Miss Maitland Private Secretary Part 9

I was nearing the second path to Little Fresh, when again I saw a figure coming behind the trees. This time it showed in a moving pattern of lilac and the sight made me brisk up for I'd seen Miss Maitland that morning in a lilac linen dress. I quickened my step until I came to a turning from which I could look up the branch trail, and sure enough, there she was, walking very lightly and spying out ahead. At the sight of me she too stopped and looked annoyed. But women are a good deal quicker than men-in a minute the look was gone and she was all smiles of welcome.

"Oh, Miss Rogers, and Bebita too! How nice to meet you. Are you going to the beach?"

Bebita explained our quest and said she was going to give it up-there wasn't a single lady-slipper left.

Miss Maitland's smile was kind and consoling:

"I could have told you that. They're gone for this year."

"Have _you_ been looking for them?" Bebita asked.

No, Miss Maitland had been to the beach for a bath, and as the closed season for lady-slippers had begun, we turned back, Bebita and the Secretary in front, I meekly following. In answer to the child's questions Miss Maitland said she had taken a long swim, out beyond the raft.

Suddenly Bebita popped out with:

"Did you see my Daddy?"

There was a slight pause before she answered; when she did her voice was full of surprise:

"Mr. Price! Was he on the beach?"

"No, in the woods. We met him. He was taking a short cut."

Miss Maitland said she hadn't seen him, that he must have been some distance in front of her, and changed the subject.

While they were talking I was thinking and absently looking at her back.

They'd both come out of the branch trails that led to Little Fresh; they had taken different paths and not come at the same time; they had each got a jar when they saw me. As I thought, my eyes went wandering over her back and finally stopped at the nape of her neck. The hair was drawn up from it and hidden under her hat. I could see the roots and the little curly locks that drooped down against the white skin. And suddenly I noticed something-they were perfectly dry, not a damp spot, not a wet hair. The best bathing cap in the world couldn't keep the water out like that. She had not been bathing at all, she had been with Chapman Price at Little Fresh Pond. And they wanted no one to know; were sufficiently anxious to lie about it.

The next day in a conference with Mrs. Janney, I asked her if Mr. Price had ever shown any interest in Miss Maitland. She was amazed, as shocked as if I'd asked if Mr. Janney had ever been in love with the cook.

Chapman Price had taken no more notice of Miss Maitland than common politeness demanded, in fact, she thought that of late he had rather shunned her. She was curious to know why I asked such a question, and when I said I had to ask any and every sort of question or she'd be paying a detective's salary to a nursery governess, she saw the sense of it and quieted down.

That was more than I did. The way things were opening up, I was getting that small, inner thrill, that feeling like your nerves are tingling that comes to me when the darkness begins to break. I didn't see much, just the first, faint glimmer, but it was the right kind.

Two days later a thing happened that changed the glimmer to a wide bright ray. It was this way:

In the afternoon the family, unless they had a party of their own, were always out. The only person who stayed around was Miss Maitland, sometimes working over her books, sometimes sitting about sewing or reading. That day-about four-I'd seen her as I pa.s.sed the study window writing at her desk. I'd gone on into the big central hall where I wasn't supposed to belong, but feeling safe with everybody scattered, I thought I'd make myself comfortable and take a look at the morning papers. I'd just cuddled down in the corner of the sofa with my favorite daily when I heard the telephone ring.

Now the bell of the telephone is to me like the trumpet to the old war horse. And hearing it that way, tingling in the quiet of the big, deserted house, I got a flash that any one wanting to talk to Miss Maitland and knowing the habits of the family would choose that hour.

There was a 'phone in the lower story-in a closet at the end of the hall-and the extension one was upstairs in a sort of curtained recess off the main corridor just outside my door. I rose off the sofa as if lifted by a charge of dynamite and slid for the stairs. As I sprinted up I heard the door of Miss Maitland's study open.

The upper hall was deserted and I dashed noiseless into that alcove place, one hand lifting off the receiver as soft as a feather, the other pressed against my mouth to smother the sound of my breathing. On the floor below Esther Maitland had just connected; I got her first sentence, quiet and clear as if she was in the room with me:

"Yes. This is Gra.s.slands."

A man's voice answered:

"That you, Esther?"

I could tell she recognized it, for instantly hers changed, showed fear and a sort of pleading:

"Oh, why do you call me up here? I told you not to."

"My dear girl, it's all right-I know they're all out at this hour."

"The servants-I'm afraid of them-and there's a new nursery governess come."

"I know. I met her in the woods that day. Did you?"

"Of course I did. How could I help it? I said I'd been bathing. We mustn't go there again-it's much better to write."

The man gave a laugh that was good-humored and easy:

"Don't take it so hard. There's not the slightest need to be worried. I called you up to say everything was O. K."

Her answer came with a deep, sighing breath:

"It may be now-but how can we tell? The first excitement's dying down but that doesn't mean they're not doing anything. Don't think for a moment, because it's worked right so far, that we're out of the woods."

"I'm wise to all that, I know them better than you do. And the fellow that knows has got it all over the fellow that doesn't. Watchful waiting-that's our motto."

"Very well, then _let_ it be watchful. And don't call me up unless it's urgent. I can see you in town when I go in. I won't talk any more.

Good-by."

I heard the stillness of a dead wire and then before I let myself think, flew into my room, found a pad and pencil and wrote it down word for word.

CHAPTER IX-GOOD HUNTING IN BERKELEY

Two days after his interview with Suzanne, Mr. Larkin came to Berkeley and took a room at the Berkeley Arms. He registered as Henry Childs, and described himself to the clerk as a plumber, who, having had a prosperous year, was looking for a bit of land upon which to build a bungalow.

Berkeley was much too exclusive to permit a hotel within its exclusive limits and the Berkeley Arms was allowed to exist in a small, subdued way as a convenience. It was an una.s.suming, gray-s.h.i.+ngled building, withdrawn behind a lilac hedge, and too near the station to mar the smart and s.h.i.+ning elegance of the main street. In it dwelt the shop-keepers who plied a temporary summer trade in the village, and the chauffeurs of the less wealthy cottagers. Here the detective heard much talk of the Janney robbery, and, after he had extended his field of observation to the post-office lobby and Bennett's drug store, Berkeley had no secrets from him.

The public mind was still occupied with all that pertained to Gra.s.slands. He heard of the separation of the Prices, the scene _he_ had made on leaving, and that _she_ hadn't treated him right. Berkeley was on Chapman's side, said she wanted to get rid of him to marry Ferguson.

It was hoped that Ferguson-highly esteemed-wasn't going to fall for it; but you couldn't tell, the best men made mistakes. Gossips, who professed an intimacy with the Gra.s.slands kitchens, hinted that Ferguson was "taken with" the secretary. But Berkeley, fattened by prosperity to a gross sn.o.bbishness, rejected the idea as vulgar and unfitting.

All this had its value for Mr. Larkin, but it was by accident that he acquired the most illuminating piece of intelligence. Late one afternoon he wandered forth into a road that threaded the woods near Gra.s.slands.

The day being warm, the way dusty, he seated himself on a rock to cool off and ponder. While there, concealed by the surrounding trees, he had seen two small boys padding toward him down the road, their heads together in animated debate. Unaware of his presence their voices were loud and his listening ear caught interesting matter. They had been in the forbidden area of Gra.s.slands, had gone to Little Fresh for a bathe, and had almost been caught in the act by a lady and gentleman.

Mr. Larkin made his presence known, and a dime pa.s.sed into each grubby palm won their confidence.

They were on the wharf slipping off their clothes when they heard footsteps and had only time to rush to cover in the underbrush when Mr.

Chapman Price appeared. He waited round a bit and then Miss Maitland came and they sat on the bench and talked. The boys had not been able to hear what they said, but that it was serious they gathered from Mr.

Price's manner and the fact that Miss Maitland had cried for a spell.

Mr. Price went away first, and as he was going he said loud, standing in the path, "Take the upper trail and if you meet anybody say you've been at the beach bathing." Then he'd gone and Miss Maitland had waited a while, and then she'd gone too, by the upper trail, the way he'd said.

Mr. Larkin had been very sympathetic and friendly, swore he'd keep his mouth shut, and cautioned the boys to do the same, for he'd heard that Mrs. Janney wouldn't stand for any one bathing in Little Fresh and you couldn't tell but what she might have them arrested.