MRS. CHARLEWORTH
When Mary Louise reached home that evening she was surprised to find a
note from Josie which said:
"I've decided to change my boarding place for a week or so, although I
shall miss Aunt Sally's cooking and a lot of other comforts. But this
is business. If you meet me in the street, don't recognize me unless
I'm quite alone. We've quarrelled, if anyone asks you. Pretty soon
we'll make up again and be friends. Of course, you'll realize I'm
working on our case, which grows interesting. So keep mum and behave."
"I wish I knew where she's gone," was Mary Louise's anxious comment, as
she showed the note to Gran'pa Jim.
"Don't worry, my dear," advised the colonel. "Josie possesses the rare
faculty of being able to take care of herself under all circumstances.
Had she not been so peculiarly trained by her detective father I would
feel it a duty to search for her, but she is not like other girls and
wouldn't thank us for interfering, I'm sure."
"I can't see the necessity of her being so mysterious about it,"
declared the girl. "Josie ought to know I'm worthy of her confidence.
And she said, just the other day, that we're partners."
"You must be the silent partner, then," said her grandfather, smiling
at her vexed expression. "Josie is also worthy of confidence. She may
blunder, but if so, she'll blunder cleverly. I advise you to be patient
with her."
"Well, I'll try, Gran'pa. When we see her again she will probably know
something important," said Mary Louise resignedly.
As for little, red-headed Josie O'Gorman, she walked into the office of
the Mansion House that afternoon, lugging a battered suit-case borrowed
from Aunt Sally, and asked the clerk at the desk for weekly rates for
room and board. The clerk spoke to Mr. Boyle, the proprietor, who
examined the girl critically.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"New York," answered Josie. "I'm a newspaper woman, but the war cost me
my job, because the papers are all obliged to cut down their forces. So
I came here to get work."
"The war affects Dorfield, too, and we've only two papers," said the
man. "But your business isn't my business, in any event. I suppose you
can pay in advance?"
"For a week, anyhow," she returned; "perhaps two weeks: If the papers
can't use me, I'll try for some other work."
"Know anybody here?"
"I know Colonel Hathaway, but I'm not on good terms with his
granddaughter, Mary Louise. We had a fight over the war. Give me a
quiet room, not too high up. This place looks like a fire-trap."
As she spoke, she signed her name on the register and opened her purse.
Boyle looked over his keyboard.
"Give me 47, if you can," said Josie carelessly. She had swiftly run
her eye over the hotel register. "Forty-seven is always my lucky
number."
"It's taken," said the clerk.
"Well, 43 is the next best," asserted Josie. "I made forty-three
dollars the last week I was in New York. Is 43 taken, also?"
"No," said Boyle, "but I can do better by you. Forty-three is a small
room and has only one window."
"Just the thing!" declared Josie. "I hate big rooms."
He assigned her to room 43 and after she had paid a week in advance a
bellboy showed her to the tiny apartment and carried her suitcase.
"Number 45'll be vacant in a day or two," remarked the boy, as he
unlocked her door. "Kauffman has it now, but he won't stay long. He's a
suspender drummer and comes about every month--sometimes oftener--and
always has 45. When he goes, I'll let you know, so you can speak for
it. Forty-five is one of our best rooms."
"Thank you," said Josie, and tipped him a quarter.
As she opened her suitcase and settled herself in the room, she
reflected on the meeting in Kasker's store which had led her to make
this queer move.
"A fool for luck, they say," she muttered. "I wonder what intuition
induced me to interview Jake Kasker. The clothing merchant isn't a bad
fellow," she continued to herself, looking over the notes she had made
on her tablets. "He didn't make a single disloyal speech. Hates the
war, and I can't blame him for that, but wants to fight it to a finish.
Now, the other man--Kauffman--hates the war, too, but he did not make
any remark that was especially objectionable; but that man's face
betrayed more than his words, and some of his words puzzled me.
Kauffman said, at two different times, that the war would make him
money. There's only one way a man like him can make money out of the
war, and that is--by serving the Kaiser. I suppose he thought we
wouldn't catch that idea, or he'd been more careful what he said. All
criminals are reckless in little ways; that's how they betray
themselves and give us a chance to catch them. However, I haven't
caught this fellow yet, and he's tricky enough to give me a long chase
unless I act boldly and get my evidence before he suspects I'm on his
trail. That must be my programme--to act quickly and lose no time."
Kauffman saw her when she entered the hotel dining room for dinner that
evening, and he walked straight over to her table and sat down opposite
her.
"Met again!" he said with his broad smile. "You selling something?"
"Brains," returned Josie composedly.
"Good! Did Jake Kasker buy any of you?"
"I've all my stock on hand, sir. I'm a newspaper woman--special writer
or advertising expert. Quit New York last week and came on here."
"Wasn't New York good enough for you?" he asked, after ordering his
dinner of the waitress.
"I'm too independent to suit the metropolitan journals. I couldn't
endorse their gumshoe policies. For instance, they wanted me to
eulogize President Wilson and his cabinet, rave over the beauties of
the war and denounce any congressman or private individual who dares
think for himself," explained Josie, eating her soup the while.
"So--I'm looking for another job."
Kauffman maintained silence, studying the bill-of-fare. When he was
served he busied himself eating, but between the slits of his
half-closed eyes he regarded the girl furtively from, time to time. His
talkative mood had curiously evaporated. He was thoughtful. Only when
Josie was preparing to leave the table did he resume the conversation.
"What did you think of Jake Kasker's kind of patriotism?" he asked.
"Oh; the clothing man? I didn't pay much attention. Never met Kasker
before, you know. Isn't he like most of the rabble, thinking what he's
told to think and saying what he's told to say?"
She waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. Even this clever lead
did not get a rise out of Abe Kauffman. Indeed, he seemed to suspect a
trap, for when she rose and walked out of the dining room she noticed
that his smile had grown ironical.
On reaching her room through the dimly lighted passage, Josie refrained
from turning on her own lights, but she threw open her one little
window and leaned out. The window faced a narrow, unlighted alley at
the rear of the hotel. One window of Room 45, next to her, opened on an
iron fire-escape that reached to within a few feet of the ground. Josie
smiled, withdrew her head and sat in the dark of her room for hours,
with a patience possible only through long training.
At ten o'clock Kauffman entered his room. She could distinctly hear him
moving about. A little later he went away, walking boldly down the
corridor to the elevator.
Josie rose and slipped on her hat and coat.
Leaving the hotel, Kauffman made his way down the street to Broadway,
Dorfield's main thoroughfare. He wore a soft hat and carried a cane.
The few people he passed paid no attention to him. Steadily proceeding,
he left the business district and after a while turned abruptly to the
right.
This was one of the principal residence sections of the city. Kauffman
turned the various corners with a confidence that denoted his perfect
acquaintance with the route. But presently his pace slowed and he came
to a halt opposite an imposing mansion set far back in ample grounds,
beautifully cared for and filled with rare shrubbery.
Only for a moment, however, did the man hesitate--just long enough to
cast a glance up and down the deserted street, which was fairly well
lighted. No one being in sight, he stepped from the sidewalk to the
lawn, and keeping the grass under his feet, noiselessly made his way
through the shrubbery to the south side of the residence. Here a
conservatory formed a wing which jutted into the grounds.
The German softly approached, mounted the three steps leading to a
glass door, and rapped upon the sash in a peculiar manner. Almost
immediately the door was opened by a woman, who beckoned him in. The
conservatory was unlighted save by a mellow drift that filtered through
the plants from a doorway beyond, leading to the main house.
From behind the concealment of a thick bush Josie O'Gorman had noted
the woman's form but was unable to see her face. The girl happened to
know the house, however. It was the residence of Dorfield's social
leader, Mrs. Charleworth.
Josie squatted behind that bush for nearly half an hour. Then the glass
door opened and Kauffman stepped out.
"By the way," he said in a low voice, "it's just as well we didn't take
Kasker in with us. He's a loud-mouthed fool. I've tested him and find
he blats out everything he knows."
"We do not need him, since I've decided to finance the affair,"
returned the woman, and Josie recognized her voice. It was the great
Mrs. Charleworth herself. Mrs. Charleworth, in secret conference with
Abe Kauffman, the suspender salesman!
Then Josie experienced another surprise. A second man stepped through
the shadowy doorway, joining Kauffman on the steps.
"It seems to me," said this last person, "that there is danger in
numbers. Of course, that's your affair, Kauffman, and none of my
business, but if I'm to help you pull it off, I'd rather there wouldn't
be too many of us. It's a ticklish thing, at the best, and--"
"Shut up!" growled Kauffman, suspiciously peering around him into the
darkness. "The less we talk in the open, the better."
"That is true. Good night," said the woman, and went in, closing the
door behind her.
"I think I will light a cigar," said Kauffman.
"Wait until you are in the street," cautioned the other.
They walked on the grass, avoiding the paths and keeping in the darkest
places. Finally they emerged upon the sidewalk, and finding the coast
clear, traveled on side by side.
At times they conversed in low tones, so low that the little red-headed
girl, dodging through the parkings in their wake, could not overhear
the words they spoke. But as they approached the more frequented part
of the town, they separated, Kauffman turning into Broadway and the
other continuing along a side street.
Josie O'Gorman followed the latter person. He was tall and thin and
stooped a trifle. She had been unable, so far, to see his face. He
seemed, from the turnings he made, to be skirting the business section
rather than pass directly through it. So the girl took a chance, darted
down one street and around the corner of another, and then slipped into
a dim doorway near which hung an electric street-light.
She listened eagerly and soon was rewarded by a sound of footsteps. The
man she was shadowing leisurely approached, passed under the light and
continued on his way, failing to note the motionless form of the girl
in the doorway.
Josie gave a little laugh.
"You're a puzzling proposition, Professor," she whispered to herself,
"and you came near fooling me very properly. For I imagined you were on
your way to Washington, and here you've mixed up with another important
job!"