Margaret Sutton

“ He never paid much attention to them until, one night, a new girl came to a party. She was different from all the others. She had glamour, radiance, all the qualities a man wants in a girl. But the young chauffeur dared not hope that she would have any use for him. She only came to the one party—like a princess in her golden dress and slippers. He took her home and remembered the house. After that he would drive past it, always hoping that she would see him.
And one day she did! She waved to him from the tower window. ”

“ Stanza after stanza of Sarah Glenn’s poetry forced itself upon her consciousness, and it all fitted this house—the yellow ghost in the window, the crumbling tower.
Suddenly Judy realized that she was standing stock-still in the middle of the muddy unpaved street, moving her lips and making no sound. She was doing the same thing that Emily Grimshaw had done when Dale Meredith said she was crazy. Oh! She must get control of herself, take herself in hand. ”

“ A MYSTERIOUS TELEGRAM “Goodbye, Judy! Goodbye, Irene! Don’t like New York so well that you won’t want to come home!”
“Don’t keep them too long, Pauline! Farringdon will be as dead as so many bricks without them. Even the cats will miss Blackberry. Make him wave his paw, Judy!” ”

“ Irene’s feelings, however, could not easily be changed, and with both girls having such grave worries the problem bid fair to be too great a one for even Judy to solve. Solving problems, she hoped, would eventually be her career for she planned to become a regular detective with a star under her coat. Now she confided this ambition to the other two girls.
“A detective!” Pauline gasped. “Why, Judy, only men are detectives. Can you imagine anyone taking a mere girl on the police force?” ”

“ Judy turned to Peter. “I know how you felt when your parents were a mystery. Well, wouldn’t Irene feel the same way? Her father gave away some family history in his letter, and Irene was more impressed than we know by Emily Grimshaw’s collapse. Remember, I wrote you about it, Peter? She wanted to find out about her mother——”
“Then she did take the poetry,” Pauline put in.
“Yes,” Judy agreed. “I’m afraid she did. It’s a terrible thing not to know the truth about one’s parents, and Irene must have taken the poetry to help her find that horrible house that seems to have swallowed her up.” ”

“ She had noticed how frequently her employer resorted to the stimulant. After a few drinks she always talked freely of spirits. But Judy was in no mood for listening to ghost stories now.
“I know you!” the indomitable old lady repeated. “I saw you, Joy Holiday, just before your mother’s funeral. Break her heart while she lived and then come back to gloat over her when she’s dead. You’re a devil, you are. Only devils are immune to death.”
Dale moved closer to Irene as if to ward off the blows that must come to her senses with the old lady’s words. ”

“ He said any sane person would have. But you’re sane, Judy, and you didn’t.”
“That proves there’s no truth in what he said,” Horace assured her.
It was a great satisfaction to Irene, knowing that. She sighed and went on explaining about the ghost in the tower.
“You know, the room is round and there are windows on all sides. Between the windows are mirrors that make the oddest reflections. I must have been standing in the room so that you could see the mirror but not me. I should think you would have been scared to death.” ”

“ Dale broke the silence by saying.
“I suppose I do look something like a burglar,” Judy retorted. “I’m not going to apologize for anything either. I simply had to know.”
“Know what?” Pauline asked.
“She wanted to find out if I took the lost poetry,” Dale explained. “That’s clear enough, and don’t think for a moment that I blame her. Any good detective would have done the same thing. Being a comparative stranger, I am the logical one to suspect. Irene, we all know, is above suspicion.” ”

“ There was another girl reflected on the floor beside her. Judy pointed it out to Dale—that golden reflection on the polished floor.
Just then the orchestra struck up a new tune. Soon the soloist joined in, singing the latest popular song:
My own golden girl, there is one, only one,
Who has eyes like the stars and hair like the sun.
In your new yellow gown you’re a dream of delight.
You have danced in my heart on bright slippers tonight ... “It sounds as if he meant Irene,” Dale whispered. “She’s a ‘golden girl’ tonight.” ”

“ Irene said she liked to think of him as talented. A dreamer, she would have called him, if it had not been for his practical interest in the business at hand—those papers and that telegram.
It was dark by the time they reached New York. The passengers were restless and eager to be out of the bus. The young man hastily crammed his typewritten work into his portfolio and Judy noticed, just as the bus stopped, that he had forgotten the telegram. She and Irene both made a dive for it with the unfortunate result that when they stood up again each of them held a torn half of the yellow slip. ”

“ When the word “Joy” came up for the fifth time Judy stopped her to exclaim, “That must mean Joy Holiday, the girl Emily Grimshaw thinks took the poetry.”
“Then she must have been ‘Golden Girl,’” Irene said unexpectedly.
Dale turned to her in surprise. “That’s right! We never thought of that. I’m glad to see you so interested in it; I thought at first you weren’t keen on detecting.”
“I’m not,” Irene admitted. “It’s the poetry I like.”
Judy shuddered. “Those creepy poems! I’d rather read a good murder mystery any day. At least there’s always a solution. ”

“ His soft, crackly purr seemed to say: “Cats do understand human troubles. What you need is someone who loves you to sympathize.”
Tears came to Judy’s eyes. She thought of her father and mother struggling with an epidemic of influenza when they had wanted a vacation. She thought of her brother, Horace. She thought of Peter and Honey and their two dear grandparents, of Arthur who had once helped hunt for Lorraine Lee in his airplane. How she missed them all! How she needed them! Oh, why had she and Irene ever left Farringdon at all? To find adventure, she supposed. ”

“ To her surprise, Dale asked Judy for the first dance.
“Oh, no,” she replied quickly. “Really, I’d rather you danced with the other girls. You see, I can watch the lights while I’m sitting here. When I’m home again I won’t be able to watch lights on a roof garden. And I can always dance.”
Afterwards Judy felt almost sorry she had refused. The orchestra was playing beautifully, magic to any young girl’s feet. Now and then a soloist would sing the number as it was played. Judy listened, at first watching Dale and Irene, then Dale and Pauline as they moved in and out among the crowd of dancers. ”

“ Emily Grimshaw had her poetry and rose, a little unsteadily, preparing to leave. It was then that she thought of the purpose of her visit.
“Young woman,” she demanded of Irene, “if you’re not Joy Holiday, why did you take those manuscripts?”
“I didn’t take them,” the accused girl answered, regarding her steadily with those starry eyes that had inspired the loveliest line of Golden Girl.
Judy made an almost inaudible sound of protest. Irene couldn’t keep on denying it. No one would believe her now. She touched her arm and whispered, “Tell her, dear. It’s no good pretending. ”

“ It’s on the roof garden.” She walked across the room and flung open a door. “Nothing shivery about that, is there?”
“Nothing except the thought of standing on the top of one of those tall buildings,” Irene said, gazing upward as she followed Pauline.
The view fascinated Judy. Looking out across lower New York, she found a new world of gray buildings and flickering lights. In the other direction the Empire State Building loomed like a sentinel.
“I never dreamed New York was like this,” she breathed.
“It grows on a person,” Pauline declared. “I would never want to live in any other city. ”

“ Judy shivered. Would it be stretching the truth to say that some strange, invisible force had been at work in the office that day? Irene, timid, lovable little girl that she was, couldn’t possibly frighten a big capable woman like Emily Grimshaw. She must have seen something else!
Without meaning to, Judy glanced over her shoulder. Then a thought came to her that seemed all at once amusing. Dale Meredith had said there weren’t enough mysteries in real life. Wait till she told him this one! A writer of detective stories ought to be interested. ”

“ Jasper Crosby gave a dry chuckle. “Eh! heh! She can’t even stay sober at a funeral. I’ll be going now. Got to see a lawyer and sue the old lady for the loss of my sister’s manuscripts.”
“Oh, no! Wait a minute! Miss Grimshaw may have them. In fact, I’m almost sure she has,” Judy cried in a panic. Anything to stall him, keep him talking until help came.
“Then tell her to send ’em to the publishers and make it snappy! I’m going.”
Judy laid her hand firmly on his arm. “You’re not going, Mr. Crosby. You’re going to wait for Emily Grimshaw.” ”

“ When Emily Grimshaw came in neither Judy nor Pauline looked up. They did not hear her enter the room. Finally she stood over them and spoke in a sharp tone.
“What’s this you’re reading? Didn’t I tell you to get done with your typewriting first? Letters are important but manuscripts can always wait to be read.”
“This one can’t,” Judy replied, smiling up at her employer. “This is Dale Meredith’s new detective story. Irene is the heroine, Pauline one of the suspects and I am the detective.” ”

“ Horace greeted him. “If there’s something exciting going on I want to hear about it. The paper’s starving for news.”
“Irene Lang has disappeared!” Peter gave out the “news” so suddenly that Horace was dumbfounded for a moment.
“And I’m going to New York to help Judy,” he added. “She’s apt to go too far with her flare for detecting. You might as well come, too. Maybe the paper will finance the trip if we bring back a big scoop——”
“Sa-ay!” Horace broke in. “Don’t forget it’s Irene Lang who is missing. News or no news, nothing goes into the paper that isn’t on the level.” ”

“ But the third door opened into a long hall at the end of which was the stairway.
“A regular labyrinth, this place,” she thought as she climbed. “I wonder if Emily Grimshaw will be as queer as her hotel.”
There were old-fashioned knockers on all the doors, and Judy noticed that no two of them were alike. Emily Grimshaw had her name on the glass door of her suite, and the knocker was in the shape of a witch hunched over a steaming caldron. Judy lifted it and waited.
“Who’s there?” called a mannish voice from within.
“Judy Bolton. They told me at the desk that you would see me.” ”

“ Pauline shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t talk about time to me. Time will be my middle name after I graduate. There isn’t a single thing I really want to do, least of all stay at home all day. College is a bore unless you’re planning a career. What do you intend to do when you’re through school?”
“I hadn’t planned,” Irene said, “except that I want time to read and go ahead with my music. Of course I’ll keep house somewhere for Dad. It will be so nice to have him well again, and I love keeping house.”
“What about your work for my father?” Judy asked.
Irene’s eyes became troubled. ”

“ She wouldn’t notify the police either. Irene must not be subjected to an unkind cross fire of questions when, or if, she did return. Judy would find Irene herself and let her explain. Suppose she had stolen the poetry? What did it matter? Judy was learning not to expect perfection in people. She would love Irene all the more, forgiving her. And if Irene had stolen the poetry she could give it back quietly, and Judy could explain things to Emily Grimshaw. Dale need never be told. ”

“ Peter, however, remembered the fantastic story Judy had told him. It did not surprise the young law student that no one was in the tower. He and the two policemen immediately set about looking for clues to Irene’s whereabouts. But it was not until Dale drew back the wardrobe curtain and they found her yellow dress and jacket hanging there that they became truly alarmed. Now they knew, past any doubt, that Irene had visited her grandmother’s house. There had been a funeral! Even if it had been Sarah Glenn’s, Irene might have been with her when she died. Alone with a crazy woman ... ”

“ Then he turned to Emily Grimshaw, “What’s the idea of this upstart in your office? Getting old, eh? Work too much for you?”
“If you bring in any more of this stuff,” the agent retorted, “it will be too much for both of us. This girl is clever. She’s the only person I ever met who can revise your sister’s poetry as well as I can.”
Now Jasper Crosby’s hawk eyes were fixed on Judy. He studied her for a moment while she met his gaze unflinchingly.
“Huh!” he grunted. “Watch your step, now. It takes queer people to revise queer poetry, and, mind you, this stuff has got to sell. ”

“ Mrs. Dobbs loved music. Usually she listened to the old-time melodies but there was something especially appealing about the popular song that Kate South was singing. She called to her grandson.
“Come here, Peter, and listen.”
The tall youth entered the room and stretched himself in a chair.
“Gee, Grandma! It makes a fellow feel lonesome. Why the dickens do you suppose Judy had to spend her vacation so far away from folks who care about her?”
“She’s with Irene,” Mrs. Dobbs replied, “and from what I hear, Pauline Faulkner has taken a great liking to both of them. ”