FALSE ASSURANCE
At noon Judy gave Dale and Pauline what little information she had over
sandwiches and coffee in a near-by restaurant. Joy Holiday, she told
them, disappeared twenty years ago; and Emily Grimshaw’s only reason
for acting strangely was because she believed Irene to be her ghost.
“If that’s the case,” Dale declared, “we’re simply wasting time
questioning her. Irene’s father might know something real.”
Judy agreed. They telegraphed him at once:
IRENE MISSING SINCE YESTERDAY STOP IS SHE
WITH YOU
JUDY
The answer came back early that same afternoon:
DONT WORRY STOP IRENE WITH RELATIVES IN
BROOKLYN STOP ADVISED HER IN LETTER TO
LOOK THEM UP
TOM LANG
Relief flooded Judy’s face. She waved the telegram excitedly and was on
the point of telling the news to Emily Grimshaw. Then she decided that
she had better not—not yet, at any rate. The papers were still missing
even if Irene was safe. It would be better to clear her chum of all
suspicion as quickly as possible.
Freed of a measure of worry and suspense, Judy’s mind eagerly took up
the story of Joy Holiday’s strange disappearance. Now that she felt
sure it had nothing to do with Irene she could view the tale
dispassionately and take it for what it was worth. Still holding to
Dale Meredith’s theory that valuable clues might be found in the
poetry, she questioned Emily Grimshaw.
“Why do you call the girl Joy Holiday when her mother’s name was Glenn?”
“That’s only a pen name.” The agent explained. “Not any prettier than
Holiday, is it? But when she had her first poems published Sarah was so
anxious to please the publishers that she agreed to use a name that was
short enough to be printed across the back of that thin little book.
Humph! And now the publishers are just as anxious to please her!”
“What happened to her husband?” Judy asked after a pause.
“Dick Holiday? He left her shortly after their baby was born. Said he’d
married a wife, not a nursemaid, and she insisted upon giving all of
her time to Joy. When the child finally made a few friends among young
folks her own age her mother, in a fit of jealous rage, locked her in
the tower.”
“What tower?” Judy asked, growing more and more interested.
“It’s a circular tower built onto Sarah’s house. Joy’s room was on the
third floor and there’s where her mother locked her up. She wanted Joy
all to herself. That’s what I call mothering a girl to death. Though
how Joy died is still something of a puzzle to me.”
“Why? What happened to her?”
Emily Grimshaw’s expression changed. The lines in her forehead
deepened. “I told you she disappeared, vanished completely, just like
you say this friend of yours vanished. Some folks think she jumped from
a window. How ever it happened, Jasper Crosby identified a body in the
morgue as hers. They had a funeral over it and buried it, but her
mother declares to this day it wasn’t Joy. It didn’t look like her.
That girl was too beautiful to die and Sarah thinks she floats around
bodily, mind you. No doubt you gathered that much from reading the
poetry.”
“Oh,” Judy exclaimed. “That....”
“Yes, _that_. But I doubt it.” She shook her head gravely and regarded
Judy with a fixed stare. “Yes, I very much doubt it. Joy Holiday must
be dead. Otherwise her spirit wouldn’t be coming back to haunt the
earth. But what I’ve done that she should haunt me, the good Lord
knows!”
“Published the poetry, perhaps,” Judy suggested wickedly. If Irene’s
disappearance hadn’t been such a serious matter she would have laughed
at the old lady’s superstitions.
On the way home Judy tried to figure out why Irene had failed to get in
touch with her. That Blackberry had chewed up her note as well as the
yellow flower petals seemed likely until she talked it over with
Pauline.
“A cat chew up paper?” the other girl sniffed. “Why, Judy, only goats
do that.”
“I know, but Blackberry is an unusual cat. I thought he might——”
“Well, he wouldn’t,” Pauline interrupted. “You know, yourself, Irene is
sometimes thoughtless. She probably didn’t leave any note. She never
breathed a word about those relatives either, and I think she must have
had some reason for not wanting us to know where she was going.”
Judy nodded, unconvinced. Irene wasn’t that sort. The relatives in
Brooklyn might have been a surprise to her also. Judy remembered
distinctly Irene’s assertion that she didn’t know a soul in the city.
Her father must have revealed some family history in his letter. Oh,
why did telegrams need to be so brief?
Vaguely uneasy about the whole affair, Judy showed the telegram to Dale
when he called later in the evening. As he read it his face beamed.
“What more do you want?” he cried. “She’s safe! It’s all of Heaven to
know that much.”
In a little while everything would be explained. Irene hadn’t intended
to worry them. And Dale was right. They should forget everything else
and simply be thankful that she was safe.
For a week Judy went about the daily office routine cheered by the hope
that Irene would soon come back. After that doubts began to crowd in.
Dale had been calling regularly, helping Pauline entertain even if
there remained only one guest to pilot through the never-ending wonders
of the world’s greatest city. One evening when he called to take them
to dinner Judy confided her fears to him.
“I don’t trust that telegram,” she said in a low voice. “If Irene
really is safe why hasn’t she written to tell us where she is?”
“I’ve been wondering about that for a week,” Dale replied. “Suppose we
send another telegram.”
“And have it answered as briefly as the last one? No,” Judy declared
emphatically. “I’m going to find out what has happened if it costs my
week’s salary in nickels. Where’s the nearest phone booth?”
Dale pointed out a cigar store at the next corner and escorted her to
it. Together she and Pauline assembled quite a pile of coins and Judy
dropped her first nickel in the slot. It was a relief to hear a nurse’s
voice, finally, at the other end of the wire.
“Farringdon Sanitarium?” she asked. “Is Mr. Lang well enough to come to
the phone?”
“Oh, yes indeed,” the voice replied. “Just a moment and I will call
him. He is taking a walk around the grounds.”
“He’s taking a walk,” Judy turned and whispered. “Won’t Irene be glad
to hear he’s out of his wheeled chair?”
Then Mr. Lang’s voice, wonderfully clear, asked who was calling.
“It’s Judy. I called about Irene.”
“About Irene!” Instantly the voice changed. Judy could tell that her
fears were well founded.
“Yes, yes. About Irene. She’s still missing. Who are her relatives in
Brooklyn?”
“Why, I—I dunno,” the old man faltered.
“You don’t know! But you said not to worry. She was with relatives....”
“Didn’t I say as she might be?”
“Then you _didn’t_ know where she was?” Judy demanded.
“N-no, not for sure. She’d have a purty hard time findin’ abody from
jest the looks of their house. But she does have relatives—if they
ain’t dead.”
“Her mother’s relatives?”
“Yes, my poor Annie’s folks. I told her about them in a letter, but I
get all muddled up on the names. Can’t seem to remember. It’s queer how
anything like that slips a man’s mind. Can’t you help me, Judy?” he
begged. “Ain’t there anything you can do?”
“There’s _every_thing. Why, we would have turned New York inside out
looking for her if it hadn’t been for that telegram——”
Dale touched her arm. “Go easy, Judy. Her father’s upset, too. Better
hang up, and we’ll report it to the police again.”
At the same time Mr. Lang was saying, “I’ll manage it somehow. The
nurses ain’t strong enough to keep me here when my little girl is lost.”
Through tear-dimmed eyes, Judy fumbled for the pile of coins, put the
few that were left back in her pocketbook and stumbled out of the store
with Dale and Pauline.
“All this to go through again,” she moaned, “and after we believed she
was safe!”
Then she looked up and saw Dale’s sober face and resolved to be brave
herself.
“We’re going to the police station, aren’t we?” she asked. “We’ll tell
them it was a mistake—that report that she was with relatives—and
perhaps, if we hurry, there will still be time for a police broadcast
of Irene’s description over the radio tonight!”
“There must be time,” Dale said between set lips. “And then what?”
“And then,” Judy declared, “we’re going to take paper and pencil and
write down every possible thing that could have happened to Irene.
After that we’re going to begin with the most plausible and follow up
every clue. We’ll call in the police where necessary but we are the
ones to do the brain work. We are the ones who care.”
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