The Mystery of the Secret Band

“The next day we all went to Washington and stayed in different hotels. Mrs. Ferguson kept me with her, but I soon saw through her tricks. Her girls were all skilled hotel thieves. She tried to teach me the business, as she called it, but I refused to learn. So she made me take charge of the stuff they stole. The girls would bring their loot to her, and she’d send me with it to Center Square. Every once in a while she would dispose of it all to a crooked dealer who asked no questions.”

“Were you out at Center Square last Sunday, Margaret?” interrupted Mary Louise.

“Yes. Mrs. Ferguson and I both went. We had intended to get the place ready to spend Christmas there, but for some reason, Mrs. Ferguson got scared. She said that Mary Green talked too much, and she thought we ought to clear out. She made plans to dispose of everything in Baltimore, and then we were all going to sail to Bermuda… But why did you ask that, Mary Lou?”

“Because I was in that car that drove up to the house then. I saw you and then Mrs. Ferguson. I wouldn’t have thought of its being you, only Mary Green admitted that she knew you. That made me suspicious.”

“You disappeared pretty quickly!”

“Rather,” laughed Mary Louise, and she told the story of being hit over the head by a rock and of catching the young man and having him arrested that very morning.

“That was clever!” approved her father. “Who was he, Margaret?”

“A neighborhood bum that Mrs. Ferguson employs to watch the place and keep the people away,” replied the girl.

“But I’m afraid I interrupted you, Margaret,” apologized Mary Louise. “Please go on with your story.”

“There isn’t much left to tell. I was too far away from home to run away, without any money, and I hadn’t a single friend I could go to. All the store people thought I was a thief, so I knew there was no use asking their help. I just kept on, from day to day, not knowing how it would ever end and never expecting to see my grandparents or my Riverside friends again. Oh, you can’t imagine how unhappy I have been!”

She stopped talking, for emotion had overcome her; tears were rolling down her cheeks. Mary Louise laid her hand over Margaret’s reassuringly.

“It’s all right now, isn’t it, Daddy?” she said. “We’ll take you home to your grandparents.”

“But I can’t go back to them!” protested the other girl. “How can I tell them what has happened? They’d be disgraced for life.”

“You can tell them you have been working for a queer woman who wouldn’t allow you to write home,” said Mr. Gay. “A woman whose mind was affected, for that is the truth. There is no doubt that Mrs. Ferguson is the victim of a diseased mind.”

“Wouldn’t you ever tell on me?” questioned Margaret.

“No, of course not. It was in no way your fault, child… And now try to be happy. I think I can find you a job in Herman’s Hardware store, right in Riverside. And you can live with your grandparents. They need you.”

“It seems almost too good to be true,” breathed the grateful girl.

Mary Louise turned to her father.

“Now for your story, Dad,” she begged. “About capturing the thieves.”

“I think that had better be kept till dinner time,” replied Mr. Gay. “This traffic we’re approaching will require all your attention, Mary Lou. And besides, Mrs. Hilliard will want to hear it too.”

CHAPTER XVIII

Conclusion

Mary Louise brought the car to a stop at Stoddard House at a quarter to one. Carrying the money and the jewels in her father’s briefcase, and the other articles in the basket, she and Margaret went into the hotel to get ready for dinner while Mr. Gay returned the hired car to the garage.

“I’ll notify the police that you’re found, Mary Lou,” he said. “Then I’ll call your mother. I think it will be best if she goes over to your grandparents, Margaret, and tells them about you herself. They haven’t a telephone, and I don’t like to frighten elderly people with telegrams.”

Both girls nodded their approval to these suggestions and hurried into the hotel. Mrs. Hilliard was waiting for Mary Louise with open arms; she loved the young detective like a daughter.

“Now, run along, girls, and get ready for dinner,” she said finally. “We are going to have one big table, instead of all the little ones in the dining room. With a tree in the center, and place cards, just like a jolly family party.”

“That’s swell!” exclaimed Mary Louise. “It’ll be real Christmas after all.”

“And thank you so much for the lovely handkerchiefs, dear,” added the manager. “It was sweet of you to think of me… That reminds me, you haven’t had your presents yet.”

“Put them at my place at the table,” suggested Mary Louise. “And I’ll have presents for some of the guests,” she added, with a significant glance at the briefcase and basket.

When the girls returned to the first floor, after washing their faces and powdering their noses, they found Mr. Gay waiting for them. For a moment he did not see them, so intent was he in the newspaper he was reading.

“Want to see the gang’s picture?” he asked when Mary Louise came to his side.

“Oh yes! Please!”

In spite of the fact that it was Christmas Day, a large photograph of Mrs. Ferguson and her six accomplices occupied much of the front page of this Philadelphia paper. In an inset above the picture of the crooks was Mary Louise’s smiling face!

“Daddy!” cried the girl in amazement. “Are you responsible for this?”

“I am,” replied her father proudly. “I want everybody to know that the credit belongs to you, Daughter.”

Other guests, who had not yet read their newspapers, crowded about Mr. Gay eager for the exciting news. They all remembered Pauline Brooks, and Mary Green; several of them identified the two transients who had stolen the other things from Stoddard House.

A loud gong sounded from the dining room, and Mrs. Hilliard threw open the doors. The room was beautifully decorated with greens and holly; a long table stretched out before them, covered with a lovely lace cloth and bearing a small Christmas tree as its centerpiece. Bright red ribbons had been stretched from the tree to each guest’s place, adding brilliancy to the spectacle.

“Hello, Mary Louise!” said a voice behind the young detective, and, turning around, Mary Louise saw Mrs. Weinberger behind her.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Weinberger!” she replied. “It’s nice to see you back here.”

“I’ve come back to stay,” announced the older woman. “I got lonely at the Bellevue. And Mrs. Macgregor is here too, for Christmas dinner.”

It was a happy group who finally found their places around the beautiful table and sat down. Mrs. Hilliard was at one end, and Miss Stoddard was honored with the seat at the other end. Mr. Gay was the only man present, but he did not seem in the least embarrassed.

Mary Louise found her pile of presents at her place, and Margaret Detweiler discovered a bunch of violets and a box of candy at hers. Even in his haste, Mr. Gay had remembered the lonely girl.

The guests ate their oyster cocktails and their mushroom soup before any formal announcement concerning the valuables was made. Then Mrs. Hilliard rose from her chair.

“As you all know from the papers, our criminals have been caught by Mary Louise Gay and her father, and are now in prison. But even better news than that is coming. I’ll introduce Mr. Gay, whom some of you know already, and he’ll tell you more about it.”

Everybody clapped as the famous detective stood up.

“I’m not going to make a speech,” he said, “and keep you waiting for the turkey we’re all looking forward to. I just thought that maybe some of you would enjoy this wonderful dinner even more if you knew that you are going to get everything back again which was stolen. My daughter found all the valuables and the money this morning in Mrs. Ferguson’s house at Center Square, and she will now return them to their rightful owners.”

As the newspaper had not mentioned anything about the stolen goods, the guests were not prepared for this pleasant surprise. A loud burst of applause greeted Mary Louise as she smilingly rose to her feet and opened the briefcase and drew out the basket from under the table where she had hidden it.

“I’ll begin at the beginning,” she said. “With the vase and the silverware belonging to Stoddard House.” She carried these articles to Mrs. Hilliard, amid appreciative hand-clapping.

“Next, Miss Granger’s picture and her fifty dollars,” she continued.

Tears actually came to the artist’s eyes as she took the painting from Mary Louise’s hands.