by Helen Wells
“Mrs. Julian,” Cherry said, gentle but firm, “listen to me. You are here to rest.”
The blue eyes fluttered and focused on Cherry’s face. “A nurse? Where am I?”
“In the medical department. You fainted. But you’re going to be all right, and you must rest now.”
The young woman sighed. “I feel so tired.”
“Try to sleep, Mrs. Julian.”
“Will you tell them—?”
“Yes. There’s nothing to worry about. Just sleep.” Cherry did not know what her patient was trying to convey, but for the moment that did not matter.
Presently the blue eyes, as bewildered and trusting as a child’s, closed. Mrs. Julian’s hands uncurled and her breathing grew slower, deeper. Cherry covered her with another blanket. She signaled to Gladys, who had just returned, to close the door. If she could persuade Mrs. Julian to talk, it had better be in private.
CHAPTER III
The Jade Vase
THE EXHAUSTED WOMAN HAD BEEN SLEEPING FOR HALF an hour now. Cherry, watching her, felt satisfied that a doctor’s services were not necessary.
“She looks as if she has always been protected,” Cherry thought, smoothing back the young woman’s fair, fine hair from her forehead. Even in sleep, the forehead was creased with a frown. “Wish I knew more about her, then I’d be better equipped to help her.”
Cherry had an idea. She scribbled a note of inquiry, and moving quietly to the door, asked her assistant to deliver it to Tom Reese next door, or if he was out, to his secretary. “Hurry, please.” Tom Reese made it part of his job to know personally dozens of the store staff; an answer from him ought to be more revealing than a cut-and-dried report from the personnel department.
A few minutes later Tom Reese himself softly opened the door.
“Sorry, Mr. Reese, but—” Cherry shook her head, motioning him to stay out.
He beckoned her to the other side of the door for a moment. Luckily, no other patient was in the medical department. Gladys slipped in to watch Mrs. Julian. Tom Reese’s dark eyes questioned hers.
“You know there was a theft, don’t you? A valuable Ming vase. It’s valued at about a thousand dollars.”
“So that’s it! But how is a gentle person like Mrs. Julian involved?”
“Haven’t time now to tell you the details. I’m expecting an important phone call. What is it you need to know about her?”
“Something about her background. What sort of person she is—”
Tom Reese rapidly told Cherry these facts: Anna Elizabeth Julian, who was about thirty, came from a respected and cultivated family. As a girl she had traveled widely in Europe with her family; they had collected art treasures and antiques, and Anna Elizabeth became something of an expert. Later, she had married happily, but her happiness had been cut short by a series of illnesses and deaths. First she had lost her parents, then her husband. Tom Reese did not know the details. He did know that the family finances and estate had been managed so extravagantly that almost nothing was left for Mrs. Julian. Without business training or experience, she cast about for a way to earn her living. Selling antiques at Thomas and Parke’s, “or rather, for Mr. Dance,” Tom Reese corrected himself, was her first job.
“She needs her job, Miss Cherry. That’s everything I know. Hope it helps you. Now I have to run.”
“Thanks very much. You always make store matters so clear to me, Mr. Reese.”
“Tom,” he insisted, smiled, and left.
The young woman was still asleep, a light and fretful doze. Cherry sat down beside her to wait. She thought over the brief life history which the young store executive had outlined. What extremes this fair-haired Anna Elizabeth had experienced! Well, she must really know antiques or the store would not employ her. Wait, Tom Reese had said, “She sells for Mr. Dance.” For a second Cherry was puzzled, than recalled an explanation Tom Reese had made on her first day when she was trying to get acquainted with the sixth floor.
The antiques and art objects department, the young executive had said, like some other departments, was not owned and operated by the store. Antiques was a concession, that is, a separate business belonging to Willard Dance. Mr. Dance, the concessionaire, paid the store a percentage of his profits, guaranteeing to pay a certain minimum sum. In exchange he received floor space within the store, use of the Thomas and Parke name, and store services. Services? That meant, Cherry reasoned, that the store was obligated to provide protection for the art objects; for instance, night watchmen and store detectives.
Her patient stirred, sighed, and seemed about to wake. Cherry felt Mrs. Julian’s pulse again; it was stronger now. The woman drifted back to sleep. Poor thing, she must have had an exhausting time of it. Perhaps her department head, Mr. Dance, would come in.
Cherry had seen but not yet met him. He must be a wealthy man, she thought, to operate an art department with its valuable treasures, and he must be a connoisseur as well. No, not necessarily wealthy, because like many art and antique dealers, Tom Reese had explained, Mr. Dance obtained merchandise on a consignment basis. That is, when an individual or estate had paintings, fine antique furniture, rare rugs, or other valuables it wished to dispose of, it sent these things on consignment (almost a loan) to Mr. Dance. He attempted to sell them, and when successful, kept a percentage of the sale price as his fee. It all had sounded to Cherry so much more colorful than other businesses, and probably no more of a gamble.
“Nurse?”
“Yes, I’m here, Mrs. Julian.”
“Heavens, I must have slept a long time!” Mrs. Julian sat up, rather embarrassed.
“Not quite an hour. You look refreshed and like yourself again.”
A little pink showed in her cheeks, which were still tear-streaked. Cherry offered a wash basin and asked whether Mrs. Julian didn’t feel a little thirsty or hungry. But Mrs. Julian was self-consciously getting off the cot, smoothing her black silk dress.
“What must you all think of me! How can I ever go out there and face people after having made such a spectacle of myself?” She made a half-humorous face but her nervousness was noticeable.
Cherry gently made her sit down again. “For one thing, you are not going anywhere until I’ve given you at least a cup of hot tea, and filled out a medical fact sheet for you. For another thing, Mrs. Julian, anyone can show the effects of strain. Don’t blame yourself.”
Mrs. Julian accepted a cup of tea. Presently, shyly, she said, “I’ll be glad to talk to someone I can trust. Nurses are bound by the same Hippocratic oath as doctors, or something similar, aren’t they?”
“Yes, indeed we are.”
Reassured, Mrs. Julian said anxiously that she did not want to do anything which might offend her employer, Mr. Dance.
“He’s been so kind to me, Miss Ames. How many businessmen would have given me a chance at a job, inexperienced as I am?”
Mrs. Julian explained that Mr. Dance knew of her and her late family’s interest in collecting rare, beautiful things; his late wife had pursued the same interest. He had suggested to Mrs. Julian that she might like to work in his department. It was a boon to her, an unexpected piece of good fortune. Mr. Dance had requested the store’s personnel department to interview her and hire her. She supposed now that either the personnel department or Mr. Dance could fire her.
“But why would anyone want to fire you, Mrs. Julian?”
“I don’t think Willard Dance wants to, but the personnel department may—” The woman twisted her handkerchief into a hard ball. “After this morning—”
Painfully, with self-control, Mrs. Julian reconstructed for Cherry the extraordinary events of that morning.
One of her department’s treasures was a small, rare, jade Ming vase. Small enough to fit into an overcoat pocket or a handbag. It was one of a group of jade pieces kept under lock and key in a glass display cabinet. Only Mr. Dance and Mrs. Julian had keys to the cabinet holding the jade. Not that Mr. Dance didn’t place full confidence in
Miss Janet Lamb and old Adam Heller, Mrs. Julian hastened to explain—“but they’re so absent minded about things like keys.”
Mrs. Julian said, “I showed the tiny vase this morning to a customer. He seemed really eager to buy it. Naturally he asked to see several other jade things, too, as a basis for comparison, though they weren’t nearly so valuable. So there I was, showing this man the vase and five other pieces which I can name exactly, when—when it disappeared.”
“Disappeared! But how could it?” Cherry asked.
“That’s just it, Miss Ames—I don’t know! I walked away from the vase there on the table for just a few seconds—but the customer followed me.”
“Who else was in the department at the time?”
“Quite a few people.”
Mrs. Julian said that generally only two or three people and a few store messengers would be browsing and passing through the antiques department. Today many more people than usual came to admire their collection because of a special sale advertisement. “I remember noticing Miss Lamb and Mr. Heller at the far end of the sales floor from me, busy with customers of their own. And Mr. Dance, who has the one other key to the jade cabinet, was out of the store to visit a gallery that’s closing out.”
“With a crowd,” Cherry said, “there might have been a shoplifter.”
“The store detectives don’t think so,” Mrs. Julian said stiffly, and resumed. “Mr. Dance returned while we were searching for the vase. He and the store detectives, whom he immediately summoned, considered the customer not guilty. For one reason, the customer wanted to buy the vase, and was very much distressed at its disappearance.”
“Was he a customer you knew, or a stranger?” Cherry asked.
“I’d never seen the man until today, but the store knows him—he’s an old charge customer.”
The man had willingly submitted to an exami nation of his garments by store detectives. They had not found the vase on him. He willingly agreed to submit to further investigation by insurance company detectives. Every treasure in the department was insured by its owner; Mr. Dance insisted on this. The store in its turn insisted that Mr. Dance carry insurance, too, on the art objects in his keeping.
“It looks to me,” Cherry said thoughtfully, “as if a shoplifter took the vase.”
“Or as if I took it,” Mrs. Julian stated sadly. “Yes, Miss Ames, at least some of the detectives suspect me. I was the last person known to handle the Ming vase.”
Cherry couldn’t believe anyone would be suspicious of a woman who seemed so gentle and transparently honest as Anna Elizabeth Julian. Her bearing, everything about her, proclaimed her an honorable and sensitive person.
“Has any shoplifter,” Cherry asked, “been caught in any other part of the store today?”
“Not that Mr. Dance or I know of. Unluckily, suspicion has fallen on me. Mr. Dance is as distressed as I am. He’s being wonderful about the whole thing and doing his best to clear me. Just the same—”
Mrs. Julian told Cherry that she, too, as well as the customer had been searched and questioned. Executives from relevant departments—jewelry and silver—were at once alerted of the theft. Store detectives and New York City detectives were informed at once, and also the insurance company detectives, that the Ming vase was missing. For two hours in a private “protection” office on the seventh floor, an inquiry was carried on. It was a grueling experience for Mrs. Julian. When she was permitted to return to the sales floor, she fainted.
“No wonder,” said Cherry. “Still, as long as Mr. Dance stands ready to vouch for you, you shouldn’t worry too much.”
Mrs. Julian couldn’t help herself, she began to cry.
“Maybe it will turn out that the little vase has been mislaid,” Cherry said.
“No, it has not been mislaid,” Mrs. Julian got out. “We’ve already searched thoroughly.”
Cherry knew of nothing to do or say, to comfort her, except let her talk of what troubled her.
“Mr. Dance has hinted to me, as gently and kindly as he could, that he might not be able to protect me against the store detectives who suspect me, and against the criticism of some executives. I—I may lose my job or be arrested.”
“Surely not,” Cherry murmured. She was shocked.
“Or I may have to pay back the value of the Ming vase.” Mrs. Julian buried her face in her hands. “How can I? I have nothing. Nothing. And I swear I didn’t take the vase!”
But just as quickly as she had broken down, Anna Elizabeth Julian gained control of herself. She sat erect, and wiped her eyes.
“I’m going back to the sales floor now,” she announced.
“Don’t you think it would be better to go home on a sick pass, instead of trying to work the rest of the day?” Cherry showed her the pass she had written out.
“No, thank you anyway, Miss Ames. I must remain here the rest of the afternoon. It’s perhaps one small way of showing people that I’m innocent.”
“Good for you, Mrs. Julian.” Cherry gave her instructions on how to take care of herself after today’s ordeal, and asked her to keep in touch.
“I will. It’s been a help to talk. I—It sounds odd, but I feel you’re a friend as well as a nurse.”
“That’s part of being a good nurse.”
For the rest of that troubled Monday, Cherry did her job adequately but with half of her mind on the Ming vase puzzle. She felt convinced that the direct-spoken, trusting woman had told the exact truth about the jade vase.
Before leaving the store at the end of the day, Cherry stepped next door and asked the secretary whether Mr. Reese was free to see her for a few minutes. She had to wait a bit, watching several people come and go through the store manager’s office. Then Tom Reese came out to the reception room, looking tired and harassed.
He sat down beside Cherry on the leather couch. “See that wiry little man just going out? That’s Hal Pierce, one of the store detectives. He’s convinced Mrs. Julian pocketed the vase this morning, and slipped it to a confederate who then walked out of the store with it.”
“Has Pierce any basis for such a claim?” Cherry asked. “Besides, how could she have pocketed it right under her customer’s nose?”
“Pierce says the hand is quicker than the eye. She could have distracted him. Sorry if I don’t state Pierce’s case very clearly. I’m tired; it’s been a rough day. No fun grilling people, I can tell you, especially a nice person like Mrs. Julian. Is she feeling better?”
Cherry nodded, and told Tom Reese some of what Mrs. Julian had said concerning her innocence.
“Do you think she’s guilty, Tom?”
“I’m not able to say much at this point, except that she is definitely under suspicion,” he said. “Speaking purely personally, my impression of her is that she’s a person of good faith. I think so, because Dance has only good things to say of her, and because, when Thomas and Parke first hired her, a bonding company investigated and bonded her. That speaks well for her.”
“In that case—”
“But let’s be hardheaded, Miss Cherry. This is a business concern and we can’t be guided by our sympathies alone. We don’t know Mrs. Julian well enough, either you or I, to he able to swear that she wouldn’t take the vase.”
Cherry supposed he was right to speak and think guardedly. All the same, she’d like to help Mrs. Julian clear herself, if she could. Cherry said so, as she stood up to go, and Tom Reese replied:
“Don’t you suppose several of us feel the same way? Thanks for coming in. Let me know if I can help.”
Next, Cherry stopped at the antiques department.
Mrs. Julian, looking extremely tired, was standing before a collection of old clocks and totaling her sales checks for the day. She smiled when she saw the white-clad nurse.
“You came to check up on me.”
“I certainly did.”
“I’m all right. It’s good of you to take an interest.”
“I also came,” Cherry said, “to ask i
f you’d have lunch with me tomorrow.”
“I’d love it! Can we get out of this wretched store? Say, the Mary White Restaurant. Let’s plan to lunch together at noon tomorrow, then.”
CHAPTER IV
An Invitation
NEXT MORNING, CHERRY FOUND A MESSAGE WAITING FOR her. Mr. Willard Dance wished to see Miss Ames, at her convenience. Cherry was rather surprised, and curious to meet him. She completed the usual first-thing-in-the-morning reports, mail, and chores. Then she walked across the corridor to the antiques display.
She knew Mr. Dance by sight, a tall, thin, big-shouldered man with an unusually pleasant face. He had a pleasant voice and manner, too.
“Hello, Miss Ames! I hope I haven’t cut into your morning’s work too badly?”
“Not at all, Mr. Dance. I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
“Well, it’s the gentleman’s role to call on the lady, even in business, I’d say. I would have come to you, except that after the theft of a Ming vase here yesterday—” He drew his hand across his balding forehead. “Of course you know about it, you treated Anna Julian, for which I’m very grateful.”
Cherry glanced around for a glimpse of Mrs. Julian’s bright hair. She saw elderly Adam Heller standing beside a suit of armor which dwarfed him, showing two men how the visor worked. She saw Miss Janet Lamb lovingly dusting a table display of paperweights. But Mrs. Julian was nowhere in sight.
“She didn’t come in today,” Mr. Dance said, guessing Cherry’s thoughts. “Mrs. Julian told me last evening as she left the store that she believed she’d rest today, and of course I was all for it. She had a dreadful day yesterday, really harrowing.”
Cherry murmured that she, too, was glad Mrs. Julian was resting, but felt a little surprised that she had not sent word she would not keep their lunch date today. It did not seem like Mrs. Julian to be rude. Was she being evasive?
Cherry was not sure what to think of Mr. Dance, either. She half expected him to check up with her on Mrs. Julian’s health. However, he courteously began showing her some of the lovely art objects nearby.