The Mystery of the Secret Band

“I was wrong twice,” she reasoned. “First in suspecting Miss Stoddard, then in believing Miss Weinberger guilty. I’ll go more carefully this time.

“If my very first guess was right – that the transient guests were stealing the valuables from Stoddard House – I must begin all over again. Mrs. Hilliard said there were two girls staying at the hotel for a day or so when the silverware and the vase were stolen… Are these girls in league with Mary Green and Pauline Brooks? Are they all members of a secret band of thieves? That’s the first question I have to answer.”

She frowned and opened her notebook. Why hadn’t she gotten the names of those girls from Mrs. Hilliard’s old register?

The second crime – the stealing of the watches – she could pin on Mary Green, alias “Blondie Jackson.”

Now for the last three robberies. They had all taken place while Pauline Brooks was at Stoddard House!

Mary Louise considered them separately. Pauline could have stolen Miss Granger’s money and her picture, but it was a man who entered Mary Louise’s bedroom on Friday night and who took her watch and her money. Was one of those young men whom Pauline was dining with today an accomplice? If so, how did he escape from the hotel? Out of Pauline’s window?

Finally, she thought over the circumstances of Mrs. Macgregor’s robbery, and she almost laughed out loud at her own stupidity. Pauline had left her own room as soon as the maid came in to clean it; she had slipped into Mrs. Macgregor’s room and stolen the bag containing the valuables and had left the hotel immediately, before Mrs. Macgregor came out of her bath. Why hadn’t she thought of that explanation before?

The solution seemed logical and plausible, yet how, Mary Louise asked herself, could she prove her accusations? None of these girls had been caught in the act; probably none of them still possessed the stolen articles, and the money had not been marked in any way or the serial numbers taken.

This fact was dreadfully discouraging. If Mary Louise could not prove the girls’ guilt, she could do nothing about it. She couldn’t even assure Mrs. Hilliard that there would be no more robberies at Stoddard House, because she could not know how many members of this gang there were, and the manager could not suspect every transient guest who came to the hotel.

No, she concluded, there was nothing to do but try to catch them in a new crime. If they really made it their business to rob hotels, they would probably carry out some plan here at the Bellevue tonight. Mary Louise’s only course was to watch them.

With this determination in mind, she went to the clerk’s desk in the lobby.

“Could I see the manager?” she inquired.

The man looked at her quizzingly, wondering whether Mary Louise was a patron of the hotel or a society girl who wanted to collect money for something.

“Are you a guest at the hotel, miss?” he asked. “Or have you an appointment?”

“No to both questions,” she replied. “But I am a private detective, and I want to consult him about something.”

“O.K.,” agreed the clerk. “What name, please?”

“Mary Louise Gay.”

The clerk reached for the telephone, and in another minute he told Mary Louise where to find the manager’s office. She followed his directions and walked in bravely, hoping that the man would not think she was dreadfully young.

“I am staying at a small hotel for women called Stoddard House,” she began, “to investigate a series of robberies which they have had there. The Philadelphia police have my name, and if you wish to identify me, please call Mr. LeStrange.”

“I will take your word for it, Miss Gay,” replied the man, smiling.

“These robberies have always occurred when there was a transient guest at the hotel,” she explained. “The last series, while I was at the place, led me to suspect a certain girl; the series before that led other people to suspect another girl. I find these two girls are living here now at the Bellevue – they seem to go from one hotel to another, for they were at the Ritz only last Saturday. They evidently use different names. I should like to meet your hotel detective, explain the case to him, and get permission to watch these two young women.”

The manager did not appear as surprised as Mary Louise expected him to be. But she could not know how common hotel robberies were at the present time.

“I will send for our detective,” he said. “You have my permission to go ahead – under his orders, of course.”

“Oh, thank you!” cried Mary Louise, delighted that so far it had been easy.

The manager sent for the detective, a nice-looking man of about thirty. He introduced him as Mr. Hayden, and repeated Mary Louise’s story.

“What would your plan be, Miss Gay?” asked the detective. He treated her respectfully, as if she were indeed a real member of the profession, and Mary Louise felt proud and happy.

“First of all, I want to find these girls’ names on the hotel register and see what names they are using. Then I want, if possible, to engage a room near theirs and listen for them all night. And third, I want you, or one of your assistants, Mr. Hayden, to be right there in readiness, in case they do anything tonight.”

“You haven’t evidence enough to convict them of the robberies at Stoddard House?” asked Mr. Hayden.

“Oh no. I may be entirely mistaken. It is only a clue I am going on. But I believe it is worth following up.”

“What do you say, Hayden?” inquired the manager.

“I’m glad to help,” replied the younger man. “I’ll be on duty tonight, anyhow, and I’d enjoy the investigation. Nothing is lost, even if nothing does happen.”

“Then let’s go have a look at the register,” suggested Mary Louise.

“Better send for it,” said the detective. “Arouse no suspicions.”

The book was brought to them, and Mary Louise looked carefully for the names of Pauline Brooks and Mary Green. But she did not find them. She did, however, find the name of Mary Jackson, and with it a name of Catherine Smith, both of whom had arrived that day and engaged a room together on the sixth floor.

“Those must be the girls,” she concluded. “Room 607. What’s the nearest room you can give me?”

The manager looked in his records.

“609 is moving out tonight. Would that be time enough – or do you want it now?”

“No, that’s plenty of time. And another thing, can you tell me where Mrs. Weinberger’s room is? I met her at Stoddard House, and she would be a sort of chaperon for me.”

“Her room is on the tenth floor,” was the reply: “1026.”

“Thanks. Then put me down for 609, and I’ll phone Mrs. Weinberger this afternoon. I’ll come back early this evening, and I’ll ask Mrs. Weinberger to meet me in one of the reception rooms. Then, could you come there too, Mr. Hayden?”

The man nodded, smiling. How correct this girl was about everything!

“Then I believe it’s all arranged,” said Mary Louise, rising. “I’ll go back to Stoddard House. And if you have a chance, Mr. Hayden, will you keep your eye on these girls we’re suspecting?”

“But I don’t know them,” he reminded her.

“I’d forgotten that! Well, let me describe them. Maybe if you visit the sixth floor, you will see them go in and out.”

She went on to tell him that Pauline Brooks – or Catherine Smith, as she called herself here – was a striking brunette, and that her companion, Mary Green – or Mary Jackson – was noticeably blond; that both girls were short and slender and wore fur coats and expensive jewelry; that both were as little like the typical sneak thieves as could possibly be imagined.

As Mary Louise walked along the street she decided not to tell Mrs. Hilliard any of the details of her plans or who the girls were that she was watching. If nothing came of her theory, she would feel foolish at having failed the third time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to the girls to spread suspicion about them until she had proved them guilty.

She stopped at a jewelry store and purchased a small, cheap watch, which she put into her handbag. Then she went back to the hotel.

Immediately upon her arrival at Stoddard House she called Mrs. Weinberger on the telephone; then, assured of her coöperation, she went to Mrs. Hilliard’s office.

“I have decided to spend the night at the Bellevue,” she said. “Mrs. Weinberger is going to be my chaperon.”

The manager looked doubtful. “But I promised your father I’d keep you right here with me,” she objected.