The Girl Detective

The door of Rufus Markham’s counting-room was securely closed, and the proprietor of the large, flourishing cotton factory talked [earnestly] with a gentlemanly looking man of middle age, whose face was as impassive as a wax mask. 

“Five thousand dollars!” said the individual. “It was a large sum to leave exposed.” 

“Exposed!” said Mr. Markham. “It was in my private desk, to which no one has access but myself and my nephew, Fred Tyron.” 

“Would it be possible the young gentleman—” 

“Sir,” said Mr. Markham, indignantly, “my nephew is not a thief. If he needed ten times that sum he knows I would freely give it to him. He will be my heir, and is as dear to me as a son. It is simply absurd to connect him in any way with the robbery.” 

“Just state this matter again, briefly as you can, and allow me to take notes, will you, Mr. Markham?” 

“Certainly. I drew five thousand dollars out of the bank yesterday, to meet a note that was not presented for payment. Retaining it until after the bank was closed, I concluded to lock it in my desk until this morning, and did so. At nine o’clock this morning the expected note was presented, and I opened the desk. The money was gone, and with it a small memorandum book that was in the same roll.” 

“The lock was not forced?” 

“No, sir; the desk was apparently exactly as I left it.” 

“And Mr. Tyron has the only duplicate key?” 

The gentleman frowned. He was evidently displeased at the turn the detective’s suspicions seemed to be taking. 

“My nephew certainly has the only duplicate key.” 

“H’m! yes. You have the number of the notes?” 

“Yes. The roll consisted of ten five hundred dollar notes.” 

The list of numbers being taken, the detective made a searching examination of the apartment and prepared to take his departure. As he stood near the door, Mr. Markham suddenly said, nervously: 

“I think, Mr. Vodges, if you make any discoveries, you had better report to me privately before making any arrests.” 

“Certainly, sir, if you desire it. Will you grant me one favor? Do not mention the robbery to Mr. Tyron, if you have not done so already.” 

“No one has heard of it but yourself.” 

“Very good! I will call again when I have any report to make.” 

“Fred! Fred!” the old gentleman said, in a low voice, when he was alone; “Vodges evidently thinks it is Fred! It cannot be! It is impossible that my nephew would rob me! I cannot believe it. And yet he knew the money was there. He was here when I handed Arnold the check, and here when he returned with the money. He knew that Johnson’s note was not presented, and Fred alone has a duplicate key. Oh, if it should be! Anna’s boy, that I promised to love as my son. Have I not kept my promise? Where have I failed? And why should he steal from me when all I have is his? I cannot, I will not believe it!” 

“May I come in?” asked a bright, pleasant face at the door, and permission being given, Fred Tyron entered the room. 

Looking into his handsome young face, bright and frank, with well opened brown eyes, and curls of nut brown hair, it was hard to connect it with any idea of roguery, ingratitude or theft. His manner toward the uncle who had ever filled a father’s place, was the perfection of respectful affection, and before he had been an hour in the counting-room, Mr. Markham’s uneasy fears were entirely gone. 

They were talking of a certain dark-eyed little maiden, who was soon to be Mrs. Tyron, and when Fred left his uncle, it was with the promise that he would call in the evening upon Miss Clarkson, to finally arrange for the wedding day. 

The young man, a favorite of fortune apparently, spent the afternoon with his betrothed, received his uncle in the evening beside her, and accompanied the old gentleman to his boarding-house, receiving an affectionate farewell, when he took up his way to his own rooms in another house. For a week he heard nothing of the robbery. 

It was just when summer twilight was fading that, returning from a drive with Maud Clarkson, Fred met his uncle’s confidential clerk waiting for him at Maud’s house. 

“I have a note for you, Mr. Fred,” he said, “and as you were not at home, I thought I would wait here for you.” 

Something in the man’s face and manner struck a sudden chill to Maud’s heart. 

“You have bad news?” she cried. 

“Perhaps Mr. Fred had better read the note,” was the evasive answer. 

But Maud’s terror was only increased when Fred, after reading the note, broke into a furious exclamation of rage. 

“Who dares say I am a midnight burglar?” he shouted. 

“Oh, Fred, what is it?” asked Maud, turning very white. 

“My uncle has been robbed of five thousand dollars, and he pays me the compliment of supposing me the thief, because I have a duplicate key to his private desk. I! great Heaven!” he cried, with a sudden change in his voice, “he cannot mean it! I rob my uncle? I!” 

“Mr. Fred,” said the clerk, respectfully, “I only waited to see how you took the note, to speak a few words of advice. Mr. Fred, I was with your father when he was killed on a railway train; I was with your uncle when he brought you from your mother’s funeral to his home. I took you to boarding-school, and brought you home for the holidays, and I’ve loved you boy and man, since you were ten years old, and that’s twelve long years. I know you never took the money, but things look very ugly for you.” 

“But,” said Fred, grasping hard the hand the old clerk held out to him, “I cannot understand it. Listen,” and he read aloud the note from his uncle: 

Mr. Frederick Tyron: I could not believe, without proof undeniable, positive proof—that you could rob me of five thousand dollars, taken, as you know, from my private desk, on Wednesday last. You are my sister’s son, and I never will be the one to imprison or punish you, but you are no longer a nephew of mine. Willingly, I will never look in your face again. Your ill-gotten gains I freely give give you to start in some business, trusting you will endeavor to live honestly in the future. Do not try to see me; I will not listen to any explanations I know to be false. Do not write for I will not open your letters.

                                                                       Rufus Markham. 

Maud Clarkson grew white as death as she heard the stern edict. 

“Oh, Fred!” she cried. “what can you do?” 

“Starve, I suppose,” was the bitter answer, “as I do not happen to possess the ill-gotten gains so generously presented to me. But I will not ask you to starve with me, Maud. You were betrothed to the millionaire’s nephew and heir; the disinherited beggar frees you from your promise.” 

“Fred,” she cried, bursting into tears, “how can you be so cruel?” Then, unheeding the clerk, who was discreetly looking from the window, she came close to Fred’s side. “Darling,” she said, fixing her large black eyes upon his face, “if all the world believes you guilty, I do not. If all the world casts you off, I will keep my promise.” 

The young lover had been bewildered, indignant, desperate, but he folded the gentle comforter fast in his arms, and great tears fell on her upturned face. 

“God bless you, Maud!” he cried; “I can defy the world if you are true to me. Now, Potter, sit down and tell me what you know of this wretched business.” 

“Well, Mr. Fred, I never heard of the robbery myself until this morning when Vodges, the detective your uncle employed to work it up, came to make his report. They did not notice me at first, and when your uncle remembered I was in the room, I had heard about all Vodges knew. You remember there was a note coming due last Wednesday?” 

“To Johnson?” 

“Yes; well I thought at the time it was curious your uncle gave him a check, when I knew the money was drawn out of the bank the day before to meet that very note. But I never knew till this morning that the money was stolen from Mr. Markham’s private desk by false keys, Mr. Fred,” said the old man earnestly. “It was all in five hundred dollar notes, and your uncle had the numbers.” 

“Well?” 

“This morning Vodges brought back one of the notes which you gave to T—— yesterday in payment for a pearl locket?” 

“Stop, Potter? let me think! Where did I get that note? I have it! Arnold gave it to me to take out a hundred dollars I lent him some time ago. And Arnold—Potter, Arnold borrowed my keys last Wednesday night to open his trunk! Potter, huzza! We know the thief!” 

“Not so fast, Mr. Fred—not so fast. It will not be an easy matter to prove this. Were there any witnesses present when Arnold borrowed the keys?” 

“No; I was alone in my room, half undressed, when he knocked at my door and said he had lost the keys to his trunk. I lent him a bunch of keys, which he returned before I was out of bed the next day.” 

“And you were alone when he paid you the money?” 

“Yes, I thought he was very flush, for you know as well as I do, Potter, that a note for $500 is not a day visitor in Arnold’s pocket.” 

“He is a cunning scoundrel. He wants to ascertain if the notes can be identified before he tries to get rid of them himself. Mr. Fred, will you leave it to me for a few days—only a few days—and if I do not catch the thief, you may try?” 

“But my uncle?” 

“Wait till you can prove your innocence before you see him. Only a week. Give me only a week to catch Arnold. And, by-the-way, you will give me an additional chance if you will leave the city. Throw him off his guard by letting him suppose you are banished for his crime.” 

“Run away,” flashed Fred, “like a coward?” 

“Only for a week. You see, the probability is that Arnold has the money in his possession yet. He will wait to see the fate of what he has given you before putting any more in circulation; but he has probably hidden it very securely. You he will watch; but if you are willing, I will take your room while you are gone and do a little private detective business on my part.” 

It was not easy to persuade Fred to consent to Potter’s plan, but, Maud’s persuasions being added to the old man’s, he [finally] consented to leave the city for a week, and return in that time to vindicate his own innocence in case of Potter’s failure. 

Before night Fred was on his way to visit another city, and his landlady had agreed to allow Mr. Potter to occupy his place during his absence. 

Fred had been gone two days when the old clerk called upon Miss Clarkson to report progress. 

“I am completely baffled,” he said, in answer to her inquiries. “You see, Arnold knows me, and evidently suspects me. He is so affectionately desirous of keeping me in sight that I cannot get a peep in his room; and whenever he is out he locks the door and gives the key to the landlady. I cannot force his door yet, and by the time Fred returns I am afraid the money will be smuggled away. I am sure it is in his possession now, he is so careful about his room. Nobody gets in there but the landlady. I did think of bribing the chambermaid to let me in when she was at work there, but unfortunately she left to-day.” 

A flash of light seemed to pass across Maud’s face, but she only said, demurely: 

“Your landlady is a German, is she not?” 

“Yes; her English is very imperfect. Have you ever seen her?” 

“No; but I have heard Fred speak of her. My mother, you know, was German.” 

“But what has that to do with Fred’s case?” 

“I will tell you. Vodges has tried to find the thief and failed. You have tried and failed. I mean to try and succeed!” 

“You! What can you do?” 

“Come to-morrow, and I will tell you.” 

Punctual at the appointed time, Potter made his appearance. With dancing eyes and flushed cheeks, Maud met him. 

“Well?” he asked, certain from her looks that she had good news. 

“I told you I would succeed!” 

“And you did! Huzza! I feel as young as Fred himself!” 

“To whom I have telegraphed to return. He will be here this evening, and you must bring Mr. Markham, Mr. Vodges, and the proper police authorities, to meet in his room. Then go to Mr. Arnold’s room, and remove the pipe of the stove to the elbow. In the joint you will find Mr. Markham’s memorandum-book and the missing notes.” 

“You are sure?” 

“Listen! This morning, in a calico dress, sunbonnet and a pair of coarse shoes, for disguise, I applied for the place of chambermaid at the boarding-house where Mr. Arnold has a room. I braided my hair in two long plaits, and convinced your landlady that I was a recent importation from Germany, unable to speak a word of English. She agreed to take me for one week on trial, and before I had been two hours in the house I was sent to tidy Mr. Arnold’s room. Never was a room tidied so quickly; and, seeing my mistress on her way to market, I shot the bolt and took a survey of the premises. The trunk was locked, the bureau drawers wide open, the closet door ajar. I felt a reluctance to overhaul any private depositories; though I should have done it,” she added, resolutely, “if I had been driven to it! I rummaged a little, when, on the closet door, I espied a shirt apparently scarcely soiled, except one sleeve, and that was black with soot. ‘What is he doing at the fireplace in summer?’ I thought, and went to examine. A few minutes sufficed to convince me that the stove had been moved out, and the elbow of the pipe removed. I repeated the process, to find a roll of five-hundred-dollar notes and a small note book with the name, Rufus Markham, on the first page. I replaced everything carefully and came home. Now, Mr. Potter, he must be taken by surprise, or he may say Fred put the notes there.” 

“You are a brave girl!” cried the old man, looking with admiration at the beautiful, animated face, “and Fred will owe you more than life.” 

“He can repay me by coming to tell me the good news when he is clear.” 

Eight was striking by the city clocks when Doctor Graham Arnold, dressed in the latest fashion, with a fragrant Havana between his lips, strolled leisurely into his own room. 

He had been in the parlor of his boarding-house for an hour, watching Mr. Potter with some anxiety, but wholly unaware of the little party of four who, in Mr. Potter’s temporary apartment, awaited his return to his own room. 

Once inside the door, the nonchalant look left the handsome face of the young man, and he muttered fiercely: 

“I must get out of this! Potter suspects me, and may yet communicate his suspicions to Mr. Markham. I will be off to-night, as soon as the house is quiet.” 

He opened a small traveling [satchel] as he spoke, and was rapidly filling it with necessaries for a journey, when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Tossing the [satchel] into the closet, he cried: 

“Come in!” 

But his face turned livid as his call was obeyed, and a party of five entered the room. 

Two policemen stationed themselves on his right and left, while Mr. Markham, Mr. Potter and Fred Tyron followed them. 

“Now, Mr. Arnold,” said one of the policemen, with a face and voice of the Detective Vodges, “will you tell us where to find those missing notes?” 

“What notes?” cried Arnold. “What does this outrage mean?” 

“It means,” said Mr. Potter, “that your plan to throw the robbery of Mr. Markham’s private desk upon his nephew has failed. It means that the $5,000 stolen from that gentleman is now in your possession, excepting only one note given to Mr. Tyron in payment of a debt!” 

“It’s a lie!” cried the prisoner; but his white face, faltering voice, and shaking limbs were no proof of innocence. “Search my trunks, everything I have.” 

“No, gentlemen,” said Mr. Potter, “draw out the stove, if you please, and look in the elbow of the pipe.” 

With a cry, Graham Arnold fell senseless to the floor, as Vodges put his hand upon the stove. 

Mr. Markham turned to Fred. There was no word spoken. Hand clasped hand, and each read forgiveness in the other’s eyes. 

Mr. Graham Arnold spent some weeks in jail ere his trial and conviction; but before his sentence was pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Tyron were crossing the ocean on a wedding tour to Europe, and only Mr. Potter and Fred ever knew of Maud’s first and only appearance as a girl detective.