CHAPTER XX
DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND
Tuesday afternoon Miss Lord's big touring car stood at the door ofHillcrest Lodge, for Agatha had invited the Conant party to ride withher to Millbank. Irene was tucked into the back seat in a comfortableposition and beside her sat Mrs. Conant, who was going to make a fewpurchases at the village store. Mary Louise rode on the front seat withAgatha, who loved to drive her car and understood it perfectly.
When they drove away there was no one left in the house but Sarah Judd,the servant girl, who was washing the lunch dishes. Bub was in theshed-like garage, however, washing and polishing Will Morrison's oldcar, on which the paint was so cracked and faded that the boy's attemptto improve its appearance was a desperate one.
Sarah, through the kitchen window, watched Bub for a time rathersharply. Then she went out on the bluff and looked down in the valley.Miss Lord's big car was just passing the Huddle on its way up thevalley.
Sarah turned and reentered the house. Her meek and diffident expressionof countenance had quite disappeared. Her face now wore a look of sterndetermination and the blue eyes deepened and grew shrewd.
She walked straight to the den and without hesitation approached thefarther wall and took from its pegs Will Morrison's fine hunting rifle.In the stock was a hollow chamber for cartridges, for the rifle was ofthe type known as a "repeater." Sliding back the steel plate that hidthis cavity, Sarah drew from it a folded paper of a yellow tint andcalmly spread it on the table before her. Then she laid down the rifle,placed a chair at the table and with absorbed attention read the letterfrom beginning to end--the letter that Irene had found in the book.
It was closely written on both sides the thin sheet--evidently offoreign make--and although the writing was faded it was still clearlylegible.
After the first perusal Sarah Judd leaned her elbows on the table andher head on her hands and proceeded to study the epistle still moreclosely. Then she drew from her pocket a notebook and pencil and withinfinite care made a copy of the entire letter, writing it in her bookin shorthand. This accomplished, she replaced the letter in the riflestock and hung the weapon on its pegs again.
Both the window and the glass door of the den faced the back yard.Sarah opened the door and stood there in deep thought, watching Bub athis work. Then she returned to the table and opening a drawer drew outa sheet of blank paper. On this she wrote the following words:
"John Folger, 1601 F. Street, Washington, D. C.
Nothing under sterling over letter bobbing every kernel sad mothermaking frolic better quick. If England rumples paper Russia admiresmoney.
Sarah Judd."
Each word of this preposterous phrasing she wrote after consultinganother book hidden cleverly among the coils of her red hair--a tinybook it--was, filled with curious characters. When the writing wasfinished the girl seemed well satisfied with her work. After tuckingaway the book in its former place she went to her room, got her purseand then proceeded to the shed and confronted Bub.
"I want you to drive this car to Millbank, to the telegraph office atthe railway station," said Sarah.
Bub gave her a scornful look.
"Ye're crazy," he said and went on with his polishing.
"That needn't worry you," retorted the girl.
"It don't," declared Bub.
"You can drive and you're going to," she continued. "I've got to sendthis telegram quick, and you've got to take it." She opened her purseand placed two coins on the fender of the car. "There's a dollar to payfor the message, and there's a five-dollar gold-piece to pay you foryour trouble."
Bub gave a gasp. He came up beside her and stared at the money. Then heturned to look at Sarah Judd.
"What's up?" he demanded.
"Private business. Don't ask questions; you'd only get lies foranswers. Go and earn your money."
"Miss' Conant, she's gone to Millbank herself. Ef she sees me there,I'll git fired. The boss'll fire me himself, anyhow, fer usin' the carwhen he tol' me not to."
"How much do you get a week!" asked Sarah.
"Four bits."
"That's about two dollars a month. In two months the Conants will moveback to the city, and by then you'll have earned four dollars. Why,Bub, it's cheaper for you to take this five-dollar gold-piece and getfired, than to work for two months for four dollars."
Bub scratched his head in perplexity.
"Ye ain't count'n' on the fun o' workin'," he suggested.
"I'm counting on that five dollars--eight bits to a dollar, forty bitsaltogether. Why, it's a fortune, Bub."
He took out his knife, looked around for a stick to whittle and,finding none, put the knife in his pocket with a sigh.
"I guess Will Morrison wouldn't like it," he decided. "Put up yermoney, Sairy."
Sarah withdrew the gold-piece and put a larger one in its place.
"There," she said; "let's make it ten dollars, and save time."
Bub's hesitation vanished, but he asked anxiously:
"Tain't go'n' to do no harm to them gals thet's stoppin' here, is it?"
"It is to do them a good turn that I'm sending this telegram."
"Honor bright?"
"Hope to die, Bub."
"All right; I'm off."
He folded the letter, placed it inside his Scotch cap and stowed themoney carefully in his pocket.
"Don't let any of the folks see you if yon can help it," warned Sarah;"and, whatever happens, don't say anything about that telegram to aliving soul. Only--see that it's sent."
"I'm wise," answered Bub and a moment later he started the car androlled away down the road.
Sarah Judd looked after him with a queer smile on her face. Then shewent back to her kitchen and resumed her dish-washing. Presently ascarcely audible sound arrested her attention. It seemed to come fromthe interior of the Lodge.
Sarah avoided making a particle of noise herself as she stole softlythrough the dining room and entered the main hallway. One glance showedher that the front door was ajar and the door of the denclosed--exactly the reverse of what they should be. She crept forwardand with a sudden movement threw open the door of the den.
A woman stood in the center of the room. As the door opened she swungaround and pointed a revolver at Sarah. Then for a moment they silentlyfaced one another.
"Ah," said the woman, with an accent of relief, "you're the servant. Goback to your work. Mrs. Conant told me to make myself at home here."
"Yes, I know," replied Sarah sarcastically. "She said she was expectingyou and told me it wouldn't do any harm to keep an eye on you whileyou're here. She said Miss Lord was going to get all the family away,so you could make a careful search of the house, you being Miss Lord'smaid, Susan--otherwise known as Nan Shelley, from the WashingtonBureau."
Susan's hand shook so ridiculously that she lowered the revolver toprevent its dropping from her grasp. Her countenance expressed chagrin,surprise, anger.
"I don't know you," she said harshly. "Who are you?"
"New at the game," replied Sarah Judd, with a shrug. "You don't knowme, Nan, but I know you; and I know your record, too. You're as slickas they make 'em, and the one who calls herself Agatha Lord is just aninfantile amateur beside you. But go ahead, Nan; don't let me interruptyour work."
The woman sank into a chair.
"You can't be from the home office," she muttered, staring hard at thegirl. "They wouldn't dare interfere with my work here."
"No; I'm not from the home office."
"I knew," said Susan, "as soon as I heard the story of your coming,that it was faked. I'd gamble that you never saw Mrs. Morrison in yourlife."
"You'd win," said Sarah, also taking a chair.
"Then who could have sent you here?"
"Figure it out yourself," suggested Sarah.
"I'm trying to. Do you know what we're after?"
"A clew to Hathaway. Incidentally, any other information concerning himthat comes your way. That includes the letter."
"Oh
. So you know about the letter, do you?" asked Susan.
"To be sure. And I know that's what you're here for now. Don't let meinterrupt you. It's a mighty hard job, finding that letter, and thefolks'll be back by and by."
"You're right," exclaimed the woman, rising abruptly. "Go back to yourwork in the kitchen."
"This is my occupation, just now," retorted Sarah, lolling in herchair. "Go ahead with your search, Nan, and I'll tell you when you are'hot' or 'cold.'"
"You're an impudent little chit," said Nan tartly. "See here," with asudden change of voice, "let's pool issues. If we can discover anythingimportant in this place, there's reward enough for us all."
"I am not opposing you," protested Sarah Judd, "I'm not a particleinterested in whether you trace Hathaway or not. I don't believe youcan do it, though, and that letter you're so eager for won't help you abit. It was written ten years ago."
"That makes it more important," declared the other, "We've two thingsto accomplish; one is to locate Hathaway, and the other to secureabsolute proof of his guilt."
"I thought he was caught doing the job."
"So he was, in a way. But the Department needs more proof."
Sarah Judd smiled unbelievingly. Then she chuckled. Presently shelaughed outright, in genuine merriment, as the thought that amused hergrew and expanded.
"What fools--" she said, "what perfect fools--we mortals be!"
All this annoyed Nan Shelley exceedingly. The successful womandetective did not relish being jeered at by a mere girl.
"You've read the letter, I suppose, and are now making fun of me fortrying to get it? Perhaps you've hidden it yourself--although thatisn't likely. Why can't you give me an honest tip? We're both in thesame line, it seems, and both trying to earn an honest living. Howabout that letter? Is it necessary for me to find it?"
"I've read it," admitted Sarah, "and I know where it is. You mightperhaps find it, if you hunted long enough, but it isn't worth yourwhile. It wouldn't help in the least to convict Hathaway and of courseit couldn't tell you where he is now hiding."
"Is this straight?"
"True as gospel."
"Then why don't you prove it by showing me the letter?"
"Because I don't belong on your side of the fence. You're working forone organization and I for another. Any little tip I let slip is justfor your personal use. Don't bother about that letter."
Susan--or Nan Shelley--sat for a time in thought. Once in a while shewould cast a furtive glance around the room and its wall covered withtrophies, and then she would turn to Sarah Judd's placid face.
"Where did the boy go?" she asked abruptly.
"What boy?"
"Bub; in the automobile."
"To Millbank."
"What for?"
"To send a telegram."
"Your report?"
"Yes."
"Important?"
"I think it'll bring things to a climax."
"The Hathaway case?"
"You can guess anything, Nan, if you guess long enough."
Nan rose and put the revolver in her pocket. Then she held out her handfrankly to Sarah Judd.
"If you've beaten me in this affair," she said, with no apparentresentment, "you're clever enough to become famous some day. I'm goingto take your advice about the letter and if that climax you'repredicting arrives on schedule time I'll not be sorry to quit thisdreary, dragging case and pick up a more interesting one."
The tone was friendly and frank. Sarah stretched out her hand to meetthat of Nan and in a flash a handcuff snapped over her wrist. With acry she drew back, but a dextrous twist of her opponent's free handprisoned her other wrist and she at once realized that she was fairlycaught.
"Fine!" she cried admiringly, as she looked at her bonds, "What next,Nan?"
But Nan was too busy to talk. She deftly searched the girl's pocket andfound the notebook. The shorthand writing caught her eye at once butthe characters were unknown to her.
"Cipher, eh?" she muttered.
"A little code of my own invention," said Sarah. "Sometimes I can'tmake it out myself."
Nan restored the book and examined Sarah Judd's purse.
"They keep you well supplied with funds, it seems."
"Comes handy in emergencies," was the reply.
"Now let's go to your room."
Sarah, handcuffed, led the way. Nan Shelley made a wonderfully rapidsearch through every article in the maid's room. The lining of herclothes was inspected, her hair-brush tested for a sliding back, thepictures on the wall, the rug and the bed-clothing examined minutely.Yet all this consumed but a brief period of time and resulted in noimportant discovery.
"Feel better?" asked Sarah cheerfully.
"You know I do. I'm going to remove these handcuffs, now, and then I'mgoing home. Come and see me, some time when you feel lonesome. I'veonly that fool Agatha to talk to and I've an idea you and I mightinterest each other."
As she spoke she unlocked the manacles and dropped them with a slightclick into a concealed pocket of her dark skirt.
"I imagine Agatha isn't REAL brilliant," returned Sarah; "but neitheram I. When I'm your age, Nan, I hope to be half as clever. Just now youcan twist me around your finger."
Nan regarded her seriously.
"I wish I knew what you are up to," she remarked suspiciously. "You canscarcely conceal your joy, my girl, and that proves I've overlookedsomething. You've puzzled me, youngster as you are, but you mustremember that I'm working in the dark while some mysterious gleam ofknowledge lights your way. Put us side by side, on the same track, andI wouldn't be afraid of you, Sarah Judd."
"Don't apologize, Nan; it makes me feel ashamed."
Nan's frown, as she looked into the blue eyes, turned to a smile ofappreciation. Sarah also smiled, and then she said:
"Let me make you a cup of tea before you go."
"A good idea. We're friends, then?"
"Why not? One friend is worth a thousand enemies and it's absurd toquarrel with one for doing her duty."
"That's what O'Gorman is always saying. Ever hear of O'Gorman?"
"Yes; he's one of the old stand-bys in the secret service department;but they say he's getting old. Slipped a good many cogs lately, I hear."
"He's the Chief's right hand man. O'Gorman used to have this case--thebranch of it I'm now working--but he gave it up and recommended theChief to put me on the job. Said a woman could trail Mary Louise betterthan any man and with less chance of discovery; and he was right, forI've lived half a block from her in Dorfield and she never saw my faceonce. But O'Gorman didn't suspect you were coming into the case and thething's getting altogether too complicated to suit me."
Sarah was brewing the tea and considered an answer unnecessary. Theconversation drifted away from the Hathaway case and into less personalchannels. When Nan Shelley finally rose to go there was sincerefriendliness in Sarah's "good-bye" and the elder woman said in parting:
"You're the right sort, Sarah. If ever you drift into Washington andneed work, come to me and I'll get the Chief to take you on. I knowhe'd be glad to get you."
"Thank you, Nan," said Sarah meekly.
But there was a smile on her freckled face as she watched her recentacquaintance walk down the road, and it lingered there while shereturned to her kitchen and finally washed and put away the longneglected lunch dishes.
Bub dashed into the yard and tooted his horn. Sarah went out to him.
"Ye kin call me lucky, ef ye don't mind," he said with a grin. "Sentyer tel'gram, found out the tenner ye guv me were good, an' got backwithout the folks gett'n' a single blink at me."
"You're some driver, Bub, and you've got a wise head on your shoulders.If you don't talk about this trip, and I don't, no one will ever know,except we two, that the car has been out of the garage."