TO THE RESCUE
“This way, officer. Here’s the suite. Judy!” Peter Dobbs shouted.
One of the policemen rattled the door.
“It’s locked,” he announced, “and nobody answers. Give me your night
stick, partner.”
The sound of splintering wood announced that the door was open. The
center panel, with Emily Grimshaw’s unique knocker, fell to the floor
and revealed the face of Jasper Crosby, white as a ghost. Judy lay limp
at his feet.
“He’s choked her!” Peter said between set teeth.
Before Jasper had time to turn his head he had him by the collar. One
of the policemen clapped handcuffs over his wrists. The other two
jerked him to a corner while Peter lifted Judy gently in his arms and
placed her on the sofa.
“Brave little girl,” he whispered and kissed her closed eyes.
She opened them, hardly believing that this was the same boy who had
shared so many adventures with her. She had imagined Arthur kissing
her—sometime when they grew older—but not Peter.
“I’m always needing someone to rescue me,” she said, trying to laugh.
“And doesn’t it make any difference who it is?” he asked.
“Yes, a little,” she returned lightly. “I called you, didn’t I?”
He studied her face, looking sorry about something, and after a few
minutes he rose and said gruffly, “Come, we must hear what Jasper
Crosby has to say for himself.”
She followed him to the corner where the prisoner sat sullenly on a
chair. At first he would say nothing, but later when Judy questioned
him about the funeral his attitude changed.
“There’s no secret about that,” he declared. “My sister is the one who
died. I’ll give you the names of the doctor and undertaker to verify
what I say.”
“Then the funeral was Sarah Glenn’s?”
Jasper nodded.
“But what became of Irene? We know she went to your sister’s house and
we know she never returned. Where is she?”
Jasper Crosby grinned. “I’ll tell you if you’re so anxious to know. I
thought she was a mite young to be traveling about New York. Yes, Miss,
a mite young and irresponsible. So I sent her back to her father. Even
paid her train fare and saw her off. Pretty decent of me, don’t you
think, seeing she’s a perfect stranger?”
“When did this happen?” Judy demanded.
Jasper Crosby let his eyes rove thoughtfully about the room before he
answered. He seemed content that the girl, not the policemen, was
questioning him. As Judy’s questions were pertinent they, too, seemed
content.
“I sent Irene to her father some time ago,” he said finally.
“You were seen with her yesterday morning,” said Judy.
“Ah, yes. Yesterday morning. That was it. I sent her home yesterday
morning.”
“Your two stories don’t jibe,” one of the policemen snapped.
“Yesterday morning is some time ago to me,” Jasper Crosby replied
suavely. “Much has happened since then. There has been a funeral,” he
chuckled, “quite a funeral, too. Miss Grimshaw had a gay time of it all
right, all right.”
“Did Irene attend the funeral?” Judy asked, ignoring his last statement.
He looked surprised. “Oh, no indeed. She did not attend.”
“You were pretty careful to keep her out of sight, weren’t you?”
“She was with my sister constantly,” he replied. “She had no desire to
leave the house as long as my sister needed her.”
Judy turned to Peter. “It doesn’t sound true, does it?”
“It’s the blackest lie I ever heard,” he declared vehemently. “He can’t
tell us that Irene stayed with a crazy woman of her own free will and
made no attempt to get in touch with her friends. There’s been crooked
work somewhere. If he sent Irene home, where is she now?” Peter
questioned.
“Perhaps she’s visiting someone else,” Judy suggested hopefully.
Peter shook his head. “I don’t believe it. In any case she would have
been in touch with you.”
The policemen agreed that Jasper’s story was not a very convincing one.
Dale Meredith came in while they were still questioning him. Horace and
Arthur were with him.
“I’ll get something out of this bird,” Horace declared. “Officer, have
I your permission to question him?”
“Fire away,” the policeman replied, “and more power to you!”
Horace turned to Jasper with flashing eyes.
“What did Irene say the day she came, and if, as you say, she is not
your niece how did she happen to enter your sister’s house?”
Jasper shrugged his shoulders and made a gesture indicating wheels
going around.
“They cast spells, you know. Crazy people do. My sister’s eyes took
possession of Irene. Hypnotized her completely. I never saw two people
so attached to each other. Crazy as loons, both of them.”
“Irene Lang’s mind was perfectly sound,” Horace denied.
“I tell you my sister hypnotized her,” Jasper maintained.
As Judy listened to the explanation that her brother drew from Jasper
Crosby, she found herself almost believing it. Sarah Glenn’s reaction
to Irene’s sudden appearance had been similar to Emily Grimshaw’s, only
more pronounced.
Jasper had been the one to open the door. Irene had inquired for her
grandmother, but before he could speak the poet herself had rushed
forward, almost smothering Irene in a tearful embrace.
“My Joy! My Joy! I _knew_ you would come back.”
Then she had turned to Jasper with accusing eyes. “I told you the child
wasn’t dead. Angels don’t die. My darling! Darling!”
Again Irene had submitted to her embrace.
No amount of reasoning could dissuade the old lady from her queer
conviction. She had seen her daughter’s dead body, Jasper declared, but
in spite of that she claimed this living girl as hers. Irene had
answered to the name of Joy, pretended to remember touching little
things out of the past, even fondled old playthings to please the poet.
Like Golden Girl in the song she, too, had been a princess enthroned in
her circular tower. There she had stayed. Jasper brought food,
clothing, all the little things that a girl might need. He even moved a
bed into the tower room so that she could sleep there. He called her
Joy, too, to please his sister and pretended to think that she was the
dead Joy Holiday returned.
“But the last few nights,” he continued his narrative, “she caused some
trouble. My sister died, very peacefully, with Irene at her bedside.
But after that the girl refused to go to her room. She had an obsession
that the tower wasn’t safe and refused to sleep there.”
“Well, is it safe?” Peter charged.
“It’s been propped up ever since my sister tried to kill herself and
set fire to the house. Sure, it’s safe!”
“As long as the props hold.”
Jasper Crosby gave a dry chuckle with no mirth in it. There was
something maniacal about it—something that frightened Judy. She spoke
to Peter in a low tone.
“He’s trying to prove that Irene is insane just as he tried to prove,
years ago, that her mother was dead. This time we won’t let him get
away with it.”
“You bet we won’t!” Peter, Arthur and Dale joined in agreement.
The policemen promised to make a check-up of train passengers to
determine if any part of Jasper Crosby’s story might be true.
“He’s a mighty slippery prisoner,” one of them said. “If he hadn’t
assaulted the girl there I doubt if we would be able to bring charges
against him.”
“Then I’m glad he did it,” Judy said unexpectedly.
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