“You forget yourself and your own talents, my dear,” said Josie.
“Why, I seem to have a real talent for stirring up criminal cases,” Mary Louise admitted, “but not for unraveling mysteries.”
“The reason we’re not all better detectives,” commented Bill Crocker, “is that we lose too much valuable time. Let us get busy on the case before us. First, I want to see the old stables — lately used as the garage.”
“This seems like doubling on our tracks,” retorted Josie; “we all know this place so well. But as you insist on crowding yourself into this gang of investigators, we’ll make a brief survey of the premises so you may know the exact situation as well as the rest of us.”
CHAPTER X
MARY LOUISE MAKES A DISCOVERY
That night the air seemed breathless. A storm was threatening, and by eleven o’clock the wind had risen from a gentle sigh to quite a steady roar and was sending great dark clouds scudding across the full golden face of the moon.
Mary Louise felt breathless too, and was strangely unquiet. A storm was brewing in the very heart of her, and she could not understand just why. All she knew was that there was no use trying to sleep as yet She simply had to think. So, pulling a silken sweater of a soft rose color over her light dinner frock, she dragged her great wicker chair before the window and curled up therein.
All her being was crying out in rebellion at the thought that Danny, her kind, candid, cheery Danny Dexter, could be a forger. As if she were in his presence, she could see the honest, straightforward glance of his clear, blue eyes, and as she lay in her big chair in her darkened room and watched the wind play havoc in the garden, she suddenly realized that she had at times believed that there was something deeper in his eyes when they rested upon her.
This idea strangely disquieted Mary Louise. She made a remarkably lovely picture as the moon shone full upon her in one of its fleeting moments of freedom. The wind had loosened her soft dark hair and had flung it in little tendrils about her flushed young face, and her lips were parted in the eager recognition of a fact that had suddenly come to her. She knew she believed in and trusted Danny Dexter!
“Oh, what can I do?” she moaned. “Danny, I know you’ve done nothing wrong, but how can I make the others understand? And how can I ask Josie to hunt for someone else; she will hunt down one clue until she knows about it. Oh, dear me!”
And at this point a little sigh escaped from Mary Louise.
The wind evidently being in a mood sympathetic with her own, gave a sudden gusty sigh of despair; it fairly shook the house, and whistling about the chimney, finally expended itself in whirling through the window the tiny bit of cambric Mary Louise called a handkerchief.
She rose listlessly to catch it, her thoughts all centered on her problem, but the bit of white fluttered off in gay abandon among the rose bushes. Mary Louise watched the speck of light out there, idly leaning her rose-clad shoulder against the frame of the open window.
Suddenly she felt she could no longer breathe inside. She must, she felt, get out in the wind, under the clouds, and feel the wildness and vitality of the night. Her rose-pink bedroom opened on a little balcony from which a few steps led directly into the garden. With a sudden sense of relief, Mary Louise threw back her dark head, breathing in the very storm about her, and ran down the steps into the dark. Straight for the group of tall pines at the rear of the grounds she went, to hear their wailing response to the wind, and to watch the hide and seek of the moonlight through the long needles.
Refreshed and almost happy again, she leaned against the dark pungent trunk of the oldest pine, and her dark eyes turned to the tower room that had been Danny’s.
All at once she started quickly, for faint and dim though it was, a light was unmistakably filtering through the drawn shutters of the tower chamber.
“Oh!” gasped the girl, her voice trembling with relief. “Of course he came back; I knew he would; but he must come to the house and tell Grandpa Jim he’s back.”
So saying, she ran across the open space and finding the door of the old stable to be unlocked though tightly closed, she pushed it back. As she did so, the moon drifted out from behind its veil and shone full and bright upon the smart trim car which Mary Louise had named “Queenie.” Yes, there it was without a scratch or mar that Mary Louise could see, and appearing as matter of fact as though it had never vanished into thin air!
Mary Louise welcomed it home with a little pat of joy, but most of that joy just now was for the Danny Dexter who had brought her automobile safely back.
Standing there by her beloved car she called shyly, “Danny.”
After a brief pause, again, “Danny.”
But there was no answer, and suddenly it seemed to her that everything was very, very quiet. Startled, she ran up the tower stairs calling in frightened tones, “Danny, oh, Danny! Answer me!”
Not, however, until she had reached the top step did she get her answer. Then the tower room door was flung back and by the dull glow of a candle Mary Louise could see the dim outline of a man. A frightened shriek rose to her lips but before it could be uttered, the man had leaped forward and with strength born of desperation, had lifted her bodily and carried her into the room pushing shut the door after him.
Gasping, Mary Louise sank onto the wicker couch which she had bought for Danny, to make his room more cheery. Even in her great fear, a sense of gratitude came to her that it was this stranger and not Danny Dexter who had stolen her car. And thinking so, some of the fear vanished and she dared glance up at the man.
His was not at all a criminal type of face. The mouth and the lines about the mouth were very weak, but the eyes were kindly, and just now, as she met their gaze, they seemed filled with apology and distress. His tone, however, was firm and decided as he turned to Mary Louise.
“Keep absolutely quiet,” he commanded crisply, “and no harm will come to you. But if you try to call out — ”
Here he gave his shoulders a shrug and, with a bitter laugh, added: “I’m pretty desperate. I’ve got to get away, and if you make a sound, I may have to tie you up.”
Mary Louise most decidedly did not want to be tied up. Words choked right in her throat but in some way she managed to convey the idea to this waiting man that she was and always would be more quiet than the quietest mouse. She felt she never, never could speak a word again, and she was trembling as if from cold in the dead of winter.
When the man was reassured, he returned to the task from which he had evidently been interrupted. This seemed to be page after page of accounts, and he was going over them with infinite care. As he leaned close under the candle flame, Mary Louise could see that he was a man very far from young. His hair was quite gray and the lines upon his face were heavy. As he turned the last leaf of the accounts, a deep sadness was on his face, which, when he had slipped the package into an envelope and addressed it, changed into as great a tenderness as Mary Louise had ever seen. Then and there all fear dropped from her and she wished she could aid this old man who so surely needed help.
Her presence had evidently been forgotten for the moment, but now the man straightened up with a start as the town clock boomed midnight.
“Good Lord,” he muttered, “and I’m due in twenty minutes! There’s nothing for it but to take the car again and the girl in it. I’m sorry for Danny’s sake, but I don’t dare leave her to give the alarm.”
Deciding which, he muffled himself in a huge tan duster and cap, and motioned to Mary Louise to follow him. As he stooped to blow out the candle the long envelope slipped from his pocket to the floor. Mary Louise, almost without thought, glanced down at it, and there, glaring and flashing up at her from the envelope, was Danny’s name!
She had no time for puzzling, for already her jailor was halfway down the stairs and calling her to hurry. In her anxiety to obey to the letter, Mary Louise fairly flew down the stairs and found the stranger climbing into her beloved place in her very own car. He ordered he
r to sit beside him, and Mary Louise did so feeling as if she were in a dream. Here she was at her home and in her own car and yet she was a prisoner. Her captor seemed to have some thought for her welfare, however, for as the car slipped quietly out into the night, he tucked a robe carefully about her shoulders and then in silence the two flew off into the wildness of the night.
CHAPTER XI
THE EMPTY ROOM
There was no depression in the spirits of Josie O’Gorman as she bade Mary Louise good-night at her bedroom door, and jumping up the stairs, two at a time, she entered her own room with a rush of energy.
With a quick twist of her wrist, she flooded the room with brightness. It was a large room, furnished simply with a few splendid old pieces of mahogany, but in some way, Josie in the few hours of her stay had managed to impart an air of activity and alertness to her apartment. A typewriter was installed on the low table at the front of the bed. The telephone had been connected with her room, and files of notes and time tables cluttered up the desk. Even the wonderful old four-posted bed had caught the contagion of hurry and was quite flustered beneath a shower of skirts, hats and dresses that had been tossed upon it.
To Josie the main intent and purpose of life was her work; orderliness and pettiness were considerations that had to follow after. Even as she entered the room the telephone was buzzing.
“Hello,” she called, seizing the receiver with one hand, pushing the odds and ends from the desk chair with the other.
“Yes, this is Josie O’Gorman. You say you haven’t found a trace of the car? Well, you needn’t have rung me up for that. I’d grasped that much already. Oh, you’ve found positively no strangers have left the neighborhood within the last forty-eight hours. That’s something to go on at any rate. Yes, thank you. Good-bye.”
As she hung up the receiver Josie’s face wore a puzzled frown.
“It’s a riot of a mess,” quoth she, unbuttoning with quick jerks her mannish-looking dress of dark blue linen. Then, having dropped it on the floor, she kicked it with well directed aim into the corner. Her remark could have been applied most aptly to her attire then, as it lay a forlorn and crumpled heap. Evidently her thoughts were far from those four walls. That any of her garments remained within reaching distance was not due to Josie’s care, for with little kicks one small pump lodged precariously on the window ledge, while its mate nestled more securely in the waste basket. But Josie was puzzling over a problem, and it was not coming out as clearly and as quickly as it might. These automobile robberies were discouraging matters to trace, when one realized how far one could drive a car in a few days and especially when such a clever crook as this forger, O’Hara, was at the wheel.
Josie jumped into her bright pink pajamas, finally produced her little bedroom slippers from her hat box, and covered herself with a warm bathrobe of most brilliant hue. This done, she turned a further glare of light upon the desk, pulled out a box of salty crackers and proceeded to sit there and eat and think.
To all appearances, however, the crackers vanished quicker than the problems and Josie’s head began to nod. Finally with a shrug she admitted, “I can’t make head nor tail out of the thing to-night. I’ll go to sleep and be a brighter detective in the morning.”
So saying, she turned out the light, made sure her little revolver was safely under her pillow, and without a thought of the night outside, she climbed into bed and was instantly asleep.
Josie O’Gorman’s slumbers were not undisturbed very long. For suddenly piercing even to her sleep-drugged ears came the quiet hum of a motor very near indeed. Instantly she was wide awake and reaching for her bathrobe.
Yes, there was the same sound only growing fainter. She rushed to the window but could see nothing whatever, the moon was completely covered by the clouds and the automobile had no lights. Josie placed the revolver in the pocket of her bathrobe and stole quickly from the room.
Her one idea was to waken Mary Louise immediately. Even as Josie entered Mary Louise’s room, she felt a sense of someone quite near and very much awake. There was no time to rouse her girl friend; she was perhaps safer sound asleep. Without turning the switch, Josie made her slow, careful way toward the open window. The scent of the lilies from the garden was blown to her as she neared the balcony, her little revolver held steady and ready for action.
Suddenly some pebbles from the path below were tossed again at the window pane. Josie drew back waiting. The tiny patter came again; and then as she still waited tensely, a man’s voice called “Mary Louise!”
Instantly all Josie’s faculties were alert. This man was undoubtedly O’Hara, the fugitive from justice. Perhaps he intended to frighten Mary Louise into hiding him about the premises; perhaps it was the combination of the safe he wished to extort from her. Whatever it was, she realized that she — Josie O’Gorman — daughter of John O’Gorman, expert detective, was there to save her friend.
There was no thought of fear in Josie’s heart, her brain was clear and her hand steady. She was living to the full this moment the life that she loved best to live.
She stepped cautiously behind the fluttering curtain of the window and reconnoitred. The moon had again struggled out from behind the clouds and, shining palely down upon the white of the balcony, had lit up with a weird glow the sun dial at the end of the garden path. The man who bad called out, however, remained a dark shadow against the wistaria vine that clambered over the house. She could only distinguish that a man was there leaning against the wall, and from the faint gleam of white she knew he was facing toward the balcony.
As Josie remained hidden she saw the man bend again and, gathering some pebbles from the path, proceed to toss them against the pane. At the same time he called in a louder tone than before, “Mary Louise!”
With quick presence of mind Josie leaned slightly forward, keeping always in the deepest shadow, her finger on the trigger of her weapon.
Her words were whispered in order not to show the difference between her rather deep, full voice and the quiet, musical tones of Mary Louise.
The man evidently heard her question, “What do you want with me?” for he turned eagerly, though he remained standing where he was.
“This is Danny Dexter,” he said slowly and distinctly. “Don’t be frightened, Mary Louise, but I simply had to call you to the balcony. There is something I cannot leave without telling you.” Josie made a quick mental note of his immediate departure and proceeded to extract further information by a whispered “Yes” of encouragement.
“I wanted to make you understand that although you would not want me here any longer, still I am absolutely innocent of any forgery I understand this Crocker is accusing me of. And, Mary Louise, your car is safe in the garage.” Astounding facts indeed for Josie to digest!
The man’s tone carried absolute conviction. She could not help the firm belief that this man was not the forger O ‘Sara. And what was this he said, the car was safe? Had he perhaps been searching for the thief himself?
Josie found her thoughts all in a turmoil. But one thing she did, impulsively and kindly. Clutching her blanket robe more vigorously about her and dropping the revolver in its pocket, she stepped out onto the balcony.
“I’m sorry I deceived you, Danny Dexter, and I believe just what you said,” she told him simply.
Then seeing the shadow of the man start in amazement, she added quickly: “You see, I’m Mary Louise’s friend, Josie O’Gorman, and I’m here to help find the car.”
Then Josie gave a hearty, tickled laugh. “And you just saved yourself from arrest and perhaps from being murdered,” she added, brandishing the weapon she produced from her pocket.
Danny Dexter perhaps appreciated the humor of it all more fully when the revolver was restored to its resting place. At any rate he withdrew into the shadow and quietly waited until Josie, taking pity on him, said:
“You wait down there a few moments, Danny Dexter, and I’ll wake Mary Louise and help her dress and send her out to y
ou.”
“Thank you,” answered Danny, a slight quiver of anxiety in his voice, “but I must leave soon, and if I cannot wait to see her, will you tell her what you heard me say, and also say good-bye?”
“Of course I will!” said Josie 0 ‘Gorman, and then, turning, called briskly:’ “Mary Louise!” There was no answer; her own breathing was all that she could hear. Frightened, she hurriedly ran across the room and turned on the electric switch. Her startled cry brought Danny in one leap across the balustrade, and together in a panic they gazed about the room. It was empty!
CHAPTER XII
DANNY DISAPPEARS
Danny Dexter took a hasty glance at Mary Louise’s empty room, and then with one running jump he was in the garden again, clutching his cap to save it from the wind and cursing the clouds which just then made it so dark he could not see his hand in front of him. He followed the path to the old stables as best he could, and once he paused as a soft bit of white blew into his face. It was Mary Louise’s little handkerchief that was tossing about in the elements and had finally found a very welcome lodgment. Danny recognized that soft perfume as of violets, and he placed the foolish trifle carefully in the inside pocket of his coat as though it were a very precious thing. Then he hurried on, his anxious eyes straining in the darkness toward the garage.
Past the pines he hastened, never noticing their sighs and wailings, and stopped with a hurt cry of amazement at finding the garage door open and the automobile gone.
“Oh, Uncle Jim, why did you take it?” he groaned aloud — “just when we’d worked for two hours quietly pushing it back in its place. Mary Louise would have been so happy to have found it in the morning. I’d so counted on her joy!” and the lad leaned wearily against the door.
There seemed no need to search the building further, but Danny rushed up the stairs just to be sure Mary Louise had not been there.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 630