The Third Girl Detective

by Margaret Sutton

  “But isn’t it important?”

  “Not as important as finding Irene.”

  “I know, but haven’t you done everything you can do? The boys can keep in touch with the police while I stay here and help you.”

  It really was best that way. And how kind of Pauline to offer to help! Dale suggested that she and Judy both go home and rest as soon as the work was done. But, unfortunately, it was Mary’s day off.

  “We’ll bring in the dinner,” Horace promised. “Any of you fellows know how to cook?”

  Peter Dobbs volunteered.

  “And just to make things even,” Arthur put in, “I’ll pay for it.”

  Judy laughed and felt better. She tackled the work with some of her old enthusiasm and succeeded in interesting Pauline in an unread manuscript.

  After about an hour the telephone rang. It was Dale.

  “Sorry,” he said, “but it’s beginning to look as if Jasper Crosby made up his story. No tickets to Farringdon have been purchased for a month.”

  “Are you at the police station?”

  “Yes, and they’ve made a thorough check-up. The only answer is that Jasper Crosby lied. And he probably lied about Irene, too. I’d like to wring his neck!”

  “So would I. But that’s probably better left to the state. I only hope they make a good job of it. If they can prove that he lied it will make some difference in their treatment of him.”

  Undoubtedly it did make a difference as a detective called back later, and Judy found herself telling him even more than she had told Lieutenant Collins. The one thing she omitted was the fact that she believed Irene had stolen her grandmother’s poetry. It was Jasper Crosby she was trying to have convicted, not Irene.

  The case was being expertly handled. The knowledge that Jasper Crosby was in jail, charged with assaulting Judy and kidnaping Irene, was some satisfaction. They would keep him right there, too, until Irene’s whereabouts were known.

  The day dragged on. Emily Grimshaw’s work seemed to take longer now that Judy had lost heart again. It was good to have Pauline there helping. She read. She typed and when everything else was done she asked Judy if she might see her carbon copies of Sarah Glenn’s poetry. “I wanted to read them myself,” she said in explanation. “It’s a slim chance, I know, but it might help us in our search.”

  “I’ve studied and studied this one myself,” Judy said as she handed her a copy of that first poem Emily Grimshaw had given her as a test. No wonder she had said there was too much truth in it! The tower of flame, the ghosts—all, all of it might be true. Even the “human tomcat” that the poet had mentioned they believed to mean Irene’s father, Tom Lang.

  Now, through these very poems, Irene had found her mother’s people. It would be such a thrilling, romantic thing to happen if only they could talk it over with her. If only they knew where she was. If only she hadn’t taken the manuscripts.…

  Judy showed Pauline the poem that Jasper Crosby had brought in after Irene’s disappearance. Now that they knew where Irene must have been, they both saw new significance in the lines:

  Death cannot touch the halo of your hair.

  Though, like a ghost, you disappear at will.

  I knew you’d come in answer to my prayer…

  You, gentle sprite, whom love alone can kill…

  “Jasper Crosby never killed her with love,” Pauline said bitterly. “I only hope—”

  “Don’t say it, Pauline!”

  She looked sorry. “I won’t say anything more. We’ll just keep on hoping.”

  Five o’clock came and Judy closed her desk with a sigh.

  “We’ve worked hard,” she said to Pauline, “but I just feel as if another day has been wasted. While we sit here who knows what may be happening to Irene?”

  “At least we know that beastly uncle of hers can’t be hurting her any more.”

  Judy thought of Pauline’s statement in connection with death—not to be hurt any more. Old people wanted that kind of peace, that freedom from pain and fear. Death could be kind to old people who were through with romance and adventure. But Irene had so much to live for.

  “The boys must be there ahead of us,” Judy remarked as she and Pauline came in sight of the house. “See, someone has raised the window.”

  “They probably burnt something,” Pauline said shortly.

  Apparently she had misgivings concerning Peter’s ability as a cook. It was early for them to be home. Why, it couldn’t have been an hour since they left the police station in Parkville and there would be shopping for them to do besides.

  As they turned down the corridor that led to Pauline’s room Judy heard a familiar yowl. Could it be Blackberry asking to be let out?

  “But he wasn’t in,” Pauline said. “Don’t you remember? We left him on the roof garden.”

  “Maybe the boys let him in. But it’s queer they’re not making any noise. You open the door, Pauline,” Judy whispered. “I have the strangest feeling that something is about to happen.”

  Pauline hesitated, glanced at Judy and caught her hand as the door swung open. Neither of the girls had touched it!

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE HAPPY ENDING

  Pauline stood transfixed while Judy gathered Irene in her arms. If people fainted for joy she would have done it then. At first there were no explanations. Neither Judy nor Pauline expected any. The supreme realization that Irene was there—alive, safe—sufficed. Kisses were mingled with tears as Pauline, too, pressed closer to the golden-haired girl. If they had ever doubted Irene’s sincerity, suspected her of anything, it was all forgotten at the moment.

  “It’s so good to see you again,” Irene said at last. “There was nobody but Blackberry here to welcome me when I came in. It was almost as quiet as the house in Parkville after my grandmother died.”

  “Poor you!” Judy cried. “We found out all about that wicked uncle of yours and he’s in jail now. Believe me, Irene, he wanted to get your grandmother’s property and would have done anything to be rid of you. Oh, I’m so—glad—you’re safe—”

  But Judy was sobbing again, clinging to Irene as if she might vanish if she released her hand. Together she and Pauline led her to the sofa where each of them found a seat close beside her.

  It was growing dark and Judy lit the bridge lamp. It shone down on Irene’s hair. Something brighter than lamplight glowed, suddenly, in her eyes.

  “Where’s Dale?” she asked. “Has he missed me?”

  “He thinks of nothing but you,” Judy answered. “Horace and Peter and Arthur are here, too. All of them were hunting for you.”

  “How thrilling! Did they like Dale, too?”

  “Everybody likes him,” Pauline put in. “Lucky girl! They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I shouldn’t wonder if he fell in love with you.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m almost sure of it,” Pauline replied. She spoke softly and only Irene heard her. Judy ran to the window.

  “They’re coming! I heard their voices. Dale!” she called down to the street. “Arthur! Peter! Dale! Hurry!”

  That was all she said. That was all she needed to say. The trembling joy in her voice told them the rest. In less time than seemed possible Dale burst through the half-open door.

  “Irene!” he cried. “Am I dreaming or is this my lost princess, my Golden Girl?”

  “What’s he talking about?” Horace said gruffly to Judy. “Are they engaged?”

  Judy smiled, watching their embrace. “Not yet, but we can guess they will be before long.”

  Dale and Irene faced the others. Radiance was in their faces.

  “It’s been quite a detective story,” Dale said, “and this is the happy ending. Now, Irene, dear, suppose we go out on the roof garden—all of us—and you explain everything. I’m perfectly sure you can.�
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  The others followed, eager to hear the story they had nearly given up hope of hearing from Irene’s own lips. It proved to be almost identical with Jasper Crosby’s story. Irene had not been forced to stay in her grandmother’s house. She had stayed of her own free will because the old lady was sick and needed her.

  “At first it was fun, almost like playing princess,” Irene said. “I let her call me Joy and I called her Mother. I pretended to remember things my own mother must have done. I read aloud from her books and wore her dresses. This is one.” She touched the simple white silk dress she was wearing and explained that she had intended to wear it to her grandmother’s funeral. “But then Uncle Jasper decided that I must not go. He said that being with her when she died had affected my mind. I believed him then but now that I’m home again I feel sure that it wasn’t true. Still, there’s something like a magnet that just draws me back to that dear old house.”

  “Your grandmother’s house?”

  “My house now, isn’t it, Peter?”

  The young law student looked up with a start. He had forgotten all about the will in the excitement of having Irene safe again. But she had changed so! He couldn’t quite understand this new, beautiful Irene—this Irene who was an heiress.

  “Why, er—yes,” he said. “I believe everything is legally yours, even the royalties from that new book Emily Grimshaw is publishing.”

  Dale and Judy looked first at each other and then at Irene. Both of them were wondering the same thing. How could Emily Grimshaw have the book published if the manuscripts were missing? Dale was the first to put the thought into words.

  “They aren’t missing any more,” Irene replied and darted back inside the door. When the others had joined her in Pauline’s sitting room she opened a small suitcase that stood on the floor and gave the papers a toss onto the table.

  “There they are—every blessed one of them. I packed them with my things so Uncle Jasper wouldn’t see me take them. Why don’t you give them all back to Emily Grimshaw in the morning?”

  “But what will I tell her?” gasped Judy. “I can’t tell her you stole them. What will I say? Oh, why did you do it? Can’t you see all the trouble it has caused? Really, Irene, you’re dreadfully hard-hearted.”

  “Am I?” The golden-haired girl smiled wanly. “And all the time I thought you were, not to come and see me.”

  “How could we have come?”

  “I told you in my letter. It explained everything but now, oh, now it’s going to be harder to explain.”

  “What letter? Did you get a letter?” Dale turned and demanded of Judy.

  “Of course I didn’t.”

  “Then how did you find out where I was?”

  Peter explained this question to Irene. He told her about the radio broadcast, the police activities and how earnestly all of them had searched. It seemed that the tables had turned and they, not Irene, were doing the explaining. But what could have happened to Irene’s letter? She said she had written three.

  “I gave them to Uncle Jasper to mail—”

  Judy interrupted with a little cry. “There’s your explanation. He must have destroyed them. The miserable old cheat! Was he mean to you, Irene?”

  She sighed. “This is the part I hardly dare tell. He made me think it was an—an hallucination. You know, like crazy people get. But I was in the tower lying on my bed. I’d been up all night and he told me to rest. It was right after Grandma died. Well, he moved the bed across the room—way across and I felt a little queer as if it weren’t quite safe. I knew the tower was only propped up. Then he got ugly. He told me I was going insane. He said if I didn’t lie in the bed he’d tie me there. So I lay down. In a little while I heard some one rapping on the door and I ran to the window. I saw you, Judy, but you didn’t hear me call. You were almost out of sight. Then I looked down, and, as sure as I’m alive, there was Uncle Jasper taking the props out from under the tower. One of them fell and struck him across the chest. I think,” she added, turning to Peter, “that there must be marks on his chest to prove that what I say is true.”

  “It’s a serious charge, Irene. He could do twenty years for that. But he deserves it if what you say is true.”

  “It’s true. And, oh, I was so frightened. I ran downstairs and I guess I was screaming—or crying—or both. Anyway, he quit hammering at the props. He had a sledge hammer and a long beam to work with. That was so the tower wouldn’t fall on him.”

  “You remember that long beam we used to break down the door?” Dale interrupted her to ask.

  Both Judy and Peter nodded. Their faces were grave. Blackberry, who possessed a cat’s inborn capacity for sympathy, came forth from his corner and looked up at Irene. She patted him as she went on talking.

  “Uncle Jasper got scared then. He said he’d have to get me back to my father in a hurry. He explained how he was really putting more props under the tower and said it was because my mind wasn’t right that I had been afraid he would kill me. He told me that if I didn’t want to go to the insane asylum I’d keep still about the whole thing. I said I would but it wasn’t true and I’m sure he didn’t believe me. Then he took me riding in the car but he didn’t take the road for Farringdon. I don’t know where he intended to take me but wherever it was, I didn’t want to go. So, when he had to slow down for a railroad crossing, I jumped out of the car. He was busy driving and didn’t miss me until afterwards. By that time I had started hiking. So here I am and I guess that explains everything.”

  Irene sank back in her chair and looked, suddenly, tired. Judy realized that she must be hungry too. She remembered the packages that the boys had brought in, and all of them set about preparing food and something for Irene to drink. She wanted coffee with plenty of cream. The same Irene, dear child! Judy didn’t care if she never explained about the poetry.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  HER MAJESTY ARRIVES

  The meal that Peter Dobbs cooked and served was a merry one. Truly, it was an occasion for rejoicing.

  “A party after all,” Dale said. He told Irene about the other party and how they waited and waited.

  Judy sat between Arthur and Peter dividing her attention between them. She rose, lifted her glass of water and gave a toast:

  “Happiness for all of us! Here’s how!”

  Her gayety was contagious. Everybody was laughing now. It was good to be able to laugh with Irene again. She was just meant to be spoiled and laughed with Dale declared.

  Horace brought in dessert. Like children at a birthday party everybody screamed, “Ice cream! Hurray for ice cream!”

  “And cake,” he added. “It’s a little late, Irene, but we might call this your birthday cake.”

  He placed a foamy creation of walnuts and chocolate at her place. She cut the first slice for Dale and the second slice for Horace.

  “Now you, Judy,” she went on, flourishing the knife, “and a little crumb for Blackberry.”

  The cat caught it in his paws and played with it, like a mouse, before he ate it.

  “To think that I used to dislike him,” Dale said apologetically.

  Everyone was served now. Judy remembered the two extra candles left over from the party that hadn’t been a party. She brought them out and Irene lit them. How golden everything looked in their light! Irene’s eyes shone. Her hair was a halo around her head.

  “You’re beautiful,” Dale said softly.

  Judy heard him and smiled, sharing their happiness. She turned to the others. “It’s worth waiting for—this kind of a party, isn’t it, people?”

  “We’ll dance afterwards,” Pauline suggested. She excused herself to turn on the radio, hoping to tune in on Irene’s song. But before she found anything worth while the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll answer it,” Irene cried. “I feel like surprising somebody and I’m sure, whoever it is, they’ll be terri
bly surprised.”

  They were all watching Irene as she danced toward the door, quite unprepared for the kind of surprise that awaited her on the other side.

  She swung it open. There, framed in the doorway, stood Her Majesty, Emily Grimshaw.

  “I’ve come to settle with you, Joy Holiday,” she shouted and raised a threatening finger at Irene.

  The three boys stared in blank bewilderment. They had never seen this strange old lady and imagined that she must be an escaped inmate from some near-by asylum—except that she had used the now familiar name, Joy Holiday.

  Chairs were pushed back from the table. Dale Meredith rose and strode over to the door, followed by Judy and Peter.

  “What’s this?” the indignant young author demanded. “Miss Grimshaw, what’s the big idea of storming in here and frightening Irene?”

  “Who has a better right?” she retorted belligerently.

  Taking her gently by the shoulders, Peter pushed her into a chair. “Sit down quietly now while we finish dinner. No need to raise a row about it. I’m sure Irene will be glad to listen to what you have to say.”

  “Irene, nothing!” she fumed. “That girl’s Johanna Holiday, the wench who made away with her mother’s poetry. I know you!” She pointed a shaking finger at the trembling Irene.

  Judy, standing near the old lady, caught a whiff of her breath and guessed that she had taken an overdose from the bottle that she called her tonic. She had noticed how frequently her employer resorted to the stimulant. After a few drinks she always talked freely of spirits. But Judy was in no mood for listening to ghost stories now.

  “I know you!” the indomitable old lady repeated. “I saw you, Joy Holiday, just before your mother’s funeral. Break her heart while she lived and then come back to gloat over her when she’s dead. You’re a devil, you are. Only devils are immune to death.”

  Dale moved closer to Irene as if to ward off the blows that must come to her senses with the old lady’s words.

  “We’ve got to get her out of here,” Peter whispered hoarsely to Dale.