THE HAPPY ENDING
Pauline stood transfixed while Judy gathered Irene in her arms. If
people fainted for joy she would have done it then. At first there were
no explanations. Neither Judy nor Pauline expected any. The supreme
realization that Irene was there—alive, safe—sufficed. Kisses were
mingled with tears as Pauline, too, pressed closer to the golden-haired
girl. If they had ever doubted Irene’s sincerity, suspected her of
anything, it was all forgotten at the moment.
“It’s so good to see you again,” Irene said at last. “There was nobody
but Blackberry here to welcome me when I came in. It was almost as
quiet as the house in Parkville after my grandmother died.”
“Poor you!” Judy cried. “We found out all about that wicked uncle of
yours and he’s in jail now. Believe me, Irene, he wanted to get your
grandmother’s property and would have done anything to be rid of you.
Oh, I’m so—glad—you’re safe——”
But Judy was sobbing again, clinging to Irene as if she might vanish if
she released her hand. Together she and Pauline led her to the sofa
where each of them found a seat close beside her.
It was growing dark and Judy lit the bridge lamp. It shone down on
Irene’s hair. Something brighter than lamplight glowed, suddenly, in
her eyes.
“Where’s Dale?” she asked. “Has he missed me?”
“He thinks of nothing but you,” Judy answered. “Horace and Peter and
Arthur are here, too. All of them were hunting for you.”
“How thrilling! Did they like Dale, too?”
“Everybody likes him,” Pauline put in. “Lucky girl! They say absence
makes the heart grow fonder, and I shouldn’t wonder if he fell in love
with you.”
“Really?”
“I’m almost sure of it,” Pauline replied. She spoke softly and only
Irene heard her. Judy ran to the window.
“They’re coming! I heard their voices. Dale!” she called down to the
street. “Arthur! Peter! Dale! Hurry!”
That was all she said. That was all she needed to say. The trembling
joy in her voice told them the rest. In less time than seemed possible
Dale burst through the half-open door.
“Irene!” he cried. “Am I dreaming or is this my lost princess, my
Golden Girl?”
“What’s he talking about?” Horace said gruffly to Judy. “Are they
engaged?”
Judy smiled, watching their embrace. “Not yet, but we can guess they
will be before long.”
Dale and Irene faced the others. Radiance was in their faces.
“It’s been quite a detective story,” Dale said, “and this is the happy
ending. Now, Irene, dear, suppose we go out on the roof garden—all of
us—and you explain everything. I’m perfectly sure you can.”
The others followed, eager to hear the story they had nearly given up
hope of hearing from Irene’s own lips. It proved to be almost identical
with Jasper Crosby’s story. Irene had not been forced to stay in her
grandmother’s house. She had stayed of her own free will because the
old lady was sick and needed her.
“At first it was fun, almost like playing princess,” Irene said. “I let
her call me Joy and I called her Mother. I pretended to remember things
my own mother must have done. I read aloud from her books and wore her
dresses. This is one.” She touched the simple white silk dress she was
wearing and explained that she had intended to wear it to her
grandmother’s funeral. “But then Uncle Jasper decided that I must not
go. He said that being with her when she died had affected my mind. I
believed him then but now that I’m home again I feel sure that it
wasn’t true. Still, there’s something like a magnet that just draws me
back to that dear old house.”
“Your grandmother’s house?”
“My house now, isn’t it, Peter?”
The young law student looked up with a start. He had forgotten all
about the will in the excitement of having Irene safe again. But she
had changed so! He couldn’t quite understand this new, beautiful
Irene—this Irene who was an heiress.
“Why, er—yes,” he said. “I believe everything is legally yours, even
the royalties from that new book Emily Grimshaw is publishing.”
Dale and Judy looked first at each other and then at Irene. Both of
them were wondering the same thing. How could Emily Grimshaw have the
book published if the manuscripts were missing? Dale was the first to
put the thought into words.
“They aren’t missing any more,” Irene replied and darted back inside
the door. When the others had joined her in Pauline’s sitting room she
opened a small suitcase that stood on the floor and gave the papers a
toss onto the table.
“There they are—every blessed one of them. I packed them with my
things so Uncle Jasper wouldn’t see me take them. Why don’t you give
them all back to Emily Grimshaw in the morning?”
“But what will I tell her?” gasped Judy. “I can’t tell her you stole
them. What will I say? Oh, why did you do it? Can’t you see all the
trouble it has caused? Really, Irene, you’re dreadfully hard-hearted.”
“Am I?” The golden-haired girl smiled wanly. “And all the time I
thought you were, not to come and see me.”
“How could we have come?”
“I told you in my letter. It explained everything but now, oh, now it’s
going to be harder to explain.”
“What letter? Did you get a letter?” Dale turned and demanded of Judy.
“Of course I didn’t.”
“Then how did you find out where I was?”
Peter explained this question to Irene. He told her about the radio
broadcast, the police activities and how earnestly all of them had
searched. It seemed that the tables had turned and they, not Irene,
were doing the explaining. But what could have happened to Irene’s
letter? She said she had written three.
“I gave them to Uncle Jasper to mail——”
Judy interrupted with a little cry. “There’s your explanation. He must
have destroyed them. The miserable old cheat! Was he mean to you,
Irene?”
She sighed. “This is the part I hardly dare tell. He made me think it
was an—an hallucination. You know, like crazy people get. But I was in
the tower lying on my bed. I’d been up all night and he told me to
rest. It was right after Grandma died. Well, he moved the bed across
the room—way across and I felt a little queer as if it weren’t quite
safe. I knew the tower was only propped up. Then he got ugly. He told
me I was going insane. He said if I didn’t lie in the bed he’d tie me
there. So I lay down. In a little while I heard some one rapping on the
door and I ran to the window. I saw you, Judy, but you didn’t hear me
call. You were almost out of sight. Then I looked down, and, as sure as
I’m alive, there was Uncle Jasper taking the props out from under the
tower. One of them fell and struck him across the chest. I think,” she
added, turning to Peter, “that there must be marks on his chest to
prove that what I say is true.”
“It’s a serious charge, Irene. He could do twenty years for that. But
he deserves it if what you say is true.”
“It’s true. And, oh, I was so frightened. I ran downstairs and I guess
I was screaming—or crying—or both. Anyway, he quit hammering at the
props. He had a sledge hammer and a long beam to work with. That was so
the tower wouldn’t fall on him.”
“You remember that long beam we used to break down the door?” Dale
interrupted her to ask.
Both Judy and Peter nodded. Their faces were grave. Blackberry, who
possessed a cat’s inborn capacity for sympathy, came forth from his
corner and looked up at Irene. She patted him as she went on talking.
“Uncle Jasper got scared then. He said he’d have to get me back to my
father in a hurry. He explained how he was really putting more props
under the tower and said it was because my mind wasn’t right that I had
been afraid he would kill me. He told me that if I didn’t want to go to
the insane asylum I’d keep still about the whole thing. I said I would
but it wasn’t true and I’m sure he didn’t believe me. Then he took me
riding in the car but he didn’t take the road for Farringdon. I don’t
know where he intended to take me but wherever it was, I didn’t want to
go. So, when he had to slow down for a railroad crossing, I jumped out
of the car. He was busy driving and didn’t miss me until afterwards. By
that time I had started hiking. So here I am and I guess that explains
everything.”
Irene sank back in her chair and looked, suddenly, tired. Judy realized
that she must be hungry too. She remembered the packages that the boys
had brought in, and all of them set about preparing food and something
for Irene to drink. She wanted coffee with plenty of cream. The same
Irene, dear child! Judy didn’t care if she never explained about the
poetry.
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