Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason Corner Folks Part 50

"She is quite overcome at being discovered. I am going to talk with her for a few minutes. You may come, say, in ten minutes. The door will be unlocked if she is ready. I shall be with her to witness the rest.i.tution of your property."

Never did ten minutes pa.s.s so slowly as did those to Mr. Isburn. He placed his watch upon his desk and watched each minute as it slowly ticked away. When the time was up, he went to the door of Miss Dana's office. He turned the k.n.o.b--the door opened at a slight pressure, and he entered. In a chair by the window, with her head bowed, sat a young Italian girl. As Isburn approached her; he glanced about the room, but Miss Dana was not present.

"Signorita," he said, "I am informed that you have come to restore the ring which you took from me." Then he noticed by her side was the same basket in which she had brought the flowers, but this time it was empty.

She rose to her feet and looked into his eyes with a glance of mute appeal. She took up the basket, and walked towards the door, beckoning to him to follow. Without resenting the incongruity of the situation, he did so. They pa.s.sed through the hallway and into his private office.

She lifted the cover of one side of the basket and took from it a small parcel. She removed the tissue paper disclosing a bunch of cotton wool.

From this she extracted the jewel that he prized so highly.

He reached forward to take it, but she drew back. She first shut down the cover of the basket. Then she went to the desk, opened the private drawer and pressed the b.u.t.ton. The bookcase doors flew open. Her next move was to place the basket in front of the bookcase. Stepping upon it, which enabled her to reach the apple, she removed the cover, and dropped the ring into its receptacle, replaced the cover, stepped down and took up her basket, then closed the bookcase doors.

"And that's how you did it," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Isburn, greatly astonished at her coolness and audacity. "But how did you find out how to open the bookcase doors?"

"You told me," said the girl in good English, the first words she had spoken.

"I told you?" he cried.

The Italian girl had a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"Have you forgotten the old adage, Mr. Isburn, that it is a good plan to set a thief to catch a thief?"

Isburn sank into a chair. "Can I believe my ears? Miss Dana?"

"Exactly," said the young woman. "This is one of my make-ups. This is what I wore when I discovered the clue that led to the arrest of Corona in that Italian murder case."

"But I don't understand yet," cried Isburn. "How could you be here as an Italian flower girl when you telephoned me from a place more than fifty miles away?"

"Money will do a great deal," replied Miss Dana, "but you must tell your subordinates what to do for the money. I induced the operator in that little country town to give you to understand that I was still there.

The fact was, I left the noon before, located young Tarleton, turned him over to the police, and was in the city by 8 o'clock. I told the operator to keep on ringing until you came for you were very deaf.

Pardon me for that, but I was afraid you would hear the bell when the bookcase doors opened. Now, you know all, and I await my discharge."

Mr. Isburn looked serious. "Miss Dana, I see but one matter to be arranged now, and that is your half-interest in the business. You know I told you that if you found the ruby I would take you as a partner."

"Oh, that's all a joke," cried Miss Dana. "What I did was for fun. I only wished to show you how the thing could be done, and I beg your pardon for causing you so many hours of uneasiness on account of the supposed loss of your valuable ring."

"Yes," said Mr. Isburn, "I feel as though you should make some atonement for the disquietude you have caused me. I shall insist upon going to Europe with Rose, and you must manage the business while we are gone, as full partner."

"The staff won't take orders from a woman."

"Yes, they will, if you tell them how you fooled me. If they object then, call for their resignations and engage a new force."

CHAPTER x.x.xII

"IT WAS SO SUDDEN"

The Hotel Cawthorne was, in some respects, a correct designation but in others a misnomer. It had rooms to let, or rather suites, and it had a clerk. So far, a hostelry. It had no dining room, no bar, no billiard room, no news-stand, no barber shop, no boot-black, no laundry--and in these respects, at least, it belied its name.

Some childless couples, some aged ones with married children, many young men, a few confirmed old bachelors, and a few unmarried women roomed therein. On stormy days, or when their inclinations so prompted, the tenants could have meals served in their rooms at a marked increase over hotel rates.

But the "Cawthorne" was exclusive, and for that reason, princ.i.p.ally, Miss Dana had chosen it as her city domicile. Tenants were not introduced to each other, and one could live a year within its walls without being obliged to say good morning to any one, with the possible exceptions of the housekeeper, or the elevator man, but that was not compulsory, but depended upon the tenant's initiative.

Every hotel has an "out"; at the "Cawthorne" it was an "in." The "in"

was Mr. Lorenzo Ca.s.s, the clerk and general _factotum_. His besetting sin was inordinate curiosity, but it was this oftentime disagreeable quality which particularly commended him to the ex-Rev. Arthur Borrowscale, the owner of the "Cawthorne."

Mr. Borrowscale had not given up the ministry on account of advanced age, for he was only forty; nor on account of physical infirmity, for he was a rugged specimen of manhood and enjoyed the best of health. His critics, and all successful men have them, declared that he had forsaken the service of G.o.d for that of Mammon. While officiating, he had received a large salary. Being a bachelor, he had lived economically and invested his savings in real estate. He was the owner of six tenement houses--models of their kind, and the "Cawthorne." Before leaving college, he had loved a young girl named Edith Cawthorne. She had died, and at her grave he had parted with her,--and love of women, but, that sentiment was not wholly dead within him, the name of his hotel attested.

He had another attribute; he was intensely moral. The "Cawthorne" was his pride, but he had a constant fear that some undesirable--that is, immoral--person would find lodgment in his caravansary. For certain reasons, Mr. Ca.s.s was indispensable. He had been a "high roller" until he came under the Rev. Mr. Borrowscale's tutelage.

"Mr. Ca.s.s, you know the bad when you see it--I do not. The reputation of my house must be like Caesar's ghost--above suspicion."

He had said "ghost." He had seen but two plays--"Hamlet" and "Julius Caesar," and for that reason his dramatic inaccuracy may be excused.

So Mr. Ca.s.s became a moral sleuth, and woe betide an applicant for rooms, and occasional board, who could not produce unimpeachable references, and point to an unsullied record in the past.

Miss Dana's respectability and social standing had been abundantly vouched for, and her financial responsibility had been demonstrated by monthly payments in advance.

It was the first evening Quincy had been out since his illness.

"Is Miss Dana in?" asked Quincy as he presented his card to Mr. Ca.s.s.

"I am quite positive she is. I am strengthened in this belief by the fact that she had her supper sent up to her room. A fine specimen of womanhood, and a remarkable appet.i.te for so lovely a creature."

Quincy had an inclination to brain him with the telephone stand, but restrained his murderous impulse.

"Will you please send up my card?" was his interrogatory protest against further enumeration of Miss Dana's charms and gastronomic ability. "No need to do so, Mr. Sawyer," for he had inspected the card carefully. "We have a private telephone in each room. Will you await her in the public parlour?"

"Hasn't she more than one room?"

"Oh, yes; a three room suite, sitting-room, boudoir, which I am sure she uses more as a study, a chamber--and private bath."

Quincy said, "I would prefer to see her in her sitting-room."

"Oh, certainly," replied Mr. Ca.s.s. "Our rules are only prohibitive in the case of single chambers or alcove suites, when the caller and tenant are of opposite s.e.xes. The proprietor--he was formerly a clergyman--is tenacious on certain points."

"And so am I," was Quincy's response, for his temper was rising, "and you will oblige me by communicating with Miss Dana at once, and informing her of my desire to see her."

"Oh, certainly," replied Mr. Ca.s.s, "but my employer, who, as I have said, was formerly a clergyman, is tenacious on another point; all tenants who receive visitors in their rooms must have their names entered in a book prescribed for the purpose, and also the names of their callers."

Quincy's murderous instinct was again aroused, but Mr. Ca.s.s was unmindful of his danger and made the required entry. The humourous side of the affair then struck Quincy, and taking a memorandum book from his pocket, he said:

"I, too, am tenacious on one point. I never visit a hotel for the first time without writing down the name of the clerk. Will you oblige me?"

"Oh, certainly. Ca.s.s, Mr. Lorenzo Ca.s.s."