_Found!_
With Silky in the lead, Mr. Gay and Mary Louise followed the path behind
Dark Cedars which led directly into Cooper's woods. It was new to them
both, for although they had gone to these woods many times, they had
always entered from the road that ran past the creek and the swimming
hole.
"It's much cooler this way," observed the girl. "So nice and shady."
"Silky seems to know what he's doing," remarked her father. "He's going
straight ahead."
"I'm afraid he's making for the swimming hole," returned Mary Louise. "He
loves a swim as much as we do."
"Do you want to stop for one?"
"I'd like to, but I don't think we better. It would take too much time,
dressing and undressing."
"Maybe we can have one on our way back."
"Yes, maybe," agreed Mary Louise. "I ought to have brought Elsie's suit,
so that if we find her she could go with us. She loved it on Saturday."
"I'm afraid you're being a little too optimistic, Daughter," replied Mr.
Gay. "Don't get your hopes up too high."
The path grew wide again as they approached the swimming hole, and when
they arrived at the stream Mary Louise took off her pack and sat down
under a tree. About a dozen children were playing about in the water, and
Mary Louise threw a stick into the stream as a signal for Silky to jump
in. In another minute the children were romping with him. Then they came
out and crowded around Mary Louise, admiring the spaniel and asking his
name.
"You didn't see a girl about fifteen years old in a green silk dress, did
you, children?" she inquired.
They shook their heads.
"Were any of you here yesterday morning?" asked Mr. Gay.
Two of the older boys replied that they had been there.
"Did you see the girl then?" persisted the man.
One boy thought that he did remember seeing a young lady--"all dressed up
in a silk dress." But she hadn't stopped at the pool; she had crossed the
bridge fifty yards below and had taken the path right back into the
deepest part of the woods.
Mary Louise jumped to her feet. "Come on, Daddy! Let's get going!"
"How about eating some of those sandwiches your mother packed for us?"
suggested her father.
"Oh, no--not yet!" protested Mary Louise. "It's only eleven o'clock." She
turned to the boys. "Have you seen any gypsies around?"
"A couple of days ago," was the answer. "I heard they moved on towards
Coopersburg. A fellow I know was over there last night and saw them
telling fortunes."
"What's the best way to Coopersburg?" inquired Mary Louise.
"Through the woods is shortest, I guess. But I don't know if there's any
path. We always go around by the road."
"We were going through the woods anyhow," said Mary Louise. To her father
she added, "I do want to see those gypsies again, almost as much as I
want to find Elsie."
She whistled for Silky, and he came running out of the water, shaking
himself joyously and rolling over and over on the grass.
"He's forgotten all about the trail he's supposed to be following,"
remarked Mary Louise, producing the purple calico dress. "Come here,
Silky, and sniff this again."
The couple turned their steps to the bridge and soon were out of the open
space, back in the cool shade of the woods. Here the path was narrow and
deeply shaded, so that they had to walk single file for a long distance,
sometimes picking their way carefully among the thick undergrowth. About
noon they stopped to eat the sandwiches which Mrs. Gay had packed and to
drink the iced-tea from the thermos bottle.
"It's still a long walk to Coopersburg," sighed Mary Louise. "I'd
forgotten how these woods wound around. I don't believe I ever walked
this way before."
"Are you tired?" inquired her father.
"A little. But mostly hot. I'll soon cool off."
"We won't try to walk back," replied Mr. Gay. "If we don't find Elsie, we
can take a bus back from Coopersburg."
"I don't think we should do that, Daddy," argued Mary Louise. "If we
don't find her or the gypsies either, I think we should come back here
and camp for the night. That would give us a chance to make a more
thorough search of the woods tomorrow. Because we might easily miss Elsie
just by keeping on this path, as we are doing now."
"Why do you want to find the gypsies, Mary Lou?"
"They may have seen Elsie. For fifty cents that fortune teller will give
you any information you want."
Mr. Gay smiled.
"I'm afraid she'd make up anything she didn't know," he remarked.
"Well, she was right about Jane's lost ring--and about the ruby
necklace," Mary Louise reminded him. "John Grant said so."
"Yes, but she used her common sense in the first case, and in the second,
she may have heard a rumor about the necklace--especially if this
particular band of gypsies has been coming to this neighborhood for
years.... I wouldn't attach too much faith to these people, Daughter."
They gathered up the remains of their picnic lunch and started forward
again, with Silky in the lead. On and on they walked for several hours,
talking very little, and stopping only now and then for a drink of water
from a spring or two which they passed. About three o'clock they came to
a widening of the path, and through the trees they could see the fields
that surrounded the town of Coopersburg.
With a new burst of energy Mary Louise started to run forward.
"I see some tents, Daddy!" she cried. "And that caravan! Oh, I'm sure
it's the gypsies."
"Don't run, Mary Lou!" called her father. "With that heavy pack on your
back! I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself."
"I can't wait, Daddy." But she stopped and turned around, removing the
pack from her shoulders.
"You keep the packs, Daddy," she said when he had caught up to her, "and
I'll go ahead. I'd rather see the fortune teller by myself, anyhow. But
stay where I can see you--within calling distance. And if I don't come
back in half an hour, come and look for me."
"Mary Lou, are you expecting any trouble from these gypsies?"
"You never can tell!" she laughingly replied. Blowing him a kiss with her
hand, she started to run towards the encampment. When she was about fifty
yards away she saw the same children whom she had noticed the day of the
picnic, and she looked eagerly for the fortune teller. A few yards
farther on she recognized the woman, coming from one of the tents.
It seemed to Mary Louise that an expression of terror crossed the gypsy's
face as the woman caught sight of her. But only for a second; in a moment
she was grinning and showing all the gaps in her front teeth.
"Fortune?" she asked immediately, as Mary Louise approached her.
"Yes--that is--not exactly," replied the girl. However, she held up a
silver half dollar in her hand, and the gypsy turned and lifted the flap
of the tent.
"Bring the cards out here," suggested Mary Louise, glancing back towards
the woods to make sure that her father was within sight. "It's too hot to
go inside."
The woman nodded and took the dirty pack of cards out of the pocket of
her dress. "Sit down," she commanded, and Mary Louise did as she was
told.
The oddly assorted pair stared at each other for a moment in silence.
Mary Louise's eyes traveled slowly about the gypsy woman, from the top of
her black head to the tips of her big old shoes. She examined her
dress--of the same deep-blue color which she was wearing the day of the
picnic--and she looked at her thin, bony, yet strong hands.... Then, very
deliberately, Mary Louise reached into the pocket of her knickers and
brought out the strip of blue sateen which she had taken from the window
ledge in Miss Mattie Grant's bedroom at Dark Cedars.
With a triumphant gleam in her eyes, she held the piece of torn material
close to the gypsy's dress. Dirty and spotted as it was, there could be
no doubt of its identity. It was a perfect match!
A wild gasp of terror escaped from the gypsy's lips, and she made a grab
at the condemning piece of evidence. But Mary Louise was too quick for
her. Springing to her feet, she leaned over and hit the woman right in
the mouth with her clenched fist. The gypsy groaned and rolled over in
the grass.
Amazed at her own action, Mary Louise stood gazing at the woman in calm
triumph. It had been years since she had hit anyone; she was surprised
that she had it in her to deal such a blow. But the gypsy was not knocked
out--merely stunned.
"Where is Miss Grant's necklace?" she demanded.
The woman opened her eyes and whimpered.
"It don't belong to that old witch! It's mine, I tell you! Was my
mother's, and her mother's before that. Old woman Grant had no right to
it."
She raised herself to a sitting position, and her black eyes flashed with
hatred. "You wait till my man comes back--and see what he'll do to you!"
Mary Louise smiled confidently.
"I don't intend to wait," she replied. "I have a member of the police
force right here with me." She raised her voice and cupped her hands.
"Daddy, come!"
A look of awful fright crossed the gypsy's wrinkled face.
"No! No! Don't put me in jail! I'll give you the necklace. But it's
mine--it's mine by right, I tell you!"
Mary Louise was scarcely listening, so eagerly was she watching her
father's quick approach.
"You can tell that to Detective Gay," she said finally. "And, by the way,
where is the box of gold pieces you stole from Miss Grant?"
"Gold pieces? What? Uh--I never took----" But her tone was not
convincing, and seeing that Mary Louise did not believe her, she suddenly
changed her story. "I'll give you the gold pieces if you let me keep my
mother's necklace," she pleaded.
Mr. Gay reached his daughter's side in time to overhear this last
statement. His eyes were shining at his daughter in speechless
admiration.
"Your badge, please, Daddy," said Mary Louise calmly. "Please show it to
this woman."
Mr. Gay did as he was requested.
"Now go and get the necklace and the gold," Mary Louise commanded the
gypsy.
The woman struggled to her feet.
"First let me tell you about that necklace!" she begged. Her bony hands
clutched Mary Louise's sleeve, and she looked imploringly into the girl's
face. "It was a precious heirloom--has been in our family for years and
years. We held it sacred; it brought us good luck. Oh, I can't bear to
give it up now that I've got it again!"
Mary Louise glanced questioningly at her father.
"Sit down again," he said to the gypsy, "and tell us the story."
"Thank you, sir!" exclaimed the woman, dropping down on the grass at his
feet. "I'll tell you....
"It goes back fifty years," she began, talking rapidly, "in my mother's
time, when we used to come here to Cooper's woods to camp every
summer.... I was a child--and so was my little brother. A little fellow
of six--my mother's darling....
"One day he got suddenly sick. A terrible pain in his side. My mother
almost went crazy, for she felt sure he was going to die. We couldn't do
a thing for him; the pain got worse and worse and worse. Then, like a
burst of sunshine after a storm, Mr. Grant came riding up to us--and
stopped and asked what was the matter. I can remember just how he
looked--not a bit like his awful daughter Mattie! He promised to help us,
to take my little brother to the hospital and get him well.
"My mother agreed, and she went off with Mr. Grant and the boy. They told
her there at the hospital that the child had appendicitis, and Mr. Grant
ordered the best doctor in the country.... And my brother got well!
"My mother was so happy that we thought she'd dance forever. She wanted
to pay Mr. Grant for the expense, but he was such a generous man he
wouldn't hear of it. So my mother gave him the ruby necklace to keep for
her and said she'd be back every summer to see it. If ever Mr. Grant
needed money, he was to borrow on it.
"He promised to keep it safe for her, but he never thought of it as his.
Each summer we came back and camped on his place--we were always welcome
while he lived--and each year we saw the necklace, and he would ask us
whether we wanted to take it back. But we said no, because it was safer
there, and he was our friend, and we trusted him.
"And then one summer we came back, and old Mr. Grant was gone. Dead. So
we tried to tell Miss Mattie Grant about the necklace, but she shut the
door in our faces and called the police. For years we couldn't even come
out of Cooper's woods without meeting a policeman.
"Then my mother died, and my brother died, and I decided I was going to
get that necklace back. So this year we came and camped in those woods,
and every night I went over to Dark Cedars. Sometimes I'd sneak in while
they were eating supper; sometimes I'd climb in a window with a ladder
late at night. I began in the attic and went through each room, searching
for the necklace.
"The first time I got into Mattie Grant's room--it was one evening last
week, while they were eating supper--I opened that safe of hers. I was
sure the necklace would be there. But it wasn't. I was so mad that I took
that box of gold, although I hadn't stolen anything out of her house
before that."
While the woman paused for breath, Mary Louise recalled the evening of
the theft of Miss Grant's money. This, then, was the explanation of the
open safe, from which Corinne Pearson had taken the bills. And it proved,
too, that Harry Grant had been innocent of any part in the actual theft.
The gypsy woman continued her story:
"It was you, miss, who gave me the information I wanted, the day you
girls and boys had your fortunes told. You told me old Mattie asked you
to sleep in her bed while she was away. So I knew that the necklace must
be hidden in the mattress....
"You know the rest. I went to Dark Cedars while you were still at your
picnic, and I thought I'd get the necklace before you came home. But you
surprised me, and I had to hide in the closet while you got ready for
bed.... I--I--didn't want to hurt you! I only wanted what belonged to
me!"
Tears were running out of the woman's eyes, and she rubbed her hands
together in anguish, as if she were imploring Mary Louise for mercy.
"What do you say, Mary Lou?" asked her father.
Mary Louise hesitated.
"I--I--honestly believe she has more right to that necklace than Miss
Grant has," she answered finally. "So, if she will turn over the box of
gold, I'm for letting her keep the necklace.... But what do you think,
Daddy?"
"It's your case, dear. You are to decide."
"Suppose you go with her, Daddy, while she gets both things. And be sure
to keep your revolver handy, too," she added shrewdly.
Mr. Gay smiled: he was delighted with his daughter's keenness.
The gypsy nodded and, stepping inside her tent, produced the box of gold.
The identical tin box which Elsie had mentioned. The necklace she took
from a pocket in her petticoat. Meekly she handed both treasures to Mr.
Gay.
"How beautiful that necklace is!" cried Mary Louise, in admiration of the
sparkling jewels. It was the first time in her life that she had ever
seen real rubies, and their radiance, their brilliance, was
breath-taking.
"I love them dearly," said the gypsy, in a hoarse tone, filled with
emotion.
Mary Louise took the necklace from her father and handed it back to its
real owner.
"You may have it," she said slowly. "I'll take the gold back to Miss
Grant. But first I must count it."
"It's all there," mumbled the woman, her hands fondling the beloved
rubies.
Mary Louise found her statement to be correct, and, handing the box back
to her father, she turned to go.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" she exclaimed, glancing at the gypsy. "Have you
seen a young girl anywhere around here--or in the woods?"
Before the woman could answer, Silky, who had run straight to the motor
truck, began to bark loudly and incessantly. Putting his front feet on
the step, he peered eagerly into the caravan, and increased his noise
until it reached a volume of which a police dog might have been proud.
Nor did he stop until a head showed itself from the door and a voice
called him by name.
Mary Louise, watching the little drama, suddenly cried out in joy.
The girl coming from the caravan was none other than Elsie Grant!