DEDUCTIONS
Torn between a desire to find out what had actually happened and a fear
of throwing suspicion upon the man who was Irene’s ideal, Judy stood in
the center of the room staring at Dale Meredith’s portfolio. Blackberry
sat on the floor at her feet, and the thumping of his tail on the rug
played a drumlike march in time to her heartbeats. This was
nonsense—just standing there. It was her duty to find out the truth.
She took a quick step forward and reached for the portfolio,
accidentally stepping on the cat’s tail. He yowled! Judy almost dropped
the papers that she held, caught at them, told in one glance that she
had been wrong and was about to put them back when the door slowly
opened.
There was no way out. Dale and the two girls came into the room,
stopped and stood speechless. Blackberry looked up at them as though
expecting to be commended for sounding the warning.
“That cat’s as good as a watchdog,” Dale broke the silence by saying.
“I suppose I do look something like a burglar,” Judy retorted. “I’m not
going to apologize for anything either. I simply had to know.”
“Know what?” Pauline asked.
“She wanted to find out if I took the lost poetry,” Dale explained.
“That’s clear enough, and don’t think for a moment that I blame her.
Any good detective would have done the same thing. Being a comparative
stranger, I am the logical one to suspect. Irene, we all know, is above
suspicion.”
“Well then, who did take the papers?” Pauline asked.
Dale only shook his head, refusing to propound any more theories about
the affair. Judy turned to him gratefully.
“I felt sure you would be dreadfully mad at me for snooping in your
personal belongings,” she said. “It’s nice to have you uphold me in my
crude bit of detecting, and I do appreciate it. What puzzles me is
this: nobody left the room ahead of you except——”
“Except me,” Irene broke in, “and you may be sure I didn’t take those
papers.”
“We’re sure, aren’t we?”
Judy turned to the others and Dale nodded solemnly. It was Pauline who
looked a little doubtful.
“What! Don’t you believe in her too?” Judy asked in surprise.
Pauline shrugged. “I suppose so, if she says she didn’t take them.”
“Then we all believe in each other, and it seems that even Emily
Grimshaw believes in us,” Judy went on. “It appears that the next thing
to do is find out who Joy Holiday is and how she could have entered the
office without our knowing.”
“You’re pretty keen on solving this mystery, aren’t you?” Dale inquired.
“It’s just the way I am,” Judy replied. “I couldn’t bear not knowing.
And I suspect that this Joy Holiday, whoever she is, had something to
do with Miss Grimshaw’s collapse. Maybe tomorrow, if she’s in a
pleasant mood, I’ll ask her about it.”
“Go easy,” Dale warned. “I’m beginning to think there’s more to this
missing poetry business than may appear on the surface. What were
they—very valuable manuscripts?”
“Valuable?” Judy repeated thoughtfully. “Why, I believe they were.”
“There was _Golden Girl_,” Irene put in. “You said that was valuable.
It’s beautiful, too. I read it over and over and over——”
“You’re getting sleepy, Irene. And no wonder!” Pauline looked at her
wrist watch a second time to make sure. Then she turned to Dale. “One
o’clock! Oh, what a calling down I’ll get from Father if the
housekeeper catches sight of you leaving at this hour of the night.
Better tiptoe down the back stairs.”
“Okay! How about that roof garden tomorrow night?”
“Not tomorrow night,” Irene pleaded. “I’ll be too tired. Can’t we wait?”
“Saturday, then. How about it, Pauline?”
“I said I wasn’t going.”
“But you must go. We won’t go without her, will we, Irene?”
She shook her bright head and laughed, “Indeed we won’t. Don’t be a
goose!”
Did they want her, too, Judy wondered. Then she thought of Emily
Grimshaw, and her doubts vanished. She might have something interesting
to tell them about Joy Holiday.
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