A DOUBLE-ROOM MYSTERY.
Miss Ladd passed the telegram around among the girls after writing the
following explanation at the foot of the message:
“Pierce Langford is the Fairberry attorney that represented scheming
relatives of Mrs. Hutchins’ late husband, who attempted to force money
out of her after the disappearance of the securities belonging to Glen
Irving’s estate. Leave this matter to me and don’t talk about it until
we reach Twin Lakes.”
Nothing further was said about the incident during the rest of the
journey, as requested by Miss Ladd. The girls knitted, rested, chatted,
read, and wrote a few post-cards or “train letters” to friends. But
although there was not a word of conversation among the Camp Fire
members relative to the passenger named in Mrs. Hutchins’ telegram, yet
the subject was not absent from their minds much of the time.
They were being followed! No other construction could be put upon the
telegram. But for what purpose? What did the unscrupulous lawyer—that
was the way Mrs. Hutchins had once referred to Pierce Langford—have in
mind to do? Would he make trouble for them in any way that would place
them in an embarrassing position? These girls had had experiences in the
last year which were likely to make them apprehensive of almost anything
under such circumstances as these.
Warned of the presence on the train of a probable agent of the family
that Mrs. Hutchins had under suspicion, the girls were constantly on the
alert for some evidence of his interest in them and their movements. And
they were rewarded to this extent: In the course of the journey,
Langford paid the conductor the extra mileage for parlor car privileges,
and as he transferred from the coach, not one of the Flamingoites failed
to observe the fact that in personal appearance he answered strikingly
the description of the man referred to in the telegram received by Miss
Ladd.
The squint-eyed man of mystery, in the coolest and most nonchalant
manner, took a seat a short distance in front of the bevy of knitting
Camp Fire Girls, unfolded a newspaper and appeared to bury himself in
its contents, oblivious to all else about him.
Half an hour later he arose and left the car, passing out toward the
rear end of the train. Another half hour elapsed and he did not
reappear. Then Katherine Crane and Hazel Edwards put away their knitting
and announced that they were going back into the observation car and
look over the magazines. They did not communicate to each other their
real purpose in making this move, but neither had any doubt as to what
was going on in the mind of the other. Marie Crismore looked at them
with a little squint of intelligence and said as she arose from her
chair:
“I think I’ll go, too, for a change.”
But this is what she interpolated to herself:
“They’re going back there to spy, and I think I’ll go and spy, too.”
They found Langford in the observation car, apparently asleep in a
chair. Katherine, who entered first, declared afterwards that she was
positive she saw him close his eyes like a flash and lapse into an
appearance of drowsiness, but if she was not in error, his subsequent
manner was a very clever simulation of midday slumber. Three or four
times in the course of the next hour he shifted his position and half
opened his eyes, but drooped back quickly into the most comfortable
appearance of somnolent lassitude.
The three girls were certain that all this was pure “make-believe,” but
they did not communicate their conviction to each other by look or
suggestion of any kind. They played their part very well, and it is
quite possible that Langford, peeking through his eyewinkers, was
considerably puzzled by their manner. He had no reason to believe that
he was known to them by name or reputation, much less by personal
appearance.
It was in fact a game of spy on both sides during most of the journey,
with little but mystifying results. The train reached Twin Lakes at
about sundown, and even then the girls had discovered no positive
evidence as to the “squint-eyed man’s” purpose in taking the trip they
were taking. And Langford, as he left the train, could not confidently
say to himself that he had detected any suggestion of interest on their
part because of his presence on the train.
Flamingo Camp Fire rode in an omnibus to the principal hotel in the
town, the Crandell house, and were assigned to rooms on the second
floor. They had had their supper on the train and proceeded at once to
prepare for a night’s rest. Still no words were exchanged among them
relative to the purpose of their visit or the mysterious, squint-eyed
passenger concerning whom all of them felt an irrepressible curiosity
and not a little apprehension.
Miss Ladd occupied a room with Katherine Crane. After making a general
survey of the floor and noting the location of the rooms of the other
girls, they entered their own apartment and closed the door. Marie
Crismore and Julietta Hyde occupied the room immediately south of
theirs, but to none of them had the room immediately north been
assigned.
“I wonder if the next room north is occupied,” Katherine remarked as she
took off her hat and laid it on a shelf in the closet.
“Someone is entering now,” Miss Ladd whispered, lifting her hand with a
warning for low-toned conversation.
The exchange of a few indistinct words between two persons could be
heard; then one of them left, and the other was heard moving about in
the room.
“That’s one of the hotel men who just brought a new guest up,” Katherine
remarked.
“And I’m going to find out who it is,” the Guardian declared in a low
tone, turning toward the door.
“I’ll go with you,” said Katherine, and together they went down to the
office.
They sought the register at once and began looking over the list of
arrivals. Presently Miss Ladd pointed with her finger the following
registration:
“Pierce Langford, Fairberry, Room 36.”
Miss Ladd and Katherine occupied Room 35.
“Anything you wish, ladies?” asked the proprietor, who stood behind the
desk.
“Yes,” Miss Ladd answered. “We want another room.”
“I’ll have to give you single rooms, if that one is not satisfactory,”
was the reply. “All my double rooms are filled.”
“Isn’t 36 a double room?” Katherine inquired.
“Yes, but it’s occupied. I just sent a man up there.”
“Excuse the question,” Miss Ladd said curiously; “but why did you put
one person in a double room when it was the only double room you had and
there were vacant single rooms in the house?”
The hotel keeper smiled pleasantly, as if the question was the simplest
in the world to answer.
“Because he insisted on having it and paid me double rate in advance,”
was the landlord’s startling reply.
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