Mary Louise Page 9

  CHAPTER IX

  OFFICER O'GORMAN

  Mary Louise returned to her room and sat down to consider the best wayout of her dilemma. The detective's friendliness, so frankly expressed,pleased her, in a way, yet she realized his vigilance would not berelaxed and that he was still determined, through her, to discoverwhere Gran'pa Jim was hidden.

  An uncomfortable degree of danger had already been incurred by herunconsciously leading the officer to Dorfield. He knew now that the manhe was seeking was either in this city or its immediate neighborhood.But unless she led him to the exact spot--to the dwelling of theConants--it would take even this clever detective some time to locatethe refugee. Before then Mary Louise hoped to be able to warn Gran'paJim of his danger. That would prevent her from rejoining him and hermother, but it would also save him from arrest.

  Glancing around her comfortable room she saw a telephone on the wall.Beside it, on a hook, hung the book containing the addresses of thesubscribers. She opened the book and glancing down its columns found:

  "Conant, Peter; r. 1216 Oak St. Blue 147."

  Why hadn't she thought of this simple method of communication before?It would be quite easy to call Mr. Conant and tell him where she wasand have him warn Gran'pa Jim that a detective was searching for him.

  She went to the telephone and took down the receiver.

  "Office!" cried a sharp voice. "What number do you want?"

  Mary Louise hesitated; then she hung up the receiver without reply. Itoccurred to her that the hotel office was a public place and that thetelephone girl would be likely to yell out the number for all tooverhear.

  To satisfy herself on this point she went down stairs in the elevatorand purchased a magazine at the news stand. The telephone desk was nearby and Mary Louise could hear the girl calling the numbers andresponding to calls, while not six feet from her desk sat a man whoseperson was nearly covered by a spread newspaper which he appeared to bereading. But Mary Louise knew him by his striped trousers andstraightway congratulated herself on her caution. Undoubtedly thedetective had figured on her telephoning and she had nearly fallen intothe trap.

  Back to her room she went, resolved to make no further move tillmorning. The day had been a hard one for the girl, mentally andphysically, and at this moment she felt herself hopelessly involved ina snare from which she could see no means of escape. She read a littlein her magazine, to quiet her nerves, and then went to bed and fellasleep.

  At daybreak Mary Louise wakened to wonder if she had done right inrunning away from Miss Stearne's school. Gran'pa Jim had placed herthere because he did not wish to take her with him when he leftBeverly, and now she had come to him without his consent and in doingso had perhaps delivered him into the hands of his enemies. PoorGran'pa Jim! She would never cease to reproach herself if she becameresponsible for his ruin.

  As she lay in bed, thinking in this vein, she allowed herself to wonderfor the first time why her dear grandfather was being persecuted by theofficers of the law--by the Government of the United States, indeed,which should be just and merciful to all its people. Of course he wasinnocent of any wrong-doing; Gran'pa Jim would never do anything toinjure a human being, for he was goodness itself and had taught her tohonor truth and righteousness ever since she could remember. Never fora moment would she doubt him. But it was curious, when she came toreflect upon it, that he would run away from his enemies instead offacing them bravely. For many years he had hidden himself--first in oneplace and then in another--and at the first warning of discovery orpursuit would disappear and seek a new hiding-place. For she nowrealized, in the light of her recent knowledge, that for many yearsGran'pa Jim had been a fugitive from the law, and that for some unknownreason he dared not face his accusers.

  Some people might consider this an evidence of guilt, but Mary Louiseand Gran'pa Jim had been close comrades for two years and deep in herheart was the unalterable conviction that his very nature would revoltagainst crime of any sort. Moreover--always a strong argument in hermind--her mother had steadfastly believed in her grandfather and haddevoted herself to him to the exclusion of all else in her life, evenneglecting her own daughter to serve her father. Mamma Bee loved her,she well knew, yet Mary Louise had never enjoyed the same affectionateintercourse with her mother that she had with her grandfather, forMamma Bee's whole life seemed to center around the old Colonel. Thisunusual devotion was proof enough to Mary Louise that her grandfatherwas innocent, but it did not untangle the maze.

  Looking back over her past life, she could recall the many suddenchanges of residence due to Colonel Weatherby's desire to escapeapprehension by the authorities. They seemed to date from the time theyhad left that big city house, where the child had an especial nurse andthere were lots of servants, and where her beautiful mother used tobend over her with a good-night kiss while arrayed in dainty ballcostumes sparkling with jewels. Mary Louise tried to remember herfather, but could not, although she had been told that he died in thatvery house. She remembered Gran'pa Jim in those days, however, only hewas too busy to pay much attention to her. Let's see; was he called"Colonel Weatherby" in those days! She could not recollect. That namedid not become familiar to her until long afterward. Always he had beenjust "Gran'pa Jim" to her. Yet that dreadful officer of the law who hadquestioned her in Beverly had called him "Hathaway--James J. Hathaway."How absurd!

  But where had she heard the name of Hathaway before? She puzzled herbrain to remember. Did it belong to any of her schoolgirl friends? Orwas it--

  With a sudden thought she sprang from her bed and took her watch fromthe dresser. It was an old watch, given her by Mamma Bee on the girl'stwelfth birthday, while she was living with the Conants, and her motherhad bidden her to treasure it because it had belonged to her when shewas a girl of Mary Louise's age. The watch was stem-winding and had aclosed case, the back lid of which had seldom been opened because itfitted very tightly. But now Mary Louise pried it open with a hatpinand carried it to the light. On the inside of the gold case thefollowing words were engraved:

  "Beatrice Hathaway, from her loving Father."

  Mary Louise stared at this inscription for a long while. For the firsttime, ugly doubts began to creep into her heart. The officer was rightwhen he said that James Hathaway was masquerading under the false nameof Colonel Weatherby. Gran'pa Jim had never told even Mary Louise thathis real name was Hathaway; Mamma Bee had never told her, either. Witha deep sigh she snapped the case of the watch in place and then beganto dress.

  It was still too early for breakfast when she had finished her toilet,so she sat by the open window of her room, looking down into thestreet, and tried to solve the mystery of Gran'pa Jim. Better thoughtscame to her, inspiring her with new courage. Her grandfather hadchanged his name to enable him the more easily to escape observation,for it was James Hathaway who was accused, not Colonel James Weatherby.It was difficult, however, for the girl to familiarize herself with theidea that Gran'pa Jim was really James Hathaway; still, if her mother'sname before her marriage was indeed Beatrice Hathaway, as the watchproved, then there was no question but her grandfather's name was alsoHathaway. He had changed it for a purpose and she must not question thehonesty of that purpose, however black the case looked against herbeloved Gran'pa Jim.

  This discovery, nevertheless, only added to the mystery of the wholeaffair, which she realized her inability to cope with. Grouping thefacts with which she was familiar into regular order, her informationwas limited as follows:

  Once Gran'pa Jim was rich and prosperous and was named Hathaway. He hadmany friends and lived in a handsome city house. Suddenly he lefteverything and ran away, changing his name to that of Weatherby. He wasafraid, for some unknown reason, of being arrested, and wheneverdiscovery threatened his retreat he would run away again. In thismanner he had maintained his liberty for nine years, yet to-day theofficers of the law seemed as anxious to find him as at first. To sumup, Gran'pa Jim was accused of a crime so important that it could notbe condoned and only his cleve
rness in evading arrest had saved himfrom prison.

  That would look pretty black to a stranger, and it made even MaryLouise feel very uncomfortable and oppressed, but against theaccusation the girl placed these facts, better known to her than theothers: Gran'pa Jim was a good man, kind and honest. Since she hadknown him his life had been blameless. Mamma Bee, who knew him best ofall, never faltered in her devotion to him. He was incapable of doingan evil deed, he abhorred falsehood, he insisted on defending therights of his fellow men. Therefore, in spite of any evidence againsthim Mary Louise believed in his innocence.

  Having settled this belief firmly in mind and heart, the girl felt adistinct sense of relief. She would doubt no more. She would not try,in the future, to solve a mystery that was beyond her comprehension.Her one duty was to maintain an unfaltering faith.

  At seven o'clock she went to the breakfast room, to which but two orthree other guests of the hotel had preceded her, and in a few minutesDetective O'Gorman entered and seated himself at a table near her. Hebowed very respectfully as he caught her eye and she returned thesalutation, uneasy at the man's presence but feeling no especialantagonism toward him. As he had said, he was but doing his duty.

  O'Gorman finished his breakfast before Mary Louise did, after which,rising from his chair, he came toward her table and asked quietly:

  "May I sit at your table a moment, Miss Burrows?"

  She neither consented nor refused, being taken by surprise, butO'Gorman sat down without requiring an answer.

  "I wish to tell you," he began, "that my unpleasant espionage of you isended. It will be needless for me to embarrass or annoy you longer."

  "Indeed?"

  "Yes. Aren't you glad?" with a smile at her astonished expression. "Yousee, I've been busy investigating while you slept. I've visited thelocal police station and--various other places. I am satisfied that Mr.Hathaway--or Mr. Weatherby, as he calls himself--is not in Dorfield andhas never located here. Once again the man has baffled the entire forceof our department. I am now confident that your coming to this town wasnot to meet your grandfather but to seek refuge with other friends, andso I have been causing you all this bother and vexation for nothing."

  She looked at him in amazement.

  "I'm going to ask you to forgive me," he went on, "and unless Imisjudge your nature you're not going to bear any grudge against me.They sent me to Beverly to watch you, and for a time that was a lazyman's job. When you sold some of your jewelry for a hundred dollars,however, I knew there would be something doing. You were not very happyat your school, I knew, and my first thought was that you merelyintended to run away--anywhere to escape the persecution of thoseheartless girls. But you bought a ticket for Dorfield, a faraway town,so I at once decided--wrongly, I admit--that you knew where Hathawaywas and intended going to him. So I came with you, to find he is nothere. He has never been here. Hathaway is too distinguished apersonage, in appearance, to escape the eye of the local police. So Iam about to set you free, my girl, and to return immediately to myheadquarters in Washington."

  She had followed his speech eagerly and with a feeling of keendisappointment at his report that her grandfather and her mother werenot in Dorfield. Could it be true?

  Officer O'Gorman took a card from his pocket-book and laid it besideher plate.

  "My dear child," said he in a gentle tone, "I fear your life isdestined to be one of trials and perplexities, if not of drearyheartaches. I have watched over you and studied your character forlonger than you know and I have found much in your make-up that isinteresting and admirable. You remind me a good deal of my ownJosie--as good and clever a girl as ever lived. So I am going to askyou to consider me your friend. Keep this card and if ever you get intoserious difficulty I want you to wire me to come and help you. If Ishould happen, at the time, to have duties to prevent my coming, I willsend some other reliable person to your assistance. Will you promise todo this?"

  "Thank you, Mr. O'Gorman," she said. "I--I--your kindness embarrassesme."

  "Don't allow it to do that. A detective is a man, you know, much likeother men, and I have always held that the better man he is the betterdetective he is sure to prove. I'm obliged to do disagreeable things,at times, in the fulfillment of my duty, but I try to spare even themost hardened criminal as much as possible. So why shouldn't I be kindto a helpless, unfortunate girl?"

  "Am I that?" she asked.

  "Perhaps not. But I fear your grandfather's fate is destined to causeyou unhappiness. You seem fond of him."

  "He is the best man in all the world!"

  O'Gorman looked at the tablecloth rather than to meet her eyes.

  "So I will now say good-bye, Miss Burrows, and--I wish you thehappiness you deserve. You're just as good a girl as my Josie is."

  With this he rose to his feet and bowed again. He was a little man andhe had a fat nose, but Mary Louise could not help liking him.

  She was still afraid of the detective, however, and when he had leftthe dining room she asked herself if his story could be true, ifGran'pa Jim was not in Dorfield--if he had never even come to the town,as O'Gorman had stated.

  The Conants would know that, of course, and if the detective went awayshe would be free to go to the Conants for information. She would findshelter, at least, with these old friends.

  As she passed from the dining room into the hotel lobby Mr. O'Gormanwas paying his bill and bidding the clerk farewell. He had no baggage,except such as he might carry in his pocket, but he entered a bus thatstood outside and was driven away with a final doff of his hat to thewatching girl.

  Mary Louise decided in the instant what to do. Mr. Peter Conant was alawyer and had an office in one of the big buildings down-town. Sheremembered that he always made a point of being in his office at eighto'clock in the morning, and it was nearly eight now. She would visitMr. Conant in his office, for this could not possibly endanger thesafety of Gran'pa Jim in case the detective's story proved false, or ifan attempt had been made to deceive her. The man had seemed sincere andfor the time being he had actually gone away; but she was suspicious ofdetectives.

  She ran upstairs for her coat and hat and at once left the hotel. Sheknew the way to Peter Conant's office and walked rapidly toward it.