THE IMP MAKES A DISCOVERY
Despite the fact that Sue and Carol boiled with impatience for over a
week, conjecturing what it could possibly be that made Louis afraid of
the picture in Monsieur's room, they found out nothing new on the
subject, for the simple reason that there was never a moment when they
again saw him alone. To ask him about it when others were in the room
was impossible. Two days after Sue's last visit he was allowed to sit
up, and a day or two after that he was permitted to walk about for a few
steps. Then the nurse took her leave, and Louis insisted on returning to
his own room on the ground floor.
"And only to think," sighed Sue, when she heard of it, "now we'll
probably never see those strange pictures on Monsieur's wall again. I
could cry with vexation when I think of it. Carol, do you feel as if
there were something terribly mysterious about them,--not only the two
covered ones, but the boy's, also? I wonder if it haunts you the same as
it does me?"
"It certainly does," admitted Carol, "and yesterday I wrote a little
poem about it. Here it is. What do you think of it?"
She handed Sue a scrap of paper on which the verses were written. The
two girls had dropped off the trolley on their way home from high
school, and were bound for the library. Sue took the paper and studied
it carefully as she walked.
"I like it a lot," she acknowledged, as she handed it back. "Especially
those last two lines:
'O boy of nut-brown hair and smiling eyes,
Speak out and tell the secret that you know.'
Really, it's awfully pretty and the best thing you've done yet. Why
don't you show it to Miss Cullingford. It hasn't any direct reference
to Louis's affairs in it, and I'll warrant she'd recommend it to be
published in our high school paper, _The Argus_."
"Well, perhaps I will," agreed Carol, visibly pleased with Sue's
unstinted praise. She folded the paper back into a book as they went up
the steps of the library.
It was while the two were wandering round the big, sunny room, scanning
the shelves for an interesting book, that they made a startling
discovery.
"Will you look at that!" whispered Carol, suddenly pinching Sue as they
were passing the door of the smaller reference room, a spot they
themselves seldom entered. There, near a shelf of immense volumes,
stood--who but the Imp! She was deeply engrossed in the pages of a tome
nearly as large as herself. The sight was the more amazing because the
Imp was neither a member of the library, so far as they knew, nor did
she ever enter it, if she could help it, except rarely to get a book for
the girls.
The two stood rooted to the spot with astonishment. Suddenly the Imp
caught sight of them. She promptly closed the book and slipped it back
on the shelf. All she would admit in reply to what she felt to be their
intrusive inquiries was the statement:
"I'm looking up something on the advice of Miss Hastings. I guess I
don't have to explain everything to you." After which remark she marched
majestically out of the room.
The girls tried to guess from the shelf where she had stood what book
she had been consulting, but as it was a long row of encyclopedias, all
exactly alike, they could not glean the least inkling. Giving up that
course, they questioned the librarian on the way out, and found that the
Imp had joined the library several days before.
"Did you ever know anything to beat it?" demanded Sue, as they passed
down the steps. "What can she be up to? I know she's awfully bright and
reads lots of books that interest grown-folks, but she's so lazy about
things and so crazy just to be outdoors that she never thought it worth
while to join the library before."
"She said," Carol reminded her, "that her teacher, Miss Hastings,
advised her to look up something. You know she always tells the truth,
at least."
"That's true," admitted Sue, "but it must be something out of the
ordinary, or she would simply have come to us and bribed us to go and do
it for her. And besides, in her class they don't have to look up things
in encyclopedias; they haven't got to that yet. No, I'm certain it's
something else."
Wondering about the Imp's strange behavior, they harked back, as they
walked homeward, to that other subject that was constantly puzzling
them.
"Do you know," said Carol, "I believe that I've come to agree with you
in your theory about Louis and Monsieur. You know I didn't when you
first told me, because I was awfully disappointed about his not being a
count or a duke. But now I think that you're right. Monsieur is probably
the family lawyer, and Louis is going to inherit a big French fortune.
But if that is the case, why is it that Monsieur seems to be trying so
hard to make Louis like him? You remember, Louis said the other day that
he constantly feels as if Monsieur were doing everything in his power to
win his affection, for some reason or other. If he were only a family
lawyer, he wouldn't care a penny whether Louis liked him or not. And why
was he kissing his hand the other day? I'm half-inclined to believe that
he's some relative--a grandfather or an uncle or something. Yet he could
scarcely be that, and the lawyer, too. Isn't it a puzzle?"
"But don't you remember that Miss Yvonne told Louis he wasn't any
relative?" Sue reminded her; "only an old friend of the family."
"Susette," remarked Carol solemnly, stopping stock still in the middle
of the road, "you may call me all kinds of an idiot if you like, but I
want to tell you one thing. I've been feeling lately that there's some
mystery here, bigger than anything you or I imagine. It's just a
feeling I have, but it haunts me continually. I'm _certain_ something is
going to happen that will make us gasp with astonishment. And when that
does happen, I want you to remind me of what I've said to-day. I'm sure
I'm right. I feel it in my very bones, as Aunt Agatha often says."
And Sue, much impressed, as solemnly promised to remind her.
March 27. There's something that the Imp is up to,--something that she
has discovered. I'm as certain of it as I am that my name is Susette
Birdsey. The reason I know this is because of what happened to-day.
Carol and I had gone down this afternoon to Anita Brown's to go over
some English history with her for an exam we're going to have in a day
or two. Anita is great on history, and somehow can make it seem so
simple and sensible and easy to remember. I don't know how she does it,
but we always like to study that subject with her and get her to explain
all about the succession of kings and what relation they were to each
other. She has the knack of making them seem like real people.
Well, we had stopped at her house on the way from high school, so we
hadn't been home this afternoon. About half-past four we left, and
happened to come out of her gate just a little behind two people who
were walking up the road. (Anita lives about half-way between our house
and the village.) It didn't take us an instant to recognize those two
people as Monsieur and the Imp. Carol was all for hurrying along to join
them, but I said no, we might just as well keep to ourselves, for they
probably didn't care for our company, anyway. So we kept on behind them,
and they were talking so fast and hard that they didn't even notice us.
Presently the Imp did a queer thing. She opened her school-bag, took out
a book--it wasn't a school-book, either!--opened it at a certain page,
and showed something to Monsieur. Whatever it was, it had the strangest
effect on him. He gave one look at the page, then stopped stock still
in the road and stared at the Imp, making a queer sound in his throat,
as if he were trying to clear it and didn't succeed very well. Then he
said something in French that we caught the sound of but couldn't
understand. But the Imp was evidently so excited that she forgot to
speak French, for we heard her say in English:
"Then I'm right, Monsieur? It's the same? I was sure it was."
And he answered:
"_Oui, oui, petite mademoiselle!_" (I know enough French to translate
this as "Yes, yes.")
After that the Imp went right on to chatter in French. But by this time
we'd made up our minds that it was high time _we_ were let in to that
little secret, so we hurried to catch up with them. But the Imp saw us
too quickly. She shut the book, slipped it back in her school-bag, and
by the time we had joined them they were conversing sedately in English
about the weather.
When we reached our own gate the Imp went off about her own devices,
with never a word about the queer performance on the street. But Carol
and I made up our mind that we'd take a peep at that book in her
school-bag when she wasn't around. So when she had gone upstairs for a
while, we opened the school-bag that she had flung down on the couch in
the living-room.
But when did we ever manage to get ahead of the Imp? She had carefully
removed that book, and it was nowhere to be found. I remember noticing
that it was a thick book with a light green cover, and there was nothing
even faintly resembling it anywhere about, so far as we could discover.
What she could have done with it, or when she could have taken it out
without our notice, beats me. Leave it to the Imp, however, to
accomplish that sort of trick.
Of course we plainly saw that there was nothing we could do, except to
question her, and we debated the longest time about whether to do so or
not. It's such a hopeless performance, if the Imp has made up her mind
beforehand that you're not going to find out anything from her. Carol
suggested that we ask her right out what she had discovered that
Monsieur was so interested in. I told her there was only one kind of
answer to expect to _that_, so what on earth was the use?
I thought I had a better scheme. The Imp has been wild for a long time
to have a fountain-pen like the one I bought in Bridgeton two months ago
for a dollar. I was going to save up and give her one for her birthday.
But that's a long way off yet. So I suggested to Carol that I offer to
let the Imp have mine, and then buy a new one with the dollar Uncle Ben
gave me at Christmas. She said it was an awful waste of a good pen, and
might not accomplish what we wanted, anyway, but that I could try it if
I liked.
So a little later, when the Imp came in where we were studying, I began
on the subject, but very carefully, so that she wouldn't suspect
something right at the start and spoil everything. After she had settled
herself to read--it was _my_ book, by the way!--I began thus:
"You and Monsieur seemed to be having a nice time while you were coming
up the road this afternoon. Does he think you talk good French?"
The Imp glanced at me warily, but replied in an amiable manner:
"Oh, yes. He says I'm the only person he's met in America, except Louis
and his folks, who speaks it with a decent accent."
Then she went on reading. It was plain that _she_ wasn't going to give
us any opening, if she could help it.
"Do you always talk to him in French?" I went on cautiously.
"Yes, always. He likes it best," she answered, without looking up again.
"But we heard you say something to him in English this afternoon," I
ventured, for I had a scheme as to just how I was going to trap her. For
a wonder, she fell into it.
"I didn't! I don't remember saying a word in English."
This was just what I had thought. She was so excited at the time that
she _hadn't_ remembered.
"Oh, but you _did_!" broke in Carol. "We heard you say: 'Then I'm
right? It is the same? I was sure it was.'"
"You horrid things!" burst out the Imp. "Always tracking me around and
eavesdropping! You once accused _me_ of that, but I think the tables are
turned now."
"Look here," I said, and I felt downright mad, "you know perfectly well
we weren't doing anything of the kind. We happened to come out of
Anita's house right behind you, and we refrained from joining you at
first because we knew you didn't want us. We couldn't help it if you
talked so loud that we could hear what you said."
She calmed down at that, and I seized the advantage and determined on a
bold stroke.
"Bobs dear," I said, in as friendly a way as I could, "we know you've
discovered something about Monsieur or Louis or some one from what you
said and did this afternoon. Won't you tell us about it, too? You know
we're awfully interested. And just to show you that we only mean to be
friendly, I'll give you that new fountain-pen of mine, if you care to
have it. I don't mean it as a bribe, but only to make you feel that we
aren't really hateful."
At this her eyes fairly sparkled for a moment. Then she shook her head.
"I can't do it, girls, much as I'm crazy to have that pen. Honest, I
can't. I'm not teasing you about it this time, either. I really _have_
discovered something quite important, and it just happened by accident,
too. But Monsieur was so upset about it, and asked me so politely not to
say anything to any one, that I just feel it wouldn't be right. I think
I took him terribly by surprise. I don't know what it all means yet
myself. There's something awfully mysterious about things over at
Louis's. And really, you've been so decent to me lately that I'd tell
you if I could, even without the pen."
Well, that was too much for me. I knew she meant every word she said,
and I could understand, too, why she felt she couldn't tell us. So I
just gave her the pen, anyway, and she was so happy and grateful. She
said:
"It's all right, girls. You're trumps! And I'll do something for you
yet, never you fear."
But only to think that it was the Imp who made the first real, important
discovery about this mystery! Well, things do happen queerly. I wonder
what in the world she can have discovered?