Before we had finished staring at each other in stupefied surprise the
door opened again, and a woman ran in, at the sight of whom "Sal"
darted forward and threw herself into her arms.
"Margery!" cried the newcomer.
"Mother!" cried the girl.
A few steps behind the woman came a man and he looked coldly at the
two. "You have forestalled us, I see, Mrs. Anderson," he said, coldly.
The girl was Margery Anderson after all! I shall never forget the
expression on the light-haired detective's face when he saw Margery
rush into that woman's arms. He turned all shades of red and purple and
looked ready to burst.
"Confound that Sal!" we heard him mutter under his breath. "She's given
us the slip again."
Then we happened to look at Sahwah and the two people with whom she was
standing. Sahwah was doubled up with laughter and the man and woman
were as surprised looking as the detective. The man reminded me of
nothing so much as a collapsed balloon.
It was the queerest police station scene anyone could imagine. Instead
of making charges against us the various policemen and detectives all
looked bewildered and uncertain how to proceed. Everybody looked at
everybody else; and everybody waited to see what would happen next. And
things kept right on happening. The door opened a second time and an
officer came in leading a young woman in a stylish blue suit. Her
appearance seemed to create a profound sensation with Gladys and
Hinpoha and Chapa and Medmangi; they all uttered an exclamation at once
and started forward. The one in blue looked at them and then burst into
a mocking laugh. The four unknown girls dressed like us and the other
one in blue seemed to be good friends of hers for they hailed each
other familiarly.
"The game's up, dearies," said the newcomer, gaily. "My, but I did have
the good time, though, playing the abused little maiden. Took you in
beautifully, didn't I?" she said over her shoulder to Gladys. "Maybe
Sal can't act like an angel when she wants to!"
"Light Fingered Sal!" exclaimed the detective who had brought us in,
staring at her fascinated. "And all the rest of your company! Can't
really blame me for getting on the wrong scent," he remarked, looking
from them to us. "The only description I had was the suits and they are
identical. Well, you're safe home, Sal, safe home at last," he added,
with a grin. Sal and her companions were taken out then and we saw them
no more.
Then we heard the officer who had brought her in tell his tale to the
detective. A man in an automobile had come to him that morning and said
he had been robbed of his pocketbook and watch by a young woman he had
picked up on the road. He had run into her and knocked her down and was
taking her to her home. After he had put her down at the address she
gave him he discovered that his property was missing and returned to
the house, but could get no answer to his ring. The officer took note
of the address and promised to keep an eye on the place. Later on he
saw a young woman come out of the house and enter a near-by pawn shop.
He followed her and saw that she was pawning the watch whose
description had been given him. He arrested her and discovered she was
the famous Light Fingered Sal, whom the police of a dozen cities were
looking for. The house was searched, but the other inmates had fled.
But it seems that they were fleeing in an automobile and went several
miles beyond the speed limit with the result that they were brought
into the station, where their real identity was established. They were
the four tourists in tan and the one in blue, whom we had blindly
followed out of Toledo, thinking they were Gladys and the other girls
in the Striped Beetle. Sal still had the man's purse in her pocket when
she was brought into the station and the owner was notified of that
fact while we stood there.
Again, it was these friends of Sal's who had been ahead of us at the
hotel in Ft. Wayne, whom the check man had told us about and who had
left for Chicago by way of Ligonier. Together with Sal, they had
committed some daring thefts in Toledo stores, and when the police had
almost caught them they had escaped in an automobile. There had been no
time to wait for Sal; they trusted her to join them somewhere along the
road. The police were so hot on her trail that she had to spend the
night in the empty storeroom where Hinpoha had found her, waiting until
after dark that night to venture out. Then Mr. Bob had blundered in on
her hiding-place, followed by Hinpoha. Sal saw her chance of working on
Hinpoha's sympathies and so getting out of Toledo, and how she
accomplished it we already know. She told her a well fabricated tale of
being accused wrongfully of taking a paper from the office safe, and
played the role of the helpless country girl in the city, with the
result that the girls took her in tow and set out to find Nyoda. She
assumed airs of helplessness until they did not think her capable of
lacing her own shoes. All the while she was keeping a sharp lookout for
the police along the road. At the same time she found out that the
girls were carrying all their money in their handbags.
At first, she had intended staying with them until she got to Chicago,
as that was her destination, but the losing of the trunk made them go
to Indianapolis, where the automobile races had drawn great crowds from
everywhere. She was sorely tempted to break away from the girls there
and slip into the crowd, where she could gather a rich harvest; but she
had been afraid that the police would be watching for her and decided
that the prudent thing would be to go to Chicago. But after they had
actually left Indianapolis and she began to think of what she had
missed, she wished she had stayed there. She blinded the girls to her
real character by pretending to know nothing about any kind of worldly
pleasure and amusement, and acted as though she disapproved of
everything gay, and Gladys had remarked somewhat loftily that when she
had seen a little more of life she would not be so narrow in her views!
Then the girls had seen the flowers growing beside the river and had
gotten out of the car to walk among them, leaving her to sit in the car
and hold their purses. It was as if opportunity had fallen directly
into her lap. The lure of the crowd at Indianapolis was too strong and
she started to drive back, leaving the girls minus their money and
their car. But some distance down the road the car had come to a stop
and she could not make it go on. She did not know that the gasoline had
given out. She abandoned it in the road and walked across country until
she came to the electric line, which she had taken into Indianapolis.
She had a narrow escape from the police there and took the train for
Chicago. There she had been run into by the man in the automobile and
her fertile brain had whispered to her to feign injury and have him
take her home. While she was in the car she had managed to get the
watch and purse. Later she tried to pawn the watch and was caught.
The detective, who had started out from Toledo after her had never seen
her or her companions and had somehow gotten onto our trail and
believed we were the ones. He had made no attempt to arrest us when he
first came up with us, because he believed there were still others in
her crowd and he wanted to wait until she joined them in Chicago and so
get a bigger catch in his net, when he finally drew it in. He had
waited around Rochester simply on our account; there had been nothing
the matter with his motorcycle at all. We had told him ourselves we
were going to Chicago, and then he had heard Nyoda telegraphing to
friends at the Carrie Wentworth Inn there. He had told Mrs. Moffat to
keep a close watch on us because we were dangerous characters, and she
had promptly put us out of the house. The news spread through the town
like wild-fire that there was a gang of pickpockets there and wherever
we went we were watched. That accounted for the queer actions of the
various storekeepers. But then, who had given us the address of 22
Spring Street when Mrs. Moffat had turned us out? That point still
remained to be cleared up.
When we abruptly left town in the direction of Indianapolis the
detective had followed us, but the storm had thrown him off our track.
He had come across us the next day near Lafayette and had made up his
mind to hold on to us that time. Our headlong flight when we became
aware of his presence drove all doubt away as to our being the ones,
and then when he had seen the scarab the last link was forged in the
chain which held us.
The timely arrest of Sal and her companions and the arrival of
Margery's mother had naturally wrought sad havoc with the charges upon
which we had all been brought into the station, and instead of feeling
like criminals we all sat around and talked as if we were perfectly at
home in a police station. The facts I am telling you somewhat in order
all came out bit by bit and sometimes everybody talked at once, so it
would be useless to try to put it down just the way it was said.
When Nyoda finally got the floor, she told about the finding of the
scarab and about our being taken into the McClure home and sent down to
the ballroom where she later found the diamond necklace in her pocket.
This tale created a profound sensation and now it was the turn of the
detective who had brought in Gladys and those girls to look foolish.
The police asked us the minutest details about the appearance of the
servants who had admitted us. We told about the maid Carrie with the
black eyes which were not the same height and one of the detectives
nodded his head eagerly. "Black-Eyed Susan," he said. "She's one of the
crowd we're after." He also recognized the footman with the blue vein
in his nose and the chauffeur with the crooked fingers. We were praised
highly for having observed those little things.
Then it was that we found the solution of the mystery which had been
tantalizing us since the night of the ball, and which we thought we had
found when we believed Margery to be Sal. That diamond robbery had been
skilfully planned as soon as the invitations for the ball were sent.
Three of the crowd were in the employ of Mrs. McClure. It happened that
these three did not know Sal and her intimates personally. They had
been instructed that on the evening of the ball five young women would
arrive in an automobile. They were to be admitted into the house and
gotten into the ballroom. Carrie was to do the actual robbery, slipping
the necklace into the pocket of one of the five. They would then leave
the ballroom and ride away. Their automobile was to be kept in
readiness at the door and the way made clear when the time came. The
mark of identification of these five was to be a certain scarab which
one would carry in her pocket. Naturally, when Nyoda had dropped the
scarab out of her pocket that day the chauffeur had taken us for the
five. The rest you know.
The only hitch in their plans had been the maid Agnes. Carrie had an
idea that she suspected her for some reason or other and was afraid she
would think there was something strange in our being admitted into the
house and made ready for the ball. She had therefore taken advantage of
our drenched condition to pretend that we were merely seeking shelter
from the storm. Then, in Agnes's hearing, she had come in and said that
Mrs. McClure wanted us to attend the ball. That made everything regular
in Agnes's eyes and apparently cleared Carrie of connivance.
The person who had put the scarab into Nyoda's pocket had been still
another member of the crowd who had gotten on the trail of the wrong
ones. He was to drop it into the pocket of one of the five girls in
motor costumes who would be at the Ft. Wayne hotel at a certain time.
The real ones found themselves too closely watched by the police to
attempt the diamond robbery, and abandoned it, heading straight for
Chicago. Thus they went through Ft. Wayne a day before they were
expected and did not stop. We came on the day they were expected and
got away before he could give it to us. He, therefore, trailed us to
Rochester and dropped it into Nyoda's pocket when she sat in the
restaurant eating lunch.
Of course, we did not find out everyone of these facts in the police
station that day, although I am telling them as if we did. One of Sal's
companions later turned state's evidence and it was from her statement
that we got the whole story. When the scarab was produced everybody
crowded around it curiously. It was one which was stolen from a private
collection in Boston some time before, and occasional rumors had leaked
out about it's being used as a sign of identification between members
of the gang who were so scattered that they did not all know each other.
The light-haired detective left in a great hurry to get the three
servants in the McClure home. I might say right here, however, that he
never got them, for they had fled on the finding of the necklace in the
jardinier, fearing an investigation.
There was so much that happened that afternoon in the police station
that I really don't know what to tell first. I suppose the reader has
been wondering all the time what has become of Margery Anderson and how
it happened that her mother appeared on the scene just at that time. It
seems that she was in Chicago on business and had gone to the office of
her brother-in-law, Margery's uncle. He was out and she was waiting for
him. While she was there she heard the stenographer take a message over
the telephone to the effect that Margery was in the police station, and
leaving the office hurriedly she had gone right down, determined to get
there before Margery's uncle did. She found Margery as we already know,
not in the company of the man and woman, as she had expected, but with
us three. When Margery's uncle finally received the message he also
hastened to the station, but it was too late. Margery was with her
mother and he could not take her away again.
Sahwah came over and stood by us, breaking into giggles every few
minutes at the discomfiture of Mr. and Mrs. Watterson, in spite of her
heroic efforts to keep a straight face. Her captors left the station
very red and uncomfortable after their little business with the police
was over.
By the time all our stories were told we were good friends with the
police lieutenant and all the officers standing around, who were
inclined to be pleased with us because we had helped bring Sal and her
crowd into their hands. This would be a feather in their cap, although,
of course, we would get no official credit.
Finally, there were only Nyoda and the seven Winnebagos left in the
station, and when one of the officers offered to show us around Nyoda
accepted the invitation gladly. She is always anxious that we should
see as much as possible. Nyoda stood and talked to the matron a long
time while we went on through, and when we came back she was invisible.
We waited awhile, but she did not appear.
"She's probably waiting for us out in the room where the fat one is,"
said Sahwah. "The fat one" was her disrespectful way of referring to
the police chief. (Sahwah saw me writing this down and corrected me,
saying that he wasn't the chief; he was a lieutenant, because we were
in a branch station, but I have always thought of him as chief.) So we
moved back toward the "main reception-room".
"What's in there?" asked Sahwah, pointing to a closed door. Sahwah,
like the Elephant's Child, was filled with 'satiable' curiosity.
"It's the matron's room," answered the row of brass buttons, who was
guiding us.
"May we look in?" asked Sahwah.
"May if you like," answered the row of buttons.
Sahwah quietly opened the door and we looked in. We looked in and we
kept on looking. In fact, we couldn't have taken our eyes away if we
had wanted to. For there in that matron's office--the matron was not
there--stood Nyoda, and there stood the Frog, _and he had his arms
around her and he was kissing her_!
By the time we had gotten our breath back again they were miles apart,
nearly the whole width of the carpet runner, and the Frog had his
goggles off and explanations were in full swing. The Frog was Sherry,
Nyoda's camp serenader of the summer before. They had been
corresponding ever since and he had been to see her several times,
although we did not know it. They had been almost engaged at the
beginning of the summer and then they quarreled and Nyoda sent him away.
He was touring the country all by himself in a mood of great dejection
and happened to see us in the dining-room at Toledo. He followed so he
could be near her. His big goggles and the mustache he had grown during
the summer were an effectual disguise. He had kept a respectful
distance, afraid to make himself known, for fear Nyoda would order him
off. So he had followed us and it was a merry chase we had led him, I
must say. When the impudent young man had spoken to us in the hotel
parlor at Wellsville he had promptly called him down for it and that
had caused the uproar we had heard when we ran out to the garage.
Later, he had led us out of the burning hotel to the back window where
we made our escape. Then, while we were in the house dressing, he had
gone to get the Glow-worm out of the threatened garage. He was driving
it across the park to a place of safety when we had seen him and
thought he was stealing the car. He wouldn't even take advantage of the
great service he had rendered us in piloting us through the burning
building to present himself to Nyoda. When we thought he was making off
with Margery he was taking a girl to her home in the next town. It
seemed that everything conspired to make the poor man appear the
villain when he was in reality the hero.
He thought he had lost us that night in the fog, but the next morning
he turned around and there we were behind him. When Nyoda tried to
overtake him, he fled. But he had followed us to Rochester and it had
been he who had given us the address of the woman on Spring Street
after Mrs. Moffat had turned us out. He had heard Nyoda arguing with
Mrs. Moffat at the front door and thought it was about the price of the
rooms; he did not know that we were in any such predicament as we were.
He had found out that we intended going to Chicago and when we
disappeared so suddenly from the town he thought we had gone there and
had followed, but did not overtake us. Inside the city he had run into
Light Fingered Sal and while charitably taking her to her home, as he
supposed, she had relieved him of his watch and his money. He had
notified the police and some time later had been summoned to the --th
precinct station to recover his property. There he had seen Nyoda in
the matrons' office. What happened between that time and the moment
when Sahwah opened the door was never made public, but it was evidently
highly satisfactory to him.
There remains but one more tangled thread to straighten out. That
concerns the trunks. We did not find out the truth until long after.
Gladys's trunk had actually been put onto Mr. Hansen's car in Ft.
Wayne, but he had lost it on the way and it was picked up by a man who
went through Wellsville the night of the fire. In the excitement it was
left in the garage, where it was found by the proprietor and sent us in
answer to our description. The one which we had left in Wellsville was
taken by the salesman of the Curline stuff and returned to Gladys's
address several weeks later, rather battered on the outside, but still
intact as to contents. Gladys was aghast when she thought of the trunk
she had forcibly wrested from the man on the road. She left it there in
the police station in the hope that the real owner would get it some
day. That was the last we ever heard of it. Whether the man had
actually stolen it, and who the initials GME of Cleveland referred to
we never found out.
The reason Gladys's second wire to us in Rochester was not received was
that she had absent-mindedly written Rochester, N. Y., instead of
Rochester, Ind.
Well, as far as adventures are concerned, the tale of our trip is told.
The rest was uneventful and the telling of it would be uninteresting,
as it would consist mainly of descriptions of scenery and places, which
the reader already knows by heart from other books. Sherry hinted
strongly that a red car would be a great addition to our color scheme,
but Nyoda firmly refused to let him come with us. She had enough to
look after when she had us, she insisted, without trying to keep him
out of mischief. Besides, ours was a strictly family party and he was
not one of the family--yet. So he meekly continued his journey to
Denver as originally planned, while we went south to Louisville.
Then once more we followed "along the road that leads the way," the
yellow road unwinding like a ribbon under our wheels, but this time we
didn't build any Rain Jinx before we started.
THE END.