came to the matter of the moment without any preamble. Yes, he knew of the robbery and knew who she was; he supposed she had called him up to consult him about the case.
"Of course, Mr. Larkin," she said, "that's what I wanted. But before I say anything it must be understood between us that this – er – sending for you – is entirely my affair. I want to employ you myself independently of the others."
He nodded, showing no surprise;
"You want to put your own detective on the case."
"Exactly. You're to be employed by me but no one must know you are or know what you're doing."
He smothered a smile and said:
"I see."
"I don't think the men that are working over it now are very clever or interested. They just poke about and ask the same questions over and over. The way they're going I should say we'd never get anything back. So I decided I'd start an inquiry of my own and in a direction no one else had thought of."
Mr. Larkin gave a slight movement an almost imperceptible straightening up of his body:
"Do you mean that you suspect some one?"
Suzanne looked at the arm of her chair and then smoothed its linen cover with delicate finger tips. A very slight color deepened the artificial rose of her cheek.
"I'm afraid I do," she murmured.
"Afraid?"
She nodded, closing her eyes with the movement. She had the appearance of a person distressed but resolute.
"I can't help suspecting some one that I don't like to suspect. And that's why I want your assistance."
"I don't quite understand, Mrs. Price."
"This is the explanation. If it were known that this person was guilty it would ruin and destroy them. My idea is to be sure that they did it – have evidence – and then tell my mother. We could keep quiet about it, get the jewels back and not have the thief disgraced and sent to jail."
"Oh, I see. You want to face the party with a knowledge of their guilt, have them restore the jewels, and let the matter drop."
"Precisely. And I don't want to say anything until I'm sure, can come out with everything all clear and proved. That's where I expect you to help, put things together, find out, work up the case."
"Who is the person?"
Her color burned to a deep flush; she leaned toward him, urgent, almost pleading:
"Mr. Larkin, I hardly like to say it even to you, but I must. It's my mother's secretary, Miss Maitland."
He looked stolidly unmoved:
"She lives in the house?"
"Yes, for over a year now. My mother thinks everything of her, wouldn't believe it unless it was proved past a doubt."
"What are your reasons for suspecting her?"
Suzanne was silent for a moment moving her glance from him to the window. Mr. Larkin had a good chance to look at her and took it. He noticed the feverish color, the line between the brows, the tightened muscles under the thin cheeks. He made a mental note of the fact that she was agitated.
"Well that night, the night of July the seventh," she said in a low voice, "I was wakeful. I often am, I've always been a nervous, restless sort of person. About half past one I thought I heard a noise – some one on the stairs – and I got up and looked out of my door. I can see the head of the stairs from there, and as it was very bright moonlight any one coming up would be perfectly plain – I couldn't make a mistake – what I saw was Miss Maitland. She was going very carefully, tiptoeing along as if she was trying to make no noise. At the top she turned and went down the passage to her own room which is just beyond my mother's."
She paused and shot a tentative look at him. He met it, teetered his head in quiet comprehension and murmured:
"She didn't see you?"
"Oh no, she was not looking that way. And I didn't say anything or think anything then – thought she'd gone downstairs for something she'd forgotten. The next day it had passed out of my mind; it wasn't until I heard that the jewels were gone that it came back and then I was too shocked to say a word. It all came upon me in a minute – I remembered how I'd seen her and remembered that she knew the combination of the safe."
"Oh," said Mr. Larkin, "she knew that, did she?"
"Yes, she keeps her account books and money in there, things she uses in her work. You see she's been thoroughly trusted – never looked upon as anything but perfectly honest and reliable."
"Then she's filled her position to Mrs. Janney's satisfaction?"
"Entirely. Of course we really don't know very much about her. She was highly recommended when she came, but people in her position if they do their work well – one doesn't bother much about them."
"Have you noticed anything in her conduct or manner of life lately that could – er – have any connection with or throw any light on such an action?"
Suzanne pondered for a moment then said:
"No – she's always been about the same. She's gone into the city more this summer than she did last year, on her holidays, I mean. And – oh yes, this may be important – that night, when we came home from dinner, she asked my mother if she could have the following day – Saturday – in town. Mrs. Janney said she might and she went in before any of the family were up."
"Um," murmured Mr. Larkin and then fell into a silence in which he appeared to be digesting this last item. When he spoke again it was to propound a question that ruffled Suzanne's composure and caused her blue eyes to give out a sudden spark:
"Do you happen to know if she has any admirer – lover or fiancé or anything of that sort?"
"I know nothing whatever about it, but I should say not. Certainly I never heard of such a person. I never saw any man in the least attracted by her and I should imagine she was a girl who had no charm for the other sex."
Mr. Larkin stirred in a slow, large way and said:
"Such a robbery is a pretty big thing for a girl like that to attempt. She must know – any one would – that jewels like Mrs. Janney's are hard to dispose of without detection."
Suzanne shrugged, her tone showing an edge of irritation:
"That may be the case, I suppose it is. But couldn't she have been employed by some one – aren't there gangs who put people on the spot to rob for them?"
"Certainly there are. And that would be the most plausible explanation. Not necessarily a gang, however, an individual might be behind her. At this stage, knowing what I do, that would be my idea. But, of course, I can say nothing until I'm better informed. What I'll do now will be to look up her record and then I think I'll take a run down to Berkeley and see if I can pick up anything there."
Suzanne looked uneasy:
"But you'll be careful, and not let any one guess what you're doing or that you have any business with me?"
He smiled openly at that:
"Mrs. Price, you can trust me. This is not my first case."
After that there was talk of financial arrangements and future plans. Mr. Larkin thought he would come out to Berkeley in a day or two and take a lodging in the village. When he had anything of moment to impart he would drop a note to Mrs. Price and she could designate a rendezvous. They parted amicably, Suzanne feeling that she had found the right man and Mr. Larkin secretly elated, for this was the first case of real magnitude that had come his way.
At the appointed time Suzanne met Mrs. Janney at the tea room and on the way home they exchanged their news. The nursery governess had been found, approved and engaged, and the oculist had said to go on with the lotion and if Bébita's eyes did not improve to bring her in to see him. Both ladies agreed that their labors had exhausted them, but each looked unusually vivacious and mettlesome.
CHAPTER VIII – MOLLY'S STORY
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