in a low clear
voice.
“Ah, and so the handsome Goliath has champions
among the fair sex,” laughed Hortense.
“Heavens, children, I had no idea of bringing
down such a deluge of vituperation on my poor
little head! I was merely interested in the little
book, not on my own account but on my husband’s.
Felix was so excited over your having
such a book, my dear Josie. He has always been
interested in codes and hieroglyphics. He was
dying for me to ask you to lend it to him, but
I utterly refused. No wonder I am a little
peeved when you hand it calmly over to the first
good looking young man who asks for it. Well,
I must be going. Don’t hurry with the napkins
and don’t bother to send them to me. I’ll call
for them.”
She tripped gaily from the shop, calling back
from the door:
“Please don’t be cross with me for suggesting
that poor Mr. Dulaney might be tempted by the
marvelous little book. He is, to all appearances,
a charming young man, but then after all we
don’t really know him very well.”
“We know him as well as we know you,” was
on the tip of Irene’s tongue, but she did not say
it, only bowed her head stiffly when Hortense
included her in the beaming smile and wave of
farewell.
“Rather catty, I call that,” said Elizabeth,
when their charming visitor was well out of ear
shot. “What do you think she meant by suggesting
such a horrid thing, Josie?”
Josie, who had lost her strange stupid look,
laughed gaily at Elizabeth’s question. “She
didn’t mean anything at all, Elizabeth. She was
put out because the nice, big boy didn’t pay her
any attention. He was either talking business
and books with you and me or he was leaning
over Irene there making engagements. The beautiful
Mrs. Markle must be the center of attraction
or she won’t play.”
“Oh!” and Irene blushed rosy red. This was
indeed being like other girls if somebody was
jealous of her. “I can’t help thinking she had
some other motive,” Irene whispered to Josie,
when Elizabeth went back to her noisy copying
of the flamboyant story. “Of course, if such a
charmer as Mrs. Markle wanted the attentions
of a young man she could have them without
lifting an eyelash.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” insisted Josie.
“Some men don’t fall for so much beauty of
face. They are on the lookout for beauty of
soul. Wonderful damask napkins she left! Did
you look at the embroidered initials? I hope I
won’t scorch them. There is no telling what
they are worth. Each one is big enough for a
tablecloth.”
“They are wonderful,” said Irene. “I never
heard of anyone’s having napkins laundered
before the initials were embroidered, but it no
doubt is a good thing. Mrs. Markle certainly
knows all about it. I have never imagined such
perfect work.” She sighed and dropped the lace
she was mending for a moment and picked up
one of the napkins the closer to scrutinize the
regular stitches. Her magnifying glass was in
her lap and she gazed at the work through it.
“Why, Josie, come here!” she cried in some
excitement. “This napkin has had a piece cut
out and a patch put in—one of Mrs. Markle’s
incomparable patches, but a patch for all that.”
“See if this one has too,” asked Josie, trying
not to show the excitement that she too felt.
“Yes, this one and this one and this one—all
of them!” exclaimed Irene in a puzzled tone.
“Look, she has matched each thread and then
made an initial large enough to cover the patch
almost entirely. I never saw such clever work
in my life—but why?”
“Perhaps she did not like the initial she first
put there and cut it out to put another,” suggested
Josie, a twinkle asserting itself in her
eyes that she seemed to be trying to make
opaque.
“The patches are not all the same size,” declared
Irene, picking up napkin after napkin and
examining them carefully through her glass.
“What can it mean, Josie?”
“Well, I guess we can safely say we have
found the other two napkins,” whispered Josie.
“They went to make the patches. Also someone
besides Hortense did the cutting. Clever Hortense!
Not clever enough, however, to get by
with it! My father used to say that only the
people who went to work taking for granted that
others were cleverer than they kept out of the
penitentiary. Hortense thinks I am a dullard
and you a sweet person who has taken a dislike
to her and not to be worried about one way or
the other.”
“But what do you mean, Josie? Penitentiary—you
can’t—”
“Yes, I can—but don’t tell Elizabeth—anybody
in fact—we must catch the whole bunch
and, if we jump too soon, we may get only an
innocent bystander. I am going to call on you
to help me if I need you.”
“What’s that you are not going to tell me?”
asked Elizabeth. “This old typewriter makes
just enough noise to keep me from catching
secrets. Is it ice cream you are going to have
up for lunch or are you going to make me pay
the gas bill? Is it a pleasant secret or otherwise?”
“Well, it may be both,” answered Josie. “I
wasn’t going to tell you because my father always
said the more persons you took in on a case the
harder it was to get at the bottom of it. He
thought they kind of crowded each other when
the business narrowed down to the final outcome.”
“But I’m a partner here and if there is anything
I might make use of in the way of copy in
the literary career I hope to follow, I think it is
mean not to tell me,” laughed Elizabeth.
“I guess you are right,” decided Josie. “I
may get help from you girls too. But mind not
a word or look to a soul to let on you suspect
a thing! Swear!”
“We swear!” chorused Irene and Elizabeth
in hollow excited tones.
Then Josie told them the whole thing from the
beginning; told how she had had some suspicion
of the Markles because of something intangibly
mysterious about them; told of her visit to the
chief of police and the information he had given
her concerning a chain of thefts being committed
all over the country; told of the mission
she had had confided to her before she reached
Dorfield; told how she had been confident of
something being a bit fishy in Hortense’s not
being willing to take off the orchid pin and show
it to Billy McGraw, for the reason that it had the
Tiffany mark on it, no doubt the initials of his
friend Mrs. Thomas. Then she made their blood
run cold when she described her first night in
the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop and the entrance
of the Markles and their theft of the contents of
the book.
“But, Josie, weren’t you scared to death?”
asked Irene, her eyes big at the thought. “I
am not a timid person ordinarily, but I believe
I’d have died of fright when they came into the
bedroom.”
“Well, I was a bit shaky, I must confess.
Persons like the Markles don’t like to kill because
it is a low form of wit, but they will do it
just as a great humorist will occasionally pun
if he can’t get his joke over without it. I was
determined to be the first to fire if there was any
firing to be done.”
There was nothing dull looking about Josie
as she told her story to her two friends and confederates.
Had Hortense seen her then, no
doubt she would have changed her tactics in
dealing with the daughter of the famous detective.
“And now,” said Josie, “in conclusion, as
the preachers say, we must be ever watchful and
never let on to a soul, man or beast, that we have
any suspicion of the Markles. What we know
of them is not enough yet to convict them and
by waiting, watchful waiting, we may be able to
unearth the whole plot and bring a whole gang
to justice.”
“It is a little hard on Mr. Dulaney to let him
take off the notebook full of blanks,” suggested
Irene, a faint flush appearing on her cheeks.
“Yes, I know it is,” agreed Josie, “and I
would not have done it except I wanted to see
what Hortense would look like when I allowed
him to have the precious book. Her face was
a study. She has humor enough, I rather like
her for that, and there was an amused twinkle
in her eyes, relief also when I told the young
man not to untie it just then. I fancy there are
times when anyone with such a speaking countenance
as the Markle has a hard time to appear
indifferent. Her suggestions concerning Mr.
Dulaney were very slick. Of course if I had not
known all the time the book was full of blanks,
I would naturally be inclined to hold Mr. Dulaney
responsible for such a state of affairs.”
“Yes, that is what I am afraid of,” said
Irene, “afraid he may be horribly embarrassed
about it when he discovers the hoax.”
“There is danger of that, but I’ll do my best
to make it up to him,” answered Josie. “Of
course he’ll get the scoop of his lifetime when
we finally nab the wretches. Such a scoop will
more than repay him for a temporary embarrassment.”
“Are you keeping Chief Lonsdale informed
of what you are finding out?” asked Elizabeth,
who was beginning to feel that plots were hers
for the asking in the stories she meant to write.
“Not on your life! He’d have a bunch of
bungling blue-coats snooping around scaring off
the game and taking all the final credit. No
siree! This is my party. Chief Lonsdale can
put as many men as he’s a mind to work digging
up evidence, but I bide my time and go
it alone. I don’t see any of the detectives helping
me any. Now I’m going to finish up this
lace before I give up for the day and deliver it
to the rich old lady. I saw Mrs. Markle looking
at it with a practiced and covetous eye. These
people get to be regular kleptomaniacs when
they stay in the business long enough. She may
be back here at midnight and lift the whole
shop.”
“Leave the key in the door so they can’t get
the skeleton key in from the outside,” suggested
Irene.
“Mere keys and doors don’t worry such as
the Felix Markles. They are so clever with
burglar tools there is no keeping them out if
they want to get in. Of course, if we lock fast
the door there is still the ‘dumb-elevator’ as
Danny calls it. Bar that fast, or cut the cables
and they will manage to come down from the
floor above. The thing to do is leave nothing
here they want and let them know as much. I
wish you would drop in and make a short call
at their apartment, Elizabeth, and tell Hortense
I am taking back the lace this evening. I must
say I’ll sleep better if she knows it is out of my
keeping.”
“I’ll do that very thing. Now aren’t you
glad you took me in your confidence?”
“I wanted to all along but was trying to follow
Father’s plans in going it alone as much as
possible.”
“I’d like to see the Markles’ faces when they
finally decipher the notes and read ‘The Hound
of Heaven,’” said Irene. “What else was in
the notes?”
“Oh, long stanzas from ‘Paradise Lost,’
‘Hamlet’s Soliloquy,’ and pages from ‘Les
Misérables’ in French. I don’t speak French at
all but I can read it quite well and Father wanted
me to be able to take notes in it, as sometimes we
have to work with French detectives and he
thought it might be useful. Anyhow it was
good practice. I copied a lot about the convicts
and a chapter on argot. They will have a grand
time reading it if they ever master the key. It
is almost cruel for me to fool them so when
they might spend their time to so much better
advantage.”
CHAPTER XV SIMPKINS & MARKLE
Hortense Markle had besought the friends of
Mary Louise to come and call on her, but when
Elizabeth Wright was ushered into the charming
little drawing room bent on the mission intrusted
to her by her partner, she had a feeling
that she was not quite so welcome as she had
been led to expect. Could it be because she
interrupted a tête-a-tête between her hostess and
Billy McGraw? That young man seemed to be
very much at home in the little apartment, as
though he had paid many visits there in the
short time he had been acquainted with the
charming Mrs. Markle.
Elizabeth was a little embarrassed but determined
to fulfill her mission before she left. She
liked Billy and hated to see him making a fool
of himself over the pretty adventuress. She
wished she could save him from the bitter
chagrin that would be sure to be his when the
sorry business would finally come to light, but
her loyalty to Josie forbade her doing or saying
a thing to put him on his guard. Then he had
paid her just enough attention to make it possible
for him to think that jealousy prompted her
in anything she might do or say.
“We have been very busy at the shop to-day,”
Elizabeth began, in a rather loud tone as though
determined that her voice would be heard by
Hortense and her husband too, if he had concealed
himself somewhere behind the curtains.
“Irene finished mending the lace and then Josie
laundered the whole lot and I have just delivered
it to its owner.”
“Ah, indeed!” ejaculated Hortense.
Was there a note of disappointment in her
voice?
“I rather wanted to see that lace again. It
was a beautiful pattern. I have a passion for
fine and rare lace.”
“Well, it’s safe with the rich old lady who
brought it to us,” said Elizabeth, bluntly.
“You are quite wise to get it in safe keeping
as soon as possible,” said Hortense, suavely.
“By the way, you never have let me see the
orchid pin,” put in Billy. “You remember you
promised.”
“Why, of course! I’ll get it immediately.”
She was gone from the room for a few
moments. Elizabeth, who usually was very much
at home with Billy McGraw, now sat in silence.
For the moment she had nothing to say. He
looked at her a little uneasily.
“Are you—are you—kind of angry with
me?” he finally said.
“I? The idea! Why should I be angry with
you?”
“I don’t know. You don’t seem so—so—chummy
as you do sometimes.”
“Chummy? I did not know I had been quite
that,” she said with a touch of coldness that
she could not keep from her tones.
“Now I know you have got it in for me
somehow.”
Elizabeth said nothing as Hortense came back
in the room with the orchid pin which she
handed to Billy.
“My, it’s a peach!” he declared. He examined
it with great interest. “It is as near
like Vi Thomas’ as can be. Hers, of course,
had Tiffany’s mark on the back and a date, as
I remember, some date that meant something
to her and her husband.
“Mine just has the name Felix loves to call
me, ‘Pet.’ It sounds awfully silly and sentimental,
but he would have it on.”
“Can’t I see it?” asked Elizabeth, wishing
in her heart she had a magnifying glass handy,
feeling sure there would be marks of other things
to be disclosed. She noticed that the gold mounting
back of the pin was slightly concave. “No
doubt Josie will attach much importance to
that,” she said to herself.
“You promised some day to show me your
original Rembrandt etching,” she said to Hortense.
“I have never seen one.”
“Have you an original Rembrandt?” asked
Billy. “You never told me. I’d certainly like
to see it. The Thomases had a crackerjack of a
Rembrandt. Of course that was lifted too when
the orchid pin was.”
“Heavens! what luck. Those Thomases seem
to be perfect Jonahs,” laughed Hortense. Elizabeth
thought she detected a little sharp note in
her laugh.
“I am terribly sorry not to show you my
treasure of treasures, but the frame was pulling
loose a bit and Felix has taken it to have it
mended. Anything as precious as a Rembrandt
must be framed in an airtight frame. Felix
has been offered a huge sum for our Rembrandt
and I am trembling for fear he might sell it.
Of course, I know that persons of our means
have no business owning such a rare etching but
I would so hate to part with it. Felix is something
of a speculator in such things, while I
have more the soul of the born collector.”
“I should think you would live in continual
fear of having your things snatched from you,”
said Elizabeth, wondering at her own cruelty in
making such a remark.
“I do,” said Hortense, sadly. “Why, Felix
is so keen on a trade that I shouldn’t be astonished
if he wanted sometime to sell my lovely
orchid pin.”
“Ah, but the ‘Pet’ engraved on the back
would keep him from doing that,” suggested
Billy, thinking what a mercenary brute the
husband must be.
“Oh, but that could be taken off,” said Elizabeth
with an air of childlike innocence. “We
had some marks taken off some silver one time.
It was the initials of a person who had married
into my father’s family and had her initials put
on an old family tea service. She had no right
to the service and the service was ruined in our
eyes by the addition of her initials. Of course,
it meant some of the thickness of the silver had
to be sacrificed to get rid of the engraving and
there is almost a concavity where there used to
be a convexity, but we prefer that to the initials
of the interloper.”
“Oh, please don’t tell my husband such a
thing could be done,” was Hortense’s playful
rejoinder. “He would surely get some of the
eraser and take off the ‘Pet.’ Of course, this
little pin is very valuable as a work of art and
I shouldn’t object if we get really hard up. I
have never been an unreasonable wife, and we
have had our ups and downs.”
“You might write to your friend Mr.
Thomas,” Elizabeth suggested to Billy, “and
tell him there is a chance for him to buy the
duplicate of the pin his wife lost.” Elizabeth well
understood she was teasing Mrs. Markle, but
could not resist doing it, feeling assured that she
was supposed to be unconscious of so doing.
“Don’t do it! Please don’t do it!” begged
Hortense, plainly alarmed. “If this Mr. Thomas
hears of this pin he might make a bid for it and
Felix is almost sure to take him up, although it
does belong to me. I couldn’t bear to part with
my beautiful pin. It has such wonderful associations.
You see, Felix gave it to me in our
early married life when everything was quite
different.” This, of course, was for Billy’s
benefit and he looked sad and promised he
would not write to his friend.
Hortense looked daggers at Elizabeth, who
began to feel that she was regarded as being a
bit catty, the expression that she had so recently
used to describe Hortense.
“No doubt I am,” Elizabeth said to herself,
“but I couldn’t resist it.” Aloud, she remarked
that she must be going. Mrs. Markle did not
urge her to remain. She found this girl Elizabeth
a little too inclined to suggest unpleasant
things. She was on the whole rather relieved
when Billy McGraw offered to take Elizabeth
home in his car. She wanted to get rid of both
callers and to see Felix alone and report to him
that things were getting a trifle warm.
“I am afraid my clever puss has been talking
too much,” suggested Mr. Markle, when his wife
told him of her having been asked to exhibit the
Rembrandt.
“Oh, I can’t think it. You see, one must be
natural and what more natural than to say one
has a Rembrandt if it is the case?”
“That’s so! We may be moving on soon,
Pet. Simpkins & Markle had a fine offer to-day
for a furnished apartment, and no questions
asked. This would be the very one and we could
take with us all the doubtful things and still
leave a costly enough place.”
“Not before the wedding, surely!” she
exclaimed.
“Well, hardly, when my wife is to be matron
of honor! We will be here several months
longer. What is the date fixed!”
“June the twelfth! Must I give out that
there is a chance of our moving?”
“Not yet, but when you do, of course you
must be the abused young wife with the peculiar
and mercenary husband. That is a great stunt
of yours. I heard what you were saying to that
young ass of a McGraw.”
“Not jealous, are you?” she asked coyly.
“Not a bit! Just more in love with you than
ever. I don’t know what I’d do without such a
clever wife and such a stupid business partner.
Simpkins is duller than ever. He accepts everything
on its face value in the firm and assists me
in operating the business with never an idea in
his numskull that he is not conducting a perfectly
legitimate thing. Of course, we have a
lot of simple deals on that any real estate firm
might have and then we have this out of town
rental list that I attend to as much as possible.
Sometimes, though, it is up to him and he accepts
it with perfectly good grace. Specializing as we
do in elegantly furnished apartments brings in
a class of clients with whom he is unfamiliar and
they seem in a measure to overawe him into
extra stupidity.”
Dorfield and the neighboring towns were suffering
from the after war congested conditions
quite as much as were the large cities. New
industries had sprung into existence, bringing
many strangers to settle in the towns. Building
was high and the cost of materials was increasing
every day. That was forcing up the price
of real estate and quite ordinary little apartments
were renting for fabulous sums. When
those apartments were furnished the supposed
value was doubled. And when they were furnished
elegantly the agents could go as far as
they liked in their demands upon the tenants.
Simpkins & Markle were doing a flourishing
business, specializing in small, elegantly furnished
apartments. They had branch offices in
all the neighboring towns, Mr. Markle being the
traveling member who kept in touch with the
branch offices.
These apartments were always let with the
greatest care as to the form of lease. The empty
apartment would be rented to a young couple
who would sign the lease and pay a month’s
rent in advance. Then their household goods
would arrive from some distant state and be
installed. Rugs, pictures, beautiful furniture of
all kinds, silver, china, table linen, etc. The
couple would live in the apartment for about a
month and then the young husband would report
at the real estate office that he had a raise, a
new job, a sick mother, or something and wanted
to sub-let his apartment, furnished. Of course,
the beautiful furnishings would double and
sometimes triple the value of the rooms and
Simpkins & Markle would reap a reward. Simpkins
would never be called upon to interview this
couple and would therefore never be struck with
its likeness to the couple before. He seemed
merely to see that the firm was doing well and
their kind of business was a lucrative one. He
stayed in Dorfield and kept the books and attended
to the old Dorfield business, which was
slow but steady, while his more active partner
attended to the furnished apartment rentals.
His was the duty to pass on to the distant young
couple the profits reaped by their contract in
sub-renting.
The unerring taste of Hortense was often
called in play to arrange the furniture in these
apartments. She could put a touch to them that
would add greatly to their value. Strangers,
warned beforehand of the difficulty of finding
any place to live and almost hopeless of obtaining
even a roof over their heads, would be carried
off their feet when shown these beautiful
rooms where Hortense had had her artistic will.
No price seemed too high for such a haven of
rest and beauty.
There can be little doubt in the minds of my
readers where this furniture came from. A
chain of burglars reaching from New York to
San Francisco were ever busy robbing any and
every house where they could make an entrance.
Then the spoils were carefully sorted and shifted
to far away points where detection was not
likely. Felix and Hortense Markle were head
and brains for this bold undertaking. They
worked under many aliases and sometimes appeared
as father and daughter, sometimes
brother and sister, sometimes they worked singly,
but usually they were husband and wife. They
were clever beyond the belief of ordinary mortals,
so clever that their existence was doubted
by some of the most astute and highly esteemed
detectives. O’Gorman had been on their track
and was in a fair way to come up with them
when the war broke out and he was compelled
to serve his country in other ways besides bringing
to justice a pair of the cleverest thieves he
confessed himself ever to have seen. He had
talked to Josie of his ambition and had given her
what information he possessed. This form of
real estate hoax was a new one with the Markles,
but their method was the one they had always
used, that of living in a respectable and decent
way and making friends with the best people in
the town where they hoped to get the most loot.
Sleepy Dorfield was a good place for their
machinations. There was a good deal of wealth
in town and the friendship of Mary Louise and
her grandfather was “open sesame” to the
society of Dorfield.
CHAPTER XVI A DINNER PARTY
There was some excitement in the Wright
family when Elizabeth came speeding home in
Billy McGraw’s stylish little racer. They had
grown accustomed if not resigned to the peculiarities
of this member of the family who insisted
upon working all day in a funny shop with
an unstylish little person, the daughter of a
policeman so they understood. Her only value
in their eyes was that she was a friend of Mary
Louise’s. As has been remarked before, that
fact went a long way in the opinion of Dorfield
towards establishing a person as worthy of being
cultivated.
Another thing that was reconciling the Wright
family somewhat to Elizabeth’s erratic mode of
life was that she had begun to put money in the
bank. This they were sure of, as one of the
sisters had had a peep in her bank book. The
shop was proving a financial success and in the
eyes of one’s family nothing succeeds like
monetary success.
And here was Elizabeth driving up in style in
the car of the young man conceded by all Dorfield
mothers and daughters to be the most desirable
catch in town. Next to catching him themselves
the sisters of Elizabeth would have liked
to have her catch him. The mother was perfectly
impartial as to which member of her family
should land such a large game fish.
“I don’t believe she even asked him in,”
declared Gertrude, peeping out the window.
“I am sure she didn’t,” agreed Annabel. “I
know he would have come in if she had asked him.
Elizabeth doesn’t know how to handle men at
all.”
“No, she is simply foolish the way she goes
to work,” said Pauline. “No man likes to be
cut so short. She just gave him a little nod and
came on in before he had even got back in his
car and started his engine. She’ll never win
out with such indifference.”
“I don’t know about that,” put in Margaret,
who loved to take the opposite view, “sometimes
the grand independent way is quite taking, especially
with a man like Billy McGraw, who has
been spoiled to death. How did you happen to
get a lift?” This to Elizabeth, who had just
entered the room.
“I met Billy at Mrs. Markle’s and he asked
to bring me home, as he was coming this way,”
said Elizabeth with as much sangfroid as she
could muster.
“I think I shall have the Markles and Mr.
McGraw to dinner soon,” said Mrs. Wright,
who had listened with half an ear to the conversation
of her daughters. “I have meant to
entertain them for some time and since they
are such friends of Billy McGraw’s it would be
agreeable to have them all come together.”
“I wouldn’t,” faltered Elizabeth. “You are
not called on to entertain them.”
“I fancy I am the best judge of that,” said
her mother sharply. “I should like to know
since when it has been necessary for one of my
daughters to dictate to me when I should and
should not entertain in my own house. You
say you have been calling at Mrs. Markle’s and
it seems quite fitting then that I should call on
her and invite her to dinner.”
“Don’t you like Mrs. Markle?” asked Margaret
curiously, noting with amusement that
Elizabeth had flushed painfully under her
mother’s tirade. Mrs. Wright’s tirades were
not usually looked upon very seriously by her
daughters.
“Why, I never thought much about it,” said
Elizabeth evasively.
“I fancy she is some beau grabber,” suggested
Pauline.
“Why did you call on her if you didn’t like
her?” asked Gertrude.
“Heavens above!” ejaculated Elizabeth.
“Perhaps I had some business to attend to—or
perhaps I didn’t,” remembering suddenly that
her business with Mrs. Markle was of a delicate
nature and not to be mentioned outside of the
bosom of the Higgledy-Piggledy.
“What business?” insisted Gertrude.
“The kind one gets rich attending to, my
own,” said Elizabeth. She knew she was rude,
but why couldn’t her family let her alone? She
had worked hard all day typing the novel for
the would-be author; writing an obituary notice
for a bereaved gentleman who had just lost his
fourth wife; and polishing up a paper for an
aspiring leader of a literary club. She was tired
now and would have liked to go to her room
and be quiet for a few moments. How different
life was at the shop! There everybody was busy
and nobody had time to be poking her nose in
everybody’s business.
“I fancy your business was running after
Billy McGraw,” continued Gertrude. Since rudeness
was the order of the day, she was fully
capable of doing her share to keep the ball
rolling.
Elizabeth’s inclination was to answer with increased
acrimony but she thought better of it
and merely left the room, even refraining from
slamming the door, which was always a good
way to get the last word in an argument in the
Wright household.
“Why, why, can’t they let me alone?” she
asked herself when she got to the room which
she shared with Margaret. She vaguely wished
she had kept her temper and not been so quick
to take it for granted that her sisters were
interfering.
“They are so idle is the reason they ask so
many questions, I am sure,” she argued with
herself. “I should feel sorry for them because
they don’t know what fun it is to be busy. I’m
going to try to be nicer and bring home something
in the way of news that will be helpful to
them instead of flying off the handle the way I
did. I do wish though that Mother wouldn’t
entertain the Markles. Of course, she is doing
it to encourage Billy McGraw. Mother’s methods
are too apparent for him who runs not to
read. Only suppose the Markles come and find
things here they want.” Here Elizabeth had to
giggle a bit to herself. “They might go off with
Father’s first editions and the great-grandfather
forks, to say nothing of the silver slop basin in
which George Washington is supposed to have
drunk his toddy. What am I to do? I shouldn’t
let Mother entertain such persons, but there is
no stopping her short of divulging my real
reason for not having them and that would be
queering Josie’s game. Well, maybe it will teach
Mother a lesson. Of course if anything does
happen they will blame me for being the one to
introduce them to such persons.”
The outcome was that the Wrights did entertain
the Markles and Billy McGraw on the same
evening, although Elizabeth put in one more
earnest protest which had no more effect than
to raise the ire of her mother and sisters, who
declared she was a dog in the manger. Evidently
she did not want Billy McGraw herself, but she
didn’t want any of her sisters to have him.
“He is taken with you, anyone can see with
half an eye,” declared Gertrude. “But you treat
him just as though he were any ordinary young
man—”
“Isn’t he?” asked Elizabeth.
“Pooh! You know he is a cut above the
others with all that money.”
The dinner party proved a success in spite of
Elizabeth’s embarrassment. The poor girl felt
that the evening would never end. The Wrights
knew how to entertain and nobody in Dorfield
could give a better dinner than Mrs. Wright;
the daughters were handsome and could be agreeable;
Mr. and Mrs. Markle had a social gift and
easy manners that insured a light, pleasant conversation
wherever they were invited.
Elizabeth almost had hysterics when she saw
her father leading Mr. Markle into his sanctum
sanctorum to show him his rare first editions,
his autographed copies, etc. Mrs. Markle was
delighted with the Boydell plates from Shakespeare
and the portfolio of Hogarth’s drawings
handed down from an ancestor, who also collected.
“And this is the silver service you spoke of,”
she said to Elizabeth. “See, Felix, this old
service was marked and Mrs. Wright had the
initials removed. Isn’t that wonderful?” she
said naïvely to her husband. “I wonder how
they do it. It is a wonderful piece of silver.
Only feel how heavy! And look at those brass
candlesticks! Heavens, Mrs. Wright! Those
candlesticks are worth more than their weight in
gold. They are of a rare and wonderful design.
Surely you don’t go off to the beach and leave
such treasures unprotected?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Wright, delighted that
her guest was so appreciative of the heirlooms.
“We have never had any burglaries in Dorfield,
at least none for years to amount to anything.
Of course, as a rule, we take the silver
with us.”
“Oh, of course,” said Hortense, and Elizabeth
listened for the disappointed note she felt
was surely in her voice.
“We either take it with us or hide it somewhere
in the house,” continued Mrs. Wright.
“This heavy service I usually hide in first one
place and then another. Sometimes I hide
things so well I can’t find them myself. The
tops of wardrobes are famous places. Nobody
ever thinks of looking for things there.”
“Of course, nobody would,” commented Hortense.
“I am to begin tomorrow to pack up for the
summer,” went on Mrs. Wright, rather pleased
that this young woman was so attentive. “You
see, we are to go to the lake just as soon as Mary
Louise’s wedding is over. That is quite soon
now. To-morrow I send the servants out to the
lake house to get it ready for us. It makes it
rather inconvenient for us, but it is only for a
few days and then it is nice when we get there
to have everything in such perfect order.”
“All of you will go to the wedding?” asked
Hortense.
“Oh, yes, Mary Louise has invited the entire
family. It was no less than she could do since
Elizabeth is one of the bridesmaids. Mr. Wright
is not inclined to accept invitations, but we have
persuaded him to go to this wedding, since it is
really the event of the year. Of course, the girls
and I would not miss it for anything.”
Elizabeth was glad when the evening was over.
It embarrassed her to see the way in which her
mother and sisters made up to Billy McGraw
and the warmer their manners became the colder
grew her own towards that young man, who
could not understand what he had done to merit
her disapproval. The more distant she became
the closer he tried to come. He forgot to look
at the beautiful Mrs. Markle in his endeavor to
make Elizabeth smile on him.
CHAPTER XVII ANOTHER VISIT TO THE CHIEF
Felix Markle was at the very top of his profession.
A man of rare culture and natural
refinement and of indomitable will and courage,
he might have made a name for himself in any
walk of life he had chosen to follow. It was a
pity that so much that was fine in him should
have gone to make a master thief instead of the
noble leader he might have been.
The possession of Detective O’Gorman’s notebook
was of the greatest importance to him.
The deciphering of it would tell exactly how
much the secret service knew concerning him
and his accomplices. How much was known concerning
his aliases and if his wife was suspected
or had been at any time.
He was determined to protect her at any cost,
but everything was going so well he could see
no reason to doubt that they could go on with
their clever schemes indefinitely. Every now
and then one of the supposed owners of the
elegantly furnished apartments determined to
have a sale and then large sums would be realized
on the stolen treasures. The firm of Simpkins
& Markle would handle the sale, taking out
their commission and Markle would have the
part of seeing that the fictitious owners got their
share of the profits. All transactions appeared
on the books of the real estate firm and any
expert examiner of those books would have pronounced
everything to be in perfect form and
order.
Josie O’Gorman had hoped to keep up with
the case unaided by mere man, but things were
getting too much for her. She began to lose
sleep going over and over how best she could
trap the persons of whose dishonesty she was
assured. Her idea was not to spring the trap
too soon for fear she might lose some of the
principal offenders. After many sleepless nights,
she determined to take Chief Charley Lonsdale
into her confidence and ask for his support.
On this visit she found the man at the door
awake and taking notice.
“You can’t see the chief,” he announced decisively,
looking at Josie as though she were
thin air. “He’s that busy he says he can’t see
a soul. If you are after making a complaint
about a neighbor’s hens? or the like, there’s a
man at the desk for such business.”
Josie’s eyes took on the dull look she loved to
assume when there was important business on
hand.
“It’s worse than hens—it’s tigers!” she
exclaimed. “A man at the desk can’t attend to
tigers. I must see the chief.”
The astonished man let her pass. Of course
tigers were a little too important for a small man
like the one at the desk to cope with.
The chief was alone and busy looking over
some papers. A worried frown was on his
brow. He looked up a moment after Josie
entered.
“Ah, the little O’Gorman! Nothing doing, I
fancy, and you have come for help.”
“I have come for help but not because there
is nothing doing. I could handle that situation
alone,” replied Josie in a cool drawl that was
ludicrously like the tone her father had used
and it made Chief Lonsdale smile. “There is
so much doing that I have had to come for help.
I hate to do it, as I’d like the glory along with
the work, but I can’t let the whole school of fish
escape just so I can have the honor of landing
the biggest one of the lot. Father used to say
that a detective must first consider his duty to
society; that is, to get the wrong-doers caught,
never mind who does the catching.”
“Humph! I wish there were more of his way
of thinking. Now tell us all about it.”
Josie sat down and unfolded her tale from the
beginning. She made the man’s eyes wide with
astonishment when she told of the Markles’ entrance
into her shop and the purloining of the
notebook. He laughed delightedly over what
Markle was spending so much time trying to
master.
“The Hound of Heaven!” he cried. “That
sounds like good stuff. And who is this young
newspaper chap who has drawn the blank? Does
he know it yet?”
“He has been very busy and has not yet
opened the book,” explained Josie. “I have
seen him once and he tells me he has it in his
breast pocket and is waiting for an evening off
when he intends to untie the hard knot of the
ribbon and then try to unravel the cipher. I
was sorry not to put him on to the fake, but I
felt I had better not take anyone else into our
confidence just yet. I’ll set his mind at rest
when he finds it out, because, of course, he will
feel responsible for it. I am rather hoping Mrs.
Markle will be around when he lets me know
about it. I like to study her. She is a deep one,
for sure.
“Of course,” she continued, “up to this time
we have nothing to go upon but suspicion, except
that they came in and purloined the notebook.
The fact that Mr. McGraw’s friends in New
York lost an enamel pin and all their etchings
and rugs, etc., and that Mrs. Markle has a pin
like the one lost is no proof, but link by link the
chain is being forged and, in my own mind, I am
sure of them. Of course, I overheard their talk
when they were in my shop, and that is enough
to settle the matter for me, but it wouldn’t
amount to much as evidence. Not even the fact
that former initials had been cut out of the napkins
would count for much.”
“Well, now, what do you advise?” asked the
chief, quite humbly. This girl’s level-headed
ingenuity amazed him.
“I advise a very circumspect supervision of
the real estate firm of Simpkins & Markle first,”
said Josie. “If by hook or crook one could get
hold of their books and see where they have
done business lately. Do you know Simpkins?”
“Yes, went to school with him—a man of no
imagination and perfect honesty—dull though—dull.”
“Any means?”
“Doing well—very well—so I am told,
especially since he has gone into partnership
with this Markle.”
“You see, if we could get some idea of where
their business is located we could spread nets all
around and catch the whole bunch of confederates.
Have you someone you can trust not to
bungle?” Josie looked so solemn and so young
the chief had to smile behind his papers.
“Perhaps!” and then the man and the girl
put their heads together and step by step traced
out their strategic plans.
“I hope the ax won’t drop until after Mary
Louise is married and off on her wedding trip,”
sighed Josie. “Poor Mary Louise is always
getting mixed up in other persons’ villainies.”
“Yes, if we could only warn her of the perfidy
of this new friend. Don’t you think we might?”
asked the chief, who was as fond of Mary Louise
as though she had been his own daughter.
“Never! In the first place, she wouldn’t believe
any tales about her dear Hortense, and in
the second, she would queer our game by trying
to get her off if she was convinced of her being
a criminal. Mary Louise is not of the stern stuff
that you and I are made of, Chief.”
“Well, I only hope they won’t be trying any
of their monkey tricks at her wedding,” laughed
the man. “But they would hardly do that.
Anyhow, we must be prepared and, of course, our
object is to catch them redhanded. I may have
to send to New York for assistance, but I
promise you that no matter what help I get, you
are the boss of this job.”
“I wish I had been born triplets,” sighed
Josie. “I’d like to run on to New York and
have a personal interview with this friend of
Billy McGraw’s named Thomas who had his
stuff all lifted—as it is, I think you had better
put some man on the job who can fix it up with
him to be in Dorfield in the next few days, or
immediately after the wedding, so he can identify
his goods. I have an idea most of his things are
right here in the Markle apartment. Of course,
he must not let on to McGraw that he is coming
or he will queer the whole thing by mentioning
to Hortense Markle that he is expecting his
friend and she will see to it that all traces are
removed. She is slick as slick can be and has
that young fellow guessing, not that he is in love
with her, but just fascinated by her big eyes and
her confiding girlish manner. My opinion is that
she is madly in love with that scamp of a husband
but she leads these rich young men on just
to fleece them.”
“Yes, I know the type,” put in the chief.
The young girl and the old man were agreed
that they would try to hold off until after their
dear Mary Louise was married and started on
her wedding trip, then they would close in around
the Markles and their confederates and have the
matter all settled before Danny and his bride
should return from their honeymoon.
“Nothing must come up to cloud the girl’s
happiness,” said Josie, and the chief said:
“Amen!”
CHAPTER XVIII BOB DULANEY RETURNS THE NOTEBOOK
The next day the shop was doing a thriving
business. Josie was busily engaged in hunting
up information concerning the best method to
pursue when contemplating taking a donkey
trip through Spain for a middle aged lady who
had saved money for the venture and was determined
to have the trip in spite of discouraging
friends; Elizabeth was touching up a club paper
on extra foraneous ornamentation; and Irene,
who had been sent for in a hurry to do some
smocking, had just wheeled herself from the
dumb-waiter, produced her thimble and gone to
work.
Hortense Markle came into the shop looking,
as usual, fresh as the dawn and her eyes sparkling
like dew drops. Josie looked at her almost
pityingly. It seemed so sad to her that anyone
who looked so charming could be so wicked.
“I have brought some trifling little gew-gaws
that Felix and I have picked up at various times
in our travels, thinking you young merchants
might have some sale for them. They are of no
great value, but there is no use in keeping such
things around the house when one no longer
cares for them,” she said, opening a package she
carried. “Would you care to try to sell them?”
“Sure, we would,” answered Josie. “We
are expecting to go into that kind of business a
good deal. Are the things antiques?”
“Some of them! Here is a cameo brooch that
is really quite pretty, but I am not the cameo
brooch type. I can’t imagine what made Felix
take—buy—such a thing.” Josie noticed the
little slip but her expressionless face gave no
clue to her thoughts. “Here is a chain, quite
pretty, and a locket too.”
There were various trinkets, all of them accepted
by the girls and a price agreed upon for
them. They were to receive a commission on the
sales.
“I have some rugs too that we don’t want,”
continued Hortense. “Would you like them?
Perhaps you might buy them outright and make
quite a pretty penny on them.”
“Send them around and we will see about it,”
said Josie. “Are they handsome?”
“Yes, quite fine! Felix thinks they are prettier
than the ones we are using but I have a
fancy for the old ones to which I have grown
accustomed.”
Irene and Elizabeth listened to the above conversation
with feelings of mingled astonishment
and amusement. Life for those girls was very
interesting during the days while the net was
slowly closing around the unconscious Markles.
They could not help feeling sorry for them, but
at the same time disgust at Hortense’s perfidy
was uppermost in the minds of the girls who had
led quiet sheltered lives themselves.
“Tell me, Miss O’Gorman, has young Mr.
Dulaney ever brought back your father’s notebook,
and could he make head or tail of the pot-hooks?”
asked Hortense, pretending to be very
nonchalant.
“No, not yet, but he was to get to it last
evening,” answered Josie. “But here he is
now.”
Bob Dulaney came in the shop looking
decidedly perturbed.
“Oh, Miss O’Gorman, I am worried stiff,” he
cried, taking in the other occupants with a general
bow. “I can’t bear to meet you, but I
must have it over with. Do you know something
has happened to the book you lent me, your
father’s notebook, I mean. I have not had it
out of my possession since you handed it to me,
in my breast pocket all the time and when my
coat was not on my back it was hanging on a
chair by my bed. I have not had time to open
the little book until last night. Then I untied the
hard knot of the ribbons and found the book
filled with nothing but blank pages. I can’t
account for it. Certainly when you showed it to
us when you moved in, it had ciphered notes in
it. I remember well that you untied the strings
and the pages were covered close with hieroglyphics.
You put it back on the shelves tightly
tied up and I fancy it had not been opened since.
In fact, I think you said it had not when you lent
it to me.”
It was difficult for Josie to pretend to the perturbed
young man, but she felt she must keep
up the farce before the watchful Hortense. She
devoutly hoped Irene and Elizabeth could hold
on to themselves. She could plainly see they
were excited and that Irene was filled with pity
for poor Bob.
“It is too bad,” said Josie with as cold a
voice as she could muster. “I should not have
let the book get out of my possession. Of course,
I don’t know myself what was in it, never having
had time to dig out the meaning since my
father died, but I understood from him that the
information in it would be of the greatest value
for the secret service.”
“I know it—but oh, Miss O’Gorman, I can’t
tell you how I feel about it. I’m so miserable.
I’m going to see a detective about it immediately.
I don’t see how it happened, or who could have
known even that I had it. Could it have been
done before I took it?”
“Well, hardly,” spoke up Hortense with something
of a sneer. “I was here when Miss O’Gorman
gave it to you and she remarked at the
time that—”
“Well, there is no use in crying over spilt
milk, as my father used to say,” interrupted
Josie. “I have learned a lesson and that is
perhaps as worth while as the information detectives
may have gained from the book—that
is, not to lend too promiscuously.”
Irene turned away her face. She felt so sorry
for Bob she could not bear to look at him. She
felt Josie was carrying the thing too far, but she
knew she must keep out of the discussion. If
she could only let Bob know that she trusted him.
“I am so sorry! That is all I can say,” and
Bob turned to go. “Good-by, all of you. I
fancy you won’t want to see me in your shop
any more.”
“Oh, well, we may have to see you to try and
clear up this matter,” said Josie, brusquely. She
followed him to the door and out into the hall.
Her manner suddenly changed.
“Shh!” she warned. “It is all right. Don’t
worry a minute. I have the notes all safe. You
must forgive me for being so rude. Don’t ask
any questions now but come back in a few
minutes. Wait across the street until you see
Mrs. Markle is gone, or better still, go to the
back of the house and come up in the elevator
and wait there until she is out of the house. We
need your help. Understand?”
“No, but it is all right if you say so,” was
Bob’s relieved reply.
“Well, young man, you come back here as
soon as the coast is clear and, if you are sharp,
you are going to assist in the biggest haul of
fourflushers of this century. Also, you are going
to get the scoop of your life for your paper.
But don’t move without letting me know.” With
that Josie turned back the collar of her middy
blouse and disclosed a badge that made Bob
whistle.
The young man carried down those old stairs a
much lighter heart than he had carried up.
“Who would have thought it?” he muttered.
“A chip of the old block, that’s sure—but what
has the beautiful Mrs. Markle to do with it?
Gee! But life is interesting!”
When Josie went back in the shop, Hortense
began with a bitter invective against Bob Dulaney.
Of course, he had purloined the notes. He
very well knew their value and was simply trying
to pull the wool over Josie’s eyes. Empty and
blank papers indeed! She had seen the sheets
all covered with notes with her own eyes and
had seen Josie tie the ribbons around the little
book in the hardest kind of a knot. Dulaney had
simply sold them to some collector. For her
part she had no faith in him. Why didn’t Josie
send for the police? Josie told her perhaps she
would but, after all, she doubted the papers being
so very valuable. She only prized them for sentimental
reasons. Irene sat like a frozen girl
during the conversation. She longed for Hortense
to go, which she did soon, and then Bob
came whizzing up in the dumb-waiter and there
was general rejoicing in the Higgledy-Piggledy
Shop.
“We must lie very low and keep very quiet,”
warned Josie. “Remember we are all novices
and dealing with hardened criminals. We must
not make the mistake the Markles are making
in underestimating the intelligence of our opponents.
Father always said to give the enemy
credit for having more sense and ingenuity than
you possess yourself and try to make up for
your possible lack by eternal vigilance. Do you
realize, Elizabeth, that our shop has been drawn
into this net, that we are receivers of stolen
goods? Every one of these trinkets has been
stolen, also the rugs she is to send up on approval.
Of course, she hopes we will buy them
outright and hand over the money in case she
and her rascally husband may have to vamoose
in a hurry. We will keep her waiting for a few
days, eh, partner Elizabeth?”
CHAPTER XIX THE WEDDING
The twelfth of June was just such a day as it
should have been for the wedding day of the
lovely Mary Louise and her darling Danny
Dexter. The weather is always an important
factor for a successful undertaking of any kind,
but a stormy wedding day is something we cannot
forgive the weather man. It was especially
important that the sun should shine, but not too
hotly, and the breezes should be soft and gentle
for this wedding, since it was to be staged out
of doors.
“And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten.”
That twelfth of June was just such a day as
Lowell describes in his immortal poem. Everybody
was happy, even Grandpa Jim, since his
beloved child was not really being taken from
him. He was merely being presented with a
grandson-in-law who would but add to the joy
of his declining years. The wedding trip was to
take Mary Louise away for only two weeks and
Irene was to stay with him until Mr. and Mrs.
Danny Dexter should return.
The ceremony was to be at high noon, followed
by a wedding breakfast, the splendor and lavishness
of which was to be the talk of Dorfield for
days to come. Colonel Hathaway was not inclined
to show, but the marriage of this dear
grandchild was of paramount importance to the
old man and he felt that nothing must be left
undone to make this wedding breakfast perfect.
The list of guests had grown, as such lists always
do grow, and to the dear friends and intimates
were gradually added the new acquaintances of
grandfather and granddaughter. It was difficult
to draw the line, since both old man and young
girl had such kindly feelings for everybody in
Dorfield and everybody surely loved them.
“Why draw the line, since it is so difficult?”
Grandpa Jim had remarked. “If there is any
doubt about whether we should or shouldn’t ask
anybody, for goodness’ sake let’s ask them. It
is better to err on that side of the ledger.” And
so the invitation ended by being general, much
to the delight and satisfaction of Dorfield. Mrs.
Wright, after all, might have spared herself her
trouble of maneuvering for invitations for her
daughters.
The bridesmaids had arrived. They looked
very like the bunches of sweet peas they were to
carry. As for the bride, no lily of the field could
have been fairer.
“Her angel face as the great eye of Heaven shone bright
And made a sunshine in a shady place.
Did ever mortal eye behold such heavenly grace?”
quoted Elizabeth in a whisper to Josie. Josie
had refused to be a bridesmaid, but was with
them upstairs where they were waiting for the
hour to strike. “I do wish Irene could see you
now,” she said to Mary Louise.
“Where is she, the dear girl? I’ll run down
and speak to her before the people all come.”
“You could hardly do that, honey, as Irene
is already out on the lawn. She has wheeled
her chair to the spot where we decided she must
sit so she can be part of the ceremony, as it
were.”
“Here I am!” cried Hortense Markle tripping
into the room. “I was so afraid you
would worry about my not getting here in time.
I am a wee bit late, but dear Felix is ill and I
could not leave him before.”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Mary Louise. “Is
he in bed?”
“No, he is sitting up with his dressing gown
wrapped around him. It is just one of those
miserable neuralgic attacks he is subject to, but
it completely lays him out, poor fellow. He is
so sorry not to come to the wedding. In fact,
up to the last minute, he hoped he would be able
to control the wretched headache and come anyhow,
but he finally had to give up. I gave him
a huge dose of aspirin. I really hated to leave
him but, of course, I could not be absent from
such a post of honor at such a time. The matron
of honor is almost as necessary to a bride as
the groom himself. But how beautiful you are,
my dear Mary Louise! And the girls! They are
wonderful. I am almost sorry I am to be in the
picture, I want so much to see it.”
Hortense herself was as beautiful as could be.
Her dress of the palest grey made over iridescent
silk was perfect and her glowing beauty
shone in a manner that Elizabeth thought of as
being almost diabolical in its lure.
“I am sorry I know what she is,” Elizabeth
whispered to Josie. “I can’t enjoy her beauty
as I should like to, knowing as I do what a thing
she is.”
“Well, keep up a face, anyhow,” admonished
Josie. “I am expecting trouble. I hope it
won’t go wrong.”
“I promised to telephone Felix just before
the ceremony,” said Hortense. “He says he
wants to picture us as we go through the yew
hedge. He is really quite sentimental about this
wedding, dear Mary Louise. You are a prime
favorite with him and he thinks great things of
your Danny.”
At last the hour struck! It was time for the
start. The guests had gathered on the lawn.
It was hard for some of them to tear themselves
away from the room where the wedding presents
were placed. Such wedding presents! Cases of
silver of every known pattern and device! Cut
glass and fine china! Wonderful rugs and
tapestries! Rare etchings and prints! Linen
fine enough for a king’s ransom! All of these
things were in a little room downstairs that connected
Grandpa Jim’s bedroom and the living
room. This room Mary Louise had always used
as an extra sitting room where she could take
her intimates. It had been cleared of furniture
for the occasion and tables brought in to hold all
the beautiful presents. Some of the more curious
guests wanted to linger and read every card
and look at the bottom of every piece of silver
to see if, by chance, anyone could have sent
anything not marked sterling; but when the
rumor went forth that the bridal procession was
ready to start, the curious ones hastened for
the terraces. Hortense telephoned to her husband
a moment before they left the house.
“We are ready, dear,” she said in the phone
in Mary Louise’s room, “Just starting! You
may think of us in five minutes now as being in
the midst of the ceremony. I hope your dear
head is better. Oh, I am so sorry! Go to bed
dear!”
Josie watched every movement of the matron
of honor. Nothing escaped the little detective.
It was easy to see that Hortense was filled with
an excitement that merely being matron of honor
did not warrant. Her eyes were sparkling and
her cheeks were flushed. Her beauty glowed like
a ruby. Occasionally, Josie noticed she stood
still for a moment in an attitude of listening.
Josie listened too up to the moment the bridal
party came through the yew hedge and made its
way to the spot on the greensward where the
minister awaited. Then for a moment, she forgot
everything but the fact that Mary Louise,
her dear little friend, was being united to her
Danny in the holy bonds of matrimony in sickness
and in health until death would them part.
Of course, the servants came out to the side of
the house to see their little mistress married.
Even the caterers who had begun to swarm in
and out of the place left their work and joined
the house servants. Mary Louise was a favorite
with everybody and this was not the first time
those caterers had been called to Colonel Hathaway’s
to serve, for the old gentleman was a
famous entertainer and many had been the parties
given by him to his granddaughter. The
great house was empty. Everybody was in the
garden thrilled by the beautiful and picturesque
sight of the wedding.
As the procession came through the yew hedge
a small automobile truck was driven up the alley.
It stopped at the Hathaways’ back gate and two
men got out, each one with a trunk slung over
his back. Quietly they made their way through
the deserted kitchen and butler’s pantry and into
the small room where the presents were on display.
They closed the doors to this room and
then with remarkable dispatch proceeded to pack
the presents in the trunks filled with excelsior,
first the silver which they took from the cases,
thereby economizing space, and then the cut glass
wrapped in the fine linen and tapestries and
packed between the folds of the rugs. Such
clever packers were never seen. They seemed to
have an instinct for fitting an article in a space.
The trunks were filled in a twinkling and then
the men carried them out one at a time, and
quietly and easily lifted them into the truck. Just
as the minister pronounced Danny and Mary
Louise man and wife and warned the guests that
whom God had united let no man put asunder,
the truck started up the alley.
“Well, we got off there all safe,” laughed one
of the men. “I must say you are the cleverest
ever. Of course, you have your wife to help
you plan a thing like this.” The man who was
thus blessed was no other than Felix Markle,
who seemed to have shaken off his headache
remarkably quickly and have got to the Hathaways
in time for the ceremony after all.
“Yes, she is a wonder. I’d like to know if the
others got the things from the Wrights. I hope
they didn’t fill up with useless plunder. The
Wrights are off to the beach tomorrow and they
won’t know a thing about their treasures being
lifted until they come back in the fall. There
they are!”
The truck was met at the corner by one similar
also carrying trunks and run by two men.
“All safe?” called Markle.
“As easy as shootin’!” was the answer.
“Not a soul around and back windows all unlatched.
We found the silver on top the wardrobe
and brought along all the books you named
to us. We picked up some rugs too, all nicely
packed in moth balls and two fur coats.”
“Well, we’d best be off now. You have the
address all right, eh? Mark your tag clearly and
bring me your check tomorrow at my office.
Good boys!”
The trucks then separated, the one Markle
was in making at a goodly speed for a small
town about fifteen miles from Dorfield, the other
one going to the Dorfield station.
Josie, whose eye was ever on Hortense, noticed
the woman was a little distrait at the close of
the ceremony. Just as the benediction was pronounced
instead of casting down her eyes she
seemed unable to keep her eyes from the back
of the garden, even stooping a little to peer
through a gap in the hedge. What could she be
interested in?
Congratulations in order! Everybody kissing
the bride and shaking hands with the bridegroom,
some of them even kissing him. Josie
slipped through the crowd and whispered something
to Bob Dulaney.
“A truck you say drove up during the ceremony?”
“Yes, and it is off now, but we can keep up
with it. The chief is having all the stations
watched. Have you your disguise?”
“Sure! And you?”
“Mine is in my pocket, so come along.”
CHAPTER XX THE RIDE TO SOMERVILLE
They made their way to the garage, where
there was a motorcycle with a side car attached.
Josie darted behind the Colonel’s big touring car
and in a moment came out as good a little boy
as one could wish. She had simply stepped out
of her dress, having the boy’s clothes on underneath.
Then she put on a pair of big automobile
goggles and, pulling a cap down over her
sandy hair, made the disguise perfect. Bob put
on over his wedding garment a black alpaca
dress of goodly proportions, since he was a broad
shouldered, powerful youth. Across his manly
bosom he folded a spotless white kerchief and
under his chin he tied the strings of a huge
black satin quilted sunbonnet, first fitting over
his smooth brown head a wig composed of many
water waves, the kind beloved by a certain type
of female.
“All right but your shoes and they are awful,”
complained Josie. “I thought you would forget
them and brought these. Father always said
your feet would give you away quicker than anything
else.” Josie produced from the side car
a huge pair of list slippers which Bob was loath
to put on but which he did, knowing the girl
was right. The patent leathers he had on were
hardly in keeping with the bombazine dress and
the quilted satin bonnet. He surveyed himself
with interest, twisting to see his back.
“Put your shoes and hat in your grip, Auntie,
and then we are off.” She handed the young man
a lumpy, bumpy grip known as a telescope. He
climbed into the side car, Josie mounted the
motorcycle and in a jiffy they were off, making
the usual splutteration of those noisy modes of
locomotion.
“The chief is to attend to the station at Dorfield
and we are to follow the truck, which is
more than likely going over to Somerville. If it
goes beyond there we will go beyond also. Of
course, you realize the reason we don’t nab the
fellows right now is that we are anxious to get
the whole bunch and if we can keep up with
where these trunks are to be sent we can more
than likely get many more of the gang in our
net,” explained Josie, putting on more speed as
she saw the rear end of a truck making for the
open road on the way to Somerville.
“Now I am to hang around and find out where
Markle ships the trunks and then I am to find
out what the number of the checks is and report
to the chief. Is that it?”
“Exactly! You are such a fussy old lady
and so full of curiosity, Auntie.”
“Are you going to let the trunks go off?”
asked Auntie anxiously.
“We may have to. Then the persons who
apply for them at the other end will be nabbed.
Of course, Markle will buy tickets and check the
trunks and mail the checks to his confederates.
More than likely, he will not get on the train
himself but just pretend he is going to. I fancy
poor old Markle will wish he had taken the train
to-night. He may be near the end of his rope.
I can’t help feeling kind of sorry for the poor
devil.” Josie sighed a little. “Father always
felt sorry for the criminals. One can’t help it.
He used to say they had just as much feeling
as we had and because they had gone wrong did
not alter the fact that they had been cunning
little babies once and their mothers had no doubt
loved them. Perhaps they loved them so much
they did not spank them enough and that is the
reason they turned out so badly.”
Bob laughed in a voice not at all suitable for a
respectable auntie and was admonished by her
critical nephew. They soon caught up with the
truck and kept a few hundred feet behind them.
“What is that coming up behind us?” Markle
asked his companion.
“Nothing but one of those Indians with a side
car carrying an old woman and a little boy. I
tell you we made a safe getaway and these trunks
will be on the Eastern express bound for the
metropolis before the wedding guests have sat
down to their paté de fois gras.”
It went off quite as Josie had planned. Markle,
quietly and in a businesslike manner, bought
two tickets to New York as soon as he reached
the bustling little station at Somerville, after
lifting out the heavy trunks. Josie and her
fictitious auntie were near him and heard him
ask for the tickets and demand checks for his
baggage.
“I’ll get your tickets, Auntie, while you go
’round to the baggage room and see if your
trunk has come,” suggested Josie in an audible
tone and a manner of a small nephew who was
more or less wearied by his female relatives.
“But maybe I’d better not buy your ticket until
you see whether it is there or not, ’cause I know
you won’t get on the train without it. You women
won’t go on trips without your duds.”
Bob flounced off with all the dignity he could
muster, managing his bombazine with surprising
grace. Markle and his companion paid no
attention whatsoever to the boy and the old
woman, but went on to the baggage room, where
they personally superintended putting the checks
on their trunks. It took but a moment for
Auntie to poke around the piled up trunks in
her diligent search for her own dream luggage
and take the numbers of the checks.
“Can’t you find it?” asked Josie. “They
promised to get it here in time. I don’t see why
you don’t go on without it.” But Auntie decided
she would wait until the next train. Her decision
was made in a husky whine that astonished
Josie, for it sounded so exactly like that of a
peevish old woman.
Josie watched Markle from the corner of her
begoggled eyes. He took from his pocket a
stamped, addressed envelope and carefully placed
therein the trunk checks; then he sealed it and
dropped it in the mail box on the platform.
Josie noted a special delivery stamp on it.
“See that those two trunks go on this express,”
he said to the baggage master, who was
busy sorting luggage for the train that was due
in ten minutes. “I will take the next train myself
but a drummer likes to find his wares waiting
for him at his destination instead of having to
wait for them. They are fairly heavy trunks—would
you like a lift?” He was handing out
good cigars as he spoke, one to the baggage
master and one to the porter, whom he tipped
generously. “Have another,” he said to the
baggage master, taking out several more cigars.
The men moved with alacrity, pulling out the
two heavy trunks first, determined that the
generous donor of cigars and tips should be
well served.
“Now we’ll be going,” Markle said to his
companion.
Josie darted into the one telephone booth the
small station boasted and quickly had Chief
Lonsdale on the wire. The chief had been
unable to attend the wedding because of this
business.
“Chief, this is O’Gorman! Markle and his
pal are just leaving Somerville. The trunks are
filled with loot from the wedding. We have the
check numbers. Trunks are checked to go on
this outgoing express to New York. I’ll stop
them, of course.”
“Certainly, O’Gorman!”
“Are the men ready to seize Markle before he
gets back into Dorfield?”
“All ready!”
“Are they using my plan?”
“Sure! Didn’t I tell you this was your
case?”
“Good by, then! Will see you later.”
The truck with Markle and his companion was
moving off when Josie finished telephoning. She
ran breathless into the baggage room and accosted
the man in charge:
“Say, you know that gentleman who left two
trunks here to be sent by this train—he says
not to send them yet. He believes he will have
them go when he goes. You know the ones—booked
for New York—No. 82-6573 and 82-6574.
Here they are on the platform.”
“All right, Bo! I’ll cart them back in the
baggage room,” agreed the baggage master. He
patted the cigars in his vest pocket as much as
to say that the gentleman deserved anything at
his hands.
Auntie was already comfortably ensconced in
the side car keeping her eye on the disappearing
truck. Josie jumped into the saddle and they
started off.
“There is liable to be something doing pretty
soon,” Josie confided to Bob. “Would you
rather meet it as my aunt or get back into your
own character?”
“You mean a rumpus on the road?”
“Yes! Chief Lonsdale has sent out a force
to stop the gentlemen of the road.”
“Which character would be the most useful
for me to assume?” laughed Bob.
“Well, as a fussy old woman you might astonish
them somewhat with your superior strength
if that was needed.”
“Then a fussy old woman I shall remain.”
The road between Dorfield and Somerville was
smooth and well kept, except for a piece of about
one hundred yards midway between the towns.
This stretch of road had caused some bad feeling
between the citizens of the rival towns, each side
declaring it was up to the other to put in repair.
It was a low lying bit of country with a small
creek winding through it. At times this creek
went on a rampage and inundated the road and
when it returned to its channel it always left
a sticky gummy road bed, the terror of
automobilists.
It was an impossible place for two cars to
pass and, if they should meet, it was necessary
for one of the cars to back out and give the
other right of way. This, of course, was the
spot chosen by Josie as the proper place to stop
Markle and his companion. When she came
puffing up with her auntie she found her plans
being put to the test. The truck had been
stopped by a shabby Ford that seemed to have
come to grief. The four men who had been
traveling in it had alighted and were aimlessly
poking at the machinery. The accident had
occurred just around the bend and the truck
had come upon them unaware of its being there.
“What’s the matter?” called Markle impatiently.
“Can’t you give me room to pass?”
“Can’t budge her,” responded the chauffeur
dully. “She’s got some mysterious ailment that
I can’t fathom, but I ain’t much of a hand at a
car anyhow. Ain’t been running one for long.
If I could get her started I’d back out for you,
mister, seeing as you should have the right of
way, being as you are further in this here swamp
than me.”
“I’ll get out,” Markle said to his companion,
“and find out what ails them and let them back
out. It won’t do for us to lose too much time.”
It was plain to see that he was nervous and
impatient, but he held on to himself with wonderful
control. The men let him get to the car
and look it over.
“Out of gas!” he said with disgust. “Bring
over that can and let us fill her up,” he called to
his companion. Under the seat of the truck was
a five-gallon can of gasoline. Nobody could ever
place Felix Markle in the category of the foolish
virgins. He never found himself out of oil. The
man obeyed and just as he started to open the
can Josie and her auntie arrived on the scene.
CHAPTER XXI THE SURPRISING STRENGTH OF AUNTIE
At a signal from Josie, Markle and his companion
were grabbed from behind. The handcuffs
were on the companion in a twinkling but
with tiger-like agility and strength Markle
slipped from the grasp of the detectives. Without
a moment’s delay he sprang to the motorcycle,
seized Josie by the collar, pulled her from
the saddle and hurled her into the bushes by the
wayside. He was in the seat and had the
machine started before his would-be captors
could catch their breath.
“That’s what I get for trusting those stupid
men,” muttered Josie as she picked up her
bruised and scratched little body from the blackberry
bushes where Markle had so ignominiously
thrown her. “Thank God for Auntie!” she
devoutly added.
And now began one of the most exciting contests
ever beheld. Markle, of course ignorant of
who the passenger was in the side car and determined
to get rid of her at any cost, said:
“Now old woman, I don’t want to kill you,
but I will unless you do exactly what I say.
When we get a mile further on I am going to
stop this infernal machine and you are going to
get quietly out. Do you understand?”
The supposed old woman nodded. She began,
however, to unbutton the large white cotton
gloves confining her muscular hands and unknotted
the bonnet ribbon tied under her chin.
She moved her shoulders back and forth in the
bombazine gown, making sure there was plenty
of room to give them free play.
Bob Dulaney had been conceded by his regiment
in the A. E. F. to be the best wrestler
among them. He had strength and agility and
science. He had never had to use his powers
handicapped in a woman’s dress and kerchief
with a stiff sunbonnet but, in spite of the confining
clothes and the powerful build of Markle,
he felt quite confident that he could master him.
He was conscious of his muscles rippling under
his feminine garb and as he drew off his gloves
he gloried in the strength of his great hands.
Should he wait until Markle stopped the car or
would it be better to grapple with him immediately?
Of course, an immediate grapple would
mean the detectives in the temporarily disabled
Ford would come to his assistance. The sporting
blood in Bob’s veins rebelled at this thought.
He did not want any assistance. He preferred
to have the fight out single handed. He glanced
at Markle. A handsome fellow with a well set
head and fine square jaw. His close cropped
iron-grey hair gave a touch of dignity to his
appearance.
“Such a pity! Such a pity!” Bob thought.
“Talent gone wrong, just as little Josie said!”
but he patted the handcuffs which Josie had
placed in the old lady’s reticule.
“Here’s where you get off!” said Markle,
stopping his Indian. “Step lively, old woman!
I’ve no time to lose.”
The old woman reached out and grasping
Markle around the middle she lifted him from
the saddle. For the first time in his eventful
career of systematized crime, Felix Markle was
taken completely by surprise. Knowing the ups
and downs of his profession, he was ever ready
for an attack, but this bunchy old woman who
had so meekly submitted to being carried off had
given him a shock. If she was not what she
seemed, why had she let him get away from the
plain clothes men who might have rendered assistance
in the way of ready revolvers and handcuffs.
All this flashed through his mind as he
struggled in the bear hug of the mysterious
female.
Markle was even stronger and more agile than
Bob had thought him to be. In spite of the hold
he had on him from the back he wriggled around
and grappled with his foe. Back and forth they
fought each one trying to get the death grip on
the other. The bombazine skirt was more of a
handicap than Bob had thought it would be. He
had not realized before how necessary his legs
were in a fight. Strange to say the voluminous
skirts also got in Markle’s way and finally managed
to trip him up. They rolled in the dirt.
With a great wrench Bob managed to pull up
the offending skirt and with all the strength and
science he could command caught the infuriated
Markle in the death-like vise known as the body
scissors. In this grip, the opponent is held
between the legs of one who has obtained this
advantage and by the play of the thigh muscles
the breath is slowly squeezed out.
As Markle’s head drooped Bob drew the handcuffs
from his bedraggled reticule and snapped
them on his wrists. With his kerchief, no longer
snowy, he bound his ankles together.
“There, poor fellow, I fancy you would have
been happier if I had not let up when I did but
had squeezed all the breath out of you,” Bob
panted.
The chug of the rejuvenated Ford was now
heard and, after it, the rumble of the truck. The
Ford was breaking the speed limits in its
endeavor to come up with the Indian and its
side car. Josie was wild with impatience. It
was all she could do to keep from slapping the
stupid detective who had let their quarry escape.
“It is what I get for trusting them,” she kept
on saying to herself. “I could have snapped
the handcuffs on myself without using any
force. And now, poor Bob Dulaney may be
killed or almost worse than killed, Markle
escaping and no scoop after all to speak of.”
The fight that had seemed to Bob Dulaney to
last hours had in reality only taken a few
minutes, only long enough for the gasoline to
be put in the tank and the car to be backed out
of the miry road, turned around and started.
They found Bob sitting on the roadside by his
captive burglar. He was still in the bombazine
gown but his wig and bonnet were gone. He
had found the pockets of his trousers under his
skirts and had produced therefrom cigarettes
and matches and was contentedly smoking.
“Hurrah for Auntie!” cried Josie when she
took in the situation as the car slowed down.
Tears of joy were in her eyes but a little lump
of sympathy in her throat. They lifted Markle
into the truck. Life was slowly coming back to
him. He opened his eyes for a moment and then
closed them wearily. He murmured something
but only Josie caught the meaning of his
whisper:
“Pet, poor little Pet!”
It was an easy matter to round up the gang of
thieves when once the master mind was not
allowed to direct them. Markle was confined in
jail, there to await his trial. The holder of
checks Nos. 82-6573 and 82-6574 when he applied
at the New York baggage room was followed and
trapped and with him many others.
The books of Simpkins & Markle were inspected
and, through them, the furnished apartments
were located and the stolen goods restored
to their owners. Poor Simpkins had
learned a lesson not to shut his eyes and get
rich too quick. He was let off—having convinced
the jury that he was not dishonest—but
merely stupid.
But to return to the wedding breakfast and
the fortunes of Mary Louise: Everything went
off as it should have and the theft of the presents
was not discovered until the bride and groom
were off on their honeymoon and then Chief
Lonsdale had the trunks brought from Somerville
and, so carefully had the things been packed
by the experts, that not even one piece of cut
glass had been broken. The trunkful of things
purloined from the Wrights had also been held
at the station and was returned intact. Of
course Elizabeth was blamed by her family when
the whole thing came out for having introduced
them to such people but Elizabeth only smiled,
being very happy way down deep in her heart
that Billy McGraw was saved from the wiles of
the beautiful Hortense.
The beautiful Hortense simply faded out of
sight. By some occult means she must have
known of the pursuit of her husband and the
vigilance of the police in regard to herself. It
may have been through a confederate employed
by the caterers who perhaps saw Josie and Bob
speeding away on the motorcycle. At any rate,
she did not return to her apartment, but as soon
as the ceremony was over, she excused herself
to Mary Louise, regretting exceedingly not being
able to be present during the breakfast and sit
at the bride’s table, but her poor Felix was so
miserable she must go to him. She tripped
down the terrace and as has been said, simply
faded out of sight. The detectives who had
been set by the astute chief to guard the apartment
and to arrest her when she made her
appearance had a long and unfruitful vigil. It
seemed strange that a beautiful woman dressed
so strikingly in pale grey over iridescent silk
could in a town no bigger than Dorfield escape
the notice of everyone and disappear.
Bob Dulaney got, as he expressed it, “the
scoop of his life.” He was able to get his story
in one of the big New York papers before the
A. P. got on to it, thereby reaping a reward in
reputation as well as money. The whole country
rang with the daring scheme practiced by the
gang of thieves and Chief Lonsdale and his force
received compliments from every city. Josie
asked not to be put in the papers as the one who
had really done the work.
“It isn’t newspaper notoriety I want,” she
explained. “My father never wanted that kind
of credit. He just wanted to have the consciousness
that he had delivered the goods and
to be sure he had the respect of the profession.
If it gets out I was active in this, I might lose
my chance to nab others by being the insignificant
little person I appear. It’s better for me
to go on keeping the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop
with Elizabeth. I can learn all kinds of things
that I’d miss if I were known to be a real
detective. I am here if you need me,” she said
to Chief Lonsdale, and he smiled at her.
“How like your father you are, child!”
Markle had one consolation while he was in
prison awaiting his trial: he had the notebook
which had belonged to Detective O’Gorman which
he had not yet been able to decipher. The long
hours of solitary prison life gave him the
opportunity to put his whole mind on it and at
last he felt sure he had mastered the cipher.
With painstaking care he translated the first
page. Then he sat and looked at it with an
expression on his handsome face that beggared
description. After all he had been fighting Fate
and trying to escape his own sin. And this is
what he had translated:
“I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hide from Him, and under running laughter,
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet—
‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’”
THE END.
Transcriber’s Note:
Spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained
as they appear in the original publication except as follows:
Page 25
‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
Page 37
thinking of coming to setle in
thinking of coming to settle in
Page 41
in touch with all condiditions of folk
in touch with all conditions of folk
Page 43
to say that it was onnsense
to say that it was nonsense
Page 45
take no thought whatsover concerning
take no thought whatsoever concerning
