Mary Louise

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER XVIII

  MARY LOUISE GROWS SUSPICIOUS

  And so Sarah Judd's fate was decided. She prepared their Sunday morningbreakfast and cooked it quite skillfully. Her appearance was now moretidy and she displayed greater energy than on the previous evening,when doubtless she was weary from her long walk. Mrs. Conant was wellpleased with the girl and found the relief from clearing the table and"doing" the dishes very grateful. Their Sunday dinner, which Sarahprepared unaided and served promptly at one o'clock, their usual hour,was a pleasant surprise to them all.

  "The girl is a treasure," commented Mrs. Conant, contentedly.

  Sarah Judd was not talkative. When told she might stay she merelynodded her red head, displaying neither surprise nor satisfaction. Hereyes had a habit of roving continually from face to face and fromobject to object, yet they seemed to observe nothing clearly, so stolidwas, their expression. Mary Louise tried to remember where she hadnoted a similar expression before, but could not locate it.

  Miss Lord came over that afternoon and when told about the new maid andthe manner of her appearance seemed a little startled and uneasy.

  "I must see what she looks like," said she, "for she may prove acongenial companion for my own maid, who is already sulking because theplace is so lonely."

  And presently Sarah Judd came out upon the lawn to ask Mrs. Conant'sfurther instructions and this gave Agatha the desired opportunity toexamine her closely. The inspection must have been satisfactory, for anexpression of distinct relief crossed the lovely face.

  That Sunday evening they all went down to the Bigbee place in MissLord's motor car, where the lady entertained her guests at a charmingluncheon. The Bigbee place was more extensive than Hillcrest Lodge, asit consisted of a big, rambling residence and numerous outbuildings;but it was not nearly so cosy or homelike, nor so pleasantly situated.

  Miss Lord's maid, Susan, was somewhat a mystery to the Hillcrestpeople. She dressed almost as elaborately as her mistress and performedher duties grudgingly and with a scowl that seemed to resent MissLord's entertaining company. Stranger still, when they went home thatnight it was the maid who brought out the big touring car and drovethem all back to Hillcrest Lodge in it, handling the machine asexpertly as Agatha could do. Miss Lord pleaded a headache as an excusefor not driving them herself.

  Sarah Judd opened the door for them. As she stood under the full lightof the hall lamp Mary Louise noticed that the maid Susan leaned fromher seat in the car and fixed a shrewd glance on Sarah's unconsciousface. Then she gave a little shake of her head and drove away.

  "There's something queer about the folks at Bigbee's," Mary Louiseconfided to Irene, as she went to her friend's room to assist her inpreparing for bed. "Agatha Lord kept looking at that velvet ribbonaround your neck, to-night, as if she couldn't keep her eyes off it,and this afternoon she seemed scared by the news of Sarah Judd'sarrival and wasn't happy until she had seen her. Then, again, thatqueer maid of Agatha's, Susan, drove us home so she could see SarahJudd for herself. How do you account for all that, Irene?"

  "I don't account for it, my dear. You've been mixed up with so manymysteries that you attach suspicion to the most commonplace events.What should there be about Sarah Judd to frighten anyone?"

  "She's a stranger here, that's all, and our neighbors seem suspiciousof strangers. I'm not questioning poor, innocent Sarah, understand; butif Agatha and her maid are uneasy about strangers coming here it seemslikely there's a reason for it."

  "You're getting morbid, Mary Louise. I think I must forbid you to readany more of my romances," said Irene lightly, but at heart shequestioned the folks at Bigbee's as seriously as her friend did.

  "Don't you think Agatha Lord stole that missing book?" asked MaryLouise, after a little reflection.

  "Why should she?" Irene was disturbed by the question but was resolvednot to show it.

  "To get the letter that was in it--the letter you would not let meread."

  "What are your affairs to Agatha Lord?"

  "I wish I knew," said Mary Louise, musingly. "Irene, I've an idea shecame to Bigbee's just to be near us. There's something stealthy andunderhanded about our neighbors, I'm positive. Miss Lord is a verydelightful woman, on the surface, but--"

  Irene laughed softly, as if amused.

  "There can be no reason in the world, Mary Louise," she averred, "whyyour private affairs are of any interest to outsiders, except--"

  "Well, Irene?"

  "Except that you are connected, in a way, with your grandfather."

  "Exactly! That is my idea, Irene. Ever since that affair with O'Gorman,I've had a feeling that I was being spied upon."

  "But that would be useless. You never hear from Colonel Weatherby,except in the most roundabout ways."

  "They don't know that; they think I MIGHT hear, and there's no otherway to find where he is. Do you think," she added, "that the SecretService employs female detectives?"

  "Perhaps so. There must be occasions when a woman can discover morethan a man."

  "Then I believe Miss Lord is working for the Secret Service--theenemies of Gran'pa Jim."

  "I can't believe it."

  "What is on that black ribbon around your neck?"

  "A miniature of my mother."

  "Oh. To-night it got above your dress--the ribbon, I mean--and Agathakept looking at it."

  "A good detective wouldn't be caught doing such a clumsy thing, MaryLouise. And, even if detectives were placed here to watch your actions,they wouldn't be interested in spying upon ME, would they?"

  "I suppose not."

  "I've never even seen your grandfather and so I must be exempt fromsuspicion. I advise you, my dear, to forget these apprehensions, whichmust be purely imaginary. If a thousand spies surrounded you, theycould do you no harm, nor even trap you into betraying yourgrandfather, whose present location is a complete mystery to you."

  Mary Louise could not help admitting this was true, so she kissed herfriend good night and went to her own room.

  Left alone, Irene put her hand to the ribbon around her neck and drewfrom her bosom an old-fashioned oval gold locket, as big as anyordinary watch but thinner. She opened the front of the ease and kissedher mother's picture, as was her nightly custom. Then she opened theback and drew out a tightly folded wad of paper. This she carefullyspread out before her, when it proved to be the old letter she hadfound in the book.

  Once again she read the letter carefully, poring over the words in deepthought.

  "This letter," she murmured, "might indeed be of use to the Government,but it is of far more value to Mary Louise and--to her grandfather. Iought not to lose it; nor ought I to allow anyone to read it, atpresent. Perhaps, if Agatha Lord has noticed the ribbon I wear, it willbe best to find a new hiding place for the letter."

  She was in bed now, and lay looking around the room with speculativegaze. Beside her stood her wheeled chair, with its cushion of darkSpanish leather. The girl smiled and, reaching for her work-basket,which was on a stand at the head of the bed, she drew out a pair ofscissors and cut some of the stitches of the leathern cushion. Then shetucked the letter carefully inside and with a needle and some blacklinen thread sewed up the place she had ripped open.

  She had just completed this task when she glanced up and saw a face ather window--indistinctly, for even as she raised her head it drew backand faded into the outer gloom.

  For a moment Irene sat motionless, looking at the window. Then sheturned to the stand, where the lamp was, and extinguished the light.

  An hour, perhaps, she sat upright in bed, considering what she shoulddo. Then again she reached out in the darkness and felt for herscissors. Securing them, she drew the chair cushion upon the bed andfelt along its edge for the place she had sewn. She could not determinefor some time which was the right edge but at last she found where thestitches seemed a little tighter drawn than elsewhere and this placeshe managed to rip open. To her joy she found the letter and drew itout with a sigh of relief.

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sp; But now what to do with it was a question of vital importance. Shedared not relight her lamp and she was helpless when out of her chair.So she put back the cushion, slid from the bed into the chair andwheeled herself in the dark to her dresser, which had a chenille cover.Underneath this cover she spread the letter, deeming that so simple ahiding-place was likely to be overlooked in a hasty search and feelingthat the letter would be safe there for the night, at least.

  She now returned to her bed. There was no use trying to resew thecushion in the dark. She lay awake for a long time, feeling a certainthrill of delight in the belief that she was a conspirator despite hercrippled condition and that she was conspiring for the benefit of herdear friend Mary Louise. Finally she sank into a deep slumber and didnot waken till the sun was streaming in at the window and Mary Louiseknocked upon her door to call her.

  "You're lazy this morning," laughed Mary Louise, entering. "Let me helpyou dress for breakfast."

  Irene thanked her. No one but this girl friend was ever permitted toassist her in dressing, as she felt proud of her ability to serveherself. Her toilet was almost complete when Mary Louise suddenlyexclaimed:

  "Why, what has become of your chair cushion?"

  Irene looked toward the chair. The cushion was gone.

  "Never mind," she said, although her face wore a troubled expression."I must have left it somewhere. Here; I'll put a pillow in its placeuntil I find it."