The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  The minute she reached the road, out of sight of the house, Mary Louise started to run, and she kept on running for perhaps a couple of minutes. Then she stopped abruptly, dropping down on the cold, hard ground. She was so faint, she did not believe that she could take another step.

  “Oh, I must get there!” she panted. “I must—must—must—”

  But the main highway was not even in sight: only the long, desolate country road before her, without a sign of a person or a house.

  She staggered somehow to her feet and took two or three steps forward. Utterly exhausted, she sank again to the ground.

  “A lot of good all my discoveries will do me or the people of Stoddard House,” she mused bitterly, “if I pass out here on the road!”

  She made another effort to rise, but she was growing colder and weaker every minute. In utter dismay she buried her head in her arms.

  A sense of numbness began to creep over her as she sat there; she was losing consciousness of where she was when the sharp sound of a motor horn aroused her to her senses.

  A car stopped opposite her; for one tense second she was afraid to look up for fear the occupants were some of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang. When a pleasant masculine voice addressed her, she felt the tears rush to her eyes in relief.

  “What is the trouble, my girl?” inquired the man. “Can I help you?”

  Reassurance and an overwhelming sense of gratitude almost prevented Mary Louise from answering. The man with the kind voice was someone she could trust: she saw by his manner of dressing that he was a Catholic priest.

  “Oh, yes!” she replied. “Can you take me to the constable? Do you know where he lives?”

  “Yes, of course I can.” It was an odd request, but the good man asked no questions. He merely got out of his car and lifted Mary Louise in beside him.

  “I’d tell you the story—only I’m so cold and hungry,” she said. “Maybe—later—”

  “That’s all right, my child,” he replied soothingly.

  In less than five minutes he stopped his car in front of a plain brick house and helped Mary Louise to the doorway.

  “Merry Christmas, Hodge!” he said, when the door was opened to his knock. “This young lady—”

  “Merry Christmas, Father,” returned the constable, gazing at Mary Louise. Almost instantly he recalled who she was. “Come in, Miss Gay,” he said.

  “Oh, how can I ever thank you enough?” said Mary Louise, fervently to the priest. But the good man only smiled and departed as quickly as he had appeared.

  The smell of coffee, of breakfast—for it was only a little after nine o’clock—was overpowering to the hungry, exhausted girl. She sank into a chair with only one cry on her lips: “Coffee!”

  Before the constable could even ask her a question, his wife hurried from the dining room with a steaming cup in her hands. She was a motherly woman of about forty-five; three children immediately followed her into the living room to see who the stranger was who had arrived so mysteriously.

  “Drink this, dear,” said Mrs. Hodge, holding the cup to Mary Louise’s lips. “I put cream and sugar in it, so it won’t burn you.”

  Nothing in her life had ever tasted half so good to the cold, hungry girl as that fragrant cup of coffee. She finished it to the last drop, and a smile broke over her face.

  “Was that good!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how much better I feel!”

  “You must have some breakfast now,” urged Mrs. Hodge. “Don’t crowd around Miss Gay so closely, children! She needs room to breathe.”

  “I’m all right now—really,” said Mary Louise. The warmth of the room was working its magic spell; for the first time now she noticed the Christmas tree and the toys around the floor.

  “I’ve been locked up alone in that empty house of Mrs. Ferguson’s since five o’clock last night—” she began. But Mrs. Hodge refused to let her talk until she had eaten her breakfast.

  Mary Louise ate everything that was on the table: a steaming bowl of oatmeal, an orange, half a dozen hot-cakes, two pieces of sausage, a glass of milk, and another cup of coffee. When she had finally finished she said that she believed she had enjoyed that breakfast more than any meal she had ever had.

  The whole family listened while she briefly told her story. Beginning with the code letter which had directed her to Center Square, she explained how she had broken into the empty house and how she had been imprisoned by a man who was evidently in Mrs. Ferguson’s employ.

  “He admitted hitting me—only of course he didn’t know it was I—over the head last Sunday. He thinks I’m one of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang. So will you go back with me and arrest him, Constable Hodge?” she asked.

  “I sure will,” agreed the man, and he told one of his children to run across the yard to get a neighbor to help him.

  “I found the stolen goods,” concluded Mary Louise, reaching into her dress and producing the roll of bills and taking the bag of jewelry from her pocket. “Will you take charge of it till I can bring my father up to get it? He’s a detective too, you see.”

  Everyone gasped in amazement at the heap of valuables which Mary Louise displayed before their eyes. The children rushed forward excitedly, and the young detective saw no reason why they should not examine them to their hearts’ content. One of the boys even wanted to count the money.

  “But how did you get out of that house?” demanded the constable. “Did that man open the door for you?”

  “Oh no,” replied Mary Louise. “A member of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang came with a key. I slipped out and locked her inside. That’s why we must hurry back, to catch her before she escapes.”

  Mary Louise rose from her chair.

  “Can we go now, Constable?” she asked.

  “Certainly. Yep, here comes my neighbor, who often helps me make arrests. We’ll take him along in case your man or your prisoner gets uppity.”

  “Could we take a mechanic to fix my car, too?” she asked. “It’s frozen.”

  “One of the kids will phone to the garage right now to send somebody out.”

  They gathered up the treasure, and, leaving it in Mrs. Hodge’s care, Mary Louise, the constable, and the neighbor—a husky six-foot fellow—got into the car. The distance which had seemed so long to the girl an hour ago was covered in less than five minutes.

  At the turn into the driveway, Mary Louise saw the man who was waiting for her. Recognizing the constable at once, he made a quick dash to get away. But he was not fast enough: the constable was out of the car in a second, commanding him to stop and displaying his revolver. With an oath on his lips he surrendered.

  The constable’s big friend took charge of him while Mary Louise and the officer entered the dark, cold house. The moment they opened the door they heard a girl’s terrified sobs from the living room.

  “Who—are—you?” she called, in a voice choking with fear and misery.

  “The Constable of Center Square and Mary Louise Gay!” replied the young detective.

  The prisoner jumped to her feet and ran out to the open door.

  “Mary—Louise—Gay!” she repeated incredulously, bursting afresh into tears.

  But Mary Louise had identified her immediately. She was Margaret Detweiler!

  CHAPTER XVII

  A Sad Story

  Mary Louise thought she had never seen anyone change so much in the short space of two years as Margaret Detweiler had changed. How much older she looked, how much sadder, in spite of her expensive clothes! What a strange, trapped expression there was in her eyes, like that of an animal caught in a cage!

  “You—are—going to arrest me?” the girl stammered, directing her question to the constable.

  “I am doing just what Miss Gay says, at the present time,” replied the man. “So far, I don’t know that you’re guilty of any crime.”

  “No, no, don’t arrest Margaret!” protested Mary Louise. “I just can’t believe that she is a member of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang. Why, it’s too impossible!”r />
  “No, it isn’t impossible,” said Margaret, more calmly now. “Mrs. Ferguson is a special kind of criminal who makes young girls do her stealing for her. She picks up country girls who don’t know anybody in the city and trains them.… Oh, it’s a long story—and a sad one!”

  “Do you mean to say that you did steal, Margaret?” demanded Mary Louise incredulously, for she had never believed that story of Margaret’s theft at the department store. “You must tell me the truth! For the sake of your grandparents.”

  “I can honestly say that I have never stolen anything in my life,” replied the other girl steadfastly. “Mrs. Ferguson soon found out that I was no good for that, so she made me guardian of the treasure. I felt almost as wicked. But I never stole.”

  “Thank heaven for that!” exclaimed Mary Louise.

  “But now I’ve lost her valuables, and she’ll send me to prison,” whimpered Margaret. “Oh, Mary Lou, did you take them?”

  “Yes, I took them. They’re at the constable’s home now, and most of them belong to the guests at Stoddard House in Philadelphia. But you shan’t suffer, Margaret, unless you’re really guilty.”

  “The young lady is very cold,” remarked the constable. “Hadn’t we better go back to my house, where it’s warm, till your car is fixed, Miss Gay?”

  “Oh yes, if you will let us!” agreed Mary Louise enthusiastically. She could see that Margaret’s teeth were chattering, and she remembered how cold she herself had been after an hour or so in that empty house.

  “Wait until I get my other things,” she said, running back into the kitchen for the basket which she had packed early that morning. “I’ll put them into the car and see how soon the mechanic thinks he will have it ready.”

  She returned in a couple of minutes and found the others already seated in the constable’s sedan. Mary Louise was glad to find that the officer had put Margaret Detweiler in front with him, not beside the tough young man with his huge guardian in the rear seat. She squeezed in next to Margaret, and the car started.

  “The mechanic is going to drive my car to your place in about half an hour,” announced Mary Louise. “And then we’ll start for Philadelphia.”

  “Fine!” exclaimed the constable. “That’ll give you girls a chance to get warm. And maybe have a cup of coffee.”

  “It’s marvelous coffee,” commented Mary Louise. “It just about saved my life.”

  Not another word was said about the crimes or the secret band. Margaret Detweiler was introduced to Mrs. Hodge as a friend of Mary Louise’s from Riverside, and the two girls spent a pleasant half hour in the constable’s home, sipping their freshly made coffee and looking at the children’s Christmas toys.

  The constable, who had taken the young thug away, returned just as Mary Louise’s hired car drove up to the door.

  Mary Louise jumped up and reached for her coat.

  “Wait a minute!” cautioned the constable. “Company’s comin’ here to see you, Miss Gay! I just met somebody askin’ for you at the hotel.… So don’t be in too much of a rush!”

  From the obvious twinkle in the man’s eyes, Mary Louise believed that Max Miller must have driven down to Philadelphia again and, missing her there, had naturally traced her to Center Square. But at that same moment a yellow taxi stopped at the constable’s gate, thereby dispelling any such illusion. Max would never ride in a taxicab on his limited allowance!

  The door of the cab opened, and a tall, handsome man stepped out, paid the driver, and dismissed the cab. It was Mary Louise’s father.

  Flinging open the door, the girl shouted at him in delight, so loud that Mr. Gay heard her in spite of the noise of the departing cab. In another moment he entered the open door of the house and held Mary Louise tightly in his arms.

  “Mary Lou!” he cried in delight. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied, ushering him into the constable’s house. “Merry Christmas, Daddy!”

  “The same to you, dear.” He gazed at her fondly. “I believe it will be—now. You certainly look happy, Daughter.”

  “I am, Daddy. These people have treated me royally!” She turned around and introduced her father to Mrs. Hodge and the children, for he had already met the constable. “And, oh, Dad, here is Margaret Detweiler,” she added. “You remember her, don’t you?”

  “I certainly do,” replied Mr. Gay, extending his hand cordially. “My, but your grandparents are going to be glad to see you, Margaret!”

  The girl blushed and looked down at the floor in embarrassment. Wisely, Mr. Gay asked no questions.

  “I have all the stolen valuables, Dad,” continued Mary Louise. “Every single thing that was taken from Stoddard House, and even the money!”

  Mr. Gay gazed at his daughter in speechless admiration: she had excelled his fondest hopes!

  “Mary Lou, that’s—wonderful!” he said after a moment.… “I have good news too. I caught your thieves. Seven of ’em. They are in a Baltimore jail now.”

  Both girls exclaimed aloud in amazement and delight. Margaret Detweiler started forward and clutched the detective’s arm.

  “It’s really true, Mr. Gay?” she demanded breathlessly. “Mrs. Ferguson—is she in jail too?”

  “Locked up without any chance of getting out on bail!” he said authoritatively.

  “Oh, I’m so glad!” murmured the girl thankfully.

  “Now we’ll be able to take the valuables right back to their owners at Stoddard House, Constable Hodge,” announced Mary Louise. “I’m not afraid to carry them, with Dad beside me.”

  Mrs. Hodge brought the jewelry and the money from its hiding place and gave it all to Detective Gay. Both he and Mary Louise tried to thank the Hodges for their help and their hospitality; Mr. Gay wanted to give the constable some sort of recompense, but the good man refused. Only after a great deal of persuasion would he accept a five-dollar bill as a Christmas present for his children.

  “Ready, Daddy?” inquired Mary Louise as she slipped on her coat.

  “Just a minute,” replied her father. “I want to telephone to Mrs. Hilliard to let her know that you are safe. She’s been terribly worried, Mary Lou.… And shall I tell her that we’ll eat Christmas dinner with her at Stoddard House?”

  “Oh, yes! I’ve heard about the menu. There won’t be a sweller dinner anywhere in Philadelphia than at Stoddard House. But shall we be in time?”

  Mr. Gay consulted his watch. “It’s only a little after eleven,” he said. “We ought to make it by one o’clock.”

  As soon as the telephone call was completed, the three people got into the little car. Mary Louise herself took the wheel, for, as she explained, she was familiar with it by this time.

  “Now tell me about your experiences, Mary Lou,” urged her father, as soon as they were well under way.

  Mary Louise explained, for Margaret’s benefit as well as for her father’s, about deciphering the code letter and coming up to Center Square and breaking into the empty house in search of the valuables. But she made light of the coldness and desolation of the dark house and of her own hunger. She concluded with the statement that Margaret had come that morning and let her out with a key.

  “But how did you happen to have the key, Margaret?” demanded Mr. Gay.

  “I will have to tell you my whole story from the beginning,” answered the girl. There was a tragic note in her voice, which drew out her listeners’ sympathy, but neither made any comment.

  “Then you can decide what to do with me,” she continued. “I guess I deserve to go to prison, but when I assure you that I have never done anything wrong except under compulsion, maybe you will not be so angry with me.”

  “We’re not angry with you, Margaret,” Mary Louise told her. “Only terribly sorry. So please tell us everything. You remember that your grandparents have never heard anything from you since last Christmas.… So begin your story there.”

  “All right.… Let me see—I was working in that depart
ment store in Philadelphia, and doing pretty well, for I got commissions besides my salary on everything I sold. I started in the cheap jewelry department and was promoted to the expensive kind. Christmas brought me in a lot of business, but I guess I overworked, for I got sick the week before and had to stay home and have the doctor. I’d already spent a good deal of money on presents, and when my doctor’s bill was paid I found my salary was all gone. So I went back to the store before I should—on the twenty-third of December, I remember.”

  “The twenty-third of December!” repeated Mary Louise. “That was the day Mrs. Ferguson registered at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel.”

  “How did you know, Mary Lou?” demanded Margaret.

  “I went to the hotel and looked through the old register,” she explained. “But go on, Margaret. What happened then?”

  “I found that a ring, an expensive diamond ring, had been stolen from our department,” continued the girl. “They insisted that it was taken before I was away, but they couldn’t prove anything. Just the same, I know the store detective had his eye on me.… Well, that very day something else disappeared: a link bracelet. This time they accused me immediately.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know, except that I was the newest salesgirl in the department—in fact, the only girl. The store detective stepped behind my counter and leaned down to the floor. And he picked that bracelet right out of my shoe!”

  “How dreadful!” cried Mary Louise. “Somebody had ‘planted’ it there?”

  “Of course. Mrs. Ferguson had, as I later learned. But at the time I hadn’t a suspicion. She was standing right near the counter, examining some rings. When she heard me accused and told to leave the store, she stepped forward, saying that she was sorry for me. She asked me whether I had any family, and I told her they were too far away for me to go to, without any money.

  “‘But you’ll have trouble getting a job without a reference,’ she said. ‘So perhaps I had better help you.’”

  “The sly cat!” cried Mary Louise.

  Margaret nodded. “But I didn’t know it then. I simply asked her whether she could get me a job, and she told me to come to the Benjamin Franklin Hotel that afternoon and ask for Mrs. Ferguson.