_An Alibi_
The wooden shack where the Jones family lived was picturesque in its
setting among the cedar trees behind Miss Grant's home. In summer time
Mary Louise could understand living very comfortably in such a place.
But, isolated as it was, and probably poorly heated, it must be terribly
cold in winter.
She ran down the hill gayly, humming a tune to herself and smiling, for
she did not want the colored family to think that her visit was anything
but a friendly one. As she came to a clearing among the cedar trees she
saw two nicely dressed children playing outside the shack and singing at
the top of their lungs. They beamed at Mary Louise genially and went on
with their song.
"Do you children know Miss Elsie Grant?" she shouted.
They both nodded immediately.
"Sure we know her! You a friend o' hers?"
"Yes," answered Mary Louise. "I've been visiting her, up at her aunt's
place. But she didn't come home for dinner, so I thought maybe she was
here."
"No, ma'am, she ain't," replied the older child. "You-all want to see
Ma?"
"Yes, I should like to. If she isn't busy."
"Ma!" yelled both children at once, and a pleasant-faced colored woman
appeared at the door of the shack. "Here's a frien' of Miz Elsie's!"
The woman smiled. "Come in, Honey," she invited.
"I just wanted to ask you whether you had seen Miss Elsie this morning,"
said Mary Louise.
Mrs. Jones opened the bright-blue screen door and motioned her caller
into her house. There were only two rooms in the shack, but Mary Louise
could see immediately how beautifully neat they were, although the color
combinations made her want to laugh out loud. A purple door curtain
separated the one room from the other, and some of the chairs were red
plush, some brown leather, and one a bright green. But there was mosquito
netting tacked up at the windows, and the linoleum-covered floor was
spotless.
"Set down, Honey," urged the woman, and Mary Louise selected a red-plush
chair. She repeated her question about Elsie.
"Yes and no," replied Mrs. Jones indefinitely.
"What do you mean by 'yes and no,' Mrs. Jones?" inquired Mary Louise.
"I saw her but didn't have no talk wid her," explained the other. "She
was all dressed up in a fine dress and had a bundle unde' her arm. I
reckoned she was comin' down to visit us, but she done go off through de
woods. Why you ask, Honey? She ain't lost, am she?"
"She didn't come back for dinner," answered Mary Louise. "So Hannah and I
were worried."
Mrs. Jones rolled her eyes.
"Runned away, I reckon. Miz Grant didn't treat her good."
"But Miss Grant isn't there--she's in the hospital."
"You don't say!"
"Yes, and I wanted to take Elsie home with me while she was away. So you
wouldn't think she'd want to run away now."
"No, you wouldn't. Not when she's got a nice friend like you, Honey.
Mebbe she was kidnaped."
"Nobody would want to kidnap Elsie Grant. She's too poor--and her aunt
would never pay ransom money."
Mrs. Jones chuckled.
"You right 'bout dat, Honey, fo' sure. Miz Grant's de stingiest white
woman eve' lived. Wouldn't give away a bone to a dog if she could help
he'self. Served her right 'bout dem chickens!"
Mary Louise turned sharply. "Chickens?" she repeated, trying to keep her
voice calm.
"Yes. Her chickens is bein' stolen all de time. Half a dozen to
oncet--and me and Abraham won't lift a finger to put a stop to it!"
"You know who has been taking them?" asked Mary Louise incredulously.
"We knows fo' sure, Honey. But we ain't tellin' no tales to Miz Grant."
"Suppose she accuses your husband?" suggested Mary Louise.
"Dat's sumpin' diff'rent. Den we'd tell. But it'd be safe enough by dat
time. De gypsies has wandered off by now."
"Gypsies!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "Did they steal the chickens?"
"Dey sure did. We could see 'em, sneakin' up at night, by de light of de
moon. If Miz Grant eve' catched 'em, it'd sure go right bad wid 'em. She
hates 'em like pison."
"But you think the gypsies have gone away, Mrs. Jones?" questioned Mary
Louise.
"I reckon so, or dey'd be stealin' mo' chickens. But we ain't seen nor
heard 'em fo' several nights. Guess dey done cleaned out of de
neighborhood."
Mary Louise cleared her throat. She wanted to ask this woman what she
knew about the robbery at Dark Cedars, but she did not like to seem
abrupt or suspicious. So she tried to speak casually.
"Since you know about the chickens being stolen, Mrs. Jones, did you
happen to hear anything unusual last night at Dark Cedars?"
"Lem'me see.... Las' night was Sattiday, wasn't it? Abraham done gone to
lodge meetin' and got home bout ten o'clock, he said. No, I was in bed
asleep, and we neve' wakened up at all.... Why? Did anything happen up
there? Mo' chickens took?"
"Not chickens--but something a great deal more valuable. A piece of
jewelry belonging to Miss Grant."
"You don't say! Was dere real stones in it--genu-ine?"
"Yes."
The colored woman shook her head solemnly.
"Abraham always say de old lady'd come to trouble sure as night follows
day. De mean life she's done lived--neve' goin' to church or helpin' de
poor. She neve' sent us so much as a bucket of coal fo' Christmas. But we
don't judge her--dat's de Lord's business."
"Did you know she kept money and jewels in her house?" inquired Mary
Louise.
"No. It warn't none of our business. Abraham ain't interested in folks'
money--only in der souls. He's a deacon in Rive'side Colored Church, you
know!"
"Yes, I've heard him very highly spoken of, Mrs. Jones," concluded Mary
Louise, rising from her chair. "If you see Elsie, will you tell her to
come to our house? Anybody can direct her where to find the Gays' home,
in Riverside."
"I sure will, Miz Gay. Dat's a perty name.... And you a perty gal!"
"Thanks," stammered Mary Louise in embarrassment.... "And good-bye, Mrs.
Jones."
She stepped out of the shack and waved to the children as she passed them
again on her way back to Dark Cedars. Glancing at her watch as she
climbed the hill, she observed that it was only half-past three. What in
the world would she do to pass the time until her father came for her at
five o'clock?
It occurred to her as she approached Miss Grant's house that she might
try to interview Hannah concerning her whereabouts the preceding night,
and she was thankful to catch sight of the woman in the back yard,
talking to William, her husband. It was evident from both the old
servants' attitudes that they were having an argument, and Mary Louise
approached slowly, not wishing to interrupt.
William Groben looked much older than his wife, although Hannah was by no
means a young woman. Hadn't she claimed that she had done the
house-cleaning for forty years at Dark Cedars? Even if she had begun to
work there in her teens, Mary Louise figured that she must be fast
approaching sixty. But William looked well over seventy. He was thin and
shriveled and bent; what little hair he had left was absolutely white.
There could be no doubt about William's innocence in the whole affair at
Dark Cedars: a frail old man like that could not have managed to handle a
healthy girl like Mary Louise in the manner in which the criminal had
treated her.
"There ain't no use sayin' another word, Hannah," Mary Louise heard
William announce stubbornly. "I ain't a-goin' a-change me mind. Duty is
duty, and I always say if a man can't be faithful to his employer--"
"I've heard that before, never mind repeatin' it!" snapped his wife. "And
nobody can say I ain't been faithful to Miss Mattie, fer all her
crankiness. But we've got a little bit saved up, and we can manage to
live on it, with my sister Jennie, without you workin' here. In a place
that's haunted by spirits!"
The man looked up sharply.
"How long do you think four hundred dollars would keep us?" he demanded.
"Besides, it's invested for us--to bury us. You can't touch that, Hannah.
No, I want me regular wages. I like good victuals!"
"So do I. But what's the use of good victuals if you're half scared of
your life all the time? I'll never step inside that there house again!"
William shrugged his shoulders.
"Do as you're a mind to, Hannah--you always have. And I'll go on livin'
over to Jennie's with you. But I'm still workin' here in the daytime. I
couldn't let them chickens starve and the garden go to seed. And what
would become of the cow?"
"You could sell her and turn the money over to Miss Mattie."
William smiled sarcastically.
"And have her half kill me for doin' it? Not me! Besides, it wouldn't be
fair to the poor old lady in the hospital. Dependin' on me as she is. No,
siree! Duty is duty, and I always say----"
"Shut up!" yelled Hannah in exasperation. And then, all of a sudden, she
spied Mary Louise.
"Don't you never get married, Miss Mary Louise," she advised. "I never
seen a man that wasn't too stubborn to reason with. Did you find Elsie?"
Mary Louise shook her head.
"No. Mrs. Jones saw her cutting across the woods this morning. But she
didn't stop there."
"I guess she must have them gold pieces of her aunt Mattie's after all,
and took her chance to clear out when the clearin' was good. Can't say as
I blame her!"
Mary Louise sighed: that was the logical conclusion for everybody to come
to.
"So I think I'll go home now, Hannah," she said. "I won't wait for my
father to come for me. And shall I take the key, or will William want to
keep it?"
"You take it," urged the old man. "I don't want to feel responsible for
it. My duty's outside the house."
Hannah handed it over with a sigh of relief.
"I'm that glad to get rid of it! And you tell Miss Mattie that I'm livin'
at my sister Jennie's. I'll write the address down for you, if you've got
your little book handy."
Mary Louise gladly produced it from her pocket: this was easy--getting
Hannah's address without even asking for it.
"Is this where you were last night?" she inquired casually, as the woman
wrote down the street and number.
"Yes. At least, except while we was at the movies. My sister Jennie made
William go with us--he never thought he cared about them before. But you
ought to see him laugh at Laurel and Hardy. I thought I'd die, right
there in the Globe Theater."
William grinned at the recollection.
"They was funny," he agreed. "When the show was over, I just set there,
still laughin'!"
"They almost closed the theater on us," remarked Hannah. "It was
half-past eleven when we got home, and that's late for us, even of a
Saturday night."
Mary Louise chuckled. She couldn't have gotten any information more
easily if she had been a real detective. Yet here was a perfect alibi for
Hannah; if she had been at the movies until half-past eleven, she
couldn't have stolen that necklace from Dark Cedars. Maybe that bit of
detective work wouldn't make an impression upon her father!
"Of course, I can check up on it at the Globe Theater," she decided in
her most professional manner.
She held out her hand to Hannah.
"It's good-bye, then, Hannah--and thank you for all the nice things you
cooked for me."
"You're welcome, Miss Mary Louise. And if you come over to see me at my
sister Jennie's, I'll make some doughnuts for you."
"I'll be there!" promised the girl, and with a nod to William, she went
around to the porch to get her suitcase.
Thankful that it was not heavy, she walked slowly down to the road and on
to Riverside. She had plenty of chance to think as she went along, but
her thoughts were not pleasant. Hannah's alibi only made Elsie's guilt
seem more assured. And how she hated to have to tell her father and Jane
of the girl's disappearance! There was bound to be publicity now, for the
newspapers' help would have to be enlisted in the search for the missing
orphan. Miss Grant would have to know the whole story, including the
theft of the necklace....
Mary Louise shuddered, hoping that she would not be the bearer of the
evil tidings to the sick old lady.