Miss Maitland Private Secretary Part 7

"Some one who's thoroughly reliable and can fit into the place?"

"My dear friend, she's as reliable as you are and that's saying a good deal. As to fitting in, leave that to her. In her natural state there are still some rough edges, but when she's playing a part they don't show. She's smart enough to hide them."

"Who is she-a detective?"

"Not a real one, not a professional. She was a telephone girl and then she made a good marriage-fellow named Babbitts, star reporter on the _Despatch_. She's in love and happy and prosperous, but now and again she'll do work for us. It's partly for old sakes' sake and partly because she has the pa.s.sion of the artist-can't resist if the call comes to her. She came to our notice during the Hesketh case-did some of the cleverest work I ever saw and got Reddy out of prison. The Reddys are among her best friends-can't do too much for her."

Mrs. Janney, who knew the beautiful Mrs. Reddy, was impressed.

"Do you think she'll come?" she asked anxiously.

He gave her a meaning look and nodded;

"Yes. It's an unusually interesting case."

Half an hour later Mrs. Janney met Molly Morgenthau Babbitts and laid the situation before her. She found the much-vaunted young woman, a pretty, slender girl, with crisply curly black hair, honest brown eyes, and a pleasantly simple manner. Mrs. Janney liked what she said and liked her. There was no doubt about her intelligence and as to rousing any suspicions in the household-she would have deceived Mr. Janney-she even would have deceived Dixon. As the case was outlined she could not hide her kindling interest and, when she agreed to undertake the work, Mrs. Janney felt that the nursery governess idea had been an inspiration. The interview ended with practical details: Mrs. Babbitts would make her reports to the Whitneys, who would figure as her employers and would hand on her findings to Mrs. Janney. She would arrive by the twelve-thirty train on the following day and be known at Gra.s.slands as Miss Rodgers. As they were separating she asked if there was a branch telephone on the upper floor and, being told that there was in an alcove off the main hall, requested that her room might be near it as the telephone played an important part in her work.

Suzanne's course had a curious resemblance to her mother's, though her plan of procedure was different.

From the day after the robbery she had developed an interest in the telephone "Red Book." She had taken it to her room and turning to the D's studied the list of detective agencies. After much comparison and cogitation she had copied down the name of one Horace Larkin, who appeared to be in business by himself and whose office was in a central and accessible part of the city.

After she had parted from her mother she went to a department store, shut herself in a telephone booth, and called up Mr. Larkin. A masculine voice, that of Larkin himself, had answered, and explaining her desire to see him on important business, he had made an appointment to meet her that afternoon at the Janney house on Fifth Avenue.

This was an excellent place for Suzanne's purpose, closed for the summer, its porch boarded up, its blue-blinded windows proclaiming its desertion. An ancient caretaker occupied the bas.e.m.e.nt with her niece, Aggie McGee, to help and be company. Mrs. Janney never went there, but now and then Suzanne did, generally on a quest for some needed garment, so that her presence in the house was in no way remarkable.

The appointment was for two and, after telling Aggie McGee that a gentleman would call and to show him into the reception room, she retired to the long Louis Quinze salon and threw herself on a sofa. She was a little scared at what she had planned but she did not let her uneasiness interfere with her intention, for, her mind once set on a goal, she was as determined as her mother. Stretched comfortably on the sofa, her glance traveling over the covered walls, the chandelier, a misshapen bulging whiteness below the frescoed ceiling, she carefully thought out what she would say to Mr. Larkin.

A ring of the bell brought her to a sitting position, her hands pushing in loosened hairpins. She waited listening, heard the opening and closing of doors and then Aggie McGee's head appeared between the shrouded portieres and announced, "The gentleman to see you, ma'am."

Her first impression of him was as a tall, broad-shouldered shape, detailless against the light of the window. Then, as she sunk into a chair, motioning him to one opposite, a nearer view showed him as a fine-looking man, on to forty, with a fresh-colored, rounded face, its expression smilingly good-humored. After the unkempt and slouchy detectives she had seen at Gra.s.slands his appearance, natty, smart, almost that of a man of fashion, surprised and pleased her. She had an instinctive distaste for all ungroomed and ill-dressed people and seeing him so like the members of her own world, she felt a rising confidence and rea.s.surance. Also his manners were good, respectful, businesslike.

The one thing about him that suggested the wily sleuth were his eyes, very light colored in his ruddy face, small, shrewd and piercing.

He came to the matter of the moment without any preamble. Yes, he knew of the robbery and knew who she was; he supposed she had called him up to consult him about the case.

"Of course, Mr. Larkin," she said, "that's what I wanted. But before I say anything it must be understood between us that this-er-sending for you-is entirely my affair. I want to employ you myself independently of the others."

He nodded, showing no surprise;

"You want to put your own detective on the case."

"Exactly. You're to be employed by me but no one must know you are or know what you're doing."

He smothered a smile and said:

"I see."

"I don't think the men that are working over it now are very clever or interested. They just poke about and ask the same questions over and over. The way they're going I should say we'd never get anything back.

So I decided I'd start an inquiry of my own and in a direction no one else had thought of."

Mr. Larkin gave a slight movement an almost imperceptible straightening up of his body:

"Do you mean that you suspect some one?"

Suzanne looked at the arm of her chair and then smoothed its linen cover with delicate finger tips. A very slight color deepened the artificial rose of her cheek.

"I'm afraid I do," she murmured.

"Afraid?"

She nodded, closing her eyes with the movement. She had the appearance of a person distressed but resolute.

"I can't help suspecting some one that I don't like to suspect. And that's why I want your a.s.sistance."

"I don't quite understand, Mrs. Price."

"_This_ is the explanation. If it were known that this person was guilty it would ruin and destroy them. My idea is to be sure that they did it-have evidence-and then tell my mother. We could keep quiet about it, get the jewels back and not have the thief disgraced and sent to jail."

"Oh, I see. You want to face the party with a knowledge of their guilt, have them restore the jewels, and let the matter drop."

"Precisely. And I don't want to say anything until I'm sure, can come out with everything all clear and proved. That's _where_ I expect you to help, put things together, find out, work up the case."

"Who is the person?"

Her color burned to a deep flush; she leaned toward him, urgent, almost pleading:

"Mr. Larkin, I hardly like to say it even to you, but I must. It's my mother's secretary, Miss Maitland."

He looked stolidly unmoved:

"She lives in the house?"

"Yes, for over a year now. My mother thinks everything of her, wouldn't believe it unless it was proved past a doubt."

"What are your reasons for suspecting her?"

Suzanne was silent for a moment moving her glance from him to the window. Mr. Larkin had a good chance to look at her and took it. He noticed the feverish color, the line between the brows, the tightened muscles under the thin cheeks. He made a mental note of the fact that she was agitated.

"Well that night, the night of July the seventh," she said in a low voice, "I was wakeful. I often am, I've always been a nervous, restless sort of person. About half past one I thought I heard a noise-some one on the stairs-and I got up and looked out of my door. I can see the head of the stairs from there, and as it was very bright moonlight any one coming up would be perfectly plain-I couldn't make a mistake-what I saw was Miss Maitland. She was going very carefully, tiptoeing along as if she was trying to make no noise. At the top she turned and went down the pa.s.sage to her own room which is just beyond my mother's."

She paused and shot a tentative look at him. He met it, teetered his head in quiet comprehension and murmured:

"She didn't see you?"

"Oh no, she was not looking that way. And I didn't say anything or think anything then-thought she'd gone downstairs for something she'd forgotten. The next day it had pa.s.sed out of my mind; it wasn't until I heard that the jewels were gone that it came back and then I was too shocked to say a word. It all came upon me in a minute-I remembered how I'd seen her and remembered that she knew the combination of the safe."

"Oh," said Mr. Larkin, "she knew that, did she?"

"Yes, she keeps her account books and money in there, things she uses in her work. You see she's been thoroughly trusted-never looked upon as anything but perfectly honest and reliable."