_A Game of Wits_
For a moment Vicki wished she had never gotten mixed up in the search
for Lucy Rowe. The lawyer looked so cold, so professional, that her own
small efforts to find Lucy shrank to absurdity. How impertinent she
would appear if Mrs. Bryant happened to tell about Vicki’s search--how
difficult it would be to justify to the lawyer her doubts about _this_
girl.
Vicki glanced beseechingly toward the grandmother. Very, very slightly,
Mrs. Bryant shook her head. Did that mean she was not going to reveal
their secret? Vicki hoped so. She glanced away just in time to hear and
answer Mr. Dorn’s “How do you do?”
“Careful, now,” Vicki warned herself. “Don’t say or ask anything which
could alert Lucy that I suspect her. And I mustn’t intrude on Mr.
Dorn’s territory, particularly since Mr. Bryant has praised him so
highly.”
The lawyer seated himself at Marshall Bryant’s right. He was a
perfectly correct and formal figure as he accepted a cup of tea from
Lucy. She made a little fuss over the young lawyer, and her grandmother
teased her about it.
“Well, just think of what Mr. Dorn has done for me!” Lucy answered,
laughing. “He’s the one who found me, and I shall always be grateful
to him.” She shook her head, remembering. “Last Sunday, this stranger
came to me asking to see my family letters and my silver ring. Asking
me to identify myself. At first I didn’t know whether to take Mr. Dorn
seriously.”
Vicki longed to know if they had met at Pine Top, but she could not
afford to ask questions.
Thurman Dorn smiled a little. “I can tell you now, Miss Lucy, that
a month earlier I was exasperated at not finding you. And your
grandparents”--he turned toward them deferentially--“were exasperated
with _me_. It’s a good thing for all of us that you came back to San
Francisco from your vacation. If you hadn’t met me in the lobby of the
St. Clair Hotel last Sunday, I believe I would have sent out some sort
of alarm for you.”
So they had met last Sunday in San Francisco, Vicki noted. That meant
Lucy had come in from Pine Top. Reasonable enough. But why did Lucy
give Dorn and the Bryants the impression that her tour with Mrs. Heath
was a “vacation”? Vicki wanted to see whether Lucy would mention, in
the course of conversation, Mrs. Heath or the Reverend Mr. Hall or
Knowlton Graves.
Curiously, she did not mention them and Mr. Dorn did not, either.
He did talk in detail about his methods of search and the fine
co-operation he had received from the San Francisco Post Office and
Police Department. Mr. Dorn named persons and places involved in his
search--Whitney Decorators, Lucy’s old Telegraph Hill residential
address (where he couldn’t find her), a Dr. Alice James who was Lucy’s
and Lucy’s mother’s physician. Vicki had not unearthed any of these in
the course of her own search in and around San Francisco. Not one of
them! This was nightmarish!
“_Then who is the girl I traced to Pine Top?_” Vicki thought again, in
utter bewilderment. “_Is this girl the same girl I saw? No, she isn’t.
This girl’s hair is very dark brown, sable brown, and that girl’s was
almost dark blond._”
Yet, Vicki thought, in tracing Lucy Rowe herself, she had received
straightforward answers from Jill Joseph, Mrs. Stacey at the Hotel
Alcott, Mr. Hall, Gravy. _They_ obviously were not lying because all
their accounts of Lucy Rowe tallied and dovetailed. Vicki could only
think:
“_Either Mr. Dorn has been misled by this girl who is lying, or--less
likely--the lawyer’s lying. Or--more likely--I’ve made some glaring
error._”
In fairness to all concerned, she could do only one thing: check back
on the facts in San Francisco, this coming week. She must try to keep
an open mind. Even so, she felt uneasy about this avowed Lucy and her
several lies and evasions. She was startled out of her thoughts when
the girl said:
“Mr. Dorn, Miss Barr met a friend of mine in San Francisco. Isn’t that
a coincidence?”
“Small world,” he said casually, though he paid attention to Vicki for
the first time since he had come in. “Are you in San Francisco often,
Miss Barr?”
Vicki noticed that Mrs. Bryant had grown tense. Evading Dorn’s
question, she simply said:
“I’m in San Francisco only when my airline sends me there. It isn’t too
often.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now,” said Dorn. “You’re a stewardess on--?”
“Federal Airlines,” said Vicki.
Mr. Dorn nodded and lost interest, and started to talk to Marshall
Bryant about something else. Vicki half waited for Lucy to ask her a
question about Jill Baker or make some further remark about Vicki’s
being in San Francisco. But Lucy, too, dropped the subject.
Mr. Bryant, Mr. Dorn, and Lucy went into the next room to discuss some
legal papers. Mrs. Bryant came over to Vicki.
“Will you accompany me upstairs, my dear? I want to--ah--show you
something of interest.”
A pretext? So that they could talk together privately? Vicki wondered
whether the elderly lady shared her doubts as to whether this girl was
actually the Bryants’ granddaughter.
She did not. Indeed, she told Vicki how happy she was “that Mr. Dorn
has found Eleanor’s daughter,” and what a fine girl she considered her
to be. “I can see something of Eleanor in her, in little ways.”
“In what ways?” Vicki asked. “Does she look like her mother?”
“N-no, Lucy doesn’t really resemble Eleanor--or Jack Rowe, either. But
then I never resembled _my_ parents! No, she reminds me of Eleanor in
a certain dignity and reserve which she has, and in--oh--maybe I’m
imagining it, but in little mannerisms--
“And Lucy knows so much about our family history,” Mrs. Bryant went
on. “It’s gratifying to me, naturally, that she takes such a great
interest in the family. It--In fact, it’s--” The lady hesitated. “I
almost wonder, considering her youth and the family’s separation, how
it’s possible for her to have learned so much family history. In such
detail, too.”
Vicki waited for Mrs. Bryant to think further about her doubt, to pay
attention to this danger signal. But the elderly lady smiled and said:
“Lucy’s family loyalty accounts for her remarkable knowledge, of
course.”
Vicki said nothing, but she did not necessarily agree. The Marshall
Bryant family was a prominent one; from time to time newspapers and
magazines mentioned their activities and printed photographs; Mr.
Bryant’s career was listed in _Who’s Who_. What was there to prevent a
clever, unscrupulous girl from going to the public library in any big
city, looking up these facts, and memorizing them?
A question occurred to Vicki: How had this girl, _if_ she was an
impostor, discovered that Thurman Dorn was seeking the young heiress
to a fortune? She could have found out in a number of ways--something
overheard, a newspaper notice inquiring about Lucy Rowe, even a word
dropped by Lucy herself. And how had this girl sidetracked Mr. Dorn
from finding the true Lucy? Was it more than a coincidence that Dorn
had been unable to find Lucy on his first trip to San Francisco? Was it
more than a coincidence that another girl named Lucy Rowe had gone away
on a job to a lonely place like Pine Top? Vicki shivered.
Mrs. Bryant was saying, “I couldn’t be happier, and I couldn’t be more
grateful to Thurman Dorn. He’s done a wonderful thing in reuniting the
three of us.” The lady said hastily, “I appreciate the interest _you_
took in this matter, Vicki. I hope you didn’t put yourself to any
trouble.”
“Nothing worth mentioning, at least not now, Mrs. Bryant.” How and what
could she tell of her own search under the circumstances?
“My husband says Mr. Dorn located Lucy comparatively quickly, after so
many years of silence.”
Vicki remembered the questions she wanted to ask. “Mrs. Bryant, about
Mr. Dorn’s search--do you happen to recall the exact dates of his
first trip to San Francisco?”
“I remember every detail of the search for our granddaughter. Mr. Dorn
said he was in San Francisco his first trip from January tenth to
twenty-third. His second trip was February twentieth to twenty-second.”
Vicki imprinted these dates on her memory. “Don’t you think Mr. Dorn
was quick to find Lucy on his second trip? Apparently his efforts on
the first trip paid off.”
“Yes, indeed,” Vicki said, trying to keep the doubt out of her voice.
“Mrs. Bryant, you--you haven’t told anyone that you wanted me to try to
get in touch with Lucy?”
“Oh, no, indeed!” Mrs. Bryant laughed. “Wouldn’t you and I look
foolish, now that Lucy is here? I was foolish ever to make such a
request of you, I’m afraid. Why don’t we simply forget our little
secret?”
Vicki smiled, but she had no intention of dropping her search, not
after meeting that dark-haired girl today.
“Vicki, as a matter of sentiment, this morning I took the other silver
ring out of the safe here in the house to show you. Come in here with
me, won’t you?”
Vicki followed Lucy’s grandmother into an old-fashioned bedroom. From
a bureau drawer she took a silver ring, exactly like the one the
dark-haired girl wore.
“You see, Vicki? It _is_ unusual. There isn’t another ring like it
anywhere except Lucy’s. A jeweler made just the two from his own
original design, and then destroyed the pattern. Mr. Bryant had them
made when Eleanor was born.”
“It’s lovely, like filigree or lace,” Vicki said.
Mrs. Bryant said she would return the ring to the safe, and suggested
they go downstairs.
Mr. Bryant and Mr. Dorn had finished their business, and Lucy had
disappeared in order to powder her nose. It was five o’clock. Other
guests were beginning to arrive. Although the Bryants urged her to
stay, Vicki asked to be excused. She had experienced quite enough for
one afternoon.
She returned to the apartment which she shared with several other
Federal Airlines stewardesses. Jean Cox was at home, writing letters
to her family. She said Charmion Wilson and Dot Crowley had just come
in from their Texas run, and were asleep in the front bedroom. Tessa
and Celia were working aloft somewhere along the Atlantic seaboard. The
stewardesses’ housekeeper, Mrs. Duff, was out visiting friends.
Vicki was glad that the apartment, so often full of guests and parties,
was quiet this Sunday. She wanted to be alone for a little while,
to write down the names, dates, and addresses she had learned this
afternoon at the Bryants’, and to plan her next steps.
* * * * *
It was the following Wednesday, March fourth, before Vicki’s scheduled
New York-Chicago-San Francisco flight landed her in San Francisco
again. She had fumed at the delay but now she had three days--Thursday,
Friday, Saturday--off. “And I’m going to make good use of them!”
She wanted tremendously to fly at once to Pine Top, but it would be
foolish to go unprepared, with spotty information. Her first step,
obviously, must be to check on the statements she had heard Lucy and
Mr. Dorn make on Sunday.
Vicki decided to make full use of the telephone. In her hotel room she
collected paper, pencils, the telephone directory, her list of names
and addresses, which Dorn and Lucy had mentioned in accounting for
Lucy’s recent past. Then Vicki sat down at the telephone.
First she called up Jill Joseph, out in Sutro Heights. When Jill
answered, Vicki could hear in the background a babble of children’s
voices and dogs barking. She and Vicki exchanged hellos, and then Vicki
asked:
“Have you heard from Lucy?”
“No, I haven’t,” Jill Joseph answered. “It’s beginning to worry me.
Have you?”
Vicki hesitated. “I’m still trying to get news of her. Tell me
again--is her hair light brown or dark brown?”
“Light brown. Lucy calls it dirty blond.”
The alleged Lucy Rowe at the Bryants’ house had dark, sable-brown hair.
“Would Lucy color her hair, do you think?” Vicki asked.
“I can’t imagine why she would, its natural color is pretty. She never
_has_ tinted it.”
Vicki said she had an even stranger question, and asked Jill Joseph
what her maiden name had been.
“Rossiter. Why, for goodness’ sake?”
“Do you know--or does Lucy know--anyone named Jill Baker?” Vicki asked.
“Never heard of Jill Baker. Vicki, all these questions--is something
wrong?”
Again Vicki hesitated. “There may be. I’m trying to find out. One more
question--did you ever hear from a Mr. Dorn?” Jill had not. “Or from a
girl, or anyone else, inquiring about Lucy?”
“No,” said Jill Joseph. “You’re the only one.” Well, that proved
nothing. Mr. Dorn’s line of investigation need not have included an
old friend whom Lucy now saw only occasionally. “Vicki? If something’s
wrong, why don’t you report it to the police?”
“Because I’m not positive anything _is_ wrong. Besides, there’s a
delicate situation here.” Vicki was not at liberty to mention the
Bryants and their dislike of publicity; if the police stepped in, the
newspapers would get wind of the story. Vicki said, “I really don’t
think it’s necessary to go to the police. Don’t worry.”
“Well, I am worried. Let me know as soon as you have any news of Lucy,
will you, please?”
Vicki promised, said good-by, and hung up.
Would the Scotts be home from their trip by now? According to Jill
Joseph, Lucy had lived with Mary Scott and Mrs. Scott. Dorn and Lucy
in New York had never mentioned them. Why? Vicki tried the Scotts’
telephone number, which Jill Joseph had given her earlier.
A woman’s voice answered. Vicki introduced herself, and explained that
she was trying to locate Lucy Rowe.
“This is Mrs. Scott,” the voice said. “I don’t see why you should have
any trouble in locating Lucy, Miss Barr. She has an excellent job with
a Mrs. Heath.... Well, no, Mary and I haven’t heard from her.... No,
Lucy was _not_ traveling with us, not at any time.”
But Mr. Dorn had told the Bryants that day at luncheon that Lucy was
traveling with another girl and the girl’s mother. Had the lawyer lied?
Such a minor point to lie about. Or had he honestly misunderstood
Lucy’s trip with Mrs. Heath to be a trip with the Scotts? There was no
way of knowing. Vicki set aside this question of traveling and tried
another.
“Mrs. Scott, did Lucy _live_ with you and your daughter?”
“Yes, she shared our apartment for several months. Then, last January,
she moved to the Hotel Alcott for women.”
Last Sunday, when Vicki asked Lucy Rowe where she’d lived in San
Francisco, the girl had not mentioned the Scotts and the Hotel Alcott.
Instead, she’d talked of living on Telegraph Hill and, one summer,
sharing a beach house with three other girls.
“Mrs. Scott,” Vicki asked, “can you give me Lucy’s former address on
Telegraph Hill?”
“Why, Lucy _never_ lived on Telegraph Hill, to the best of my
knowledge.” No wonder Mr. Dorn had said he couldn’t find Lucy there.
“Did she share a beach house one summer with three other girls?” Vicki
asked.
“If she did, Lucy never mentioned it to us. And it isn’t like her to be
secretive. I think you must have some wrong information, Miss Barr.”
“I guess I have.” Unless the alleged Lucy’s story of the beach house
and living on Telegraph Hill was an out-and-out falsehood. Or unless
she was _another_ Lucy Rowe?
“Mrs. Scott, Lucy Rowe isn’t an uncommon name. The Lucy Rowe I’m
looking for is the daughter of Eleanor Bryant Rowe and Jack Rowe, both
of them deceased.”
“Yes, that’s right. That’s the Lucy we know--the Lucy who stayed with
us.”
Then the presumed granddaughter in New York _was_ lying. Vicki sighed.
“I’m sorry to have troubled you, Mrs. Scott.”
“Not at all. Any more questions?... Good-by, then, Miss Barr.”
Well, in fairness to Mr. Dorn, _he_ had not mentioned the beach house
and Telegraph Hill. The lie was the girl’s.
Vicki consulted her list of names and addresses. She was feeling
rather grim about these lies. She decided to check with Whitney
Decorators, where the presumed Lucy had said she had been employed.
There was no Whitney Decorators listed in the regular telephone
directory, nor in the Classified Advertisements telephone book. Vicki
called a professional association of decorators. They had no knowledge
of a firm or person named Whitney. Next, Vicki called Information. She
waited while the operator looked up the name.
“We have no record of any firm by that name. However, there are several
persons named Whitney listed in your regular directory, if you care to
call them.”
Vicki did that. Not one of them was a decorator nor even in any allied
field. Not one of them had ever heard of a Lucy Rowe.
So that was that. An outright lie! Vicki tried to recall whether Mr.
Dorn had been party to this lie. No, as she remembered the talk last
Sunday, only Lucy had mentioned Whitney Decorators.
“I suppose,” Vicki thought, “that seeing her silver ring and family
letters convinced Mr. Dorn that he had found the right Lucy. How in the
world did she come by the ring and other family things, if she’s an
impostor? It doesn’t seem possible! Unless she stole them from the true
Lucy?”
That was perfectly possible--though Vicki had no way of proving it, as
yet.
Dr. Alice James.... Let’s see, it was _Dorn_ who last Sunday had
brought up this physician’s name. Vicki remembered how he had made
rather a point of telling that Dr. James had been both Lucy’s and
Lucy’s mother’s physician.
Vicki had difficulty in locating an address and telephone number for
Dr. Alice James, in San Francisco or in any of its suburbs. She used
the same methods as in her search for Whitney Decorators, with the same
result: there was no record of any Dr. Alice James. No such person
existed.
Lucy in New York had lied again. _And on this point, Mr. Dorn had lied._
Up to now Vicki had more or less dismissed her doubts about why Dorn’s
findings did not tally with hers, by taking the blame for any error
upon herself. But now she was brought up short. Mr. Dorn _was_ guilty
of a lie about the search for Lucy Rowe!
It struck her as odd that, so far as she had checked today, he had lied
only about this _one_ point--about the nonexistent Dr. Alice James. On
what other points involving Dorn could she check?
“Well, Mr. Dorn said he met Lucy last Sunday in the lobby of the St.
Clair Hotel,” Vicki recalled, “and Mr. Bryant, that first day at lunch,
mentioned Dorn’s being at the St. Clair Hotel. I assume Dorn stayed
there on his second visit last week, too. Let’s see what a check turns
up on that.”
She tried calling the St. Clair Hotel, but the desk would not release
any information over the telephone. Vicki powdered her nose, put on
her hat and gloves, and went over to the hotel.
She was obliged to see the hotel manager, prove who she was, and state
her business (as far as she discreetly could) before she could persuade
him to have an assistant look up back records. The assistant, a Mr.
Craig, finally told her:
“Mr. Thurman Dorn stayed at this hotel from January twelfth through
January twenty-first, and overnight on February twenty-first.”
But these dates did not fully tally with Mrs. Bryant’s statement!
According to her, Dorn was in San Francisco, and presumably at this
hotel, January tenth to twenty-third, and February twentieth to
twenty-second. Two days were unaccounted for at the beginning of his
January trip, and two days were unaccounted for at the end of his
January trip. Also, two days were unaccounted for on his February trip.
Where had Dorn been? At another San Francisco hotel? Not likely, no
point to it. At Pine Top? But in January, Lucy and Mrs. Heath had not
yet left San Francisco for Pine Top, so Dorn would have had no reason
to be there. And in February--on Sunday, February twenty-second--Dorn
and Lucy had said they met in this hotel lobby.
Where had Mr. Dorn been on those unaccounted-for days, and what had he
been doing? Since he flew from coast to coast, traveling had not eaten
up those several extra days. Unless he had made a stopover somewhere en
route, and not come directly from New York to San Francisco? But that
was sheer speculation.
Vicki walked back toward her own hotel, wondering. A total of six days
unaccounted for! A great deal could happen in six days. Especially
during the course of an intensive search--That brought another
question to mind. Why had neither the presumed Lucy _nor Mr. Dorn_
ever mentioned Mrs. Heath or Graves, the painter, or the Reverend Mr.
Hall? Lucy Rowe was closely associated with these three people, yet the
Bryants had never been informed of their existence.
“Even if Lucy in New York hadn’t wanted Mr. Dorn to know about these
three people,” Vicki thought, “Dorn could have found about them on his
own, just as I did.”
Her mistrust of Dorn grew. Either the lawyer had made an inadequate,
misleading investigation--or he had discovered the existence of Mrs.
Heath, Gravy, Mr. Hall, but was not telling the Bryants about them for
some reason. The reason was sadly obvious. Dorn--Dorn and the alleged
Lucy together--did not want to give the Bryants the names and addresses
of three persons who could help the grandparents find the true Lucy.
“Yet that may not be true at all. I’m only speculating,” Vicki reminded
herself. “Before I can believe anything, or say anything to the
Bryants, I must get proof--more facts.”
Even more urgent than proof was the need--assuming the Lucy in New York
to be an impostor--to find the true Lucy Rowe. Was she the girl seen
at Pine Top? If not, who was that light-brown-haired girl? “I promised
myself to fly back to Pine Top,” Vicki thought. “It seems the time is
now.”
Returning to her hotel room, she picked up the telephone, called Novato
Airport, and reserved the Cessna 150 for tomorrow. Perhaps she would
discover something of real importance back there in the hills.