The Automobile Girls at Newport Part 24

The girls closed the dressing-room door.

"I must be wrong, Bab, yet I don't believe I am. I saw to-night the same eyes that glared at us from behind a black mask the time of that horrible burglary at New Haven, when, for a little while, I thought you were killed. I have never said much about it. I wanted to forget and I wanted everyone else to forget it, but those eyes have followed me everywhere since. To-night--"

Bab took Ruth's hand.

"Oh, Bab," groaned Ruth, "what does it mean? I saw those eyes again to-night and they were Harry Townsend's. I wanted to scream right out: 'Burglar! robber!' But I could not make a scene. I came upstairs, hardly knowing how I reached here."

One of the maids knocked at the door. "Do the young ladies wish anything? Mrs. Cartwright sent me up to inquire," she said.

"Nothing at all. Tell her we are all right, and will be down in a few minutes."

"Ruth," said Barbara, "I want to tell you something. If I do, can you pretend that nothing has happened, and be perfectly composed for the rest of the evening? Now don't say 'yes' unless you feel sure."

Ruth looked straight at Barbara, "Yes; tell me what it is," she urged.

"I am beginning to guess."

"The eyes you saw to-night were Harry Townsend's, and he is a burglar and a thief. I did not know he was the robber at New Haven; I have only suspected it. Now I feel sure, and you recognized him to-night. He is a more dangerous character than I had thought, and he must not know that you suspect him."

"He shall know nothing from me," said Ruth, coolly. Her color had come back, now that she knew the truth. "It was only the shock that unnerved me. Why haven't you told me before, Bab?"

"I was afraid you'd ask me that, Ruth, dear, and I want to explain. You see, I have believed Harry Townsend a thief ever since I saw him, with my own eyes, take the necklace from Mrs. Post's neck at Mrs. Erwin's ball; but you were positive I was wrong, and asked me not to talk about it. So I didn't know what to do. I have only watched and waited.

To-night I told Ralph what I knew."

Barbara then explained to Ruth the whole story, and the part the detectives had asked her to play in Townsend's apprehension. "What shall I do, Ruth?" she ended.

"Come on downstairs, Bab," said Ruth. "Some one may suspect us if we don't. Do, Bab. We are going on to play the game, just as you have been playing it by yourself. We will say nothing, but we will do some hard thinking; and, when the time comes, we shall act! To tell you the truth, if you will never betray me to Aunt Sallie, I think playing detective beats nearly any fun I know."

"Eyeology" was no longer amusing the guests when the two girls came downstairs; indeed, the company had scattered and was talking in separate groups. Ruth and Bab joined Mollie and Grace, who were standing near Mrs. Post and their new acquaintance, the Countess Bertouche.

"Girls," asked Mrs. Post, "would you like to join the Countess Bertouche and myself Sat.u.r.day afternoon? We are going to explore old Newport; the old town is well worth seeing. The countess tells me this is her first visit to Newport, so, before she goes back to Paris, I want her to see that we have a little of the dignity that age gives.

"Why," and Mrs. Post turned smilingly to the little group, "Newport boasts even a haunted house! It is not occupied, and I have the privilege of showing you over it. A story has been written about the old mansion. Here a young woman lived who loved an officer in Rochambeau's fleet, when the gallant French sailor came over to these sh.o.r.es. But the sailor loved and sailed away, never to return. So the lady pined and died; but her presence still haunts the old house. You can feel her approaching you by a sudden perfume of mignonette. After we see all the sights of the town, we shall go to the old house at about dusk, so that we may have a better chance to discover the 'spirit lady.'"

Mollie and Grace accepted Mrs. Post's invitation with enthusiasm.

Barbara and Ruth had to decline regretfully.

"You see, Mrs. Post," Barbara explained, "Ruth and Hugh have to practice their tennis, every hour they can manage, until the tournament on Monday. Ruth has become a little out of practice since her accident, and must work hard at her game for the next few days. Ralph and I have promised to help by furnis.h.i.+ng the opposition."

"You'll excuse Mollie and me from playing audience, won't you, Ruth?"

asked Grace. "We are going home so soon after the tournament is over that we can't resist Mrs. Post's invitation."

"Barbara," said Ruth, coming into Bab's room, just as that young woman was about to step into bed, "can you imagine anyone whom Harry Townsend can be using as a confederate?"

"Sh-s.h.!.+" warned Bab. "Here comes Mollie. Don't say anything. I haven't the faintest idea."

CHAPTER XXI-THE CAPTURE OF THE b.u.t.tERFLY

Harry Townsend was not aware of the chain of suspicion that was tightening around him; but he was too clever not to use every precaution. Once or twice he had come across the small, dark detective who was making investigations in Mrs. Erwin's house-the large, blond man, named Burton, had kept in the background-but knowing that the servants had been under suspicion, he supposed that the search was being made on their account. He knew of no act of his own that could possibly implicate him in the robberies. He came and went among Mrs. Erwin's guests, and was on a friendly footing with their most fas.h.i.+onable friends at Newport. He had seen no one else during his visit, as the whole world was privileged to know.

The only act that the detective, Rowley, was able to report to his superior was that Mr. Townsend mailed his own letters. In Mrs. Erwin's household it was the custom of her guests to place all their mail in a bag, which the butler sent to the postoffice at regular hours; but Mr.

Townsend preferred to mail his own letters. This act occasioned no comment. Other guests, writing important business letters, had done the same thing.

"And Townsend has mailed only letters," continued Rowley in making his report. "Not a single package, even of the smallest size, has gone out through the postoffice. The jewels are still in Newport."

Mr. Townsend had already begun to discuss with his hostess the possibility of his soon having to leave her charming home. "I have presumed on your hospitality too long," he said to Mrs. Erwin, several times. "When the famous Casino ball is over I must be getting back to New York."

To Gladys he explained: "My dear Gladys, my holiday time must end some day. I shall be able to see you often when you go back to Kingsbridge. I am going into a broker's office as soon as I get back to New York. I have been loafing around in Europe for the last two years, but I have decided that, even if a fellow has money enough to make him fairly comfortable, work is the thing for the true American!"

To-day Harry Townsend walked to the post-office alone. He carried three letters. One of them was to a steams.h.i.+p company engaging pa.s.sage to Naples for "John Brown." The steamer was due to sail the following Wednesday. The other two letters had New York addresses. When they arrived at their first destination, they were to be remailed to other addresses. A tall, blond man, who happened to be lounging in the postoffice at the time Mr. Townsend entered it, observed that the young gentleman was anxious to know when the letters would be delivered in the city.

The letters posted, Townsend walked over to the Casino courts, where Bab and Ruth were playing tennis. He had promised Gladys to join her there.

He still had some investigations he desired to make. But he walked slowly. Clever fingers must be directed by a clever brain, whether their work be good or evil. No matter how well he knew he could depend on his wonderful fingers to do their share of the work, the "boy Raffles"

always thought out carefully the plan of his theft before he tried to execute it.

On Monday night, at the Casino tournament ball, he planned to make his final theft. This accomplished, he could leave Newport feeling he had reaped a rich harvest, even in the summer season, when harvests are not supposed to be gathered.

Harry Townsend, alias half a dozen other names, had seen the jewel he most coveted for his final effort. It was a diamond tiara belonging to one of the richest and most prominent women in Newport. His schemes were carefully laid. He was waiting for Monday night.

At about three o'clock, on this same Sat.u.r.day afternoon, Mrs. Post and the Countess Bertouche stopped in a small automobile for Grace and Mollie. They had no one with them except the chauffeur.

It took them some time to drive through the old town of Newport. The ladies descended at the old Trinity church, to investigate it, and the girls were much interested in the ancient jail. There, they were told, was once kept a woman prisoner who complained because she had no lock on her door.

Mollie and Grace were not ardent sightseers. It was really the thought of the haunted house that had brought them on their pilgrimage. But Mrs.

Post and the countess insisted on poking their way down the Long Wharf, with its rows of sailors' houses and junk shops. Both girls were dreadfully bored, and secretly longed to be on the tennis courts with Bab and Ruth. Yet the thought of the haunted house buoyed them up.

Mrs. Post was a collector. If you have ever traveled with one, you will understand that it means hours and hours of looking through dirt and trash in order to run across one treasure that a collector regards as "an antique."

Even when Mrs. Post was through with her search she decided that it was not yet sufficiently late for them to visit the haunted house. "I told the caretaker not to meet us there until a quarter of seven. We shall want only a few minutes to go through the old place; but, of course, we must see it under conditions as romantic as possible." Mrs. Post then ordered the chauffeur to take them for a drive before driving them to the haunted house.

Mollie and Grace were unusually quiet, so they noticed that the Countess Bertouche had little to say during the afternoon. She seemed tired and nervous. When Mrs. Post asked her questions about her life abroad, after she married, the countess replied in as few words as possible.

At exactly the appointed time the automobile delivered its pa.s.sengers before the door of the house they sought. It was an old, gray, Revolutionary mansion, three stories high, with a sloping roof and small windows with diamond-latticed panes. It was quite dark when the girls entered the ghostly mansion, following Mrs. Post and the countess, who were led by a one-eyed old caretaker carrying a smoky lamp. There was just enough daylight s.h.i.+ning through the windows to see one's way about, but the corners of the vast old house were full of terrifying shadows.

"Let us not stay too long, Mrs. Post," urged the countess. "I am not fond of ghosts, and I am tired." But Mrs. Post was the kind of sight-seer who goes on to the end, no matter who lags behind. She led the party up the winding steps, peering into each room as they went along. The house was kept furnished with a few rickety pieces of old furniture.

When they reached the second floor, the caretaker announced that the middle bedroom was the sleeping apartment of the haunted lady. The little party searched it curiously. There was no sign of the ghostly inhabitant; no perfume of mignonette.

"I don't see anything unusual about this room," said the countess, suppressing a sigh, "except that it has the most comfortable chair in the house. I shall sit here and rest while you take the two girls over the other part of the building."

The three left her. The woman dropped into a chair, and a worn, nervous look crossed her face.

As Mollie ascended the attic stairs behind Grace she called out, "If you will excuse me, Mrs. Post, I shall go down and join the countess."

An imp of mischief had entered Mollie. Wrapped up in her handkerchief, carefully concealed in her purse bag, was a handful of mignonette, which she had gathered from Mrs. Ewing's garden only that morning. Mollie meant to impersonate the "spirit lady." Suddenly she had decided that the countess was the best one upon whom she could try her joke.