THE PINK ENVELOPE.
For a moment Post-office Inspector Owen Sheridan stood staring stupidly
at Dallas Worthington’s landlady, appalled by the significance of what
the woman had just told him.
"Gone!" he exclaimed dazedly, at last, "and with her suit case. But
didn’t she say where she was going, Mrs. O’Brien? Didn’t she tell you
when she’d be back?"
"No, sir; not a word. She rushed out of the house like a creature
possessed. In all the while I’ve known her I’ve never seen her in such a
state. She’s usually such a calm, dignified young woman, as well you
know, Mr. Sheridan. If it wasn’t that she left her trunk behind her, and
that she don’t impress me as bein’ at all that kind of person, I’d be
inclined to think that she’d skipped to beat her board bill; she owes me
three weeks’ board. I’ve been gettin’ nothing but excuses and promises
from her lately."
This was another staggerer for Owen. Dallas in need of money! He knew
that the girl’s position as stenographer in Mr. Sammis’ real-estate
office did not command a very big salary; but she had never once hinted
to Owen that she was not earning enough to pay her expenses.
"Poor little girl," he mused tenderly. "She’s evidently been having a
hard struggle to get along, and I never guessed it. But, thank goodness,
she won’t have to struggle any longer. There’s nothing to prevent us
from getting married now, and she can throw up that job as soon as she’s
ready."
He was smiling to himself at the pleasant picture his mind drew of a
cozy little flat, with Dallas, trim and dainty, pouring coffee at a
breakfast table laid for two, when the strident voice of the
boarding-house woman brought him sharply to his senses:
"Why a young woman that’s earning twelve dollars a week--which I
understand is her salary, Mr. Sheridan--shouldn’t be able to keep out of
debt when her board bill’s only eight, is something that I fail to
understand. It isn’t as if she was a fancy dresser. She’s always neat,
of course, but she never wears expensive clothes, and I can’t see why
she should have to get three weeks behind in her board, when----”
Owen hastily took out his wallet, and withdrew twenty-four dollars.
"When Miss Worthington comes back, you can tell her that her board bill
has been paid, without telling her who paid it, Mrs. O’Brien," he said,
handing her the money. "And please don’t mention anything to anybody
about her having been in arrears."
"I won’t, sir," the landlady assured him. "It ain’t no disgrace, of
course, to be hard up; but, at the same time, I know it ain’t a subject
that people like to have talked about. I’ll be very careful not to
mention it, Mr. Sheridan."
"I sincerely hope that she’ll keep that promise," said Owen to himself,
as he left the house. "Until this pink-envelope mystery is cleared up,
it would be very awkward to have it become known that Dallas was so
financially embarrassed that she couldn’t pay her board bill."
Then he smiled grimly, as it occurred to him that the only person from
whom, in Dallas’ behalf, such knowledge should have been kept was
himself. Of what use to request the landlady not to mention the matter
to anybody, when he, the inspector in charge of the case, was already in
possession of the incriminating information? He was the man who must
find out what had become of the missing pink envelope. He was the man
who must name the guilty person, and eventually make an arrest in the
case. And, now that he knew that Dallas Worthington had suddenly
vanished, a few minutes after she got possession of the only pink
envelope which the letter box contained, what was he going to do about
it?
He asked himself this question uneasily as he walked away from the
boarding place. He told himself indignantly that it was preposterous to
suppose for a minute that Dallas could be guilty of stealing the missing
letter; that she could deliberately have deceived Carrier Andrews in
order to get possession of the hundred-dollar bill which the pink
envelope contained.
He was angry with himself for even considering the possibility of
Dallas’ guilt. "A nice way to treat the girl I love--the girl I am going
to make my wife!" he muttered. "It would serve me right if she threw me
over entirely when she learns that I dared to doubt her. How foolish to
suppose that her disappearance can have anything to do with the loss of
that letter!"
Yet he knew very well that it was not foolish, from the standpoint of an
impartial post-office inspector. He knew very well that, considering all
the facts in the case, if it had been any other girl than Dallas
Worthington, he would have decided with positiveness that the person to
be charged with the crime was the young woman who had accosted Pop
Andrews at the street letter box, and pleaded with the old mail
collector until he handed her the letter.
He realized that he must do one of two things: He must scoff at Pop
Andrews’ story, accuse him of having invented that yarn about handing
the pink envelope to Dallas, charge the veteran carrier with being the
thief, and place him under arrest; or else, accepting the carrier’s
story as the truth, he must report to his chief that the missing letter
had been stolen by a young woman named Dallas Worthington, who had not
yet been placed under arrest because she had fled to escape the
consequences of her act.
"It’s a ticklish proposition," reflected Owen. "I can’t very well accuse
Dallas, yet I know very well that Pop Andrews is honest, and it would
break the old fellow’s heart to accuse him of being a thief."