She shuddered at the fear that no one might come that day to rescue her, that she might be subjected to another black night in this dismal place. But with daylight to aid her perhaps she could find a way out for herself, if no one came. She would try not to lose hope.
She got up and washed, thankful at least for the water in the house, and she took a long drink. Then she remembered that there was tea in the kitchen, and even though there was no way of heating the water, she could make cold tea and add sugar. Perhaps the sugar would supply a little energy.
With her fur coat buttoned up to her neck she cautiously descended the stairway in the hall. Downstairs it was so dark that she could not even see the outlines of the furniture until her eyes became accustomed to the dimness.
“There must be candles in the kitchen,” she surmised. “But I’m afraid it will be too dark to find them.”
She groped her way out to the kitchen, and fumbled around until she touched the dresser.
“I’d never be able to tell which is sugar and which is salt,” she thought. “Except that I can taste anything I happen to find.”
However, that proceeding might not prove to be so good, she decided, for she had no desire to taste kitchen cleanser or rat poison, for instance. No, it would be better to do without than to take any risks, just for the sake of a cup of cold tea!
As she cautiously ran her hand along the bottom shelf of the dresser, her fingers encountered something decidedly rough. For a moment she was puzzled, until she could identify the object. But in a moment she recognized it. Sandpaper, of course! Sandpaper on the outside of a box of matches.
Her pulse quickened as she picked up the box, and found that it was full. This was luck indeed! She struck a match at once, and began to hunt feverishly for candles. But she wasted three matches without finding a single one.
“I can have my cold tea, anyway,” she thought, and with the aid of a single match she located tea and sugar and a cup. The sink was right beside the dresser, and she ran cold water over the tea leaves.
“Merry Christmas, Mary Lou!” she finally said aloud, as she drank the cold tea through closed teeth, to avoid swallowing the leaves.
She felt chillier than ever after she had finished it, but not quite so weak and empty. Lighting another match she made her way into the living room.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there were an open fireplace all piled up with wood!” she mused, as she entered the room.
There was a fireplace, she found, but it was totally empty. On a shelf over it, however, she came upon a discovery which she had overlooked the previous night. There, right in the middle of the mantelpiece, stood a Chinese vase of the very design which Mrs. Hilliard had described!
“Maybe if I look around I’ll find Miss Granger’s painting,” was her next hope.
She examined the picture over the fireplace—a cheap hunting scene—and was just about to turn away when she made another find which brought a whoop of joy to her lips. In plain view, at each end of the shelf, stood two tall, red candles!
When Mary Louise had lighted one of these she felt suddenly like a different girl. It was amazing what a change one steady little gleam of light could make. But she was frugal enough to burn only one of them; if she had to spend another night in this house she would not need to be in complete darkness.
There was an upright piano at the other side of the room; Mary Louise stepped over and sat down on the stool in front of it.
“I’ll play a Christmas carol, just to celebrate!” she decided, and struck the opening chords of “O come all ye faithful.”
She stopped abruptly. “What a terrible rattle!” she exclaimed. “These people must throw their tin cans into the piano when they finish with them!”
She stood up and examined the top with her candle. Lifting up the hinged half, she peered down into the space beneath. Instantly she perceived a gray flannel bag hanging on the end of one of the keys as if someone had deliberately hidden it there.
She snatched it off excitedly, delighted to find that it was heavy. No doubt it contained something metallic, which had been the cause of the jangling of the piano keys. With trembling fingers she pulled open the string and dumped the contents of the bag upon a chair.
Diamond rings, bracelets, earrings, watches, and gold necklaces dropped out before her astonished eyes. A fabulous treasure, such as one reads about in fairy tales or sometimes dreams of finding! Color came to Mary Louise’s cheeks, and her heart raced wildly as she examined the articles one by one to make sure that they were genuine.
Mrs. Weinberger’s old-fashioned timepiece ornamented with diamonds was there—and Mary Louise’s own dainty little wrist watch, engraved with her name in the back of it. Oh, what a joy it was to have it again! She clasped it affectionately about her wrist.
Leaving the jewelry on the chair, she peered into the piano again to see what else she could find. She was rewarded with another discovery. Down in a corner, in a remote spot, she saw a small package wrapped in brown paper. She encountered some difficulty in prying it loose, but at last she had it free. Stripped of its brown-paper wrapping, she found that she held a fat wad of bills in her hand!
“Mrs. Macgregor’s money!” she thought immediately. “And Miss Granger’s—and my own five dollars!”
How wonderful it all was! To be able to return the possessions to the rightful owners at Stoddard House! To have proof enough now to convict Mrs. Ferguson and her band of thieves! To collect her salary from Mrs. Hilliard and go home—in time for Max’s senior dance!
If—only—she could get out of this house!
A feverish sense of impatience took possession of Mary Louise. It was cruel, she stormed, that in her hour of triumph she should be imprisoned alone in a dark house. Wouldn’t somebody miss her and come to her rescue? Where was her father? Why hadn’t he driven out here to Center Square when he returned to Stoddard House last night—and had found her missing?
But suppose—awful thought—that he had not returned! Suppose he had missed finding Mrs. Ferguson and had been deceived by that letter of hers into pursuing the woman to Florida! Mrs. Hilliard would conclude that he had taken her—Mary Louise—with him, when neither returned!
A trip to Florida, Mary Louise figured, might consume almost a week. While she waited alone in this dark, cold house, each day itself an eternity of hunger and loneliness and suffering!
A hollow laugh escaped her lips as she glanced at the money and the valuables heaped on the chair beside her. They were as little use to her now as Midas’s gold. They would neither feed her nor keep her warm.
“There’s no use hoping for release by somebody else,” she told herself. “I’ll have to work out a way by myself. I’ll have to be a modern Count of Monte Cristo!”
She stood up and gathered her treasure together again into the bag and took the Chinese vase from the mantelpiece. Another tour of the room revealed the Whistler picture in a dark corner. With the aid of her half-burnt candle, she carried everything to the dining room and placed it all in a pile beside the silverware.
“I’ll hide the money inside my dress and the jewelry in my coat pocket. These other things I’ll drop into that wood-basket I saw in the kitchen.”
When she had finally completed her packing she sat down in the dining room to think.
“I believe I’ll try to get out the same way I got in,” she decided. “Because the glass is already broken in that window. All I’ll have to do will be to cut my way through the new boards which that caretaker—or whoever he was—hammered on last night.”
With this purpose in view, Mary Louise carried her candle into the kitchen. The drawer in the dresser revealed a poor selection of knives; it might take days to cut through a board with only these as tools. Nevertheless, she meant to try. Anything was better than idleness.
Selecting what appeared to be the sharpest in the collection, she returned to the window in the dining room. But she realized immediately that her scheme would not work. The boards were too close together; it would be impossible to insert a knife between them at any place.
“I guess I’ll have to smash that bedroom window and jump out,” she thought gloomily. “It would probably mean a broken neck, but that’s better than a slow, lingering death.”
She pulled the dresser drawer farther out, looking idly for some other implement to facilitate her escape. Suddenly her eyes lighted upon a hammer. Not a very large hammer, but adequate enough for the task. Why hadn’t she thought of that plan before? It would be lots easier to hammer those boards loose than to try to cut through them with a knife.
She picked it up out of the drawer and paused abruptly. There was a slight sound in the front of the house, like the click of a key in a lock. Extinguishing her candle, she waited breathlessly till she heard the front door open. Someone stepped cautiously into the hall!
Mary Louise’s heart stood still in her excitement. Who was the intruder? Was it the Margaret whom Mrs. Ferguson had mentioned in her letter, or was it the woman herself? Whoever it was, was he or she armed with a revolver?
Much as Mary Louise longed to find Margaret Detweiler, she dared not take a chance now of coming face to face with an unknown person in this dark house, since all the valuables were in her possession. Her only desire at the moment was for escape. Silently she moved towards the door of the kitchen which led directly into the hall.
She heard the newcomer go into the living room, and as Mary Louise crept past the doorway she saw the gleam of a flashlight. But the person, whoever it was, was hidden from her view, and Mary Louise did not wait to find out who it was. She reached the front door in safety and found the key still reposing in the lock.
A second later she removed the key and slipped out of the door into the clear, cold sunshine. She was free at last!
And with a chuckle of triumph she inserted the key on the outside of the door and turned it, imprisoning the intruder, just as she herself had been imprisoned for the last sixteen hours!
For one ecstatic moment Mary Louise stood motionless on the front porch, breathing the cold, delicious air of freedom. Then she ran around the side of the house to the rear to look for her car.
At first she thought it was gone, for she could not see it, huddled up close to the barn. But a few steps more revealed it to her view, and, weak as she was, she darted forward eagerly.
She decided that she would drive directly to the hotel and have some breakfast; afterwards she would inquire her way to the constable’s house. He could take charge of the valuables in her possession and go back with her to meet the intruder. For Mary Louise had no intention of returning to Philadelphia without first learning that person’s identity.
Besides, she had forgotten to bring out with her the basket containing the vase and the picture and the silverware. No use going back to Stoddard House without the entire loot!
She climbed into the car and put her foot on the starter—without any success. She pulled out the choke and tried again and again. Five minutes passed. She made one final effort, in vain. The car was frozen!
Despair seized her; she did not know what she could do. In her weakened condition, cold and hungry as she was, she did not believe herself physically capable of walking to the hotel. The distance must be at least a mile, although it had seemed so short by automobile.
She got out of the car and silently walked back to the front porch of the house, listening for sounds from the prisoner locked within its walls. But she heard nothing until she reached the driveway. Then a young man stepped from behind a tree and almost frightened her to death.
He was a tough-looking fellow of about nineteen or twenty, she judged, in slovenly corduroy trousers, a dirty lumber jacket, and cap. He eyed her suspiciously; Mary Louise forced herself to meet his gaze, although she was trembling so that she had to keep her hand on the jewelry in her pocket to prevent its rattling.
The young man edged up nearer to her.
“You one of Mrs. Ferguson’s girls?” he demanded.
“Yes, I know her,” replied Mary Louise. “I——”
“You been in the house now?”
“Yes,” admitted Mary Louise.
“Anything gone?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“That’s lucky,” remarked the young man. “I come around last night about six o’clock, same as I do every night, and I seen a window was broke on the side of the house. But I didn’t see nobody prowlin’ around, so I just nailed a board across it. I’m still watchin’ fer that guy that come in a car. You kin tell Mrs. Ferguson he ain’t come back yet.”
“What guy?” inquired Mary Louise, feeling more at ease now, since this young man evidently regarded her as one of Mrs. Ferguson’s gang of girls.
“That fellow that drove up here last Sunday night,” was the reply. “Didn’t Mrs. Ferguson tell you?”
“I haven’t seen Mrs. Ferguson to talk to,” she stammered, hardly able to keep from laughing.
“Well, this guy meant trouble, I’m a-thinkin’. He drove up here in a car with a dame alongside of him. I hid in a tree when I heard the car comin’, and when it was under the tree I dropped a rock on the dame’s head. Knocked her out, and the guy had to rush her off to a doctor.”
“Suppose you had killed her!” exclaimed Mary Louise solemnly.
“I ain’t supposin’. Besides, nobody knows I done it except Mrs. Ferguson and you girls, and if any of you dames tell on me, I’ve got plenty to tell on you!”
“No doubt about that,” agreed Mary Louise. “Well, I must be getting on. I’m going to the hotel for breakfast.”
“How about my money?” demanded the young man. “Mrs. Ferguson wrote me you’d be along today and said you’d pay me. She promised me ten bucks.”
This announcement scared Mary Louise; she didn’t know whether she should pay the man or not, in order to keep up the pretence that she was a member of the secret band. If she refused, mightn’t he knock her down? Yet if she complied with his demand and let him see the roll of bills, what would prevent his stealing them all at once?
However, a solution came to her mind, and she decided to risk it.
“I haven’t more than five dollars in my purse,” she said, opening it and showing him the contents. “I’ll have to pay you when I get back, after I have something to eat. I’m starved—I didn’t have any supper last night.”
“O.K.,” agreed the young man, to Mary Louise’s surprise. “Meet me here in an hour?”
“Yes, just about,” returned Mary Louise, hurrying down the driveway.
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 uppish.”
“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!
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!”
“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 department 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?”