_The Job_
If Mrs. Gay did not like the idea of losing her daughter for two weeks,
at least she kept the feeling to herself. She congratulated Mary Louise
heartily on being chosen for a difficult piece of work.
"You're a lucky girl!" cried Freckles, Mary Louise's young brother. "Wish
I was old enough to take the job!"
"You couldn't take this one, Son," his father reminded him, "because it's
a woman's job. A man would be out of place in a woman's hotel. But Mary
Lou can go about unnoticed--people will think she's just a guest."
"Twenty-five bucks a week!" repeated Freckles. "What are you going to do
with all that money, Sis?"
"I don't know. Wait and see if I earn it. But if I do, we'll all have
something nice out of it."
"I wasn't asking for it!" protested the boy.
"No, I know you weren't. But wait, and we'll see." She turned to her
mother. "The Detweilers haven't heard a thing from Margaret, Mother. Not
since they received a box last Christmas from Philadelphia. But I
promised to try to hunt her up for them."
"Oh, I feel so sorry for them!" exclaimed Mrs. Gay. "I do hope that
nothing has happened to Margaret."
"So do I. But, anyhow, that will give me two jobs in Philadelphia."
"Yes," agreed her father, "and you can give that as your reason for being
in Philadelphia--to the other guests at the hotel--if you care to."
"That's an idea," said Mary Louise. "And maybe this is the more important
of the two. I'm sure Margaret Detweiler is more precious to her
grandparents than money and valuables to the women at that hotel."
Though her mother accepted the situation calmly--owing to her father's
persuasion, no doubt--Mary Louise found her best friends less agreeable.
Jane raised a howl of protest when she heard of the plan, and Max Miller
looked so crushed and unhappy that for a moment or two Mary Louise even
considered the idea of giving the whole thing up.
"I asked you two months ago to go to the senior dance during Christmas
week," he said. "And you promised me faithfully, Mary Lou!"
"I know, Max. But I couldn't foresee anything like this coming up."
"It spoils my whole vacation. It spoils my whole senior year, because
this is the biggest affair we have.... In fact, it spoils my whole life!"
"Now, Max, be reasonable! We'd have only a few dances together--you're
class president, don't forget, and you'll need to perform your social
duties--and any other girl will do as your partner."
"No other girl will do at all," he protested stubbornly. "I won't take
anybody else. I'll go stag. I'd stay home entirely if I weren't
president!"
"Well, maybe I'll have the whole mystery solved in the week before
Christmas, and get home in time for the dance," remarked Mary Louise
optimistically.
"More likely you'll stay a week overtime," muttered the young man. "Or
maybe take on the job for good and never come back to Riverside at all."
Mary Louise laughed.
"You certainly can dish out gloom when you want to, Max! You don't
suppose my parents would allow me to leave high school and take a regular
job when I'm only sixteen, do you? I shan't be seventeen till next
spring, you know."
But Max refused to be consoled, and Jane Patterson upheld him in his
attitude. It was ridiculous, foolhardy, dumb, silly--every adjective she
could think of--to go to a strange city and be all alone during Christmas
week when you could be having a perfectly wonderful time in Riverside.
"You'll get to be a dried-up old maid by the time you're twenty-five,"
she told her chum. "And what good will your career be to you then?"
"Lots of good," returned Mary Louise complacently. "If I'm going to be an
old maid, I'll certainly want a career. But I don't see why a career
should interfere with marriage. I'll have plenty of time to have it
first."
"All the men will be married by that time."
"I'll take a chance," laughed Mary Louise.
Nothing anybody said could stop her. Mary Louise was more thrilled than
she had ever been in her life, and she meant to put her whole soul into
this job. Not only for her own sake, but for her father's, as well. In
her two previous experiences, personal inclination had made her unravel
the mysteries, but now she felt that her father's reputation was
involved. If he recommended someone who was incompetent, a failure would
reflect upon him. Oh, she must succeed--if it were humanly possible!
She left the party early that evening and went home to finish packing her
suitcase. Immediately after breakfast the next morning she and her father
took the train to Philadelphia.
The snow had ceased falling, but the country was still covered with
white. The sun shone, and the landscape was lovely. Mary Louise had never
been to Philadelphia before, and she watched everything eagerly as she
approached the terminal. It was a big city, in comparison with Riverside
or even Harrisburg. But not so big as New York, which she had visited
several times.
"Where is the hotel, Daddy?" she asked as they left the train. "And what
is its name?"
"It is up near the Parkway, and it is called 'Stoddard House,' because a
wealthy woman by the name of Stoddard left some money in her will to
build it and help keep it up. It is a very attractive place."
"I wonder how many rooms it has," said his daughter.
"Not so many as you might expect, because I understand the whole first
floor is planned for the girls' social uses. A card room, several small
rooms for the girls to entertain callers, a library, a larger reception
room for dancing, and the dining room are all part of the plan. But
you'll soon go all over the place and see for yourself."
Mary Louise's eyes sparkled.
"It is going to be thrilling, Dad!" she said.
"I hope you don't run into any danger," he remarked a little
apprehensively. "The Philadelphia police will have your name on file--I
saw to that--so the minute you call for help you can get it. And don't
hesitate to phone me long distance any time you need me. I'll give you my
list of addresses for the week. Don't stop for expense--we can't consider
money in cases like this."
Mary Louise nodded proudly. Never in her life had she been so happy. She
walked along beside her father with her head high and her eyes shining.
Her only misgiving, as they approached the hotel, was caused by her
extreme youth. She hoped fervently that nobody would guess her age.
The hotel was an attractive place. Set back from the street by a small
terrace, its trim brick walls and white-painted doorway and windows
looked cozy and home-like. What a nice place to live, Mary Louise
thought, if you weren't lucky enough to have a home of your own!
How thankful she was that the place wasn't gloomy and tumbledown like
Dark Cedars, where she had made her first investigations as an amateur
detective! Nobody would be telling her that ghosts haunted the walls of
Stoddard House.
Her father opened the door for her, and she preceded him into the lobby.
It was rather small, as lobbies go, with only one counter-desk, one
lounge, and a couple of elevators, which you worked yourself, at the
side. But doors opened out from the lobby on all sides, revealing
glimpses of numerous attractive reception rooms beyond.
Mr. Gay nodded to the girl at the desk and inquired for Mrs. Hilliard. In
a couple of minutes a stout middle-aged woman appeared and smiled
pleasantly at him. He introduced Mary Louise.
"Let's get back into my office where we can talk undisturbed," suggested
Mrs. Hilliard, leading the way out of a door and along a hall to another
smaller room. "Now sit down and I'll tell you all about our
difficulties."
Mr. Gay and his daughter made themselves comfortable, and Mary Louise
took out her notebook. The same notebook which she had made so valuable
on two previous occasions.
"Last September was the first time we ever had any trouble at all," began
Mrs. Hilliard. "We lost a complete set of silverware--a dozen each of
knives, forks, and spoons. But as these were only plated, the loss did
not run into a great deal of money, so we didn't make much fuss. I
supposed that one of the maids stole them--a waitress who left the next
day to be married.
"But I must have been mistaken, for more things disappeared after she
left. A very unusual vase we had in the library, quite valuable too, for
it had belonged in the Stoddard family. That made it look as if the thief
were a connoisseur.
"The matron and I were watching the help carefully, and we felt sure that
none of them was responsible. We hadn't many guests at the time--there
are only about a dozen who live here permanently. And there happened to
be only a couple of transients."
"What are 'transients,' Mrs. Hilliard?" asked Mary Louise, who was
unfamiliar with the term.
"They're the people who stop in for a day or two--or even a week--and
don't stay permanently," explained the other.
"I should think they'd be the people who would be most likely to steal,"
observed Mary Louise. "Because they could get away with it more easily."
"I thought so too, at first. But when things kept right on being stolen,
and the same transients never came back, it began to look to me as if one
of the permanent lodgers were responsible.... These two girls--I have
forgotten their names--were here when the silverware and the vase
disappeared, but they were not here in October when our watches were
taken."
"How many watches?" asked Mary Louise.
"Four--including my own!"
"And were there any transients here at that time?"
"Just one. A chorus girl named Mary Green. She stayed a couple of days
and then said her show was closing up."
The young detective wrote all these facts into her notebook and asked
whether that was all.
"Not quite," replied Mrs. Hilliard. "Last Friday Miss Violet Granger had
a valuable oil painting stolen from her room, and a purse containing
fifty dollars.... So you see the situation has become pretty serious. Two
of our regular guests have moved away because of it, and others have
threatened to do so if anything else is stolen."
She looked doubtfully at Mary Louise. "I'm sure I don't know how you
would go about an investigation like this," she said. "But perhaps you
do. Are you willing to try it?"
"Of course I am!" cried the girl eagerly. "It's just the kind of thing I
love. I've put down everything you said, Mrs. Hilliard, and I'm all ready
to go to work now. I want to see the hotel and meet the guests as soon as
possible."
"I think Mary Louise had better keep secret the fact that she is spying
on them," put in Mr. Gay. "Just let them think that she is a young friend
of yours, Mrs. Hilliard, visiting you for her Christmas vacation. As a
matter of fact, she wants to look up a young girl from Riverside, whose
whereabouts have been lost by her relations. But use your own discretion,
Mrs. Hilliard."
"I will, Mr. Gay," agreed the woman. "And I will take good care of Mary
Louise for you," she added.
"That's right. No late hours--or being out alone at night, Mary Lou.
Don't forget that this is a big city, and girls can easily get lost."
"I'll be careful, Daddy," she promised.
Mr. Gay kissed his daughter good-bye, and Mary Louise and Mrs. Hilliard
took the elevator to the second floor.
"There are ten rooms on each floor," the manager explained. "The fourth
floor belongs to the help, and I have my own little three-room apartment
at the back.
"The third floor is reserved for our permanent guests. We have thirteen
of them now--some two in a room, some alone.
"Our second floor is principally for transients, although sometimes
guests prefer to live there permanently. One woman named Mrs. Macgregor,
a wealthy widow, likes her room and bath so much that she has decided to
keep it indefinitely. But most of the guests on the second floor come and
go....
"And now, my dear, here is your room. I was going to take you into my own
apartment at first, but I decided that would be too far away from
everybody. Here you can mix more with the other guests. Of course,
whenever you get lonely, you can come up with me. I have some nice books,
if you care to read in the evening, and a radio. And perhaps you brought
your knitting?"
"I forgot all about that," replied Mary Louise. "But of course I do knit,
and I can easily buy some wool and some needles."
Mrs. Hilliard opened the door of the room that was to be Mary Louise's
and handed her the key.
"Now I'll leave you to rest and unpack," she said. "Perhaps you can come
down early before dinner to meet some of the girls in the reception room.
The younger ones usually play the radio and dance a little before
dinner."
"I'll be there!" returned Mary Louise joyfully.