KATHLEEN'S PROMISE
"Not in, Miss," was the disappointing information Grace received from
the maid who answered the door at Morton House.
"Did she leave word when she would return?" questioned Grace.
"She did not, Miss. She went out with Miss Denton, and didn't say
nothin', Miss," was the discouraging reply. "An' will I tell her you was
askin' for her, Miss?"
"No; I may come again this evening."
Grace walked slowly down the steps and across the campus. She was not at
all sure that she would repeat her call. Dear as was Arline to her, the
inevitable reaction had set in. Now Grace's pride whispered to her that
there was no real reason why she should humble herself to her
too-easily-offended friend. It was Arline, not she, who was in the
wrong, she mused resentfully. She was rather glad, after all, that
Arline had not been at home.
Glancing undecidedly toward Wayne Hall, then at her watch, Grace set off
in the opposite direction at a rapid walk. It was five o'clock. She
would have time to do a little shopping in the Overton stores before
they closed. She hurried toward the nearest dry goods store, so intent
upon reaching there that she paid little or no attention to the people
she passed in the street.
Shopping at this late hour proved a comparatively easy matter. Here and
there a belated customer might be seen wandering from counter to
counter, but the day's business was practically finished and the
saleswomen were busily counting their sales or conversing with their
nearest neighbors in low tones. It was ten minutes to six when Grace,
inwardly congratulating herself on having been able to do so much
shopping in so short a space of time, hurried to the ribbon counter.
Blue velvet ribbon was the last item on her list. Then she could go home
feeling that her hour had been well spent.
"We're out of that shade of blue velvet ribbon," said the saleswoman,
glancing at the sample Grace held out to her. "Everybody's been buying
it. It's on order. Have it in next week."
Grace left the store almost on the run and hurried into a shop farther
down the street, only to meet with the same disappointing reply. Three
blocks farther on was the "French Shop." Grace was sure of finding it
there, but was equally sure it would be infinitely more expensive.
Still, she only needed a yard and a half. She was about to enter the
shop, when the stocky figure of a man just ahead of her sent a sudden
thrill of apprehension through her. There was something unpleasantly
familiar about the round shoulders and slouching walk. Forgetting her
errand, Grace began following him, keeping not more than twenty feet
behind him. As he neared the first cross street the man glanced
furtively about him, then, turning into the intersecting street, hurried
on, almost at a run. Grace, bent only on seeing the stranger's face,
unhesitatingly dogged his footsteps. It was now after six o 'clock and
growing darker with every moment. Block after block they went, but now
Grace kept a distance of a hundred feet or more between herself and the
man she was following. She observed rather anxiously that they were
nearing the end of Main Street, where the houses were fewer and farther
apart.
All at once her quarry stopped short and peered sharply about him
through the gathering twilight. Grace strolled on at a leisurely pace,
though her heart beat violently. Suppose instead of going on he were to
turn and walk toward her. Grace trembled a little. She was drawing
altogether too near to him to suit her. She was now positive that he was
"Larry, the Locksmith." Suddenly the man left the sidewalk and started
across a field used in the summer by the small boys of Overton as a
playground.
This ended the pursuit as far as Grace was concerned. Stepping behind a
tree at the edge of the field she strained her eyes to watch the hulking
figure as it moved swiftly on. Then she gave a little exclamation of
surprise and triumph. The man was hurrying up the steps of a dingy
little house that stood at the end of a row of similar houses which
bounded the side of the field directly opposite where she stood. Again
consulting her watch, she hesitated. It was almost seven o'clock, and
she was at least a mile from Wayne Hall. Anne would wonder at her
absence, for she had left no word regarding her call upon Arline. She
would be more than likely to miss her dinner. Mrs. Elwood's dinner hour
was from half-past five until seven o'clock. She rigidly refused to
serve meals to those who came later.
[Illustration: Grace Stepped Behind a Tree.]
"I can't possibly make it," mused Grace. "I'll run into Vinton's for
dinner. All this comes of playing sleuth." She laughed softly at her own
remark, then her face grew grave. "What shall I do?" she thought. "It is
my duty to tell the authorities, but I promised Father after the class
money was found that I'd never meddle in any such affair again. Yet here
I am, on the outskirts of Overton, trailing an escaped convict as though
my bread and butter depended upon it. If I could only turn over this
affair to some one else, and let him do the rest, I'd be perfectly
satisfied."
On the way to Vinton's, Grace reluctantly decided to go in person to the
police station and report her discovery to the Chief of Police. "It is
only right," she argued. "I will simply tell them the facts and ask them
to keep my part in the affair a secret. Then I'll write Father and tell
him about it. Perhaps I ought to write him first. But if I wait for his
answer it may be too late. I'll go and report my news as soon as I have
had my dinner."
Grace did not enjoy her solitary meal. To her, the chief charm of a
dinner at Vinton's consisted in eating it with her friends. The smart
little restaurant seemed unusually quiet. There were not more than half
a dozen persons dining there and only two of the half dozen were Overton
girls. It was less than a week until Thanksgiving. It looked as though
the girls were practicing economy. This accounted for the slim
patronage. Grace ate her dinner with one eye on the door, vainly hoping
for the entrance of some one she knew. But no one of her friends
appeared, and without waiting for dessert she asked the waitress for her
check and left the restaurant to go on her disagreeable errand.
It was not a long walk to the police station, and Grace resolved to go
there with all possible speed. She wished to be able to dismiss the
affair from her mind at the earliest moment. She had reached the cross
street on which the station house was situated and was about to turn
into it when she almost collided with a young woman who gave a smothered
exclamation of annoyance and hurried on. As they came together directly
under the rays of the arc light, they could scarcely help recognizing
each other.
"I beg your pardon," called Grace after the hurrying figure. Then with a
sudden flash of inspiration she called, "Miss West, please wait a
minute."
The figure halted, and in the next second Grace confronted the coldly
inquiring eyes of the newspaper girl.
"Would you like a real news item for your paper?" she asked impulsively.
Kathleen regarded her with an expression of mingled incredulity and
contempt which changed to one of lively displeasure. "Do you believe
that I would accept anything from you?" she asked tensely.
"I never thought of that," returned Grace, her color rising. "I was
thinking only of the story. Suppose for once we put aside everything
personal. I have something to tell you that cannot fail to be of
interest to you. Will you forget that I am Grace Harlowe and listen to
me?"
Grace's earnestness impressed Kathleen against her will. She hesitated
briefly, then said in a low voice, "I will listen to you."
Grace began with the story of the bazaar given on the Thanksgiving
afternoon and evening of her senior year in high school. She related
briefly the theft of the strong box containing the bazaar money, the
unsuccessful attempts of the police to apprehend the thief, the finding
of the money by her and Eleanor Savelli and the capture of the thief by
the Oakdale police in the haunted house.
Kathleen listened to Grace's rapidly told narrative with growing
interest.
When she came to the trial of the thief and his recognition by the
officers as "Larry, the Locksmith," Kathleen interrupted excitedly:
"Why, that's the man who has escaped from prison. The police of all the
large cities have been ordered to watch for him. He is an exceptionally
clever criminal who has always escaped until that time in Oakdale. And
to think it was you who were responsible for his capture! I remember the
affair. It was my first year on the paper. One of our reporters was sent
on to interview this Larry. He laid his capture to the fact of his
having been foolish enough to waste his time in a small town."
The newspaper girl had now become eager and animated. Her black eyes
gleamed with excitement. "Did you know he had escaped?" she asked.
"Yes," replied Grace. "That is the part I am going to tell you. He is
here in Overton. I saw him to-night."
"You saw him?" questioned Kathleen, her eyes wide with astonishment.
Grace nodded. "To-night and one evening last week, too. I wasn't sure
then. But to-night I knew him. I followed him to a house on the
outskirts of Overton. Then I came back to notify the police. I was on my
way to the station when I met you. Don't you imagine it will make a good
newspaper story if the police capture him?"
"Great!" exclaimed Kathleen.
"Then come with me to the station house while I make my report. The
officers will surely visit the house where he is hiding at once. If they
do, you can telegraph your story to-night in time for the first edition
in the morning." Grace had started toward the station house while she
was speaking. Kathleen kept close at her side.
"Wait a moment," said Grace, as they ascended the stone steps of the
station house. "I almost forgot to tell you. You may use the Oakdale
part of the story as you heard it at the time it happened, but my name
must not be used in your write-up. I shall, of course, tell the chief
the whole story in confidence. Nor do I wish my name used in the story
of the man's apprehension, provided he is captured. It ought to make a
good story in itself without any reference to me. I wish you to give the
chief the first information, then you can truthfully say that you did so
when you write it."
"But it won't sound half so exciting as it would with you in it,"
protested Kathleen. "I need all the data concerning you to make a big
story of it."
"I am sorry," declared Grace, "but I promised Father never to become
involved in any such affair again. He and Mother would be dreadfully
displeased if my name appeared in the newspapers in connection with
anything of that sort."
"But I shall use my name," argued Kathleen. "It will be a great help to
me in my profession."
"That is different. If I were interested in newspaper work I shouldn't
care, either. I must ask you on your honor not to use my name."
"Very well," answered Kathleen slowly, a curious light leaping into her
eyes.
"Thank you," replied Grace, with a friendly smile. "Remember, you are to
be the first to tell the news."