CAUGHT IN THE ACT
When Dorothy went down to dinner that evening, she knew exactly what she
had to do. After reading Tunbridge’s note which she found had been
slipped between the pillow case and the pillow itself, she had memorized
the combination to Doctor Winn’s safe, and destroyed the missive as she
had his warning of the night before. After a bath and a complete change
of clothing, she felt refreshed and in a much better frame of mind. She
had selected one of the prettiest gowns in Janet’s wardrobe, a turquoise
blue crepe, with a cluster of silver roses fastened in the twisted
velvet girdle, put on slippers to match, and surveyed the result in the
mirror.
“Decidedly becoming, my girl,” she smiled at her reflection, and gave a
last pat to her shining bob that she had brushed until it lay like a
bronze cap close about her shapely head. “Might as well look my best at
my criminal debut!” She made a face at herself, turned and kissed the
sleeping puppy in his basket, and went downstairs.
Doctor Winn and Mrs. Lawson were standing talking in the entrance hall,
near the fireplace. The old gentleman, dressed in immaculate dinner
clothes, looked more than ever like the English squire in his ancestral
hall. He came forward to meet her, both hands outstretched.
“As charming as an English primrose and twice as beautiful!” he greeted
gaily.
“Thank you kindly, sir.” She dropped him a little curtsey and let him
lead her to Mrs. Lawson.
“Our little secretary has blossomed into a very lovely debutante,” he
beamed.
Dorothy bit her lip, remembering her own phrase of a few moments before,
then smiled at her employer. Mrs. Lawson was regal in black velvet,
trimmed in narrow bands of ermine. She returned Dorothy’s smile, and
lifted her finely pencilled brows at the Doctor. “Oh, you men. You are
all alike. A pretty gown, a pretty face intrigues you, young or old. Pay
no attention to his flattery, Janet. I can hardly blame him, though. You
look lovely tonight. That is an exquisite frock. Did you buy it abroad?”
“Oh, no, at a little place on fifty-seventh street.” Of course Dorothy
had no idea where Janet had bought the dress. “It is a Paris model,
though, Mrs. Lawson.”
“I thought as much. Ah, here comes Tunbridge with the cocktails. I
wonder which side of the fence you are on?”
“I’m—I’m afraid I don’t know quite what you mean, Mrs. Lawson.”
“I’ll explain,” broke in the old gentleman. “I’m the prohibitionist in
this house, Janet. Mrs. Lawson is one of the antis. She likes a real
cocktail before dinner. I prefer one made of tomato juice.”
Mrs. Lawson had already helped herself to a brimming glass and a small
canapé of caviar from the silver tray Tunbridge was holding.
“Oh, I love tomato cocktails,” smiled Dorothy. She took one from the man
and helped herself to the caviar. “Daddy asked me not to drink until I
was twenty-one—and I’m not so keen on the idea, anyway.”
“I try to keep an open mind about such things,” the Doctor said
seriously, “but I’ve never found that the use of alcohol did anyone any
good. Well, here’s your very good health, ladies!” He raised his glass
of tomato juice and drank.
Dinner was announced a few minutes later. Doctor Winn offered his right
arm to Mrs. Lawson and his left to Dorothy and they walked into the
dining room. Dorothy did not enjoy that meal as much as she had her
luncheon. True, the food was delicious and the panelled room with its
cheerful fire on the hearth and the soft glow of candle light was
delightfully homey, while Doctor Winn’s easy chatter and fund of
interesting reminiscence helped to break the tedium of the courses. But
Dorothy found it difficult to play up to his amusing sallies. The old
gentleman appeared to be in very good spirits indeed. Laura Lawson, on
the other hand, was unusually quiet. At times she seemed distrait and
merely smiled absently when spoken to. She drank several glasses of
claret, but hardly touched her food. Dorothy felt surer than ever that
the Lawsons had planned their coup for tonight. She shrewdly surmised
that this cold-blooded adventuress had become fond of the genial,
fatherly old man, and realized that at his age the blow she contemplated
might very well prove a fatal one.
As the dinner wore on, Dorothy felt more and more ill at ease. The sight
of Tunbridge, soft-footed and efficient, waiting on table or
superintending his satellite of the plum-colored kneebreeches, sent her
thoughts to the night’s work ahead every time the detective-butler came
into the room. She was glad when at last the meal was over and they
repaired to the library where after-dinner coffee was served. Dorothy
rarely drank coffee in the evening, but tonight she allowed Tunbridge to
fill her cup a second time. There must be no sleep for her until the wee
hours of the morning, and she knew from former experience that the black
coffee would keep her awake.
Mrs. Lawson, after wandering aimlessly about the room, finally picked up
a technical magazine and commenced to read. Doctor Winn suggested a game
of chess to Dorothy. She was fond of the ancient game and told him so.
Many a tournament she and her father had played with their red and white
ivory chessmen. Dr. Winn was a brilliant player, of long experience.
Soon he began to compliment Dorothy upon a number of strategic moves.
But although several times she managed to place his king in check, it
was invariably her own royal chessman who was checkmated in the end. As
the evening wore on, the beatings became more frequent, for Dorothy
simply could not keep her mind on the game.
For a while she sat watching the log fire and talking to the Doctor in a
desultory way while Mrs. Lawson continued to read. Then as the
grandfather clock chimed ten, Laura Lawson laid down her magazine and
stood up.
“I think I’ll go to bed now, if you don’t mind.” The half stifled yawn,
sheer camouflage thought Dorothy, was nevertheless a masterpiece of
deception. “I’ve a bit of a headache, so I’ll say good night.”
Doctor Winn and Dorothy got to their feet. “I’m for bed myself,”
announced the old gentleman, “and in spite of the coffee you drank after
dinner, I know you’re sleepy, Janet. Your chess playing toward the end
proved it.” His eyes twinkled at her. “But in storm or clear weather,
there’s nothing like the air of this Connecticut Ridge Country to make
one eat and sleep. By the way, Laura, when do you expect Martin?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Doctor—he won’t be back tonight. He phoned
me from town just before dinner, that on account of the blizzard, he had
decided to stay in until tomorrow. If you need him sooner, he said to
call up the Roosevelt. He always stops there, you know.”
“Yes, yes, but I shan’t need him, thank you.” He turned to Dorothy. “The
railroad has taken upon itself to discontinue all service to
Ridgefield,” he explained. “Branchville is our nearest station, and
driving will be difficult tonight. There must be very deep drifts by
this time.”
“I should think it would be mighty unpleasant to get stuck out in a
blizzard like this. I’m glad I don’t have to go out into it. But in a
way I’m thankful for the snow, because we ought to have a white
Christmas, and it’s ever so much more fun.”
“Bless my soul! I’d entirely forgotten that Christmas comes next week.
Well, this year we must celebrate the Yuletide in the good old fashioned
way. Thank you, Janet, for reminding me.”
Good nights were said, and a few minutes later Dorothy was again alone
in the Pink Bedroom. Or so she thought, as she entered. But at once she
noticed that a single shaded wall-light sent a pleasant glow from the
bay window, and curled up in the cushioned recess, Gretchen was reading.
Dorothy stopped short in surprise and the girl sprang to her feet. “Oh,
Miss—Miss Jordan, Mr. Tunbridge told me to come and help you undress
and get ready for the night. Of course I didn’t know if you would want
me—” then she added in a whisper, “but he thought you might be sort of
blue and I could cheer you up, I guess.”
Dorothy smiled at Gretchen’s pretty, earnest face. “Why, of course I
want you, Gretchen. Tunbridge is very thoughtful. I’ve never had the
luxury of a personal maid and I don’t know that I’ll ever feel helpless
enough to need one! But if you want to stay and talk, I’d love it.”
“But I can help you, too,” Gretchen insisted. “I’m not really a trained
maid, you know, but Nanette—that’s Mrs. Lawson’s French maid—has been
teaching me. Gee, I’d certainly love to be _your_ personal maid, Miss
Jordan.”
“Well, you may be, some day, who knows?” she laughed. “But you can help
me tonight, though there’ll be no bed for me until much later.”
Gretchen, who was arranging the pillows and smoothing the covers on the
bed, turned her head sharply. “Secret Service Work?” she queried in an
excited whisper.
Dorothy nodded and tossed her dress on to a chair. She continued
speaking in a tone just above a whisper. “At twelve o’clock tonight I’ve
got to go downstairs and commit justifiable burglary in Doctor Winn’s
office. The real thief will be along later—at least, I hope so, for
everybody’s sake. In the meantime I want you to do something for
me—will you?”
“I sure will, miss—gee, this is exciting!”
“Don’t let it cramp your style.” Dorothy laughed, and pulling off her
stocking, she handed Gretchen the packet of thin paper, the manuscript
on “Winnite” that she had typed that morning. “When you finish up in
here, I want you to find Mr. Tunbridge and give him these papers. You’d
better pin it inside your uniform now, and be very careful that nobody
sees you giving it to him.”
“You can trust me,” declared Gretchen, and she put the papers safely
within her dress. “Is Mr. Tunbridge really a detective?”
“He certainly is, Gretchen.”
“I’d never have guessed it if you hadn’t told me. But then, I suppose
not looking like one makes him all the better?”
“That’s the idea.” Dorothy put Janet’s quilted satin dressing gown on
over her pajamas. “Now that I’m ready for bed, and you’ve put all my
clothes away so nicely, I think you’d better run along, Gretchen. Not,”
she amended, “that I wouldn’t love to talk to you while I’m waiting for
twelve o’clock, but we must not let certain people in this house get
wise to our friendship.”
“And Mrs. Lawson is one awful snoopy lady,” Gretchen observed candidly.
“Well, good night, Miss Jordan. Thank you a lot for letting me in on
this. I’ll see that Mr. Tunbridge gets your papers all right. Good
night—and take care of yourself.” She stood before Dorothy with an
anxious frown on her honest brow. “I sure do wish you the very best
luck!”
Dorothy grinned. “Thank you. I certainly need it. Good night.”
The door closed upon the little maid and Dorothy looked at her wrist
watch. It was ten minutes to eleven. For a time she sat on the edge of
her bed and stared unseeingly at the rug under her feet. Presently she
got up, locked her door, turned off her lights and went over to the
window. She drew aside the curtains and was surprised to see that it had
stopped snowing. There was no moon, but what sky she could see was
fairly a-crackle with stars. The heavy blanket of snow looked silver in
the starlight. A remote world and cold. Dorothy allowed the curtains to
drop back into place, and sat down on the window seat. Lost in thoughts
pleasant and unpleasant, she sat there for the next hour, while the
faint noises of the big house gradually subsided into stillness.
At exactly five minutes to twelve, Dorothy raised the window, letting in
the cold night air. Then she turned off the heat and got into bed. After
lying there for possibly a minute, she threw back the covers, thrust her
feet into the fur-lined slippers she had left at the bedside and moved
like a dim shadow to the closet.
It was crowded with Janet’s suits, coats and frocks, and she was careful
not to disturb them on their hangers, as she pushed between them in the
darkness to the rear wall and pressed her foot on the board in the
corner. The panel slid upward with a noiselessness that spoke for
well-oiled machinery somewhere in the walls. Dorothy stepped cautiously
through the opening. Her fingers sought the handle to this sliding door,
found it, and she pulled the panel down again.
Then for the first time she made use of the small flashlight which she
carried in the pocket of her gown. She saw that she was standing on the
top step of a narrow circular stair that wound downward. Off went her
light again—she was taking no unnecessary chances tonight—and with her
hand on the metal handrail, she felt her way slowly down the stair,
holding her free hand well in advance of her body.
When her extended fingers touched a wall that blocked further progress,
she felt with a slippered foot out to the right. The board gave
slightly, the wall panel moved upward and she stepped forth to find
herself in the great fireplace of the entrance hall, just beyond the
embers of the dying logs. The hall was illuminated in the dim glow of a
night light in the ceiling. As she turned to pull down the sliding
shutter, there came a streak of white from the dark passage and
Professor bounded into the hall.
Dorothy was completely startled, and just as exasperated as she could
be. She could not call him, for the slightest sound might bring the
wakeful enemy to the spot. The pup, after his long sleep, was playful,
and scampered about madly, his bright eyes watching her every move. She
attempted to catch him, but he eluded her with an agility that made her
still more angry. He seemed to think that this was a splendid game,
raced across the floor in high glee, but ever watchful to keep beyond
her reach.
Dorothy gave it up as a bad job. She dared not pursue him too
determinedly, for fear he would bark. She pulled down the sliding
shutter in the fireplace, and leaving Professor to his frolic, hurried
on to the door of Doctor Winn’s office.
Inside the room with the door shut, her flashlight came into play for
the second time. It took her but a moment with the memorized combination
at her fingertips to open the safe. The door was surprisingly heavy, but
at last the interior of the small vault came within her line of vision.
From a drawer she took a folded sheet of white paper. Out of her pocket
came a pencil and another sheet of paper. In an amazingly short time she
copied the formula and replaced the original in the safe drawer. She
tucked the copy into the fur lining of her slipper under her bare foot.
Then suddenly she sprang up.
Her heart leaped into her throat. In the corridor just outside there
came the sound of a footstep. There was no time to do more than shut off
her torch and drop it, together with her pencil, into the waste paper
basket. The door opened, lights flashed on, and Martin Lawson walked
into the room.