"That's right – made a neat, quiet get-away. They didn't say they were going, didn't give up the key – it was on the inside of the door. Just slid out and vanished."

"Some one was there yesterday."

"Um," O'Malley's voice showed a pondering concentration of thought. "Some one was lying on the bed reading; waiting or passing time."

"They couldn't have been there to-day – before your men were on the job?"

O'Malley drew himself to the edge of the seat, his chest inflated with a sudden breath:

"Why couldn't they? Why couldn't that have been the rendezvous? Why couldn't she have lost the child down here on Gayle Street instead of opposite Justin's? Price was there beforehand: up she comes, tips him off that the taxi's in the street, sees him leave and goes herself, across to Fifth Avenue where she picks up a cab. It's safer than the other way – no cops round, janitor in the basement, if she's seen nothing to be remarked – a lady known to have a room on the top floor." He brought his fist down on his knee. "That's what they did and it explains what's been puzzling me."

"What?"

"There was no dust on the top of the bureau; it had been wiped off to-day. There was no dust on that veil; it hadn't been there since yesterday. A woman fixed herself at that glass not so long ago. Price had a date with her to deliver the child and he was lying on the bed reading while he waited. When he heard her he threw down the book, got the good word and lit out. After he'd gone she took off her veil – what for? To get her face up to show to Mrs. Price – whiten it, make it look right for the news she was bringing. When she left she was made up for the part she was to play. And I take my hat off to her, for she played it like a star."

CHAPTER XIX – MOLLY'S STORY

It was nearly seven when we got back to Grasslands. We alighted as silent as we started, and I was following Miss Maitland into the hall, Ferguson behind me, when she turned in the doorway and spoke. She had orders that the servants must know nothing; she was to tell them that the family would stay in town for a few days, and for me to be careful what I said before them. Then, before I could answer, she glanced at Ferguson and said good-by, her eyes just touching him for a moment and passing, cold and weary, back to me. She'd wish me good-night, she was going to her room and not coming down again – no, thanks, she'd take no dinner, she was very tired. She didn't need to say that. If I ever saw a person dead beat and at the end of her string she was it.

Ferguson stood looking after her. I think for the moment he forgot me, or maybe he wasn't conscious of what his face showed. Some way or other I didn't like to look at him; it was as if I was spying on something I had no right to see. So I turned away and dropped into one of the balcony chairs, sunk down against the back and feeling limp as a rag.

Presently came his step and he was in front of me, his head bent down with the hair hanging loose on his forehead, and his eyes like they were hooks that would pull the words out of me:

"What happened up there at the Whitneys?"

"Mr. Ferguson," I answered solemn, "I've told you more than I ought already. Is it the right thing for me to go on doing wrong?"

"Yes," he says, sharp and decided, "it's exactly the right thing. Keep on doing it and we'll get somewhere."

I set my lips tight and looked past him at the lawn. He waited a minute then said:

"I thought you agreed to trust me."

"There's a good deal more to it now than there was then."

"All the more reason for telling me. Of course I can get all I want from Mrs. Janney or either of the Whitneys; they don't let ladylike scruples stand in the way. But that means a trip to town and I'm not ready to take it."

It was surprising how that young man could make you feel like a worm who had a conscience in place of common sense.

"Have I got your word, sworn to on the Bible, if we had one here, not to give her a hint of it?"

"Good Lord!" he groaned. "Don't talk like the ingénue in a melodrama. Let me see why the Whitneys think so much of you. You must have someintelligence – give me a sample of it."

That settled it.

"Take a seat," I said. "You make me nervous staring at me like the lion in the menagerie at the fat child."

He sat down and I told him – the whole business, what she had said, what they had thought – everything. When I'd finished he rose up and, with his hands burrowed deep in his pockets, began pacing up and down the balcony. I didn't give a peep, watching him cautious from under my eyelids.

After a bit he said in a low voice:

"Preposterous – crazy! She had no more to do with it than you have."

"They think different."

"I've gathered that. And Price had nothing to do with it either."

It was all very well for him to stand by her, but to sweep Price off the map! I couldn't sit still and let him rave on.

"Price hadn't? Take another guess. Price is the mainspring of it."

"I'll leave guessing to you – it's your business, and you appear to do it very well."

"Say, drop me altogether. I'm only a paid servant. But you'll have to admit that Mr. Whitney and his son count pretty big in their line."

"Very big, Miss Rogers. But they've made a mistake this time – or possibly been misled. The Janneys have never been fair to Price. They're prejudiced and they've branded the prejudice on. He isn't an angel, neither is he a rascal. He didn't take his child, he never thought of it, he couldn't do it."

"Then who did?"

"That's what I want to find out."

"Jerusalem!" I said, sitting up, feeling like the peaceful scene around me was suddenly dark and strange. "You don't think she's really been kidnaped?"

"I can't think anything else." He stopped in front of me, looking at me hard and stern. "I'd like to find another solution but I'm unable to."

"But, gee-whizz!" I stared at him, all worried and mixed. "You can't get away from the facts. They're all there – there's hardly a break."

"I don't admit that. This man and woman have got characters and records that haven't been considered – but even if you had a hole-proof case against them I wouldn't believe it."

"Oh, pshaw!" I said, simmering down, "you just believe what you want to. I've seen people like that before."

"I daresay you have, I'm not a unique specimen in the human family. But I'll tell you what I am just at this juncture – the only one among you that's right." He drew back and gave a vengeful wag of his head at me. "You've all gone off at half-cock – doing your best to ruin a man who's harmless and a girl who's – who's – " he stopped, and wheeled away from me. "Tch – it makes me sick! Hate and anger and jealousy – that's what's at the bottom of it. I can't talk about it any longer – it's too beastly. Good-night!"

He turned on his heel, ran down the steps and over the grass, clearing the terrace wall with a leap. I looked after him, fading into the early night, disturbed and with a sort of cold heaviness in my heart. He was no fool – suppose what he thought was true? Suppose that dear child whom I'd grown to love – but, rubbish! I wouldn't think of it. It was easy to account for the way he felt. Every little movement has a meaning of its own – and the meaning in all his little movements was love. He had it bad, poor chap, out on him like the measles, and while you have to be gentle with the sick you don't pay much attention to what they say.

That was a dreary evening. There being no one but me around they served my dinner in the dining room, and it added to the strain. Some of the food I didn't know whether to eat with a fork or a spoon, so I had to pass up a lot which was hard seeing I was hungry. But when you're born in an east side tenement you feel touchy that way – I wasn't going to be criticized by two corn-fed menials. I'm glad I'm not rich; it's grand all right, but it isn't comfortable.

The next day – Saturday – it rained and I sat round in the hall and my room where I could hear the 'phone and keep an eye on Miss Maitland. All she did was to go for a walk, and in the afternoon stay in her study. We saw each other at meals, our conversation specially edited for Dixon and Isaac.

Sunday was fine weather again and Ferguson came round at twelve. Miss Maitland had gone for another walk and he and I had the hall to ourselves. He'd been in town the day before, seen George Whitney and told him what he thought. When I asked how Mr. George took it, he gave a sarcastic smile and said, "He listened very politely but didn't seem much impressed." He also told me they'd hoped to find the child Friday night in the room at 76 Gayle Street and had been disappointed.

"Of course she wasn't there," and he ended with "it was only wasting valuable time, but there's a proverb about none being so blind as those who won't see."

After that he dropped the subject – I think he wanted to get away from it – and pow-wowing together we worked around to the robbery, which had been side-tracked by the bigger matter. He said it had been in his mind to tell me a curious circumstance that he'd come on the night the jewels were taken and that he thought might be helpful to me. It was about a cigar band that Miss Maitland had found in the woods that evening when he and she had walked home together. Before he was half through I was listening attentive as a cat at a mouse hole, for it was a queer story and had possibilities. After I put some questions and had it all clear, we mulled it over – the way I love to do.

"A man dropped it," I said slowly, my thoughts chasing ahead of my words, "who went through the woods after the storm."

"Exactly – between eight-thirty and ten-thirty. And do you grasp the fact that those were the hours the house was vacated – the logical time to rob it?"

"Yes, I've thought of that often – wondered why they waited."

"And do you grasp another fact – that Hannah a little before nine heard the dogs barking and then quieting down as if they scented some one they knew?"

I nodded; that too I'd made a mental note of.

"It couldn't have been Price for he was on the way to town then."

"Oh, Price – " he gave an impatient jerk of his head – "of course it wasn't Price, but it was some one the dogs knew. That would have been just about the time a man, watching the house and seeing the ground floor dark, would have come across the lawn to make his entrance."

I pondered for a spell then said:

"Did you ever tell this to Mrs. Janney or any of them?"

"No, I didn't think of it myself until a little while ago – the night I dined here and saw it was one of Mr. Janney's cigars. And then what was the use – the light by the safe had fixed the time."

"Yes – if it wasn't for that light you'd have got a real lead. Too bad, for it's a bully starting point, and it would have let out those other two."

He stiffened up, suddenly haughty looking.

"There's no necessity of letting out people who never were in. But if that light was eliminated you could work on the theory that a professional thief – an expert safe opener – had done the business."

"How would the dogs know him?" I asked.

He leaned toward me, looking with a quiet sort of meaning into my face:

"Suppose you put that mind of yours, that Wilbur Whitney values so highly and I'm beginning to see indications of, on that question."

"What's the sense of wasting it? My mind's my capital and I don't draw on it unless there's a need. You get rid of that light at one-thirty and I'll expend some of it."

I laughed, but he didn't, looking on the ground frowning and thoughtful. Then a step on the balcony made us both turn. It was Miss Maitland, back from her walk, looking much better, a smile at the sight of him, and a little color in her face. She joined us and, Dixon announcing lunch, Ferguson invited himself to stay. It was the first human meal I'd eaten since the doors of the dining room had opened to me.

After lunch I left them on the balcony and went upstairs to my room. I tried to read but the air, blowing in warm and sweet and the scent of the garden coming up, made the book seem dull, and I went to the window and leaned out.

A while passed that way and then I saw Ferguson going home, a long figure in white flannels striding across the lawn to the wood path. Then out from the kitchen come the servants, all togged up, six girls and Isaac, and away they go on their bikes to the beach. From what I've seen of the homes of the rich I'd rather be in the kitchen than the parlor – the help have it all over the quality for plain enjoyment. They went off bawling gayly, and presently Dixon appears, looking like a parson on his day off, all brisk and cheerful. Last of all comes Hannah, her hair as slick as a seal's, a dinky little hat set on top of it, and a parasol held over it all. She waddled off, large and slow, in another direction, toward the woods – for a cup of tea and a neighborly gossip in Ferguson's kitchen, I guess. How I wished I was along with them!

There I was left, lolling back and forth on the sill, kicking with my toes on the floor, and wondering what my poor, deserted boy was doing in town. Then sudden, piercing the stillness with a sort of tingling thrill, comes the ring of the hall telephone.

I gave a soft jump, snatched up my pad and pencil, and was at the table and had the receiver off before she'd got to the closet downstairs. It was so quiet, not a sound in the house, that I could hear every catch in her breath and every tone in her voice. And what I heard was worth listening to. A man spoke first:

"Hello, who's this?"

"Esther Maitland. Is it – is it?"

"Yes – C. P. I've waited until now as I knew there wouldn't be anybody around. It's all right."

"Truly. You're not saying it to keep me quiet?"

"Not a bit. There's no need for any worry. Everything's gone without a hitch."

"And you think it's safe – to – to – take the next step?"

"Perfectly. We're going to get her out of town on Tuesday night."

"Oh!" I could hear the relief in her voice. "You don't know what this means to me?"

He gave a little, dry laugh:

"Me too – I'll admit it's been something of a strain. That's all I wanted to say. Good-by."

I scratched it on the pad, and tiptoed back to my room, short of breath a bit myself. What would Ferguson say to this? I stood by the window, thinking how to send it in, and things went right for out she came from the balcony and walked across to a place on the lawn where there were some chairs under a group of maples. She sat down and began to read, and I stole back to the hall and took a call for the Whitney house. Being Sunday they might be out, but that went right too, for I got the Chief himself. I told him and asked for instructions and they came straight and quick:

"Bring her into town to-morrow morning. There's a train at nine-thirty you can take. Get a taxi at the depot and come right up to the office. You'll have to tell her in what capacity you're serving the family. That'll be easy – you were engaged for the robbery. Don't let her think you have any interest in the kidnaping, and on no account let her guess we suspect her. Say you've had a message from me, that some new facts have come in and I want to ask her a few questions – see if the information tallies with what she saw. Keep her quiet and calm. Got that straight? All right – so long."

CHAPTER XX – MOLLY'S STORY

The next morning, in the hall, right after breakfast I told her what I had to tell – I mean who I was. It gave her a start – held her listening with her eyes hard on mine – then when I explained it was for inside work on the robbery she eased up, got cool and nodded her head at me, politely agreeing. She understood perfectly and would go wherever she was wanted; she was glad to do anything that would be of assistance; no one was more anxious than she to help the family in their distress, and so forth and so on.

On the way in she was quiet, but I don't think as peaceful as she acted. She asked me some questions about my work. I answered brisk and bright and she said it must be a very interesting profession. I've seen nervy people in my time but no woman that beat her for cool sand, and the way I'm built I can't help but respect courage no matter what the person's like who has it. Before we reached town I was full of admiration for that girl who, as far as I could judge, was a crook from the ground up.

When we reached the office I was called into an inner room where the Chief and Mr. George were waiting. I gave them my paper with the 'phone message on it, and answered the few questions they had to ask. I learned then that they'd got hold of more evidence against her. O'Malley had snooped round the Gayle Street locality and heard that on Friday morning about half-past eleven a taxi, containing a child resembling Bébita, had been seen opposite a book bindery on the corner of the block. I didn't hear any particulars but I saw by the Chief's manner, quiet and sort of absorbed, and by Mr. George, like a blue-ribbon pup straining at the leash, that they had Esther Maitland dead to rights and the end was in sight.

After that I was sent back into the hall where I'd left her and told to bring her into the old man's private office. We went up the passage, a murmur of voices growing louder as we advanced. She was ahead and, as the door opened, she stopped for a moment on the threshold, quick, like a horse that wants to shy. Over her shoulder I could see in, and I don't wonder she pulled up – any one would. There, beside the Chief and Mr. George, were the two old Janneys and Mrs. Price, sitting stiff as statues, each of them with their eyes on her, gimlet-sharp and gimlet-hard. They said some sort of "How d'ye do" business and made bows like Chinese mandarins, but their faces would have made a chorus girl get thoughtful. I guessed then they knew about the tapped message and had come to see Miss Maitland get the third degree. She scented the trouble ahead too – I don't see how she could have helped it; there was thunder in the air. But she said good-morning to them, cordial and easy, and walked over to the chair Mr. George pushed forward for her.

Sitting there in the midst of them, she looked at the Chief, politely inquiring, and I couldn't help but think she was a winner. Mrs. Price, all weazened up and washed out, was like a cosmetic advertisement beside her. She held herself very straight, her hands folded together in her lap, her head up cool and proud. She had on the white hat with the wreath of grapes and a wash-silk dress of white with lilac stripes that set easy over her fine shoulders, and, believe me, bad or good, she was a thoroughbred.

The Chief, turning himself round toward her with a hitch of his chair, began as bland and friendly as if they'd just met at a tea-fest.

"We're very sorry to bother you again, Miss Maitland. But certain facts have come up since you were here that make it necessary for me to ask you a few more questions."

She just inclined her head a little and murmured:

"It's no bother at all, Mr. Whitney. I'm only too anxious to help in any way I can."

Honest-to-God I think the Chief got a jar; the words came as smooth and as cool as cream just off the ice. For a second he looked at his desk and moved a paper knife very careful, as if it was precious and he was afraid of breaking it.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Miss Maitland. It's not only what one would expect you to feel, but it makes me sure that you will be willing to explain certain circumstances concerning yourself and your – er – activities – that have – well – er – rather puzzled us."

It was my business to watch her and even if it hadn't been I couldn't have helped doing it. I saw just two things – the light strike white across the breast of her blouse where a quick breath lifted it, and, for a second, her hands close tight till the knuckles shone. Then they relaxed and she said very softly:

"Certainly. I'll explain anything."

"Very good. I was sure you would." He leaned forward, one arm on the desk, his big shoulders hunched, his eyes sharp on her but still very kind. "We have discovered – of course you'll understand that our detectives have been busy in all directions – that nearly a month ago you took a room at 76 Gayle Street. Now that I should ask about this may seem an unwarranted impertinence, but I would like to know just why you took that room."

There was a slight pause. Mrs. Price, who was sitting next to me, an empty chair in front of her, rustled and in the moment of silence I could hear her breathing, short and catchy, like it was coming hard. Miss Maitland, who, as the Chief had spoken, had dropped her eyes to her hands, looked up at him:

"I have no objection to telling you. I took it for a school friend of mine – Aggie Brown, a girl I hadn't seen for years. A month ago she wrote me from St. Louis and told me she was coming to New York to study art and asked me to engage a room for her. She said she had very little money and it must be inexpensive. I had heard of that place from other girls – that it was respectable and cheap – so I engaged the room. It so happens that my friend is not yet in New York. She was delayed by illness in her family."

I sent a look around and caught them like pictures going quick in a movie – Mr. Janney glimpsing sideways, worried and frowning, at his wife, Mr. George, his arm on the back of his chair, pulling at his little blonde mustache and twisting his mouth around, and the Chief pawing absent-minded after the paper knife. Miss Maitland, with her chin up and her shoulders square, had her eye on him, attentive and steady, like a soldier waiting for orders.

Then out of the silence came Mrs. Janney's voice, rumbling like distant thunder:

"But you went to that room yourself?"

The Chief's hand made a quick wave at her for silence. Miss Maitland didn't seem to notice it; she turned to Mrs. Janney and answered:

"Yes, several times, Mrs. Janney. I'd had to pay the rent in advance and I had a key, so when I was in town and had time to spare I went there. It was quiet and convenient – I used to write letters and read."

"Would you mind telling me why Mr. Chapman Price went there too?"

It was the Chief's voice this time, quite low and oh, so deep and mild. Miss Maitland's attitude didn't change, but again her hands clasped and stayed clasped. She gave a little, provocative smile, almost as if she was trying to flirt with him, and said:

"You seem to know a great deal about me and my affairs, Mr. Whitney."

He returned the smile, good-humored, as if he liked the way she'd come back at him.

"A little, Miss Maitland. You see we have had to, unpleasant but still necessary – you have no objection to answering?"

"Oh, not the least, only – " her glance swept over the solemn faces of the others – "I'm afraid Mrs. Janney may not approve of what I've done. I met Mr. Price there to tell him about Bébita; I was sorry for him, for the position he was in. He was fond of her and he heard almost nothing about her. So I arranged to give him news of her, tell him how she was, and little funny things she had said. It wasn't the right thing to do but I – I – pitied him so."

A sound – I can't call it anything but a grunt – came from Mrs. Janney. Mr. George, still pulling at his mustache, shifted uneasily in his chair. Beside me I could hear that stifled breathing of Mrs. Price, and her hand, all covered with rings, stole forward and clasped like a bird's claw on the chair in front. I don't think Miss Maitland noticed any of this. Her eyes were on the Chief, fixed and sort of defiant. Her face had lost its calm look; there were pink spots on her cheek bones.

"A natural thing to do," said the Chief mildly, "though hardly discreet considering the situation. But we won't argue about that – we'll pass on to the business of the moment. Now you told us last time you were here that you left the taxi in front of Justin's. Inquiries there of the doorman have elicited the information that he remembers the cab and the child, and says it was still there when you came out and that you got into it and drove away."

"How can the doorman at a place where hundreds of carriages stop every day remember the people in each one?" All the softness was gone out of her voice and her face began to look different, as if it had grown thinner. "It's absurd – he couldn't possibly be sure of every woman and child who stopped there. My word is against his, and it seems to me I'm much more likely to know what I did than he is – especially that day."

"Certainly, certainly." The Chief was all kindly understanding. "Under the circumstances every event of that morning should be impressed on your memory. But another fact has come up that seems to us curious. One of our detectives has heard from a clerk in a book bindery at the corner near 76 Gayle Street, that on Friday last, at about half-past eleven, he saw a taxi standing at the curb there. He noticed a child in it talking to the driver and his description of this child, her appearance and clothes, is a very accurate description of Bébita."

He looked at her over his glasses, with a sort of ominous, waiting attention. I'd have wilted under it, but she didn't, only what had been a restrained quietness gave place to a sort of steely tension. You could see that her body all over was as rigid as the hands clenched together, the fingers knotted round each other. It was will and a fighting spirit that kept her up. I began to feel my own muscles drawing tight, wondering if she'd get through and praying that she would – I don't know why.

"It's quite possible that this man – this clerk – may have seen such a taxi with such a child in it. There must be a great many little girls in New York whose description would fit Bébita. I dare say if your detective had gone about the city he would have heard of any number of cabs and children that would have fitted just as well. I can't imagine why you're asking me these questions or why you don't seem to believe what I say. But even if you don't believe it, that won't prevent me from sticking to it."

"A commendable spirit, Miss Maitland, when one is sure of one's facts," said the Chief, and suddenly pushing back his chair he rose. "Now I've just one more matter to call to your attention, a little memorandum here, which, if you'll be good enough to explain, we'll end this rather trying interview."

He went over to her, fumbling in his vest pocket, and then drew out my folded paper and put it into her hand:

"It's the record of a telephone message received by you yesterday at Grasslands, and tapped by our detective, Miss Rogers."

He stepped back and stood leaning against the desk watching her. We all did; there wasn't an eye in that room which wasn't glued on that unfortunate girl as she opened the paper and read the words.

It was a knock-out blow. I knew it would be – I didn't see how it couldn't – and yet she'd put up such a fight that some way or other I thought she'd pull out. But that bowled her over like a nine pin.

She turned as white as the paper and her hands holding it shook so you could hear it rustle. Then she looked up and her eyes were awful – hunted, desperate. Yet she made a last frantic effort, with her face like a death mask and all the breath so gone out of her she had only a hoarse thread of voice:

"I – I – don't know what this is – oh, yes, yes, I mean I do. But it – it refers to something else – it's – it's – that friend of mine – Aggie Brown from St. Louis – she's come and Mr. Price – "

She couldn't go on; her lips couldn't get out any words. You could see the brain behind them had had such a shock it wouldn't work.

"Miss Maitland," said the Chief, solemn as an executioner, "we've got you where you can't keep this up. There's no use in these evasions and denials. Where is Bébita?"

"I don't know – I don't know anything about her. I swear to Heaven I don't."

She raised her voice with the last words and looked at them, round at those stony faces, wild like an animal cornered.

"What's the matter with you? Why do you think I'd be a party to such a thing? Why don't you believe me – why can't you believe me? And you don't – not one of you. You think I'm guilty of this infamous thing. All right, think it. Do what you like with me – arrest me, put me in jail, I don't care."

She put her hands over her face and collapsed down in her chair, like a spring that had held her up had broken. That breathing beside me had grown so loud it sounded as if it came from some one running the last lap of a race. Now it suddenly broke into a sound – more like a growl than anything else – and Mrs. Price got up, shuffling and shaking, her hands holding on to the chair in front.

"She ought to be put in jail," she gasped out. "She's bad right through – everything she's said is a lie. And she's a thief too."

There was a movement of consternation among them all – getting up, pushing back chairs, several voices speaking together:

"Keep quiet."

"Mrs. Price, I beg of you – "

"Suzanne, sit down."

But she went on, looking like a withered old witch, with her bird-like hands clutched on the chair back:

"I won't sit down, I won't keep quiet. I've sat here listening to all this and I've had enough. I'm crazy; my baby's gone; she's taken it, she's taken everything – " She turned to her mother. "She took your jewels – I know it."

Mr. Janney burst in like a bombshell. I never thought he could break loose that way, with his voice shrill and a shaking finger pointing into his stepdaughter's face.

"Stop this. I can't stand for it – I know something about that – I saw – "

But she wouldn't stop, no one could make her:

"I saw too, and I'm going to tell you. I don't care what you say, I don't care what you think of me – my heart's broken and I don't care for anything but to have my baby back." She addressed her mother again. "Iwent to take your jewels that night. Yes, I did; I went to steal them – not all of them – just that long diamond chain you never wear. You know why; you knew I hadn't any money and that I had to have it. I was going to sell it and put what I got in stocks and if I was lucky buy it back so you'd never know. It was I who took Bébita's torch – that's why it was lost – and I went down to the safe. I'd found the combination in a drawer in the library and learnt it. And when I opened it everything was gone. Some one had been there before me, the cases were all together in their box but they were empty." She clawed at the embroidered purse hanging on her arm and began to jerk at the cord, pulling it open. "But I found something, something the thief had dropped, lying on the floor just inside the door." She drew out a twist of tissue paper, and unrolling it held it toward the Chief; "I found that."