A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
One evening she said to him:
“I’m going to drive to Sherman to-morrow, Danny, so we’ll get an early
start. Know where Sherman is?”
He shook his head. “No, Miss Burrows.”
“Well, it’s a straight road after we get to Bridesville, where we
went yesterday, so we can’t easily get lost. My dressmaker lives at
Sherman, which is fifty miles away. That’s only a short journey in the
car, and we’ll have luncheon at Bridesville. Just you and I and Irene
Macfarlane, you know.”
“Seven o’clock, Miss Burrows?”
“That’s about right, Danny.”
“I’ll be ready, Miss.”
So Mary Louise dismissed the matter from her thoughts and went to bed
without a single misgiving.
At a little before seven next morning Irene Macfarlane was wheeled
out upon the front yard nearest the driveway, happy and full of good
spirits, for a day like this was a rare treat for her. A day with Mary
Louise in the splendid new car, with only Mary Louise and her chauffeur
for company, luncheon at Bridesville and plenty of room on the back
seat was assuredly an event to be regarded with pleasure--and that’s
why Mary Louise had chosen her for comrade.
But neither the car nor the uniformed chauffeur were present. The
moments rolled on until 7:30 was reached and still no sign of the
automobile. Mary Louise ran around to the stables, to find both the car
and Danny Dexter absent. Danny had locked the door to his tower and the
front door of the stables stood wide open--just as if the young man had
prepared for a long day’s trip, but all else seemed in order. There
were two checkered robes belonging to the car, but these were gone,
as was all else that might be needed on the trip--including the extra
gasoline tank, always carried for emergencies. But Danny and car, with
its fittings, had absolutely disappeared.
“Perhaps he’s gone for gasoline or oil and been delayed,” pondered Mary
Louise on her way back to the side porch. “But it’s quite unlike Danny
Dexter to put off such an important thing until the last moment, so
I’m afraid one of the parts has broken, and Danny is waiting at the
garage to have it replaced. We may as well be patient, Irene, for our
fate is in Danny’s hands and I am sure he’ll get us started as soon as
possible.”
“It isn’t that,” replied Irene dolefully, “but I’ve got two music
lessons to give late this afternoon.”
“Oh, send them word you’re sick and have the dates changed,” suggested
Mary Louise. “I’m sure that will satisfy them. And after all, Danny may
be here any minute and then all our troubles will be over. As a matter
of fact, Danny told me yesterday that the carburetor needed adjusting
and that may be what is detaining him. So run along and have Aunt
Hannah telephone your pupils.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll go and tell Aunt Hannah right away,” responded the
crippled girl, “and I’ll tell her why Danny’s late, too.” She
immediately wheeled her chair around and started for her home, being
gone less than five minutes; but she needn’t have hurried for Danny
hadn’t returned by luncheon time. Irene and Mary Louise spread their
basket of lunch on the table on the side porch and had a merry time of
it in spite of the missing soldier and his automobile.
“Of course, if he doesn’t come pretty soon now,” admitted Mary Louise,
“we must postpone the trip to another day, but we’ll have all that fun
added to this, some day when the car is running properly,” promised the
owner, and they ate every bit of Aunt Sally’s delicious luncheon and
had a really “good time” in spite of their disappointment. Fortunately
most of their girl friends, learning of this intended trip, did not
come near them the whole day, so they were left alone to their own
devices.
As evening approached, nevertheless, Mary Louise began to be uneasy.
Gran’pa Jim came home from town and found the two girls playing
“muggins” on the porch.
“What! Back already!” he exclaimed.
“Why, we didn’t go,” answered Mary Louise.
“Dressmaker wasn’t ready for you?”
“No. We--we’ve lost the car--and Danny.”
The old gentleman sat down on a chair and whistled slightly.
“Tell me all about it,” he suggested.
Mary Louise complied. Really, there wasn’t much to tell. Danny Dexter
had been ordered to be ready with the car at seven o’clock, for a trip
to Sherman and had agreed to the proposition. He hadn’t appeared all
day; in fact, he and the car were both missing.
“I’ve telephoned the garage and the gasoline station,” concluded the
girl, “but he hasn’t been seen at either place to-day. Seems sort of
funny, doesn’t it, Gran’pa Jim?”
Grandpa Jim drummed with his fingers rather absently on the rail of the
porch.
“I insured the car but not Mr. Dexter,” he remarked slowly. “Odd that a
good soldier should turn out a thief, isn’t it?”
“He was absolutely in love with that automobile,” added Irene, eagerly.
“He would give anything to own it.”
“Danny is no thief!” asserted Mary Louise, positively. “He may have
gotten into trouble with the car, somehow; but _steal_ it--never.”
“Ought--oughtn’t we to do something right away?” asked Irene,
diffidently.
“We’ve wasted the whole day already,” Colonel Hathaway replied with a
smile; “perhaps a night and a day, if he had already made up his mind
to take the car. In that time he could get a long distance away from
us. And we’ve no idea what direction he took. Some auto thieves go
direct to the cities to hide, while others feel they are safer in the
country roads. Anyhow, I think we’d best call up Chief Lonsdale and ask
his advice.”
“To be sure!” exclaimed Mary Louise, excitedly. “Why didn’t we think of
that before? We’ve made mistake after mistake all day long. I’ll go in
and telephone him at once.”
The Colonel held her back. “If the Chief’s to understand what we mean
and what we want, I’d better talk with him myself. You grow more and
more muddled the more you talk with a person over the wire.”
So he rose deliberately and went into the house, and soon they heard
the Colonel telling the whole story of Danny Dexter to the Chief of
Police. He told it concisely and “without any frills or rigmaroles,” as
Irene admitted, and Chief Lonsdale ended by promising to come over at
once if they’ll give him some supper. “It won’t be as good as I’d get
at home,” he added, “but Aunt Sally isn’t the worst cook in Dorfield by
any means.”
The old Colonel chuckled and hung up the receiver, and before long, in
drove Chief Lonsdale in his Ford and anchored it near the front door.
“Evenin’, Charlie,” was the Colonel’s greeting as they shook hands.
“Evening, Colonel,” responded the Chief, hanging up his overcoat and
hat. “Been gettin’ yourself inter trouble, eh?”
“No, ’twas Mary Louise who considered a soldier must be, perforce, an
honest man.”
“I know him, and I believe she’s right in this case,” replied Charlie
Lonsdale. “If your man-of-all-work isn’t honest, I’m not honest and no
judge of an honest man.”
Irene, who had remained to supper, although she lived next door,
clapped her hands gleefully. Mary Louise walked around the table and
kissed the Chief upon his grizzly chin; the Colonel alone frowned.
“Think I’m going to eat over here and take ‘potluck’ for nothing?”
inquired the Chief.
“You’re an old idiot,” declared Colonel Hathaway, who was very fond of
the Chief of Police and often had him over for a Sunday dinner.
“If the stranger soldier hadn’t been all right,” responded the other,
“do you think I’d let you keep him and allow him to take charge of
Mary Louise’s precious auto? Or risk my poor stomach on corned beef
and cabbage, such as we’re going to have presently?”
“Why, how did you know that?” asked Mary Louise. “I didn’t know that
myself until you told me!”
“Eyes--nose--presently, taste,” said the policeman, laughing at them.
“Saw Aunt Sally lugging it home in a basket this morning--”
“But--”
“Smelled it when I came into the house just now.” Then he continued,
laughingly:
“Have been hankering for corned beef all day, and that’s the reason I
invited myself over.”
“You know you’re always welcome, Charlie,” said the Colonel, highly
pleased, “and we’ll have a couple of these fine ‘Cannel’ cigars after
the meal,” promised the Colonel. “I keep a few of them on hand just for
guests like you.”
“This don’t seem much like finding my car--and poor Danny Dexter,”
pouted Mary Louise. “That machine can easily go sixty miles an hour,
so we may be fifty miles farther away from it since you arrived, Chief
Lonsdale.”
“Possible,” admitted the Chief, “and it’ll take an hour more to eat
supper and--I may stay with you all night. Still we didn’t fix any
time limit on capturing the thief, so there’s no hurry that I can see.”
Irene and the Colonel were nervous and--to an extent--so was Mary
Louise, but the latter girl was more composed than the others. As for
the Chief, he seemed to have forgotten all about the task on which they
had embarked--after he had telephoned to some man in his office.