Mary Louise at Dorfield/Chapter 14

Bob Dulaney had hardly left the shop before Hortense Markle burst out with the remark:

“Miss O’Gorman, how could you be so imprudent?”

“Imprudent? I? You mean because I told Mr. Dulaney he might come keep shop for us?” asked Josie, looking so stupid Hortense felt like slapping her. “You don’t think that was proper?”

“Proper! The idea! My dear girl, I only meant it was imprudent to let him go off with that valuable book of your father’s. I am sure we all feel an interest in you, and such a book as that is of untold value. Did you not say it contained notes he had kept almost from the beginning of his career and had descriptions of all the noted criminals, convicted and unconvicted?”

“Yes, it has,” answered Josie, putting on the air of a moron. Her tone was so dull and her manner so stupid that Elizabeth and Irene, who well understood the keen intelligence of their partner, looking on in astonishment. What was she trying to do?

“Well, knowing that, don’t you think it was a little too trusting to let a strange young man simply walk off with that precious book in his pocket? He might keep on walking and never come back. Such a treasure as that would be of more value to a collector than I can tell you and Mr. Dulaney could realize more from the sale of such a book than he could make on his tuppenny articles for Sunday supplements in ten years’ time.”

Irene’s eyes were flashing. At least now she had a reason for hating Hortense Markle. What a cruel suggestion! How could she harbor such a thought? Bob Dulaney with his frank open manner and kind, clear eyes, Bob Dulaney a possible thief! Danny Dexter’s friend! Her friend too—she felt she could count him among her real friends. Could she sit there and let such an imputation go unchallenged? She looked at Josie in astonishment. Of course it was her business to combat such an unkind suggestion, but Josie was looking blank as a whitewashed fence. Elizabeth, however, arose to the occasion with:

“I fancy you are mistaken, Mrs. Markle. I am sure Mr. Dulaney is honor itself. I think he can be trusted with anything, no matter how valuable. I’d stake my life on it.”

“And I, mine!” spoke up Irene in a low clear voice.

“Ah, and so the handsome Goliath has champions among the fair sex,” laughed Hortense. “Heavens, children, I had no idea of bringing down such a deluge of vituperation on my poor little head! I was merely interested in the little book, not on my own account but on my husband’s. Felix was so excited over your having such a book, my dear Josie. He has always been interested in codes and hieroglyphics. He was dying for me to ask you to lend it to him, but I utterly refused. No wonder I am a little peeved when you hand it calmly over to the first good looking young man who asks for it. Well, I must be going. Don’t hurry with the napkins and don’t bother to send them to me. I’ll call for them.”

She tripped gaily from the shop, calling back from the door:

“Please don’t be cross with me for suggesting that poor Mr. Dulaney might be tempted by the marvelous little book. He is, to all appearances, a charming young man, but then after all we don’t really know him very well.”

“We know him as well as we know you,” was on the tip of Irene’s tongue, but she did not say it, only bowed her head stiffly when Hortense included her in the beaming smile and wave of farewell.

“Rather catty, I call that,” said Elizabeth, when their charming visitor was well out of ear shot. “What do you think she meant by suggesting such a horrid thing, Josie?”

Josie, who had lost her strange stupid look, laughed gaily at Elizabeth’s question. “She didn’t mean anything at all, Elizabeth. She was put out because the nice, big boy didn’t pay her any attention. He was either talking business and books with you and me or he was leaning over Irene there making engagements. The beautiful Mrs. Markle must be the center of attraction or she won’t play.”

“Oh!” and Irene blushed rosy red. This was indeed being like other girls if somebody was jealous of her. “I can’t help thinking she had some other motive,” Irene whispered to Josie, when Elizabeth went back to her noisy copying of the flamboyant story. “Of course, if such a charmer as Mrs. Markle wanted the attentions of a young man she could have them without lifting an eyelash.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” insisted Josie. “Some men don’t fall for so much beauty of face. They are on the lookout for beauty of soul. Wonderful damask napkins she left! Did you look at the embroidered initials? I hope I won’t scorch them. There is no telling what they are worth. Each one is big enough for a tablecloth.”

“They are wonderful,” said Irene. “I never heard of anyone’s having napkins laundered before the initials were embroidered, but it no doubt is a good thing. Mrs. Markle certainly knows all about it. I have never imagined such perfect work.” She sighed and dropped the lace she was mending for a moment and picked up one of the napkins the closer to scrutinize the regular stitches. Her magnifying glass was in her lap and she gazed at the work through it.

“Why, Josie, come here!” she cried in some excitement. “This napkin has had a piece cut out and a patch put in—one of Mrs. Markle’s incomparable patches, but a patch for all that.”

“See if this one has too,” asked Josie, trying not to show the excitement that she too felt.

“Yes, this one and this one and this one—all of them!” exclaimed Irene in a puzzled tone. “Look, she has matched each thread and then made an initial large enough to cover the patch almost entirely. I never saw such clever work in my life—but why?”

“Perhaps she did not like the initial she first put there and cut it out to put another,” suggested Josie, a twinkle asserting itself in her eyes that she seemed to be trying to make opaque.

“The patches are not all the same size,” declared Irene, picking up napkin after napkin and examining them carefully through her glass. “What can it mean, Josie?”

“Well, I guess we can safely say we have found the other two napkins,” whispered Josie. “They went to make the patches. Also someone besides Hortense did the cutting. Clever Hortense! Not clever enough, however, to get by with it! My father used to say that only the people who went to work taking for granted that others were cleverer than they kept out of the penitentiary. Hortense thinks I am a dullard and you a sweet person who has taken a dislike to her and not to be worried about one way or the other.”

“But what do you mean, Josie? Penitentiary—you can’t—”

“Yes, I can—but don’t tell Elizabeth—anybody in fact—we must catch the whole bunch and, if we jump too soon, we may get only an innocent bystander. I am going to call on you to help me if I need you.”

“What’s that you are not going to tell me?” asked Elizabeth. “This old typewriter makes just enough noise to keep me from catching secrets. Is it ice cream you are going to have up for lunch or are you going to make me pay the gas bill? Is it a pleasant secret or otherwise?”

“Well, it may be both,” answered Josie. “I wasn’t going to tell you because my father always said the more persons you took in on a case the harder it was to get at the bottom of it. He thought they kind of crowded each other when the business narrowed down to the final outcome.”

“But I’m a partner here and if there is anything I might make use of in the way of copy in the literary career I hope to follow, I think it is mean not to tell me,” laughed Elizabeth.

“I guess you are right,” decided Josie. “I may get help from you girls too. But mind not a word or look to a soul to let on you suspect a thing! Swear!”

“We swear!” chorused Irene and Elizabeth in hollow excited tones.

Then Josie told them the whole thing from the beginning; told how she had had some suspicion of the Markles because of something intangibly mysterious about them; told of her visit to the chief of police and the information he had given her concerning a chain of thefts being committed all over the country; told of the mission she had had confided to her before she reached Dorfield; told how she had been confident of something being a bit fishy in Hortense’s not being willing to take off the orchid pin and show it to Billy McGraw, for the reason that it had the Tiffany mark on it, no doubt the initials of his friend Mrs. Thomas. Then she made their blood run cold when she described her first night in the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop and the entrance of the Markles and their theft of the contents of the book.

“But, Josie, weren’t you scared to death?” asked Irene, her eyes big at the thought. “I am not a timid person ordinarily, but I believe I’d have died of fright when they came into the bedroom.”

“Well, I was a bit shaky, I must confess. Persons like the Markles don’t like to kill because it is a low form of wit, but they will do it just as a great humorist will occasionally pun if he can’t get his joke over without it. I was determined to be the first to fire if there was any firing to be done.”

There was nothing dull looking about Josie as she told her story to her two friends and confederates. Had Hortense seen her then, no doubt she would have changed her tactics in dealing with the daughter of the famous detective.

“And now,” said Josie, “in conclusion, as the preachers say, we must be ever watchful and never let on to a soul, man or beast, that we have any suspicion of the Markles. What we know of them is not enough yet to convict them and by waiting, watchful waiting, we may be able to unearth the whole plot and bring a whole gang to justice.”

“It is a little hard on Mr. Dulaney to let him take off the notebook full of blanks,” suggested Irene, a faint flush appearing on her cheeks.

“Yes, I know it is,” agreed Josie, “and I would not have done it except I wanted to see what Hortense would look like when I allowed him to have the precious book. Her face was a study. She has humor enough, I rather like her for that, and there was an amused twinkle in her eyes, relief also when I told the young man not to untie it just then. I fancy there are times when anyone with such a speaking countenance as the Markle has a hard time to appear indifferent. Her suggestions concerning Mr. Dulaney were very slick. Of course if I had not known all the time the book was full of blanks, I would naturally be inclined to hold Mr. Dulaney responsible for such a state of affairs.”

“Yes, that is what I am afraid of,” said Irene, “afraid he may be horribly embarrassed about it when he discovers the hoax.”

“There is danger of that, but I’ll do my best to make it up to him,” answered Josie. “Of course he’ll get the scoop of his lifetime when we finally nab the wretches. Such a scoop will more than repay him for a temporary embarrassment.”

“Are you keeping Chief Lonsdale informed of what you are finding out?” asked Elizabeth, who was beginning to feel that plots were hers for the asking in the stories she meant to write.

“Not on your life! He’d have a bunch of bungling blue-coats snooping around scaring off the game and taking all the final credit. No siree! This is my party. Chief Lonsdale can put as many men as he’s a mind to work digging up evidence, but I bide my time and go it alone. I don’t see any of the detectives helping me any. Now I’m going to finish up this lace before I give up for the day and deliver it to the rich old lady. I saw Mrs. Markle looking at it with a practiced and covetous eye. These people get to be regular kleptomaniacs when they stay in the business long enough. She may be back here at midnight and lift the whole shop.”

“Leave the key in the door so they can’t get the skeleton key in from the outside,” suggested Irene.

“Mere keys and doors don’t worry such as the Felix Markles. They are so clever with burglar tools there is no keeping them out if they want to get in. Of course, if we lock fast the door there is still the ‘dumb-elevator’ as Danny calls it. Bar that fast, or cut the cables and they will manage to come down from the floor above. The thing to do is leave nothing here they want and let them know as much. I wish you would drop in and make a short call at their apartment, Elizabeth, and tell Hortense I am taking back the lace this evening. I must say I’ll sleep better if she knows it is out of my keeping.”

“I’ll do that very thing. Now aren’t you glad you took me in your confidence?”

“I wanted to all along but was trying to follow Father’s plans in going it alone as much as possible.”

“I’d like to see the Markles’ faces when they finally decipher the notes and read ‘The Hound of Heaven,’” said Irene. “What else was in the notes?”

“Oh, long stanzas from ‘Paradise Lost,’ ‘Hamlet’s Soliloquy,’ and pages from ‘Les Misérables’ in French. I don’t speak French at all but I can read it quite well and Father wanted me to be able to take notes in it, as sometimes we have to work with French detectives and he thought it might be useful. Anyhow it was good practice. I copied a lot about the convicts and a chapter on argot. They will have a grand time reading it if they ever master the key. It is almost cruel for me to fool them so when they might spend their time to so much better advantage.”