Mary went straight to her room that night and packed her bag. When
Billie came up a little later she found her kneeling beside her bed, her
face hidden in her hands. It seemed to the unhappy young girl in her
misery and danger that no human power could aid her.
When Billie heard the story, she was so angry with Mrs. St. Clair and
Miss Gray and Fannie Alta that she took an imaginary aim and pitched
both shoes across the room with all her force.
"Oh, my dear, my dear," she cried, throwing her arms about her friend's
neck with affectionate fervor, "you have at least one devoted friend who
will stand by you through everything."
Mary was touched by Billie's devotion and by and by the two girls
dropped off to sleep in spite of their troubled hearts.
But they were up and dressed before any one except the servants was
stirring in the house. Randolph, greatly amazed, and imploring the young
ladies to wait and take at least a cup of coffee, led the way to the
carriage house where the motor had been left.
"Tell Mrs. St. Clair," said Billie, "that I was called home early and
will write to her."
No one knew but the colored servant, and he did not understand, that
Mary and Billie had refused to eat anything in a house where one of them
had been called a thief.
"Mary, tell your mother the whole story," said Billie, as she dropped
her friend at "The Sign of the Blue Tea Pot." "Tell her not to be
uneasy. Your friends know you are innocent and it is all obliged to come
out right."
Then she dashed around the Square, turned up Cliff Street, and stopped
at the home of Miss Helen Campbell.
"No, I haven't had breakfast," she said to the old man servant, who
opened the door. "I'll eat with Cousin Helen if she hasn't breakfasted."
"Miss Campbell will not eat any breakfast this morning, Miss Billie,"
replied the butler.
"Is she ill?"
"No, Miss," the old man lowered his voice, "but she's wearing her black
dress."
Billie frowned.
"Is it an anniversary?" she asked.
"No, Miss. That's just the queer part. It ain't the anniversary. We know
when that comes now. But something's happened."
"Nothing to do with papa?" she asked anxiously.
"No, no, Miss."
"I'll have some breakfast, then," she said. "I'm very hungry from the
ride in town."
Billie ate a hurried but hearty meal alone.
"I never can do anything when I'm empty," she often said, and
instinctively she felt that trouble of some sort was brewing.
After breakfast she tapped on her cousin's door.
"Come in," came the tremulous answer, and Billie entered a darkened
room.
Miss Campbell, looking faded and pale and wearing a black crepe dress,
was sitting alone at the far end of her apartment. Her hands were
crossed on her breast like a mediæval saint's, and she looked the very
picture of hopeless misery.
"Dear Cousin Helen, what has happened?" cried Billie, running to the
little lady and kneeling beside her chair. "Is it something very
terrible?"
Miss Campbell put her arm around the girl's neck and two tears slipped
down her faded cheeks.
"Billie, Billie, why have you deceived me so?" she exclaimed. "How could
you have done this terrible thing? Oh, my dear, my dear, I have been so
unhappy, and Mrs. Price, too. We have wept together."
"What in the world?" cried Billie.
"The jewels, my dear. The box of wonderful jewels that you have kept.
How could you have done such a thing? I know many young girls who would
have been tempted by them. But not you, my dear, dear Billie. And Mary,
too. Oh, heavens, I am so unhappy!"
Miss Campbell was so shaken by her sobs and weeping that Billie was
obliged to wipe her eyes with her own handkerchief.
"But, dearest Cousin," she said at last. "We haven't done anything
dishonest, or that we might be ashamed of. How did you find out about
the box and who told you such a slander about us?"
After being bolstered up with aromatic nerve drops and eau de cologne,
Miss Campbell was able to speak coherently.
"Yesterday a man came here to see me. He sent up his name and the
message that he wished to speak to me about something in regard to you,
so I had him shown in. And then, my child, he told me such a story. How
his motor car had been wrecked on the very day we went to Shell Island
and a box of jewels belonging to his wife had fallen in the sand. He had
good reason to know, he said, that you had found the jewels and, instead
of trying to find the owner or answering advertisements and notes, had
kept them all this time in Mrs. Price's safe. He gave me a list of the
jewels and an exact description. I went at once to Mrs. Price. We found
the combination, opened the safe, and got out the box. There they were,
just as he had described them. Oh, my dear, what mortification! What
will your father say?"
"Did you give him the jewels?" exclaimed Billie, without waiting to make
explanations until this important point was settled.
"The man was very insistent. He has threatened to arrest you and Mary
and even Mrs. Price. Think of that! For harboring stolen goods."
"Did you give them to him?" cried Billie, impatiently.
"No, Mrs. Price refused to let him have them until she had seen you and
Mary. For my part, I should have given them to the man and let him go.
We had a terrible scene with him, but Mrs. Price was firm. She said it
would do no harm for him to wait until she had seen you and she would
not allow him to take them."
"Thank heavens for that," burst out Billie. "Then the box is in Mrs.
Price's safe?"
"No, I had it brought here for safe-keeping. The man was so angry he
made threats and I thought it would be better to get it away from Mrs.
Price's at least."
"What was the man's name?"
"Lafitte. He wrote it on a piece of paper."
"Lafitte?" echoed Billie. "What did he look like?"
"I cannot really recall, my dear. I was so agitated. But I think there
was something wrong about one eye."
"He had only one eye," Billie almost shrieked in her excitement.
"I believe so, and only one arm. But you will see him. He will be back
this morning."
"Cousin Helen, he will never come back. He is a thief and a robber and a
smuggler. He is everything that is wicked and bad. I don't know how he
found out that we had the jewels, but he has been hot on our track ever
since. I will tell you the real story of the jewels and then you will
see what an injustice you have done us."
When Billie had finished the strange tale, Miss Campbell looked at her
with a peculiar expression.
"It's a very remarkable story, my dear. And if I did not know you as
well as I do, I could almost think you had imagined it. And I was there
all the time. You should have confided in me. The woman was insane, I
suppose."
"She was not," insisted Billie. "She was perfectly sane and very
beautiful. The man who calls himself 'Lafitte' is not the right person,
and he shall not have the jewels until I hear from her or from the right
Lafitte. You may be sure he will not dare have me or any one else
arrested. We know too much about him already."
"But what are we to do with the things, child? They have brought nothing
but trouble on you since you have had them."
"Suppose you put them in your safety box at the bank for a few days.
There is something much more important than this at stake now. Mary has
been accused of being a thief by Mrs. St. Clair and Miss Gray. It is a
terrible thing. Mrs. St. Clair wouldn't listen to reason."
Billie related to her cousin what had happened the day before and the
chain of events which led up to it.
"Oh, poor dear Mrs. Price! My unfortunate friend. What shall we do,
Billie?" exclaimed the sympathetic little woman.
"I don't know yet, Cousin Helen. The whole thing is too much for me, but
I have a scheme. Are there any detectives in West Haven?"
"Call up the police station," her cousin suggested, and presently
Billie's voice could be heard in the hall:
"Have you a good detective? Bangs, you say. Send him to Miss Campbell's
please; upper Cliff Street, and the sooner the better. Good-by."