Vicki Barr #7 The Mystery at Hartwood House

THE MYSTERY AT HARTWOOD HOUSE

THE VICKI BARR AIR STEWARDESS SERIES Silver Wings for Vicki Vicki Finds the Answer The Hidden Valley Mystery The Secret of Magnolia Manor The Clue of the Broken Blossom Behind the White Veil The Mystery at Hartwood House Peril Over the Airport The Mystery of the Vanishing Lady The Search for the Missing Twin The Ghost at the Waterfall The Clue of the Gold Coin The Silver Ring Mystery The Clue of the Carved Ruby The Mystery of Flight 908 The Brass Idol Mystery

THE VICKI BARR AIR STEWARDESS SERIES ________________________________________________________

THE MYSTERY AT

HARTWOOD HOUSE BY JULIE TATHAM ________________________________________________________

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS New York

© BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC., 1952 All Rights Reserved

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS ________________________________________________________

CHAPTER

PAGE

I

LINDA MURRAY

1

II

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

16

III

A HOPELESS SEARCH

26

IV

VICKI IS BAFFLED

37

V

CHALICE DAWN

48

VI

THE MISSING VIAL

60

VII

THE GYPSY GIRL

75

VIII

THE PERFUMED HANDKERCHIEF

87

IX

THE MANAGER SHARES A SECRET

100

X

AN AMAZING DISCOVERY

116

XI

THE ELUSIVE CLUE

128

XII

AN IMPOSTOR

141

XIII

A CLUE IN A CLIPPING

158

XIV

VICKI’S PLAN

168

XV

THE CHEF PROVIDES A CLUE

180

XVI

THE GHOST THIEF

190

XVII

A REWARD FOR VICKI

201

CHAPTER I

Linda Murray

The corner of State and Madison streets, in the heart of Chicago’s fabulous Loop, is said to be the busiest intersection in the world. Vicki, small, blond, cold and hungry, was jostled and pushed along by the hectic, hurrying noonday crowd. She was wearing the navy-blue uniform of a Federal Airlines flight stewardess and had turned up the collar of her smart overcoat to shut out the icy blast of wind which blew down the street. “I’m so hungry,” Vicki moaned out loud, “and my lunch hour ends at one. Isn’t there a single restaurant in the Loop that isn’t packed and jammed?” The sound of her young voice was drowned out by the thunder of an elevated train, and, higher in the sky, by the planes that roar in and out of the Windy City every three minutes. “I’m getting nowhere fast,” she wailed, glancing up at the Marshall Field clock. And then a head-on 1

collision with another uniformed young woman, hurrying from the opposite direction, knocked the breath out of Vicki’s slim body. Her cap, with its silver wings, slid over one blue eye. Half-blinded, almost breathless, Vicki could only gasp: “Sorry!” The girl she had bumped into clutched at her own perky cap, which, until her encounter with Vicki, had been set at a jaunty angle over her short brown hair. “Victoria Barr!” she exclaimed. “Jean Cox!” And suddenly the noisy throng seemed to fade away leaving the two flight stewardesses alone on the corner. They threw their arms around each other and pounded each other’s shoulders. “Jean!” “Vic!” “What are you doing in the Loop?” they asked each other. “I’m on the New York-Chicago run,” Jean said. “I knew you were here somewhere, Vic, but your post card didn’t say where or why.” “I’m grounded,” Vicki replied. “As an assistant stewardess selector. Can you believe it?” Jean stared. “This I must hear about. Let’s go some place where we can talk.” “And eat,” Vicki added. “I’m so starved I could eat a whole steer. Do you think they’d broil us one 2

at the Stock Yard Inn?” Jean giggled. “The next best thing is beef tenderloin. And the nearest place is just two blocks away.” She linked her arm through Vicki’s and they started down the street. “It’s just a little, oldfashioned hotel, but the new chef is internationally famous. Maurice Pasquale. Up until last fall he was at the Abercrombie in New York. I hear the food at the Hartwood is out of this world.” “I ought to know,” Vicki said. “I both live and work at the Hartwood.” “You what?” Jean demanded. “Don’t tell me Federal’s recruiting offices are located in that little spot of atmosphere?” “That’s right,” Vicki said. “And one of the reasons is the atmosphere. The suite we’re using on the ground floor is so homey and informal it puts the applicants at their ease. Another reason is that when Federal tried to reserve a suite, all the other hotels were packed and jammed with conventions. According to what I’ve read, twenty million people visit Chicago every year, but judging from what I’ve seen of the Loop, I’d say they all arrived during Christmas week and haven’t gone home yet.” “All of Chicago isn’t the Loop,” Jean reminded her with a smile, “but all of theatrical Chicago is the Hartwood. I’m surprised you could get a room. Isn’t Chalice Dawn, America’s Most Beloved Actress, 3

staying there?” “She is,” Vicki said, “and so is the entire cast of We and the River, which opens a week from Friday night. And so are a lot of other theatrical people who came to Chicago for the holidays and are staying on for the opening. The hotel is a madhouse, and if you think for a minute that you can get into the dining room, you’re crazy.” She led the way through the revolving door into the lobby. “See what I mean? It’s not yet twelve-thirty and already there’s a long line of people waiting for tables.” She sighed. “My lunch hour ends at one. That’s when Ruth Benson goes out for a snack.” “Ruth Benson?” Jean repeated. “You lucky, lucky girl. So our darling assistant superintendent is your boss?” Vicki nodded. “I’ll tell you all about my job later. But now let’s try to get some food. There’s only one place in the Loop where we have a chance, and that’s in the employees’ dining room, down below the street level.” They pushed their way across the crowded lobby to a short flight of stairs in the rear. “Of course,” Vicki continued, “the chef may throw a lemon meringue pie at us if he’s in one of his black moods. But if no one has ruffled his feathers today, he’ll beam and might even let us have something to eat.” “I don’t believe it.” Jean Cox planted her feet 4

firmly on the top step of the carpeted stairway. “Maurice Pasquale is as famous for his hot temper as he is for his hot sauces. If we invade his domain, he won’t throw something soft and fluffy at us. He’ll yank a stove out of its moorings and bop us over the head with it.” Vicki shrugged. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Anything is better than dying of starvation.” “True,” Jean agreed, taking one tentative step down. “Besides,” Vicki went on cheerfully, “the chef and I are pals—or we were last evening. They say you never can tell about Pasquale. But one person he consistently admires and worships is Chalice Dawn. My cubbyhole is right next to her lavish suite. Pasquale himself supervised the supper party she gave there last night. We met in the corridor. He’s as tall and handsome as Dad, you know, and in evening clothes, with his tall white hat, he looked so much like Dad when he dresses up for a gala night at the Gourmet and Skillet Club that I spoke to him without thinking. “ ‘Yummy-yum,’ I said, pointing to a huge soup tureen one of his flunkies was wheeling in his wake. ‘I’ll bet that’s Potage à la Reine. I can smell the cinnamon, mace, and cloves.’ “ ‘Madame,’ he said, drawing himself up to his full height of six feet ten in his cap, ‘it is Potage à la 5

Reine. But how could you possibly have known?’ “ ‘My father,’ I explained. ‘He’s a professor of economics, but he’s also an amateur chef. He won a prize once with his Meg Merrilies’ soup. I remember the recipe included a hare, a grouse, onions, carrot, turnip, sweet herbs, and—’ “ ‘Meg Merrilies,’ he interrupted excitedly. ‘Quick, young woman, the recipe. I lost mine years ago and it’s been driving me crazy ever since!’ ” Vicki laughed. “Honestly, Jean, he looked crazy. I backed away from him mumbling, ‘All I know is that Dad made meat balls of the hare and grouse livers, which he seasoned with salt, pepper, and lemon juice.’ “ ‘Ah,’ he cried, embracing me as though I were his long-lost daughter. ‘My child, it was the lemon juice I forgot. How can I ever thank you? I shall be indebted to you for life.’ ” By this time Jean was laughing so hard she collapsed halfway down the steps. “I suppose one teaspoon of lemon juice makes all the difference.” “Evidently,” Vicki said. “Let’s hope that right now it means the difference between food and starvation. In any other hotel I wouldn’t dare invade the employees’ domain, but the Hartwood is, as I told you, a madhouse. No matter what I did I could never be as eccentric as most of the guests.” “It’s the eccentric chef I’m worried about,” Jean 6

said. But when they timidly stood on the threshold of the huge kitchen, Pasquale quickly threaded his way through the worktables to greet Vicki warmly. She introduced him to Jean, and two minutes later he was ushering them into the cheerful employees’ dining room. The tables were empty except for one at which was seated a middle-aged woman whom Vicki knew was Mrs. Moser, the stern-faced housekeeper. She acknowledged Vicki’s introduction of Jean with a cool nod, and frowned with disapproval when, at Pasquale’s direction, two assistant chefs set a bowl of salad and a platter of sandwiches in front of the two girls. “Mr. Pasquale, this is most unorthodox. Miss Barr is a guest, Room 507. I am afraid I shall have to report this.” Patting her neatly coiffured white hair, she swept out. “Oh, dear,” Vicki moaned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pasquale. I should have had better sense than to ask a favor which will get you into trouble with the manager.” “Trouble?” The tall, distinguished-looking chef snapped his fingers arrogantly. He spoke several languages fluently and English without the trace of an accent. In quick phrases he described Mrs. Moser in French, Italian, Spanish, and finally in English. Then he went on to give his opinion of the manager. 7

“If that rabbity Mr. Oriole can have unlimited guests in the upstairs dining room, why shouldn’t I, who have made the Hartwood famous, have guests down here?” He took off his cap and threw it on the floor. “If he so much as speaks to me today, I’ll quit.” He retrieved his cap and stalked out. “Temperament, temperament,” Jean chanted. “If Pasquale quit, the owner of this house would fire Mr. Oriole so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him. I’m certainly glad you’re chummy with the people who count. Now tell me why and since when were you grounded?” “I owe it all to Ruth Benson,” Vicki said. “I asked for a job near home, and since she needed someone to screen would-be stewardesses before she herself interviews those most likely to succeed, here I am. I started four days ago, arriving here Sunday evening. I have week ends off, which means I can spend them at home.” Jean grinned. “I hope you’re kind to the applicants, poor lambs! Do you remember, Vicki, that day we met on the plane and discovered we were both en route to the same stewardess training school? And how scared we were?” “I remember only too well,” Vicki said. “It breaks my heart when I have to tell so many of the girls who come to the recruiting office that they just aren’t stewardess material. Now, you tell me about 8

the gang, Jean. Celia, Charmion, Dot, and Tessa. I haven’t been in our New York apartment for so long!” “Everybody’s fine,” Jean said. “Our rolypoly housekeeper adored the Aloha shirt you sent her from Honolulu. It makes Mrs. Duff look more like one of the Seven Dwarfs than ever.” She added wistfully, “I don’t suppose there’s time for you to tell me about your adventures in Hawaii and Alaska?” “Not now,” Vicki said. “I’ve got to dash.” She took from her handbag an old-fashioned key which was attached to a large room tag. “Take this, Jean, so you can use my room whenever you stop over between flights. Week ends, it’ll be yours, all yours. If you ever find you can spend a night when I’m here, I’m sure Mr. Oriole would put a cot in my room and then we could have a good, long chat.” Jean gratefully pocketed the key. “Are you sure you can get a duplicate right away?” “Of course,” Vicki said as they started up to the main floor. “All hotels have several duplicates. Guests are forever checking out and forgetting to leave their keys at the desk, you know. When I ask for a duplicate I’ll tell Mr. Oriole I gave you mine, so you can wander in and out whenever you feel you’ll be more comfortable here than at the airport lounge.” 9

“I’m not so sure he’s going to be happy about the whole thing,” Jean said doubtfully. “Why not?” Vicki demanded. “The room, which, by the way, has no phone, really belongs to Chalice Dawn. She has a permanent lease on Suite 507-511, although she rarely spends more than a few weeks in Chicago. My cubbyhole, Number 507, is really her maid’s room, and my bathroom opens into her dressing room. But Miss Dawn’s maid, Dolly, is a Chicago girl and sleeps at home when they’re here. There was some mix-up about the reservation Ruth Benson made for me last week. When I arrived Sunday evening, there wasn’t a vacancy in the house. Mr. Oriole was very much embarrassed, and the only solution was for him to ask Miss Dawn if she would let him lock off Room 507 temporarily. She very sweetly agreed when she heard that I was a stranded young flight stewardess, and even had Dolly fill my room with flowers. I tell you, Jean, she isn’t called America’s Most Beloved Actress for nothing. She’s an angel, and I don’t mean a financial angel who backs plays. Before the room was locked off, while things were being changed around, she invited me into her boudoir, and we had a lovely chat. I mean, she did most of the talking. She was wearing a filmy negligee, with her long black hair flowing about her slim shoulders, and in the rosy light from her dressing-table lamps she looked so 10

lovely I just stood there gaping.” “Dope!” Jean said in disgust. “My kid sister and yours would have stuck an eyebrow pencil in her hand and made her autograph a piece of face tissue.” Vicki laughed. “Ginny Barr would certainly have begged for a sample of something as a souvenir. And Miss Dawn is so generous she probably would have given her a whole bottle of perfume. There were at least a hundred of them on that glass-topped dressing table, or maybe it only seemed that way because all four of the walls of the room are fulllength mirrors.” “Makes me dizzy to think of it,” Jean said. “Well, back to work for both of us. Good-bye, sweetie. Hope I see you soon.” “Maybe your flight will be canceled,” Vicki said, staring through the revolving door. “It’s snowing.” Then she hurried across the lobby to the recruiting office, entering through the door to Miss Benson’s office which adjoined hers. “Prompt as usual,” Vicki’s attractive boss greeted her. “Our vague but charming manager invited me to lunch, and was I glad! Not having galoshes, I didn’t want to go out in this baby blizzard. I’ll be back in half an hour or so. There are only two girls in the waiting room. They arrived right after you left at noon. Thank goodness no more are scheduled to arrive until three o’clock.” She sighed wearily. “One 11

of the applicants—Rachel Jones—is a hopeless case. In her efforts to camouflage her unattractiveness, she has used too much pancake make-up, lipstick, and nail polish. While she was filling in her application blank she chewed gum frantically.” “To hide her nervousness, I suppose,” Vicki said. “Poor kid.” Ruth Benson nodded sympathetically. “If only someone would warn them before they turn up here all wrong. The other girl, Linda Murray, is a definite possibility. Her long, pointed fingernails are against her, but they were unvarnished, and except for a bit of pale-rose lipstick, she’s wearing no make-up. She’s really quite beautiful, Vicki. She has shoulderlength platinum-blond hair, too long for a stewardess, of course, but she’s dressed in excellent taste. I thought her brown tweed suit accentuated, without attracting undue attention to her lovely figure. She may be too tall. Struck me as being nearer five feet nine than five feet seven, but she’s so slim I’d say she weighs less than the maximum hundred and thirty pounds.” “Poise?” Vicki asked. “It seems to me that not one girl I’ve seen today knew how to sit quietly when I asked her questions.” “Well, yes and no,” Miss Benson said. “She was terribly nervous when she came in. Her hands were shaking when I gave her an application blank. But 12

she moves gracefully and has a pleasing wellmodulated voice. Nervousness before an interview is no real indication of lack of poise, you know.” “I should know,” Vicki said with a grin. “I was so nervous before you interviewed me in Fairview I almost went home.” “I’m glad you didn’t.” Ruth Benson opened the door to the lobby and was swallowed up almost immediately by the crowd. Vicki fixed the door so that it would lock when she closed it, and went on into her own office to hang up her coat and cap. Then she opened the door to the reception room. One glance told her which of the two girls was Miss Hopeless Case. The lovely blonde was busy filling in the blanks on her application form. Miss Jones, wearing a dress that would have been much more suitable for a night-club hostess than a would-be stewardess, jumped to her feet. “I’m next,” she said arrogantly. “Come in, Miss Jones.” Vicki suppressed the desire to terminate the interview then and there. “Okey-dokey.” Miss Jones flounced into Vicki’s office and deposited her plump body in the most comfortable chair. Her eyes flicked across the pictures on the wall—a flagship, a group, Vicki’s own graduating class—and came to rest on the portrait of a charming stewardess. “Gee,” she said, chewing vigorously, “am I ever 13

gonna look cute in uniform.” “I was wondering, Miss Jones,” Vicki began tactfully, “if perhaps you wouldn’t be more interested in a clerical job with Federal. Under the Record of Business Experience on your application form, you state that you have worked as bookkeeper in one of Chicago’s leading firms ever since your graduation from business college.” On and on went Vicki’s voice, smoothly consoling, but firm. “Stewardesses are fundamentally public relation officers. The requirements are exacting . . . Personality characteristics . . .” At last it was over, and to Vicki’s surprise, the interview which finally ended happily, had only lasted ten minutes. She ushered Miss Jones out to the lobby through Miss Benson’s office. Now for the blond girl who apparently had so many of the necessary qualifications. When Vicki opened the door to the reception room she saw that Linda Murray had slipped on her short fur coat and was just about to leave. “Oh, dear,” Vicki thought. “She’s suffering from cold feet. Poor kid, I know just how she feels.” Quickly she hurried over to her. “Please wait, Miss Murray.” The girl, her hand on the doorknob, stared at her blankly. She had crumpled her application blank into a ball and had tossed it into the wastebasket. 14

Evidence, Vicki thought, of the despair that results from the agony and suspense of waiting. Vicki snatched up the form and smoothed out the wrinkles. “Don’t go, Miss Murray,” she said with an encouraging smile. The girl looked pale and bewildered. “If she arrived at noon,” Vicki reflected, “she probably hasn’t had lunch. But if I let her go and tell her to come back at three, she won’t. I can tell. Miss Benson would have a fit if I let this lovely girl slip through my fingers.” Impulsively Vicki put her hand on the sleeve of the girl’s coat. “Please don’t go. Come into my office, Miss Murray. It’ll only take a few minutes.” “Murray,” the girl repeated, her huge blue eyes round with surprise. “Why do you call me Miss Murray?” “Because it’s your name. It’s written right here on the form. Linda Murray.” The girl shook her head. “I never heard of Linda Murray.” Vicki suppressed a little gasp. “Well, then, who are you?” “I don’t know,” the girl said vacantly. She passed one slim hand across her forehead, pushing back the platinum-blond hair as though she were trying to clear her mind. “I don’t know. I seem to have forgotten who I am.” 15

CHAPTER II

A Mysterious Disappearance

This time Vicki could not help gasping aloud with amazement. Desperately she scrabbled through her mind, trying to remember what she had learned in hygiene and first-aid classes about amnesia victims. Then she quickly recovered her poise. Gently but firmly she led the girl to a chair and made her sit down. “You must be Linda Murray,” she said quietly. “Try and think. Don’t you remember coming here to the recruiting office of Federal Airlines?” The girl’s blue eyes brightened a little. “Yes, I do remember that,” she said. “At least I remember being in a taxi accident and bumping my head. I didn’t pay much attention to it because I was so anxious to get a job as a stewardess.” She smiled wanly. “But I don’t remember anything that happened before the accident. I don’t know how I got here. And—oh, it’s awful, I don’t know who I am!” 16

“You’re probably suffering from a slight concussion,” Vicki said soothingly. “Nothing that a week or so in bed won’t cure. But I’m going to call the hotel doctor now and ask him to take a look at you.” “No, no,” Linda Murray cried. “If a strange doctor comes near me I’ll scream. I want to go home. Let me go.” She jumped up, but Vicki gently forced her back again. “If you can’t remember your name,” she pointed out, “you probably don’t know your address. But don’t worry. It’s written here quite plainly. See, one forty-nine Hungerford Street?” “All right,” Linda said. “Then let me go.” “I can’t let you go alone,” Vicki said. “You might get dizzy or even faint. I’ll telephone your parents.” She glanced down at the application blank again. “Oh, I see that you’ve written in the space after IN CASE OF ACCIDENT NOTIFY: your aunt, Mrs. Charlotte Dorn, who lives at the Lakeview Apartment House. Shall I telephone and ask her to come and get you?” “Oh, no, no!” Linda tried again to struggle to her feet. “I never heard of Charlotte Dorn.” She clutched at her wavy blond hair with slim, nervous fingers. “Please stop asking me questions. It makes my head ache so! Just let me alone. Let me go away.” “I can’t let you go off by yourself,” Vicki 17

repeated in a sterner voice. “You might forget your address the minute you left this room. And then you might wander around the Loop for hours, even days, in a daze.” “Why should you worry if I do?” Linda demanded, and her usually well-modulated voice was shrill. “Who are you, anyway, and why are you so interested in finding out where I live?” Vicki sighed. She didn’t know much about amnesia but imagined that one of the symptoms might well be hysteria in a mild form. “I’m Vicki Barr, assistant stewardess selector,” she said patiently. “And I’m only interested in finding out where you live for your sake. I don’t know where Hungerford Street is. I’m not a Chicagoan, and it’s an enormous city. Maybe you live just around the corner. Then again, maybe Hungerford Street is on the North Side. Wherever it is, I can’t let you go there by yourself when you don’t even know your own name.” Linda’s lower lip began to tremble and Vicki added quickly, in a gentler voice, “If you don’t want me to take you home, I’ll notify the police. The Bureau of Missing Persons will find out who you are and all about you in a few hours.” Linda burst into tears and buried her face in a large white handkerchief. “Please forgive me for being rude. I do want you to take me home. It’s just 18

that I’m so confused and frightened.” “Don’t cry,” Vicki said sympathetically. “Everything’s going to be all right.” She dashed into her office, hastily donned her cap and coat, and grabbed her handbag from a drawer in her desk. Vicki was out of the reception room only a few seconds, but in that short time, Linda had leaped from her chair, crossed to the door, and had her hand on the knob. She looked so poised for flight that Vicki stared at her in amazement. Then she quickly smiled and hurried over to slip her hand through Linda’s arm. “I guess we’re all set now,” she said in an encouraging tone of voice. “Just let me fix the automatic lock on the door. Oh!” she added worriedly. “I forgot. It’s snowing out. Haven’t you a scarf or something you can tie around your lovely hair?” Linda merely narrowed her blue eyes and said suspiciously, “Can you just walk out on your job like this without getting permission from someone?” Vicki laughed. “For a girl who doesn’t know her own name, you make a lot of sense. But as a matter of fact, my boss, who is lunching in the dining room, will be back any minute. When she finds my office empty, she’ll simply think that I’ve gone upstairs to my room on the fifth floor to freshen up a bit before the next batch of applicants arrives at three.” 19

Linda shrugged away from Vicki and took from the pocket of her coat a baby-blue cashmere scarf which she tied around her long blond hair. “Frankly, you baffle me,” she said in a strangely harsh voice. “It seems to me that you ought to be more worried about your career than about me, a perfect stranger. I don’t want to be the cause of your getting fired. I’d feel a lot better if you went back and left a note on your desk.” “Don’t you worry about me and my job,” Vicki said soothingly. “Getting you home safely is all that matters. Even if I don’t get back by three my boss will understand when I tell her why I had to leave.” With her hand firmly tucked in the crook of Linda’s elbow, Vicki started across the lobby. “Keep as close to me as you can,” she murmured. “I don’t want to lose you in this milling crowd.” She laughed lightly, hoping to relieve some of Linda’s tension. “Not that you wouldn’t be easy to find. You’re so tall and striking looking.” But the compliment only served to increase Linda’s tense, nervous attitude. When they reached the revolving door, she tried to pull away from Vicki. “We can’t both squeeze into one compartment.” Her voice was so harsh that Vicki almost jumped. “Oh, yes, we can,” she said cheerfully. Although Vicki reminded people of a Dresden figurine, she 20

was strong and wiry. And she was determined to take no chance on losing Linda in the crowd. After a slight struggle they left the hotel in the same compartment. Outside on the street they were pelted by big snowflakes, and pushed by both the incoming and outgoing luncheon crowd. It took all of Vicki’s strength to keep her grip on Linda’s arm. Striding toward the hotel awning was the beautiful actress, Chalice Dawn. Her lovely face was upturned to the snowflakes, and one hand was on the collar of her huge black-and-white Russian wolfhound. Ivan, who was almost as famous as his mistress, looked rather bored and blasé, Vicki thought. Still hoping that light chatter might help Linda to relax, Vicki whispered: “That’s Chalice Dawn. Isn’t she bee-you-tee-ful? I guess all blondes like you and I can’t help envying such vivid brunettes.” As she talked, she tried in vain to catch sight of an empty cab. “Underneath that ermine scarf she has blueblack hair, even darker than her eyes. But maybe I’m not telling you something you don’t already know. Maybe you’ve been lucky enough to see her on the stage, Linda.” But Linda wasn’t listening. She was determinedly pushing her way in the opposite direction, dragging Vicki along. Caught off balance, Vicki almost fell on the slippery sidewalk. 21

“OOPS!” she cried good-naturedly, and then she saw that a cab had drawn up to the curb a yard or so ahead of them. “What sharp eyes you have, Linda,” she said with genuine admiration. “Cabs are hard to get in snowstorms, and I was so busy admiring Chalice Dawn I would have missed that one.” Before the former occupants had finished paying their fare, she and Linda had climbed into the back seat. “One forty-nine Hungerford Street,” Vicki told the driver breathlessly. Instead of shifting into gear and pulling away from the curb, the driver turned around to face them with a surprised look on his face. “You sure of that address, miss? That’s part of Skid Row. Nothing but bums and flophouses. No place for nice young ladies like you.” “Nevertheless,” Vicki said wearily, “that’s where we want to go.” The driver shrugged and started off. “Couple of social workers, huh?” Vicki did not bother to reply. She knew that in run-down, once-fashionable sections of any big city one old family mansion often survived. Linda might be living with some elderly relatives who had refused to leave their childhood home. Linda sat stiffly, far off in her corner, as the cab’s tire chains clanked through the snow. Shortly after they crossed the bridge that spans the Chicago 22

River, the cab stopped in front of an old building that was sandwiched between night clubs, bleaklooking in the daytime. “Here you are,” the driver said. Vicki hesitated. It certainly was not a nice neighborhood. And No. 149 was obviously a lowclass boardinghouse of the lowest type. Puzzled, she stared at Linda who was gazing vacantly out the window. “I can’t believe you live in that building,” Vicki said, “but just to be sure we aren’t overlooking any clues, we’d better have a look at the name cards in the vestibule.” To the driver she said, “Will you wait, please?” Reluctantly, Linda followed Vicki out of the cab. “This is a horrible neighborhood,” she said with a shudder of disgust. “It frightens me.” Vicki grinned. “It doesn’t frighten me at all. Right there on the corner is a Salvation Army captain. There goes the drum now.” She slipped her hand through Linda’s arm and together they entered the musty-smelling vestibule. There was only one greasy card on the wall above the bell and it bore the word janitor. Not knowing what else to do, Vicki touched her gloved finger to the bell. After repeated jabbings, a slatternly woman appeared. She was wearing a soiled apron over her 23

dingy dress and was clutching a grayish black sweater around her fat shoulders. “What do you want?” she demanded sourly. “I’m sorry to bother you, Vicki said meekly, but with her most winning smile. “Do you know this young lady, Miss Linda Murray?” The woman glared. “Never saw her before and hope I never see either of you again!” With that she slammed the door. “Well, that’s that,” Vicki said, hoping her voice sounded more cheerful than she felt. “I don’t know why you wrote this address on the application blank, and I guess the wisest thing to do is to drive straight to the nearest police station.” “No, no!” Linda burst into tears, groping vainly in her pockets for a handkerchief. “I feel so miserable, so queer, I couldn’t talk to a policeman.” “Please don’t cry,” Vicki begged, although she felt so discouraged she was very near to tears herself. She forced herself to chuckle. “You’ll only make your eyes and nose so red nobody, not even your own mother, will recognize you when the police find out who you are.” “I c-can’t help it,” Linda sobbed. “And I haven’t even got a handkerchief to cry into.” “I’ll lend you one of mine.” Vicki slipped her arm out of Linda’s to open her pocketbook. As her cold, gloved fingers tugged at the zipper, Linda darted out 24

of the vestibule and into the snowy street. Vicki was so stunned for a moment she could only stare through the smudged glass panel of the door. Then she yanked open the door and hurried out to the street. There was no sign of the tall, blond girl. And the footprints she must have left behind had already been blotted out by the big, cottony snowflakes.

25

CHAPTER III

A Hopeless Search

Vicki hurried to the waiting cab, hoping against hope that she would find Linda inside. But the cab was empty except for the driver. “Did you see my friend, Miss Murray?” Vicki asked. “She left the building just before I did.” “Didn’t see nobody,” the driver said. “Been too busy cleaning my windshield. Where to now, miss?” Vicki climbed dispiritedly into the back. “Cruise down the street on this side,” she said. “Then cruise back on the other side. She couldn’t have gone far in such a short time.” “Couldn’t have gone far,” the driver agreed, “but she could have ducked into a dozen doorways. If you want to find her, you’d better hoof it. With the snow falling the way it is, you can hardly see your hand in front of your face, let alone the inside of a doorway from a cab window.” He added suspiciously: “What’s the pitch, anyway? Why’d she run away from you? Visiting nurse, ain’t you? Was 26

your patient a little wacky?” “No,” Vicki said with a sigh, wishing she had notified the Hartwood’s doctor the minute she realized Linda was suffering from amnesia. “I’m not a visiting nurse. This is a flight stewardess’ uniform I’m wearing. But Miss Murray, was, in a way, a patient. She was in an accident recently, and isn’t quite herself.” She leaned forward, frowning with anxiety. “Do you think if I, as you say, hoof it, I’d have a chance of finding her on this street?” The idea of investigating the dark, dusky doorways, some of which were so uninviting, didn’t appeal to Vicki at all. From far off a clock boomed twice above the sound of the Salvation Army cornet and drum. Two o’clock! It would take an hour to peek into every doorway on the street, and she should be back at her desk, composed and well-groomed, before three. “Since you asked me,” the cab driver was saying as they cruised down the street, “I’ll tell you. It’d be as easy as finding a cotton broker in the Wheat Pit. What’s more, this storm is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. When you get ready to call it quits, you won’t find a cab, not until the neon lights get lit. Between now and then, lady, this street ain’t no place for you to be.” “I guess you’re right,” Vicki said forlornly. The driver turned and started back up the street 27

toward the bridge. “Say, wait a minute,” he said, suddenly stopping. “Maybe your friend went into Ventura’s over there for a cup of coffee. It’s right next door to where we stopped the first time.” Vicki stared through the swirling snowflakes at the green-and-orange-striped awning. “But that’s a night club, isn’t it?” “Sure is,” the driver replied. “But there’s always someone there from noon on. Ventura himself lives upstairs and comes down for breakfast about now. If your friend looks as sick as you say she is, he’d give her a cup of Java. And who knows? She might have gone in there and fainted.” “I doubt it,” Vicki said, climbing out of the cab. “But it’s worth a try. Please wait. It won’t take long for me to look around quickly.” “I’ll do better than wait,” the driver said, pushing down his flag. “You stay here and I’ll go in and have a look-see. Ladies aren’t allowed in there without escorts.” “Then,” Vicki objected, “what makes you think I’ll find Miss Murray there?” “Like I told you,” he replied, a little impatiently. “If she looked sick, Bruno Ventura wouldn’t turn her out into the cold. But you don’t look sick. You look healthy. Besides,” he added with a grin, “I could use a cup of hot java.” “I could, too,” Vicki admitted, smiling. “My 28

hands are numb. You be my escort and I’ll treat.” “No need for anybody to treat,” he said as they walked under the awning toward the door. “It’ll be on the house. I bring Bruno lots of good spenders I pick up after the theater. They think they want to go slumming, but I know better. They want to go some place in the slums, all right, but where the service is good and the food and drinks better.” He opened the door and Vicki moved hesitantly inside. It was an attractive place in a garish sort of way. The tables which surrounded the small dance floor in the rear were stacked, one on top of the other, and the booths in the front part of the restaurant looked empty. Seated behind the cash register near the entrance was a dowdy-looking young woman who was looping a pair of thick-rimmed glasses around her ears. Her blond hair was pulled severely away from her face into an unbecoming and untidy bun in the back. She was wearing a rusty-black smock with a high neckline which gave her a prim look. Her face was turned away from the entrance, so Vicki caught only a glimpse of her profile, but she couldn’t help thinking: “If that girl applied for a job as a stewardess, we’d have to turn her down. And yet, if she knew anything about make-up and how to dress becomingly, she’d be very pretty. It’s a shame! I can’t imagine anything more dreary than working as a cashier in this place.” 29

“Hi, Letty! How come you’re here so early?” The girl ignored the cab driver’s greeting and buried her face in a large bookkeeping ledger. But she did acknowledge his presence by slapping the bell beside the ledger. Vicki couldn’t help wondering why the girl was so sullen and angry, and, at the same time, with another part of her mind she noticed the homely cashier had lovely, although rather large hands. For, although the girl seemed to be absorbed in the ledger, her hands were busily engaged in tucking the loose strands of her hair into her bun. “At least she knows she looks untidy,” Vicki reflected, and then turned as someone in the rear of the restaurant called out cheerily: “Hello, Jack. What brings you here at this time of day?” Before the cab driver could reply, Vicki said, “We’re looking for a friend of mine who suddenly disappeared about ten minutes ago. She has platinum-blond hair. Did she come in here by any chance?” The man, who was in shirt sleeves, joined them and shook hands with the cab driver who introduced him to Vicki with: “I don’t know your name, miss, but this is Bruno Ventura.” 30

Mr. Ventura inclined his head slightly and Vicki sensed that he felt she had no right to be there. Her cheeks which had been so cold only a minute ago, now flamed hotly. “I’m looking for a friend of mine,” she repeated, forcing herself to smile. “I’m sorry to be a nuisance, but we thought she might have come in here.” He stared at her expressionlessly, and, in order to hide her embarrassment, Vicki went on talking. “She’s tall and very blond. Her hair, well, it’s just about the same color as your cashier’s, and—” He interrupted then, shaking his head. “We don’t have customers at this time of the day, and certainly not lady customers.” Vicki bit her lip. “Do you mind if I look into all of the booths? I mean, the ones I can’t see from here. She might have slipped in without anyone noticing, and she wasn’t feeling well.” For answer, Bruno said over one shoulder to the cashier, “You’ve been on duty since noon, Letty. Did the little lady’s friend come in here?” The homely cashier, without raising her head from the ledger, pursed her lips disapprovingly. “If she’d come in here, I’d have sent her right out again,” she said in a husky voice. “I know the rules, Mr. Ventura. No ladies without escorts.” “What’s the matter with your voice, Letty?” Jack broke in. “Got a cold or something?” Again she 31

ignored him and he turned to Ventura. “All right, all right, we’ll take your word for it. The lady didn’t come in here. But, listen, Bruno. Can’t your cook rustle up a couple cups of Java for us? As soon as we’ve thawed out, we’ll be on our way.” “I’ll wait on you myself,” Ventura said with a colorless smile. “It’ll be a pleasure, Jack.” When he had gone, Vicki and the cab driver seated themselves in a booth. “He likes you,” Vicki whispered, “but he can’t stand the sight of me. And he’s just the opposite of my idea of what a nightclub owner looks like. I always thought they had slick black hair and looked like ex-prize fighters. You know, with broad shoulders and big, cheerful grins.” Jack laughed. “Bruno’s a gent and he’s got brains. This joint is just a side line, I guess. He’s rolling in dough, and he don’t get it from here. It ain’t big enough to much more than cover the overhead.” Ventura came back then with two cups of coffee and Vicki stared at him curiously out of the corner of one eye. He had slipped on a coat, but the padded shoulders and expert tailoring only made him, in her opinion, look more nondescript. Even his smile, the way he walked and used his hands were stereotyped. It was almost as though he tried to look and act like everybody and nobody. “I wonder why,” Vicki thought, hurriedly gulping 32

down her coffee. “You’d think in his business he’d deliberately develop characteristics that would make him stand out. Although, in a way, the garish furnishings of his restaurant do make him stand out. His personal quiet good taste is so different.” Then, as her worry about Linda’s whereabouts crowded all other thoughts from her mind, Vicki forgot about Bruno Ventura. As they climbed back into his cab, Jack said, “Where to now, miss?” “The police station, I guess,” Vicki said. “In this precinct?” he asked. “No,” she said. “The one that’s nearest the Hartwood.” She settled back against the cushions, trying hard to relax. “If I’d only notified the police in the first place,” she thought ruefully. “Now the poor child, sick both mentally and physically, is wandering around alone in this snowstorm.” Twenty minutes later she was being ushered into the starkly furnished office of Police Captain Bevin. He bowed Vicki into a chair on the other side of his big desk. “In the first place, Miss Barr,” he said in a kind voice, “we don’t consider an adult as a missing person until he or she has been missing for twentyfour hours. On the other hand, if a person has been missing for thirty days we send all the records to the FBI, just in case the person was kidnaped. One more 33

thing. We never stop searching for a missing person until he is found, or his death can definitely be proved.” Then he began asking her questions as he filled in a form with all the information she could give him. As Vicki replied she was very conscious of the fact that this was an old, old story to this fatherlylooking police captain. His tone of voice filled her with confidence, but she knew he was thinking: “There are dozens of young women in this big city who look enough like your description of Linda Murray to be her twin.” Patiently he kept on asking question after question. Vicki tried hard to be specific as she told him what she thought Linda’s age was; her height and weight; the color of her eyes and complexion; the description of the clothing she was wearing. No, she hadn’t noticed any birthmarks or deformities. No, the girl wasn’t wearing any jewelry. Vicki could only be absolutely specific when she described Linda’s hair. “It was so strikingly platinum,” she had said in the beginning, and it was only then that she had seen something flicker in the captain’s eyes that had made her think for a moment that he did not consider this a run-of-the-mill missing persons case. When she had supplied him with all the information she could give him, he said, “I’ll have to 34

have that application blank she filled out in your recruiting office, Miss Barr. I’ll send for it this afternoon. In what hotel did you say your offices are located?” “I don’t think I mentioned the name,” Vicki said. “I guess I’ve told the whole story very badly. I’m so upset. It’s the Hartwood, and I have a room there, so you can send for the form any time that’s convenient. My room number is 507.” She stopped suddenly, her lips parted with surprise. At the word Hartwood, the captain’s whole expression had changed. He was now sitting very straight in his chair, his eyes alert. But he said nothing, so Vicki got up to go. “There was something else,” she mumbled shyly. “It probably isn’t important.” “Everything is important,” he said crisply. “What is the something you haven’t told me?” “I can’t quite put my finger on it,” Vicki told him. “She was wearing becoming clothes, and they were in good taste, but there was something wrong. I’m sorry,” she finished hopelessly. “I can’t quite express what I mean. It was something I think I felt more than saw.” He suppressed a sigh with a laugh. “You have expressed yourself very well, Miss Barr. And it’s why we consider the women detectives on the force so valuable. They sense things that men miss 35

completely. Will you try very hard to remember what that something wrong was, Miss Barr?” Vicki nodded, but deep down inside her she felt sure that if she could not remember it now, she never would. It was after three when she re-entered the lobby of the hotel, and she was glad that the military cut of her smartly tailored coat hid the drooping of her slim shoulders. She was not worried for fear her boss would scold her for being late. Ruth would understand and sympathize as soon as Vicki explained. Right now, Vicki didn’t want to discuss the matter with anyone. How miserably she had failed in her mission to protect Linda Murray from herself!

36

CHAPTER IV

Vicki Is Baffled

“For goodness sake, Vicki,” Ruth Benson cried rather impatiently on Friday afternoon. “Where’s your suitcase? Haven’t you even packed yet? You’ll miss your train to Fairview!” “I haven’t any packing to do,” Vicki said. “I left a complete week-end wardrobe at home, including cosmetics and a toothbrush. Mother said there was no sense in my carrying things back and forth.” “Well, get going then,” Ruth said, giving Vicki a little push. “Forget about the Linda Murray case and have a pleasant two days with your family.” “But I can’t forget,” Vicki wailed. “I feel so responsible. I should never have taken her out of our suite here. I could—and probably should have— notified the manager, who—” “Don’t be silly,” Ruth interrupted. “Mr. Oriole is a charming gentleman, but when it comes to being businesslike, he’s about as ineffectual as a 37

chipmunk. In fact,” she added, smiling, “he looks like a chipmunk. If you’d told him you had an amnesia victim on your hands, I’m sure he’d have done nothing but stare at his immaculate gray spats and say ‘How charming, my dear.’ ” Vicki’s tense lips relaxed into a fleeting smile. “I know, but I—” “You did just what any other normal, kindhearted person would have done,” Vicki’s boss interrupted. “You tried to return the child to her family. When she broke away from you yesterday, you came right back here and notified the police. They have a complete description of her, plus the application blank she filled out. Just because they don’t consider an adult as missing until twenty-four hours after said adult’s so-called disappearance, doesn’t mean that your week end should be ruined. The police know what they’re doing, Vic,” she continued earnestly. “And I agree with them. You were the victim, not Linda. The girl was obviously fulfilling the initiation requirements of some college sorority. Or trying to win a prize according to the rules of a radio program like ‘People Are Funny.’ She probably has forgotten you by now. Why can’t you forget her?” Vicki laughed hollowly. “I have forgotten her, Ruth. I never even heard of such a person.” But all during the two-hour train trip to Fairview she kept thinking of the lovely platinum blonde, and 38

her strange behavior. For Vicki was not at all convinced that Linda’s amnesia had been part of a hoax. The girl had been so convincingly uneasy and unhappy part of the time they spent together, and then, irrelevantly—or, perhaps, irrationally—had displayed so much common sense. “For instance,” Vicki reasoned to herself, “Linda was genuinely worried for fear my job was being jeopardized when I insisted upon taking her to what I thought was her home. A normal person in the same predicament would have been completely selfish. Anybody pretending amnesia wouldn’t have allowed the joke to go as far as it did. It ceased to be funny when we left the suite together. Even Ginny, harum-scarum as she is, would have broken down at that point and confessed that it was all a hoax.” The local train to Vicki’s home town consisted of a small engine with a shrill whistle, a milk car, and two rattling coaches. The ancient conductor, Mr. Stark, stopped by Vicki’s seat to gossip, and by the time they reached Fairview, she felt better. After all, it wasn’t her worry. If Linda was really a missing person, her family, through the police, would have located her by now. Vicki’s own family, including Freckles, the Bans’ brown-and-white cocker spaniel, were waiting for her at the Fairview station. Vicki hopped down to the platform and tried to hug and kiss them all at 39

once. In the ensuing scramble Mrs. Barr’s short curls were hopelessly mussed, Ginny lost her pigtail bows, and Professor Barr lost his dignity. “Good heavens, Victoria,” he cried, pretending to be very severe. “Why such exuberant greetings? You left us only five days ago.” “Oh, I don’t know, Dad,” Vicki said, giving the tall, blond professor an extra hug. “It’s just so wonderful to have a family like you Barrs. All the while I was breathing the Toonerville Trolley’s smoke and cinders, I was thinking how awful it would be not to have a family—not to have anyone who cared about you.” “Pooh,” Ginny said, carefully extricating one of her hair ribbons from between Freckles’ jaws. “Everyone has a family, Vic. You can’t be born unless you have a family to start with.” They all piled into the car, and as Professor Barr drove out to the edge of town, Vicki said soberly to Ginny, “Everyone has a family to start with, honey, but—” She stopped, thinking against her will of Linda Murray. Suppose Linda had no parents, no relatives, no one who would notify the police that she was missing? Ginny was plump, but she had sharp elbows and she nudged Vicki with all her twelve-year-old might and main. “Let’s not talk about depressing subjects,” Ginny whispered loudly. “There’s a surprise party 40

waiting for you at home. All of your old high school crowd. Dickie and Lynn Brown, Tootsie Miller, the Kramers, Guy English—just everybody, Vic. And macaroni and cheese, gallons of it. Dad wanted to make something complicated he calls Chartreuse of Chicken and Macaroni instead, but Mother wouldn’t let him, so he made the punch instead. There’s gallons of that, too. Mostly lemon and lime flavors, which isn’t fattening, so I’m going to eat all the macaroni I want.” As Ginny rambled on, Linda Murray slowly faded from Vicki’s thoughts. Then she caught a glimpse of her home, The Castle, looming up on the hill. The bare branches of the trees were decked with snow, glistening faintly in the pale light of a crescent moon. The tower of the old house, silhouetted against the frosty stars in the sky, cast a shadow on the sloping red-tiled roof, changing its color to black except for the spots where snow still clung. All of the lights inside the house were on, and they gleamed through the high casement windows. Shadows moved back and forth across the French windows of the dining room, and Vicki knew that they were the shadows of her school chums, waiting to yell: “Surprise! Surprise!” when she came in the door. Vicki sighed contentedly. “You never could keep a secret,” she said fondly to Ginny. 41

Ginny stiffened. “I just thought,” she said with elaborate dignity, “that you’d want to do something about your hair and powder your nose. And at least try to make your eyes sparkle. You looked awful when you got off the train, Vic. So droopy.” She added in her sympathetic young voice, “Tonight, even if I’m asleep when you go to bed, wake me up, Vic, and tell me what’s bothering you. Promise?” “Promise,” Vicki said soberly. Although she was very tired when the last guest finally went home at midnight, Vicki kept her promise. Ginny woke up the minute she entered the blue room they shared. “Give, Big Sister,” she said, twisting the end of her braid into a curl. “Is it another mystery, Vic?” “It’s a mystery to me,” Vicki said. As she undressed, she told Ginny all she knew about Linda Murray. When she had finished, Ginny nodded soberly. “It’s a mystery all right,” she said. “But, Sis, I’m afraid it’s one mystery you’ll never solve. Did you really and truly try to get in touch with everyone whose name Linda wrote on her application blank?” Vicki turned off the light and climbed into the other twin bed. “I did,” she said wearily. “As soon as the police explained to me that they cannot consider an adult as missing until twenty-four hours after his or her disappearance.” 42

“Why not?” Ginny demanded. “Because,” Vicki replied, “searching for a missing person is an expensive business. Alarms are sent out by telephone, telegraph, teletype, and radio. Every hospital and even the morgues in a very large area are checked. Oh, ever so many police departments are kept busy day and night. And, in the case of grownups, they’ve found that the so-called missing person too often shows up sheepishly after twenty-four hours with the lame excuse that he simply forgot to notify his relatives of a change in his regular routine.” Ginny giggled. “For that he ought to be jailed.” Vicki nodded. “And, in the case of Linda, she isn’t really what you’d call a missing person, except from where I sit. And I’m a perfect stranger, not even a distant relative. But I do somehow feel responsible, Ginny, so before I turned that application blank over to the police last evening, I tried to get in touch with someone who might know who she really is.” She shook her head sadly. “The manager of the Lakeview Apartments said he’d never heard of a Miss Charlotte Dorn. And that surprised me. The name is so familiar. I was sure I’d read about her in the society pages of the Chicago newspapers. And the three character references Linda gave all sounded like well-known Chicagoans, too. They were listed as having 43

important jobs with stores like Marshall Field’s, Mandel’s, and Carson’s, but when I called the personnel department of those firms, no one had ever heard of Linda’s references.” “Weren’t there any other clues?” Ginny asked. “Yes,” Vicki told her, “but none that I could follow up. She gave one forty-nine Hungerford Street as her present address, and the Waldorf Astoria in New York as her permanent address. She also gave a lot of information under Education and Record of Business Experience which the police probably are checking now.” “Weren’t there any other clues?” Ginny repeated, her plump arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. “I mean, the kind you could check? Oh, Vic, it would be so much fun if for once I could help you solve a mystery!” “M-m-m,” Vicki said thoughtfully, staring through the window at the crescent moon. “There was something about her that was wrong. I sort of sensed it when she shrugged away from me to tie on her scarf, but couldn’t, and still can’t, put my finger on it. “What do you mean?” Ginny asked curiously. “I think it was very wrong of her to run away from you when you were trying so hard to help her.” “I don’t mean that kind of wrong,” Vicki said. “It had something to do with her clothes. And yet she 44

was becomingly dressed in very good taste. No jewelry and no make-up except for a little pale-rose lipstick. She was such a contrast to Miss Hopeless Case, who was all wrong from head to toe, and yet—” “I know,” Ginny interrupted, bouncing with excitement. “She wasn’t carrying a hanky. If she’d been Betty Barr’s daughter, she’d have had at least two.” “Oh, but she did have a handkerchief,” Vicki said. “She just pretended she didn’t in the vestibule of that awful boardinghouse so I’d have to let go of her arm while I got one out of my pocketbook. I remembered, too late, that when she first burst into tears, back at the recruiting office, she’d covered her face with a large white handkerchief. The kind we borrow from Dad when we have a cold. I guess that was one reason why I was so sure she lived home with her parents.” Ginny sniffed. “Pooh. I’ve noticed that when girls grow up they’re forever borrowing hankies from their boy friends. I guess that’s why men always carry a spare in their left-hand coat pockets.” “You’re right,” Vicki admitted with a laugh. “I’ve borrowed handkerchiefs from dates in my time. Anyway, what was wrong with Linda had nothing to do with handkerchiefs. I tried in vain to remember what it was when I gave Captain Bevin a detailed 45

description of her and what she was wearing” “Maybe her slip was showing,” Ginny suggested. “Mine almost always is. Or maybe the seam of one of her stockings was twisted, or she had a run. Or had pinned up the hem of her skirt with safety pins. Or her sweater wasn’t tucked into her skirt all around, or she’d spilled chocolate syrup on the front of it. Or—” “Stop it,” Vicki interrupted, laughing. “Linda is twenty-one, not twelve, sweetie pie.” “How do you know she’s twenty-one?” Ginny demanded. “You ignored the rules and applied for a stewardess job before you were twenty-one.” “I don’t know how old she is,” Vicki admitted. “So far nothing she wrote on the form has turned out to be the truth. As a matter of fact, she looked more like a high school girl than one who was supposed to have had two years of college. But she was very well groomed, Ginny. Of course, if she had been accepted as a trainee, she would have been tactfully told by Ruth Benson that she’d have to file her fingernails shorter and have her hair cut, just as I was told not to have a permanent.” “Maybe it was those long, pointed fingernails that was wrong about her appearance,” Ginny said, and her voice was very drowsy. “Maybe,” Vicki said, resolutely closing her blue eyes. But she knew that Linda’s fingernails were not 46

the something that bothered her. That something was much more elusive. She fell asleep still trying to remember what it was.

47

CHAPTER V

Chalice Dawn

When Betty Barr came in from her Sunday morning horseback ride, she found her husband and their eldest daughter glaring at each other across the kitchen table. “What seems to be the trouble with you two?” she asked casually. Professor Barr took off his chef’s cap and threw it on the floor. “I queet,” he said. “Veeckee, she have insulte me.” Mrs. Barr chortled. “Unless you drop that French accent, Lewis, I refuse to be mediator. Vicki,” she said, pretending to be very stern, “what do you mean by insulting your father?” “I didn’t do anything of the kind,” Vicki said, suppressing a giggle. “He’s going to serve us something called Toad-in-the-Hole for dinner. I won’t eat it, I won’t. I don’t care how delicious it smells or tastes, I refuse to eat toads, in or out of holes.” Betty Barr gave her boot an emphatic slap with 48

her riding crop. “Neither will I. Lewis Marvell Barr, you are fired. Last Sunday we suffered through Eels à la Tartare, but I draw the line at toads—in any form.” The professor howled with laughter. “You women! How can I hope to turn you into gourmets? Toad-in-the-Hole, madam, is a delicious English dish consisting of diced round steak covered with a batter and baked. It is, more simply put, a meat pie.” “ ‘A rose by any other name,’ ” Vicki quoted, “ ‘would smell as sweet.’ But why use a horrid word like toad to describe something as heavenly as steak?” Her father replaced his cap on his blond head. “I follow recipes, my dear Victoria. I do not name them.” Perched on the kitchen stool, he went on. “Tell me more about the great Pasquale, Vic. Next time I’m in the Loop, I want you to introduce me to him.” “Well,” Vicki said, “he’s as temperamental as you are. Twice a day, just before the dining room opens for lunch and dinner, he comes up and personally inspects the menu cards and floral arrangements. This habit of Pasquale’s, according to our manager, drives the headwaiter wild, because, of course, the chef isn’t supposed to have anything to do with the dining room.” “Ah, but he should,” Professor Barr said 49

sympathetically. “How dreadful to have one’s work of art camouflaged by a typographical error! I cannot contemplate anything more tragic than a centerpiece of fragile flowers when the pièce de résistance is a robust steak.” Vicki chuckled. “Several times when I’ve gone out for lunch at noon I’ve passed Mr. Pasquale in the lobby on his way up from or back to his own domain. Until we met over the Meg Merrilies’ recipe, I didn’t know who he was. He never wears his cap on those inspection tours, but he’s so tall and distinguished-looking, you couldn’t help noticing him.” “Just think,” Professor Barr said dreamily, “the great Pasquale is grateful to me! Have you ever tasted his Haricot of Oxtails, Vicki? I had that honor when he was the chef at the Abercrombie Hotel in New York. Like the Hartwood, it is a great favorite with theatrical people. A wonderful house, noted for its cuisine. I wonder why Pasquale left.” “I can guess,” Vicki said with a chuckle. “The headwaiter probably tried to strangle him. He only left the Abercrombie last fall, Dad. I remember reading his name in the newspaper account of that mysterious Halloween robbery. I imagine it was written up in the Chicago papers, too.” Mrs. Barr nodded. “It was. A famous actress who lives at the Abercrombie was robbed of a small 50

fortune in jewels.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I seem to remember that last summer an actress staying at a Boston hotel was mysteriously robbed, too. Oh, dear, Vicki. I hope nothing like that will happen at the Hartwood.” “If it does,” Vicki said, “it won’t affect me in the slightest. I’m not a famous actress and I have no priceless jewels.” Betty Barr shook her short curls worriedly. “But you’ve been involved in so many mysterious happenings. Promise me—” “My dear Betty,” Professor Barr broke in, “what has become of your mathematical mind? The chances of a robbery being committed at a small residential house like the Hartwood are infinitesimal. Outside of the theatrical world, the Hartwood was almost unknown until Pasquale made it famous.” “It’s only really famous for its cuisine now,” Vicki said. “The dining room is always packed and jammed. Even though the doors don’t open for lunch until noon, there is always a long line of people waiting in the lobby from eleven o’clock on. Only guests of the hotel are allowed to make reservations in advance.” “But the hotel itself is filled, isn’t it?” Mrs. Barr asked. “Didn’t you say you had trouble getting a room?” 51

“That’s only because of Chalice Dawn’s opening,” Vicki explained. “Everyone connected with the play has rooms at the Hartwood. The manager, Mr. Oriole, told me that last Sunday night when I arrived to find that he’d rented the room Ruth Benson had reserved for me. Miss Dawn is evidently superstitious about the Hartwood. She won’t stay anywhere else when she’s playing in Chicago, and insists that the cast stay there, too.” “I can’t believe she’s really that superstitious,” Mrs. Barr said, smiling. “No one with her background could be. Why, her father is a worldfamous educator, isn’t he, Lewis? And her mother holds an important governmental position in Washington. Chalice Dawn isn’t her real name, you know, Vicki.” “I know,” Vicki said, “but it certainly suits her. She’s such a lovely person, inside and out. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t be staying at the Hartwood, and Miss Benson would be furious. She’s visiting friends in Chicago and so didn’t have to worry about the hotel situation, but because I often have to work late, she insisted from the beginning that I should stay right there at the Hartwood. The Loop, according to Ruth, is no place for young ladies after dark.” Ginny bounced in through the swinging door from the dining room. “The Loop,” she chanted in 52

an ominous tone of voice. “Neon lights. Honkytonks. Night Clubs. Pawnshops. Wooooo! . . . What’s a honky-tonk, anyway?” “Never mind,” her mother said, frowning. “Oh, Vicki, how I worry about you! It was very generous of Miss Dawn to give you a ticket for opening night, but now, although I envy you, I’m worried. Should you go alone?” “Of course.” Vicki laughed. “Our night doorman is a young boy, still in his teens, but he’s wonderful about getting cabs for the guests. I won’t have to move further into the Loop than under the awning.” Betty Barr looked relieved. “I guess I’d better shower and change. That Toad-in-the-Hole smells as though it’s almost done.” She swung through the door into the dining room. Professor Barr peered into the freezing compartment of the refrigerator. “Walnut ice cream for dessert,” he said. “À la Pasquale.” “Oh me, oh my,” Vicki said. “I’d better wash up and change, too. By the time we eat our way through your five-course menu, Dad, it’ll be time for my train.” It was dark when Vicki arrived in Chicago that evening, but the Loop was ablaze with lights. Several cars and cabs were drawn up in front of the hotel, so Vicki got out of her taxi at the corner. Just then Chalice Dawn and her borzoi came out of the 53

hotel. Without even looking up at the Marshall Field clock, Vicki knew that it could only be a few minutes past eight. Every evening, on the dot of eight, Ivan was taken for a walk by his mistress or her maid. The tall, slender actress came toward Vicki, scuffing through the thin layer of new-fallen snow. Her head was bent as though she were searching for something. As Vicki drew nearer she could hear the famous husky voice murmuring in a sad monotone. It sounded like a dirge, and the words made no sense: “Chadawn. Chadawn . . . Gone! Gone! Oh, Ivan, how can I go on—without Chadawn?” “Miss Dawn,” Vicki called out. “May I help you? Did you drop something? I hope it wasn’t your lovely Ivan pin.” For answer, the actress threw open her mink coat. She was wearing velvet slacks, and the diamond and platinum miniature of her pet was pinned to the lapel of her white satin blouse. “No,” Miss Dawn said, smiling wanly, “I haven’t lost my tiny Ivan, Miss Barr. What I have lost is much, much more valuable.” “Let me help you look for it, please,” Vicki said. “Was it a bracelet or an earring?” Miss Dawn pushed back her ermine scarf, displaying the diamonds in her ear lobes. “No, my 54

dear, what I have lost is priceless—utterly priceless. I would rather have lost every piece of jewelry in my safe than my Chadawn.” Baffled, Vicki could only stare. What on earth was this fabulous Chadawn? “Every bit of my jewelry,” the actress was saying spreading her lovely hands. “I care nothing for it, anyway. Such a nuisance! I have to carry a little safe with me wherever I go. No hotel will take the responsibility. Dear, dear Mr. Oriole, the charming man, offered to keep my pearls in the office safe, but, of course, I refused. They would be no safer in his safe than in mine, would they? I’m thinking seriously of giving them to Claire—our ingénue, you know. She positively covets them, the precious child, and I wear them so seldom.” Vicki’s eyes widened. Chalice Dawn couldn’t be serious! No one in her right mind would give away those strands of perfectly matched pearls. Vicki had read in a magazine article that they were worth thousands of dollars. Just then Ivan, who had been tugging impatiently on his leash, suddenly wheeled around to face his mistress. The big dog swerved in the path of a passer-by, almost knocking the tall man off his feet. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Miss Dawn cried contritely. “Ivan is such a clumsy creature, and the sidewalk is so slippery. Are you hurt, sir?” 55

The man, who was wearing a gray overcoat, tipped his hat, smiling. “I’m not hurt in the least. It was really my fault. I was walking with my head down to keep the snow from my face.” Vicki stared at him, thinking: “How polite he is! He wasn’t walking with his head down at all. Besides, it isn’t snowing that hard.” As he moved slowly away from them, Miss Dawn whispered to Vicki, “Such charming manners. A gentleman of the old school. Did you notice what refined features he had?” Vicki nodded. She had noticed something else, too. She felt sure that the gentleman had been caught off guard by Ivan’s sudden rightabout-face because he had been completely absorbed by Chalice Dawn’s dramatic conversation. Ivan was straining on the leash again now, and his mistress tucked her free hand under Vicki’s arm. “Come, my dear, take a little walk with me,” she said. “I am such a lonely person. That’s why I keep Ivan, you know. Like most lonely people, I talk to myself a great deal. But I do not wish to be considered eccentric. When people hear me talking to myself, they think I am talking to Ivan. Such a stupid dog. Of absolutely no use in this world, Miss Barr. Why, if a burglar should break into my apartment, Ivan would surely lead him right to my safe, which is in my dressing-room closet, you 56

know.” Vicki could not help interrupting in a rather reproving tone of voice, “Oh, Miss Dawn, do you think you should let a stranger like me know where you keep your jewelry?” “But you are not a stranger,” the actress replied. “You are my next-door neighbor, and one of the most charming young ladies I ever met. I do wish you would come see me when you are off duty. When I am not rehearsing, I am so lonely.” “Miss Dawn,” Vicki protested, “you can’t be lonely. Why, you must have a million friends and admirers!” “Friends and admirers,” Chalice Dawn said, shaking her lovely head, “do not keep one from being lonely. You have a father and mother and little sister. I have neither a brother nor a sister, and I hardly know my parents. I was brought up by nurses and governesses. I dedicated my life to my art, and so never had time to make any really close friends. I am sure you have more than you can count on your pretty fingers.” “Well,” Vicki said, “I’m home so seldom I rarely see my home-town friends. But I share an apartment in New York, our home base, with five stewardesses who were in my class at training school. We’re all very fond of one another.” The actress pushed the loop of Ivan’s leash up her 57

arm and clapped her hands. “How perfectly ideal. What divine times you six girls must have! Please tell me all about them. This very evening. We’ll go up to my apartment and have a bite of supper. It’s a housekeeping apartment, you know. I have the sweetest little kitchenette which I love to fuss around in.” She threw back her head, laughing gaily. “But you mustn’t think that I am a Pasquale. I can only manage a few things like scrambled eggs and toast. Dolly, my maid, you know, doesn’t approve. I leave everything for her to clean up, poor dear. Because, of course, I can’t risk having dishpan hands. I express myself through my hands, you see. If they were tied behind my back I should probably be tongue-tied.” She stopped suddenly to stare at Vicki. “Do you suppose Dolly knows what happened to Chadawn?” Vicki sighed. “I don’t even know what Chadawn is.” But the actress wasn’t listening. “No, I’m quite wrong,” she answered her own question. “Dolly is devoted to me. She’s been with me for years and she knows how much Chadawn means to me. It must have been the hotel maid. What is her name, Miss Barr?” “I don’t know which one you mean,” Vicki said. “Lily does my room, but she’s always so hounded by Mrs. Moser that she never quite has time to finish 58

it properly.” “A dreadful creature,” Miss Dawn interrupted, and to Vicki’s surprise, the actress’s face was registering something that was very close to hatred. “I loathe that woman. No matter what discomfort you may have to endure, never, never report any of the maids to that martinet of a housekeeper. Promise me, promise me here and now, you will never report an employee to that—that wretched woman who is, unfortunately, dear, dear Mr. Oriole’s sister-in-law.” “I promise,” Vicki said meekly, not knowing what else to say. “Good, good,” Miss Dawn said, giving Vicki’s arm a hug. “I remember that clumsy maid’s name now. Such an incongruous name for a girl who is so unfortunately unattractive. Lily. But no matter what you say, even though she does rather resemble Caliban, she is a sweet child. And so cowed by that disagreeable housekeeper. Lily is the answer, of course. She broke the vial while dusting, although I’ve told her over and over again never to go near my dressing room. She disobeyed, out of the kindness of her poor, simple heart, and then, when she broke the vial, was afraid to confess.” Suddenly the actress buried her face in the crook of her arm. “Oh, if it had only not been my Chadawn! My Chadawn. How can I possibly go on without Chadawn?” 59

CHAPTER VI

The Missing Vial

By the time Chalice Dawn decided that Ivan had had enough exercise, Vicki was so confused she didn’t know what to think. The actress had, apparently, lost something that was both fragile and valuable and she suspected a great many people of stealing it or breaking it. So far as Vicki was concerned, nothing the actress said made any sense at all. She stopped listening to the disjointed sentences long before the walk was at an end. Then, to make matters more confusing, once they were upstairs in the beautifully furnished suite on the fifth floor of the hotel, Miss Dawn’s mood changed abruptly. She behaved like a happy child without a care in the world as she donned a dainty apron. “Go home, Dolly dear,” the actress said to her pretty, dark-haired maid. “I’m in one of my domestic moods.” “But, Miss Dawn,” Dolly protested. “You know 60

you can’t sleep unless I brush your hair and massage your scalp, and—” “Don’t be tiresome,” Miss Dawn said as the girl reluctantly donned her hat and coat. “This is not opening night. I am not at all overstimulated and am perfectly capable of brushing my own hair.” When the maid had gone, Miss Dawn said to Vicki, “Dolly spoils me. She has been with me for years, you know. And so devoted! I like to let her off early whenever I can. From Friday night on she’ll have to wait here for me until I get back from the theater. She draws my tub, puts away my clothes and jewels and all that sort of thing, you know, no matter how late it is.” As she spoke, she disappeared into the kitchenette and before Vicki could say a word she heard the whir of an egg beater. The sound was drowned out by the chiming of the gilt French clock on the mantle. Nine o’clock! They had been walking up and down in front of the hotel for almost an hour and Vicki still had no idea what priceless thing the actress had lost. Hesitantly, Vicki joined Miss Dawn in the tiny kitchenette. “Why it’s charming,” she cried. “And as tiny as my galley on a plane.” “No room for the two of us.” The actress waved Vicki away. And then, suddenly and unaccountably, 61

something reminded Vicki of Linda. She stood there, one foot in the living room, the other in the kitchenette, trying to figure out what the intangible something was. No two people could be more dissimilar in every way than the brunette actress and the tall, blond girl who had so mysteriously disappeared into the snowstorm. And yet, the moment Vicki had entered the tiny room a mental picture of Linda Murray had flashed into her mind. What had caused that mental photography? “My dear!” Miss Dawn’s voice broke impatiently into Vicki’s thoughts. “Can’t you see that you’re in my way? Please, please don’t hover about. It makes me dreadfully nervous. So nervous I can’t remember what spices I’ve put into this goo.” Vicki, inwardly smiling, backed away and perched on the arm of the living-room sofa. She chanted good-naturedly, “ ‘Sugar and spice, and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of— —’ ” Then she stopped. Was it the fragrance of spices that had made her think of Linda? Perhaps Linda had eaten a brunch that morning of scrambled eggs which had been laced with onion and garlic salt. “That must have been it,” Vicki reflected. “I was certainly close enough to her most of the time to have smelled her breath.” In a surprisingly short time, Miss Dawn appeared 62

with a really delicious supper. Vicki was starving in spite of the huge Sunday dinner she had eaten at home. She told Miss Dawn about her father’s elaborate menu, and then, before she knew it, she found herself relating the high lights of her whole life history. “But how wonderful,” the actress cried. “A mystery wherever you go! Mexico! New Orleans! Hawaii! Alaska! My dear, I feel as though I had known you all my life. Please, may I call you Vicki? And do, do call me Chalice.” “Please call me by my first name,” Vicki said, “but I doubt if I’d ever dare call you Chalice. I’m just a nobody, really, and you’re so famous.” “But you must,” the actress insisted, throwing out her arms with imploring gestures. “Otherwise, I won’t feel that you are my friend.” “We-ell,” Vicki said shyly, “I might get so I could call you Chalice Dawn. The two names belong together. Oh,” she interrupted herself. “Chadawn! Why, it’s a contraction of the two names.” Miss Dawn nodded, her luminous black eyes clouded with sudden tears. “I’m going to tell you my secret, Vicki. You have proved several times that you are a superb detective. But you must promise me that you will never let anyone connected with the theater know that my Chadawn has disappeared. It would mean disaster, Vicki, complete disaster. We 63

and the River represents an investment of a hundred thousand dollars. The whole cast depends upon me and my opening-night performance. If even a stagehand had the slightest idea that I might not be able to go on—” She stopped, unable to describe such a fiasco. “Your secret will be safe with me,” Vicki assured her. “I don’t know anybody in show business. What is Chadawn?” “My perfume,” the actress moaned. “The perfume that was blended especially for me. It is the essence of my personality. It is my soul. Not to wear it on opening night, Vicki, would mean failure. Failure!” She swayed back and forth, her slim hands clasped around one knee. “I simply can not go on without Chadawn.” Vicki, bewildered, tried to make her voice sound sympathetic. “But I still don’t understand, Miss Daw—Chalice. I don’t know much about theatrical people, and never have time to read Variety and Billboard. If something has happened to your favorite perfume, couldn’t you have some more made before Friday night when the play opens?” The actress paid no attention and kept on swaying back and forth as though she were alone in the room. “I slaved to get to the top of the ladder. Slaved. Summer stock that ended with each summer. Miles and miles of ‘No Casting’ signs on Broadway. 64

Hours and hours of auditions, and there is no torture on this earth like an audition. Then at last came my chance, a slim chance. I was understudy to Marsha Hilliard. A great performer, Miss Hilliard, but discouragingly healthy. She had never known a sick day in her life. I learned my lines well, but I knew I would never go on in her place.” She leaped up then and began to pace the floor, gesticulating wildly with each stride. Vicki watched and listened, entranced. “All that sweltering summer we rehearsed, and then on opening night a childhood sweetheart gave me as a present—a small vial of perfume which he had blended especially for me. He was only a novice then, but before he died he was a famous perfumer. His products are never sold commercially. Each blend is made especially to order to suit the personality of the client. Chadawn was his first great achievement—his first step toward fame, but neither of us knew then what the future held. Pleased and flattered, I dabbed a bit behind each ear, and at almost the same moment the wardrobe mistress bustled into my backstage cubbyhole. “ ‘Quick, into the star’s costume,’ she said, yanking me to my feet. ‘Hilliard has quit in a huff.’ Before I knew it, the director was pushing me onto the stage. ‘If you fluff your lines I’ll break every bone in your body,’ he hissed. But he sang another 65

tune at the end of the first act, and when the curtain fell for the last time, even I knew from the deafening applause that I had become a star overnight.” She stopped suddenly in front of Vicki and demanded accusingly, “Now do you understand? How can I possibly go on without Chadawn?” Vicki blinked. “I can understand that you’re superstitious about Chadawn and opening nights, but haven’t you got more than one bottle of it? And can’t you get any more?” “Of course, of course.” Miss Dawn’s normally husky voice was shrill with impatience. “My sachets and cologne and bath soaps are all scented with Chadawn. A long-distance call could bring me a bottle of the perfume by plane in plenty of time. But what good would that do me? Nothing has any real value except the original perfume which brought me good luck. All these years I have treasured it, using it only on opening nights. In-between times, the gilt crown-shaped stopper is sealed tightly with sealing wax to prevent evaporation.” “Oh, I see,” Vicki murmured, and now she was sincerely sympathetic. The loss of her precious fetish might well result in the high-strung actress having a bad case of stage fright. Stage and screen celebrities were, she knew, often governed by superstitions connected with their first successes. One famous Hollywood actress absolutely refused to 66

sign any contract unless it was raining. Another never took an important step except on the seventeenth day of the month. Vicki sighed. “We’ll simply have to find your Chadawn.” “Oh, Vicki, will you help?” the actress begged. “You’ve solved so many mysteries. And I—I don’t know where to begin.” “We’ll begin at the beginning,” Vicki said encouragingly. “When did you first discover that the bottle was missing?” “Friday morning,” Chalice Dawn said promptly. “When did you last see it?” Vicki continued. Miss Dawn pressed her fingers against her forehead. “I can’t be absolutely sure. My eyes may have fallen on it a dozen times without my really seeing it. But the last time I touched it was Thursday morning. I always do that every morning. And don’t you dare laugh at me, Vicki Barr. There’s a famous baseball player who always touches first base on his way to the dugout.” Vicki did not even smile. “In other words, it disappeared sometime between Thursday morning and Friday morning. Now we have the when. Let’s start on the who’s. Can you think of anyone who might have stolen it out of spite? I can’t believe, Chalice Dawn, that you have an enemy. But perhaps there is someone in the theatrical world who is jealous of your success?” 67

The actress shrugged. “Undoubtedly a great many people envy me, but I don’t know of a soul who is cruel enough to have taken my Chadawn.” Suddenly her eyes narrowed and she cried excitedly, “How clever you are, Vicki. Of course, that’s who it was. The despicable woman! She did it for revenge, knowing that I have told dear Mr. Oriole a dozen times that he should dismiss her.” She started for the door, taking long strides. “I’ll go straight to her room now and accuse her. If she has dared to destroy my Chadawn, I shall—” “Oh, wait a minute, please,” Vicki cried, springing to her feet. “I don’t even know whom you’re talking about, but we mustn’t accuse anyone until we have proof. You must be careful, Chalice. A libel suit would be the worst kind of publicity.” The actress wheeled, her eyes wide with amazement. “But, Vicki, you yourself pointed out that no one but that unpleasant Mrs. Moser could possibly have had a motive.” Vicki sighed. “The idea of suspecting the housekeeper never occurred to me. She has a motive and she wanders all over the hotel with master keys to every room. But does she know how much Chadawn means to you? What I’m trying to say is, does the general public know that it is your amulet?” “Horrors, no!” Chalice exclaimed. “Only Dolly knows, and, of course, a few of my very close 68

friends. But those dear, dear people would never do or say anything which might let the secret leak out to the newspapers. Not even in Variety or Billboard has a line ever appeared about Chadawn. That kind of publicity would be frightful. I could not bear to have my public think me a fool or eccentric. My friends in the theatrical world understand me. But the secret is safe with them, for they, as you know, rarely have anything to do with anyone who isn’t in show business.” She smiled wanly. “For me to confide in you as I have, darling, shows what great confidence I have in you. You must not fail me.” “I’ll do my best,” Vicki said, inwardly thinking: “If only she would stop contradicting herself! When we were out on the street she insisted that she had no close friends. Now she admits she has at least a few. And what a trusting nature she has! I’m surprised everyone in the theatrical world doesn’t know about her fetish.” Aloud she asked: “If only a few people know about Chadawn, how can you possibly suspect Mrs. Moser of stealing it?” Chalice’s eyes were wide with amazement. “I didn’t say only a few people know about it. Why, every member of my cast knows how much it means to me. And they’re all staying right here in this hotel where that snoopy woman can overhear them when they discuss me and my foibles.” 69

“Oh, Chalice,” Vicki objected mildly, “Mrs. Moser is always in such a hurry I doubt if she ever stays in one spot long enough to eavesdrop. And, frankly, I don’t think she’d take anything, even for spite. Hotels don’t hire housekeepers unless they have unimpeachable reputations. Even a rumor that she wasn’t completely honest could ruin her chances of getting another hotel job.” “That’s true,” the actress admitted in a disappointed tone of voice. Almost humbly, she crossed over and sat beside Vicki on the sofa. And again, unaccountably, a mental picture of Linda flashed in and out of Vicki’s mind. She shook her head resolutely. This was no time to think about Linda Murray. She must concentrate on trying to glean some truth from the actress’s conflicting statements. In one mood, apparently, she put blind faith in everyone; in another, she suspected people who had no motive. “Chalice,” she began, “I don’t want to imply that any of the employees is a thief, but all of them could have overheard gossip about you and your talisman. And who knows but one of them may have been in show business before he or she got a job here? Mr. Oriole would know. I really think—” “I am not a tattletale,” Miss Dawn interrupted. “I have suffered a great loss but nothing would induce me to report the matter to the manager. He and that 70

ridiculous house detective would immediately pounce upon Dolly’s poor dear brother Ed. They would railroad him into jail, and he’s only just out of reform school. Such an unfortunate occurrence! I had to scold Mr. Oriole, and shame him into giving Ed the night doorman job, you know.” “How about Lily?” Vicki asked. “You suggested earlier that she might have accidentally broken the vial and is afraid to confess.” Chalice Dawn waved her hands. “No, no, we cannot even suspect poor Lily. She has Thursdays off, I remember now. And she did not enter the apartment Friday morning until long after I had discovered that my Chadawn was gone.” “Then the relief maid,” Vicki said. “She might not have known that you don’t like the hotel maids to clean your dressing room. Could she have gone in without you or Dolly seeing her?” “Heavens no,” Miss Dawn said emphatically. “You don’t seem to realize, Vicki, that either Dolly or I or both of us are always in the suite. Ivan howls like a banshee if he is left alone.” “On opening night,” Vicki pointed out, “the apartment will be empty when Dolly takes him out for his walk. Don’t you ever have evening rehearsals?” “I don’t,” Chalice said, arching her eyebrows. “The director may call the other members of the cast 71

whenever he feels it necessary. Everyone knows that I would not think of attending a rehearsal after sunset. It makes my head ache all the next day, and, furthermore, it’s very unlucky.” “All right,” Vicki said, suppressing a smile. “How about Marianne, the linen-room girl? She’s pretty enough to have been on the stage, and she has a set of master keys, too. She’s forever wandering around with fresh linen and towels. I leave my room around eight to go down for breakfast. I imagine you’re still asleep then, and Dolly hasn’t yet arrived. Marianne could go into your dressing room through my bathroom, and you’d never know it.” “Really!” Chalice leaped to her feet. “I am a very light sleeper, Vicki Barr, and the walls are paper thin. In the Gay Nineties this whole suite was one huge private banquet room. The original walls are so thick they’re practically soundproof, but the partitions are made of cheap beaver board. Why, my dear, when I am in my dressing room and you are taking a shower, I almost duck for fear I shall be splashed.” Vicki laughed. “I’m sorry! And I don’t really suspect Marianne, do you?” Chalice covered her face with her hands. “I will not have her or any of the maids accused. That frightful housekeeper would dismiss them without references and they would never again get 72

employment.” “Then,” Vicki said soberly, “we must suspect one of your guests. Someone who came in here for lunch or tea or dinner or supper on Thursday, or called later in the evening. You have so many guests, Chalice, I know it’s going to be hard for you to remember, but try, anyway. Without realizing it, could you have done something which another actress, or an actor, holds against you?” “Don’t be tiresome,” Chalice said crossly. “I am noted for my excellent memory. I know my lines perfectly after reading a script through twice. I distinctly remember everyone I entertained on Thursday. A great many of them had the opportunity to steal my Chadawn, but not one of them had a motive. In fact, every one of them is greatly indebted to me. “Could one of them be a practical joker?” Vicki asked. “Someone who plans to return your Chadawn before opening night?” “Impossible,” Chalice cried. “How could anyone conceive of such a cruel, cruel thing as a joke?” Vicki got up and started for the door. “Well, try and think, Chalice. Isn’t it possible that someone in the theatrical world holds a grudge against you?” “Impossible,” the actress said as she opened the door for Vicki. “I have never harmed a soul in my life.” 73

“You tried to get Mr. Oriole to fire Mrs. Moser,” Vicki pointed out quietly. “Why do you detest her so?” “That woman!” Chalice added in a loud whisper: “Some day I will tell you about her. But now, good night, and many thanks, my dear.” “Good night,” Vicki said, “and many thanks to you for a very pleasant evening.” She closed the door and started off for her own room. Then she stopped. Standing only a yard or two away, under the light by the service elevator, was a red-haired young man in overalls. He was leaning on his broom with his eyes closed. He looked bored, tired, and sleepy. But somehow Vicki sensed that he was really very wide awake. The pose was a little too exaggerated. The young engineer, she felt sure, had been eavesdropping.

74

CHAPTER VII

The Gypsy Girl

Although the corridor was only dimly lighted, the moment Vicki opened the door to Room 507 she knew someone was in there. For a fleeting second she was frightened, then, as she reached in to switch on the light, she demanded in a loud voice: “Who’s there?” A sleepy voice replied: “I thought you’d never come. Where on earth have you been?” “Jean Cox,” Vicki said with a sigh of relief. “How you scared me!” Jean, snuggled under the covers on the cot which had been placed beside Vicki’s bed, merely yawned. “You scared me, too. I thought it was a bellhop telling me to hop back to the airport. It was fogged down all evening and I figured it would stay that way all night. All flights were canceled until further notice, so I gave Federal this phone number, grabbed a cab, and here I am. Mr. Oriole was very nice about the cot, and he should have been, after 75

what happened Saturday night.” Vicki kicked off her high-heeled pumps and began to undress. “What happened Saturday night?” she asked wearily and without much interest. “There’s never a dull moment around this hotel.” Suddenly Jean sat bolt upright. “Oh, Vicki, I met the most marvelous man on the flight from New York today. Honestly, he’s got but everything. Tall, dark, and handsome is putting it mildly. Crisp, curly hair and long gray eyes. All American fullback; Yale and Columbia Law School grad; speaks French and Spanish as well as he speaks English. Russian, too, although I wouldn’t know how well. And can you imagine it? The only marginal note beside his name on the manifest was: ‘Better be nice to this passenger, Cox. He’s a Hollywood talent scout.’ As if I had to be told to be nice to anyone as completely divine as Lionel Brownson!” “I’m not in the mood for romance,” Vicki said, and went into the tiny bathroom to brush her teeth. “Mysteries are my hobby right now. Two of ’em.” Jean merely raised her voice and continued as though she had not been interrupted. “And guess what? He’s staying right here at the Hartwood. He’s here to catch the opening of Chalice Dawn’s play. Hollywood has its eye on the beautiful blond ingénue, Claire Something-or-other, the lucky girl.” “Impossible,” Vicki said, rinsing her toothbrush. 76

“What’s impossible?” Jean demanded. “Your Hollywood talent scout.” Vicki climbed into bed. “Impossible?” It was almost a scream. “I tell you he’s practically perfect, Vicki Barr.” Vicki grinned. “I’m sure he is, if you say so. But he can’t be staying here. No rooms.” “That’s what you think,” Jean retorted. “I mentioned the lack of vacancies when he told me he was going to stay here, and it seems that he’s had a reservation for weeks and weeks. Anyway, ordinary people don’t count in this hotel. If a VIP in the stage or screen world asks for a room, he gets it, even if it means throwing out the ordinary person bag and baggage.” Vicki calmly went on cold-creaming her face. “I don’t believe it, for one thing, and for another, how do you know so much about the Hartwood?” Jean reached across the narrow space between the two beds to scoop up a glob of Vicki’s cold cream. “In the first place, I happen to know that Lionel Brownson is staying here, and right on this floor. Diagonally across the corridor. Room 510. As I came in your room this evening, he was just leaving his to get a bite of supper.” She patted her shoulders with both hands, smiling smugly. “Asked me to join him, but of course I refused. Federal, in case you’ve forgotten, frowns upon stewardesses who date 77

passengers.” Vicki chortled. “Sounds to me as though the entire flight from New York to Chicago was just one long date for you and Mr. Brownson. I’ll bet you know more about him than his own mother does at this point.” Jean blushed. “Well, I guess I did pay more attention to him than to the other passengers, who didn’t need me, anyway. As I keep telling you, he’s positively magnetic. Anyway, he’s here. What you didn’t know is that there was a transient in Room 510 who checked out this afternoon. If anyone should ask me, I’d say he was told by the manager to check out.” “All right, I’ll ask you,” Vicki said with a mischievous grin. “For the second time, how do you know so much about the Hartwood?” Jean giggled. “If you stayed here week ends, you’d get the general idea, too. Look what happened to me Saturday night.” Vicki sank back on her pillow. “This is where I came in. What did happen to you Saturday night?” “Well,” Jean began, “I had three hours off before the return flight, so instead of spending the layover time in the airport lounge, I decided to take advantage of your kind invitation and the key you so generously gave me. I planned to come up here and take a hot bath and brief nap.” 78

“Oh, oh,” Vicki interrupted contritely. “I forgot to tell the manager about our little private arrangement. After I gave you my key, I simply asked for a duplicate without going into details of why I needed one. I am sorry, Jean. Did someone try to keep you from coming up to my room?” “No, indeed,” Jean said. “I don’t think that front desk clerk could possibly keep track of all the people who swarm in and out of the elevators of this place around eight on a Saturday night. There are simply hordes of them, all very theatrical looking, and ranging from the ages of nineteen to ninety. I waited and waited for a chance to cram into an elevator and finally decided to climb the stairs. They weren’t much better, Vicki. Actresses were wandering all over the stairs and corridors in housecoats and lounging pajamas, and almost all the doors to the rooms and suites were wide open. I guess Saturday night is open-house night at the Hartwood.” Vicki laughed. “It’s almost as hectic during the week. Mr. Oriole describes his guests, with a great deal of pride, as ‘one big happy family.’ “ Jean nodded. “By the time I finally wended my way to your door, I didn’t think that anything would surprise me. I unlocked the door, ducked inside, reached for the light switch, and then realized that the light was already on.” 79

“One of the maids,” Vicki began. “Undoubtedly Lily. She is so careless. I doubt if she ever turns off faucets and lights when she leaves a room after cleaning it.” “I don’t know anything about Lily,” Jean interrupted. “But she certainly wasn’t the gorgeous creature with the raven locks who met my startled gaze.” It was Vicki’s turn to sit bolt upright in bed. “What met your startled gaze?” she demanded incredulously. Jean pointed to the mirrored closet door. “Right there—running her long slim hands through her coal-black tresses—a glamor girl if I ever saw one, and just as startled to see me as I was to see her. Well, no, not quite,” Jean confessed ashamedly. “I uttered a mild shriek and she simply narrowed her eyes at me and said in a blood-chilling voice: “ ‘To what do I owe this intrusion?’ ” Vicki’s own blue eyes were wide open now. “Jean Cox,” she gasped. “Are you making this yarn up?” “Cross my heart and hope to die,” Jean said. “I was never so scared in all my life, Vicki. She was wearing one of those off-the-shoulder black net and taffeta evening gowns and she looked so much like my idea of Carmen that I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she had drawn a knife from the folds of 80

her skirt. She was that angry.” “She was angry?” Vicki swung her legs out of the covers. “What on earth was that strange woman doing in my room? I’m going to get dressed and go right down and tell the manager that I’m sick and tired of the slap-happy way in which he runs this hotel.” “Wait a minute,” Jean begged. “I shall explain all. In reply to her question I inquired meekly, ‘Isn’t this Room 507?’ ‘It is,’ she said in that blood-chilling voice. ‘Then,’ said I, gathering courage, ‘you’re in the wrong room.’ Still playing with her thick black hair, she took one menacing step toward me. ‘Get out,’ she hissed, ‘before I have you thrown out.’ ” “It’s a nightmare,” Vicki said, shaking her head. “Flying through lightning is mild compared to a quiet evening in this lovely family hotel.” “It certainly is,” Jean agreed heartily. “She didn’t produce a dagger, but her long red fingernails scared me so much that I hastily departed to report the matter to Mr. Oriole. His first reaction was annoyance because you’d given me a key without his permission, but when I pointed out that he’d given someone else the room without your permission, he calmed down. It seems he did it only because of an emergency. Gypsy Girl is somebody in show business, and, on her way from New York to Hollywood for a screen test, her plane was 81

grounded in Chicago due to weather conditions farther West. After spending most of Saturday afternoon trying to get a hotel room with no success, she finally threw herself on the mercy of Mr. Oriole. Knowing that you spend week ends at home, he simply had your stuff moved out, and gave her the room.” Jean pursed her lips. “Now do you see what I mean when I say an ordinary person doesn’t count in this hotel?” Vicki sighed. “I certainly do. And I’ll certainly have a little chat with Mr. Oriole in the morning. The least he can do if he’s going to use my room for week-end transients is give me a reduction in the rent, or have a phone put in.” She giggled. “Actually, I’m paying so little now I have no right to kick. And the room really belongs to Chalice Dawn, anyway. He promised to give me the first full-sized room vacated by a transient, but I guess I haven’t a prayer. Chalice told me this evening that droves of her friends are coming to Chicago for the opening.” “Chalice?” Jean rapidly blinked her eyes. “Since when are you on such intimate terms with America’s Most Beloved Actress?” “Chadawn drew us together,” Vicki said, and explained. When she had finished, Jean said thoughtfully, “What does that personalized perfume smell like, anyway?” 82

“How should I know?” Vicki demanded. “I just told you the vial has mysteriously disappeared.” Jean grinned mischievously. “You’re slipping, Sherlock. The apartment must reek of it if it’s in her sachets and cologne and bath salts and all.” “I don’t think it’s the kind of perfume that reeks,” Vicki objected. “I gather that it’s quite elusive. Now you smell it and now you don’t.” “That’s true,” Jean admitted. “But it’s bound to be a fragrance that’s only suitable for a brunette like Miss Dawn, don’t you agree?” “Of course,” Vicki said. “On me, for instance, it probably would be ghastly.” “Quite so, my dear Watson,” Jean said smugly. “I’m getting to be quite a Sherlock myself.” “Oh, fine, fine,” Vicki said. “I suppose you know exactly where Chadawn is at the moment.” “We-ll, no,” Jean said, tapping her finger tips together. “But I’m pretty sure Gypsy Girl lied when she said she was en route to Hollywood for a screen test.” “What makes you think so?” Vicki asked. “Because,” Jean explained, “I have a clue which leads me to believe that she vacated this room only a short while before I came into it tonight.” “Why, you genius, you,” Vicki teased. “The clue, I suppose, is that you passed her in the corridor.” “Nothing so simple as that,” Jean returned airily. 83

“When I opened your closet door to hang up my overcoat I was almost knocked flat by a large whiff of a perfume that was definitely not your type. It made me think of Tahitian skies and brown-skinned girls with clusters of tropical flowers twined in their long black hair. I said to myself, If Vicki is going in for that kind of perfume, she’s lost her mind.’ And then I remembered Gypsy Girl, and so I deduced, Dr. Watson, that she had only recently packed up and departed.” “So what?” Vicki demanded. “So plenty,” Jean retorted. “I happen to know that westbound planes have been leaving Chicago regularly since this morning. If Gypsy Girl was so anxious to get to the Coast for a screen test, why did she hang around here until the airport was fogged down tonight?” “I have no idea,” Vicki said tiredly. “But if she’s half as eccentric an actress as Chalice Dawn is, that’s explanation enough. All I hope is that my uniforms don’t reek of her perfume.” She wriggled her small, pert nose. “On you it would not smell good,” Jean agreed. “But fear not, it’s the kind that’s here one minute and gone the next. Besides, I opened the window and aired the closet for you. You didn’t notice it when you hung up your clothes, did you?” “No,” Vicki replied, “but I did notice something 84

else which I’d never noticed before. When I’m in that closet and Chalice Dawn is in her dressingroom closet, I can hear every word she says.” “Great,” Jean said in a bored tone of voice. “Better than a party line. Even I could have deduced that one. After all, there’s only a connecting door between her dressing room and your bathroom, isn’t there? The closets are probably back to back.” “That’s right,” Vicki said. “What worries me is that Chalice talks to herself a lot—or rather, to her dog, Ivan. What I heard her say when I was hanging up my clothes sounded like the combination of a safe.” “This gets better and better,” Jean said gleefully. “On the stroke of midnight we’ll pick the lock on your bathroom door and snitch those fabulous pearls.” “But I’m serious, Jean,” Vicki protested. “Suppose a maid was cleaning my closet and heard Chalice mumbling that combination to herself. Don’t you think the maid might be awfully tempted?” Jean laughed. “According to you, the maids seldom clean the room properly, so I doubt if they go near the closet. And even if they did and heard someone muttering a string of numbers, I doubt if they’d realize it was a safe combination.” “I guess you’re right,” Vicki said. “But, really, 85

Chalice is so careless in her conversation. She hardly knew me when she told me, right out on the street where any passer-by could have heard her, that she kept her safe in her dressing-room closet. Now that someone has stolen her Chadawn, I can’t help worrying for fear someone might try to steal her jewels.” “There’s no connection,” Jean said with a yawn. “Chadawn is apparently priceless only to Chalice Dawn. But the jewels are something else again. If they’re stolen, my Suspect No. 1 would be the young redheaded engineer. The one who put this cot up for me with the help of the linen-room girl. I’ve never entered or left this room without passing him in the corridor. He doesn’t exactly lurk, but—” “I know the one you mean,” Vicki said thoughtfully. “I never saw him until this evening when I left Chalice’s suite. He wasn’t exactly lurking then, but I did think that he’d been listening to what we said after she opened her door. Well, anyway, good night. I’m exhausted.” Vicki turned out the lamp on the bed table but hardly had she closed her eyes when someone knocked on the door. Simultaneously both girls leaped out of bed and cried: “Who’s there?” 86

CHAPTER VIII

The Perfumed Handkerchief

“Who’s there?” Vicki asked again as she turned on the light and slipped into her bathrobe. Jean, who had no robe, ducked into the bathroom when Vicki opened the door. A bellhop stood in the dimly lighted corridor. On the silver tray he was carrying was a folded piece of paper. “Message for Miss Cox,” he said. Vicki handed him some change and he saluted and backed off toward the service elevator at the far end of the hall. When he ceased to block her vision, Vicki saw that a tall, broad-shouldered man was standing outside the door of the room diagonally across from hers. He was whistling nonchalantly, but he seemed to be having trouble with the key he was twisting and turning in the lock. “Mr. Lionel Brownson,” Vicki thought, and was sorry that it was too dark for her to see if he was really as handsome as Jean obviously thought he was. As though he had felt her eyes on him, he turned suddenly and said in a deep, masculine voice: 87

“Good evening, neighbor.” “Good evening,” Vicki said. “Did the night clerk give you the wrong key? I wouldn’t put it past him. Jimmy, I fear, does not get proper sleep in the daytime.” He came closer and now Vicki could see his face. He is handsome, she thought, and, what’s more important, very pleasant looking. “This key,” he said with an engaging grin, “is about as useful in my lock as a clothespin would be.” He flipped up the tag and held it under the light. “You’re right. It’s for 810, not 510. That night clerk should wear glasses.” Vicki smiled. “And the elevator operator could use a pair, too. You can ring and ring, but he only obeys the signals in his box when he’s in the mood. If you want to get the right key before midnight, you’d better take the stairs down to the lobby.” “I’ll take your advice,” he said, and stared at her with frank curiosity. “You must be Miss Vicki Barr. I met a pal of yours on the plane from New York today. Jean Cox, flight stewardess. She told me you were occupying Room 507 here.” Suddenly Vicki was conscious of the fact that she was behaving in a very unconventional manner. She was thankful that the robe she was wearing over her pajamas, a gift from her mother, was virtually a warm housecoat. She hoped that, in the dim light, 88

Mr. Lionel Brownson could not see that her feet were bare. “If I keep on living in this wacky hotel,” she reflected, “I’ll soon end up wandering around in lounging pajamas the way a lot of the guests do. And that would mean the end of my job with Federal.” Forcing a prim smile to her lips, she said coolly, “Good night, Mr. Brownson.” Too late she realized that she had only made matters worse by letting him know that she had guessed who he was. He was quick to take advantage of her mistake. “Well, now that we have been formally introduced by remote control—” he began. And then, to Vicki’s relief, Jean came to the rescue. Dressed in her uniform, her overcoat over her arm, she pushed by Vicki into the hall. “Out of my way,” she said, snatching the folded piece of paper from Vicki’s limp fingers. “This message could only have come from the airport stating that flying conditions have improved. I probably should have been on my plane half an hour ago. I—” And then she collided with the young man who had just extended his hand to Vicki. “Oh, oh,” Jean groaned. “This place is a madhouse. Mr. Brownson!” Then, quickly regaining her poise, she added in a gasp: “Miss Barr, may I present Mr. Lionel Brownson? And will you both please move so I can get downstairs and into a cab before it’s too late?” 89

She was gone around the corner before Vicki could say a word. Completely unperturbed, Mr. Brownson said, a chuckle in his voice, “Well, now that we have been formally introduced, Miss Barr, may I—” Before he could finish, the door to Suite 509-511 opened and Chalice Dawn appeared. She was wearing something white that floated like a mist around her slim body, and her long, wavy black hair cascaded down to her shoulders. “Good heavens,” she cried in her deep, throaty voice. “Doesn’t anyone in this hotel ever go to sleep? I have a rehearsal at eleven tomorrow, and I shall look like a witch!” “I’m sorry, Chalice—” Vicki began, but Mr. Brownson interrupted. “Miss Dawn,” he said, wheeling to face the actress. “Chalice Dawn! I recognized your voice at once. I am Lionel Brownson, and I planned to call on you tomorrow and present my letters of introduction. I represent Magna Films, you know.” “Ah,” Miss Dawn said, extending one small white hand with a queenly gesture. “Magna Films. You are interested in my darling, darling Claire, are you not? Such a sweet child and so talented! Hollywood’s gain will be my loss, but I must not stand in her path. You will see how truly talented she is at the rehearsal tomorrow, Mr. Brownson. And in the 90

afternoon at tea here in my apartment, you will learn that she is as lovely off stage as she is on.” With her free hand she included Vicki in the invitation. “And you, too, my pet. Any time after five. Have you met Mr. Brownson, Vicki darling? Magna Films, you know. You should really have a screen test, Vicki. Don’t you agree, Mr. Brownson? Such a beautiful child. Did you ever see such silvery-gold hair? In a way, she is even more photogenic than Claire.” Mr. Brownson bowed in Vicki’s direction. “Miss Barr is very beautiful,” he said in a low voice. “But we are only interested in platinum blondes.” Chalice Dawn clapped her hands. “Lionel darling, Vicki is only interested in flying. But just the other day I met the most lovely child. And her hauls more truly platinum than Claire’s. She dropped in to see me, selling magazine subscriptions, or something, working her way through college, you know. But definitely a possibility for you, but definitely. Her hair is not quite as long as mine, but almost. And such a lovely figure. Perhaps a bit too tall for Hollywood. I understand that your leading men”— she laughed flirtatiously—“are not as tall and broadshouldered as you talent scouts seem to be. But would you be interested in meeting this adorable college child?” “Very much interested,” Lionel Brownson said. There was something almost grim in his tone of 91

voice and Vicki turned to stare at him in surprise. The whole scene made her feel as though she were Alice at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. Chalice Dawn calling this man whom she had just met in a hotel corridor “Lionel darling.” The disjointed discussion of platinum blondes. Then suddenly the grim note in Lionel Brownson’s voice. Up until then Vicki had thought he had been as amused by Chalice’s chatter as she was. But now she realized that he had been listening attentively to every word the actress said. His face expressionless, he repeated, “We are very much interested in platinum blondes, Miss Dawn. I should appreciate it very much if you could arrange for me to meet the young girl who is working her way through college. Have you her name and address?” “But, of course,” Chalice said. “She gave me some sort of a receipt. Dolly has it. But even if she has lost it, I remember the child’s name. Diana Harding. She’s a junior at De Paul University.” Vicki could hear the faint chimes of the French clock in Miss Dawn’s apartment. Midnight! “Good night, all,” she said abruptly. “I’m a working girl. Thanks for inviting me to tea, Chalice. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Brownson.” Vicki closed her door and double-locked it. Then she tumbled into bed and fell asleep immediately. The next morning as she was hurriedly dressing, 92

Lily, the maid, appeared with fresh towels. Vicki felt sorry for Lily who was pathetically conscious of her ugliness. She’s not really ugly, Vicki reflected. Taken feature by feature, there was nothing wrong with Lily’s face. But because her eyes were so round and her mouth so small, her long, thin nose always made Vicki think of Pinocchio. To make matters worse, Lily wore her straw-colored hair in a bun, pulled tightly away from her small, thin face. Brushing her own hair into a halo, Vicki couldn’t help thinking: “If only she’d have her hair cut short and get a permanent!” Aloud she said, “Good morning, Lily. How are you?” “I’m just fine, Miss Barr,” Lily said in her nasal whine. “Here’s a hanky of yours.” She laid a small square of folded linen on the bureau. “I found it in your wastebasket when I came in last evening to turn down your bed just before going off. You must have thrown it away, thinking it was face tissue. The basket was filled to the top with tissue. The hanky was on the bottom. I would have washed and ironed it for you, but Mrs. Moser said ‘no.’ She doesn’t like it when one of the maids gets a crush on a guest.” A smile lighted her thin face. “I think you’re just lovely, Miss Barr, and so do Dolly and Marianne.” Vicki smiled. “Thanks, but that’s not my hanky, Lily. Didn’t you notice that it’s a man’s handkerchief?” 93

“I know, miss,” Lily said, “but it’s got ladies’ perfume on it. Lot of ladies use large handkerchiefs. They come in real handy when you have a cold or get to crying in the movies, like. I always cry in the movies, ’specially when there’s a wedding.” “Well, I never cry in the movies,” Vicki said, briskly applying a steel brush to her suede shoes. “And that handkerchief must have been left behind by the lady who borrowed my room over the week end.” “Oh, yes, of course.” Lily forlornly patted the folded handkerchief. “Such a beautiful lady, miss, and so generous. Gave me a dollar tip just for getting her a roll of adhesive tape. I should have known this hanky belonged to her instead of you, Miss Barr. The perfume smells just like the lady looked. Makes you think of people like Miss Dawn. Lovely dark-haired ladies who dance around in the moonlight and always wear white dresses and have flowers in their long black hair.” She held the handkerchief under Vicki’s nose. “What does it make you think of, Miss Barr?” Without even thinking, Vicki said promptly, “Linda Murray.” “Who?” Lily demanded, surprised. Vicki laughed. “Oh, someone I met once. And I guess it wasn’t the perfume that made me think of her. She’s very blonde. I guess that man’s 94

handkerchief reminded me of her. She was carrying one when I met her.” Hastily she buttoned the jacket of her uniform and started for the door. “If you like, Lily, I’ll turn that handkerchief over to the desk clerk. He must have the dark-haired lady’s forwarding address. He can slip it into an envelope and mail it right off to her this morning.” “Oh, thank you very much, miss,” Lily said. “I don’t like to mention it again to Mrs. Moser. She didn’t believe me when I said I found it in the wastebasket. I’m very careful when I empty a wastebasket, Miss Barr. Always examine the contents carefully to make sure nothing valuable got knocked off the bureau into it.” “That’s good,” Vicki said absent-mindedly as she slipped the handkerchief into her handbag. “Mrs. Moser doesn’t think I’m careful,” Lily droned on as she took the blankets from the cot. “She says I’m as careless as I am ugly. But I’m not careless, Miss Barr. And is it my fault that I’m ugly?” Vicki’s anger flared. How could anybody be so cruel as to tell Lily to her face that she was ugly? “Mrs. Moser must be an ogre,” she cried impulsively. “And as for your being ugly, you’re not really, Lily. If you’d only do something with your hair you could be an attractive girl. Here, let me show you.” 95

Although Vicki knew that now she would have time for only a cup of coffee at her desk instead of the big breakfast she craved, she pushed Lily in front of the mirror and pulled the pins from her bun. Then, with deft fingers, she fluffed the girl’s hair until it formed a soft halo around her face. Lily gasped. “Oh, oh. It makes me all eyes and mouth instead of all nose.” “That’s right,” Vicki said, taking a five-dollar bill from her pocketbook. “Here’s a little present for you. Get a haircut and an end permanent and you won’t know yourself. A tiny bit of rouge on the skin above your cheekbones will help, too, and put on your lipstick with a brush so you can make your mouth look a little larger than it really is. Get an eyelash curler, and when you go out in the evening, put mascara on your upper lashes. And you must stop slouching. If you walk as though you were a beautiful lady, other people will think you are a beautiful lady.” Lily’s eyes were as round as saucers. “You mean walk like Miss Dawn?” Vicki nodded. “Take long strides with your head and shoulders thrown back. When I was in stewardess school we were taught how important posture and proper make-up are. My hair-do was changed completely. We hardly recognized some of the girls when they came out of the beauty salon.” 96

“Well, well, well!” a harsh voice said from the doorway. “What is going on in here?” Vicki whirled to face a very irate Mrs. Moser. “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Moser,” she said airily. “I’m just giving Lily a few pointers on how to improve her appearance.” “Miss Barr!” The housekeeper was red-faced with anger. Lily hastily pinned her hair back into an untidy bun. “Miss Barr, this is most unorthodox. I shall have to report you to the manager. Lily, you are dismissed. Go downstairs and get your pay.” Vicki’s anger flared again. “Mrs. Moser,” she said hotly, “may I ask for what reason you are dismissing Lily?” Mrs. Moser folded her arms. “The reason is obvious. I sent her in here to strip that cot so that the engineer’s assistant could remove it. She’s been here twenty minutes and the linen is still on the mattress.” Her lips were two white lines. “Speaking of that cot, Miss Barr, it is strictly against the rules. This is a single room, not a double room. Barrow, our assistant engineer, was hired only recently and is not yet used to the routine. If he’s going to spend most of his time on this floor doing special favors for you, nothing will ever be accomplished.” Vicki sighed. “Aren’t you exaggerating, Mrs. Moser? The only favor the assistant engineer has ever done for me is to put up that cot.” 97

Meanwhile, Lily had hastily removed the sheets. The redheaded young Irishman appeared then, folded the cot, and walked out with it under one arm. Mrs. Moser glared after him exasperatedly. “That Barrow,” she said under her breath. “He may not do special favors for you, Miss Barr, but he’s always on this floor puttering about. I imagine it’s because the linen room is here. Marianne is such a flirt!” She transferred her displeasure back to Vicki. “And now you’re trying to turn Lily into a vain girl. She’ll leave this very morning without a reference. The very idea of taking down her hair when she’s on duty, and fraternizing with a guest!” Vicki opened her mouth to say that it was all her fault, but a throaty voice from the corridor interrupted. “Oh, for pity’s sake!” And Chalice Dawn suddenly-appeared in the corridor behind Mrs. Moser. The housekeeper wheeled as stiffly as a wooden soldier to face the actress, barring her way into the room. “Good morning, Miss Dawn,” she said. “I am sorry we disturbed your morning sleep. We have a troublemaker in here. The manager, I am sure, will ask her to leave before the day is over.” “The manager,” Miss Dawn said, glaring, “will do nothing of the kind. Why on earth are you weeping, Lily? For heaven’s sake, stop it! Vicki 98

darling, what is all this dreadful, dreadful commotion about?” Suddenly Vicki felt as though she couldn’t breathe. The air in the tiny room was heavy with the perfume on the handkerchief in her handbag which she had left open on the bureau. Now Vicki knew what Jean and Lily had meant when they described the Gypsy Girl’s perfume. For a fleeting moment she felt as though she were on the beach at Waikiki. “Oh, dear,” she thought, “I must be on the verge of fainting from hunger. And this room is so stuffy.” Aloud she said: “It’s all so silly, Chalice. I’m terribly sorry we disturbed you. Please go back to bed.” “Bed,” the actress cried, waving her hands above the housekeeper’s head. “How can I sleep when Lily is wailing like a banshee? Oh, do stop it, Lily. And must you snivel into your apron? Here, take my hanky.” She tossed a dainty lace handkerchief to the weeping maid and pushed past the housekeeper into the room. “You poor miserable creature.” Impulsively she held out her arms. “You pathetic little . . . Oh!” She interrupted herself with a loud shriek and took two strides over to where Lily was weeping beside the bureau. “You naughty, naughty girl. It was you all the time!” And then, before Vicki’s startled eyes, Chalice Dawn slapped Lily hard across the face. 99

CHAPTER IX

The Manager Shares a Secret

For a moment Vicki thought that the exotic perfume which permeated the tiny room had affected the actress’s mind. Not knowing what else to do, Vicki hastily closed her handbag with one hand and flung open the window with the other. The rush of cold air did nothing but arouse Lily from the stupor she had fallen into when the actress slapped her. With a sob she stumbled straight into the arms of the housekeeper, who led her away. Vicki sank down on the bed. The gale had swept away the perfume, but now she was weak with anger. Why had Chalice slapped Lily? “I’m so upset,” the actress was moaning. “So upset.” Vicki ignored her, thinking: “The person who needs sympathy right now is Lily. That ogress will certainly fire her now.” She got up and started for the door. “Vicki,” the actress wailed, “you can’t leave me. I 100

have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you.” “Sorry,” Vicki said shortly. “I’m not in a sympathetic mood. Frankly, Chalice Dawn, I don’t like people who slap chambermaids. Especially when they have no provocation.” From the corridor she said, “Please close the door when you leave. The window can stay open. That room needs an airing!” As she raced down the stairs, she kept asking herself: “Why did Chalice slap Lily? Why? Why?” Suddenly, when she emerged into the lobby, she thought she knew the answer. But it was nine o’clock, too late to do anything about it now. And then Vicki remembered that Ruth Benson had told her not to report for duty on Monday mornings until nine-thirty. “The ad we’ll put in the Sunday papers,” Ruth had said, “will state that no one need apply before ten. I’ve got to catch up on my interviewing reports, and I’ll need a lot of peace and quiet. Don’t show up until nine-thirty, Vic. We’ll have a cup of coffee together then.” Remembering, Vicki wheeled and ducked into the elevator. When she got off on the fifth floor she found Lionel Brownson waiting there with his finger on the “down” button. “How about having lunch with me today?” he asked without any preamble. “We must have a lot of traits in common. When you get right down to it, our 101

jobs are exactly alike. You screen aspiring stewardesses; I screen aspiring starlets.” “I never thought of that,” Vicki admitted. There was something magnetic about this good-looking young man. “Lunch would be fun. Will you call for me at the Federal suite on the main floor at noon sharp? I have only an hour for lunch.” She hurried down the corridor and around the corner to knock on Chalice’s door. The actress opened it almost immediately and threw her arms around Vicki. “Darling! I knew you wouldn’t fail me. That dreadful girl. Oh, what am I to do?” Vicki slipped inside and closed the door. “I can only stay a minute, Chalice,” she said crisply. “So let’s not waste time on histrionics or hysterics. I know now why you slapped Lily. Because you smelled the perfume on her you thought she must be the one who stole your Chadawn.” “She reeked of it,” Chalice said, waving her arms. “That type would drench herself in it from head to foot. One should only use a mere droplet. She has undoubtedly used it all up and now I am ruined. Utterly ruined.” She collapsed on the sofa and began to weep silently. As the tears flowed she groped under her negligee sash, searching, Vicki guessed, for her handkerchief. Vicki sighed. “Chalice, don’t you remember that 102

you gave your hanky to Lily? That’s why you smelled the Chadawn perfume when you started to put your arms around her.” “Oh, good heavens!” the actress cried. “So I did.” Then she frowned. “But, my dear, there was no Chadawn on that hanky.” “There must have been,” Vicki said calmly. “Didn’t you say you used Chadawn in your sachets?” “True, true,” Chalice replied. “But even the sachet itself does not reek of the perfume. That girl reeked of it, I tell you.” Vicki shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re exaggerating, Chalice, or letting your imagination run away with you. The room was very close before I opened the window, and it did reek of perfume, but not yours. It was only natural, in your present state of mind—worried as you are about Chadawn—that you would confuse the two. Especially since the other perfume was the same type of blend. A strictly brunette blend.” She smiled. “Not my type at all. Moonlight and tropical isles. Tahitian skies. Darkhaired damsels in grass skirts, swaying to the rhythm of native music. I—” Chalice leaped to her feet, interrupting. “But, my dear, darling Vicki, you are describing my Chadawn exactly. No other perfume in the whole wide world is like it.” 103

Vicki shrugged, trying hard to disguise her impatience. “I’ve got to get back to my office, Chalice. Let’s discuss the mystery in detail later. In the meantime, won’t you do something to keep Mrs. Moser from dismissing poor Lily? I’m sure she’s innocent.” “Very well,” Chalice said with a resigned sigh. “I must trust your judgment, Vicki. I’ll have her sent to my room at once and apologize.” “You’ll have to do more than that,” Vicki said. “Lily was about to be fired even before you slapped her. Mrs. Moser caught me in the act of showing Lily how she could improve her appearance. She was furious because the lesson took up all of five minutes of the hotel’s time.” “That creature,” Chalice cried. “That monster. And how sweet of you, Vicki, to take an interest in poor, pathetic Lily. Not that she could ever be glamorous. However, I shall speak to dear, sweet Mr. Oriole at once, and see to it that she is reinstated. Even if she did steal my—” Dolly, using her own key, came into the suite then. With a brief “good morning,” Vicki slipped out. As she passed the linen room on her way to the stairs she heard Lily’s nasal whine: “But I don’t know why she slapped me, ma’am. I never did a thing to Miss Dawn nohow. If you’ll only give me a reference—” 104

“Reference?” The housekeeper’s voice was very harsh. “I’m going to march you right down to the manager’s office and make you confess. You must have done something to arouse Miss Dawn’s displeasure. You’re jealous of her beauty, you ugly girl. What did you do to her?” Vicki was sorely tempted to intervene on Lily’s behalf, but she knew that Chalice Dawn’s word would carry much more weight with the manager. Chalice, she felt sure, was talking on the phone to Mr. Oriole right now, and, in that case, Lily’s troubles were about over. Back in her office, Vicki gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Ruth Benson and hastily got ready for the day’s work. Before she slipped back into the routine she had already regretted the luncheon date she had made with Lionel Brownson. There were so many things she wanted to do during that hour off duty. The handkerchief Lily had given her must be turned over to the room clerk. Mr. Oriole must be politely but firmly told that he must not rent Room 507 without first obtaining Vicki’s permission. He must also be reminded of the fact that he had promised to give her the first room vacated by a transient. Mr. Brownson’s presence in the hotel proved that Mr. Oriole had broken that promise. Vicki set her jaw stubbornly. “I don’t care if this 105

is a theatrical hotel,” she reflected. “I’m not going to be pushed around.” Then, with the arrival of the first group of applicants, she forgot everything except her job. The morning passed quickly. To Ruth Benson’s unconcealed delight, Vicki sent on to her several girls who she thought were definite possibilities. They were all attractive, well groomed, and intelligent, and apparently had the other necessary qualifications as well. Shortly before noon Vicki’s morning work was over. The reception room was empty except for the applicants who were waiting to be interviewed by Ruth Benson. Vicki darted across the lobby to the ladies’ lounge. As she powdered her nose and ran a comb through her hair she made up her mind to break the luncheon date with Lionel Brownson. “As Mrs. Moser would say,” she thought with a giggle, “it’s all very unorthodox. Although I’ve been introduced to him twice, I really don’t know a thing about him.” When she returned to her desk, the phone was ringing. Vicki picked up the receiver. “Federal Airlines. Miss Barr speaking.” “Miss Barr,” a deep, masculine voice said, “this is Lionel Brownson. Please forgive me. I can’t keep our date. I’m at the theater and the rehearsal is only just getting under way.” 106

“It’s quite all right.” Before he could say another word, Vicki put the phone back in its cradle. Mr. Brownson, she decided, never had had any intention of keeping the date. He knew that the rehearsal started at eleven. Chalice Dawn had told him that the night before. How could he possibly have expected to see the ingénue perform and get back here by noon? As she took her coat from the rack, the phone rang again. This time it was Mr. Oriole. In a very apologetic voice he said, “My dear Miss Barr, so much to talk with you about. Could you join me for lunch? I’m just going into the dining room.” “I’d love to,” Vicki said, and hung up. She left the office at once and met the manager at the entrance to the dining room. He was talking to someone on the headwaiter’s phone. “Yes, yes, I understand. Roses, of course.” Mr. Oriole put the receiver back on the hook. “Marshall,” he said to the headwaiter, “Mr. Pasquale is having convulsions. He does not like the table arrangements. The flowers, he claims, are all wrong. Roses—he wants roses. We must humor him, Marshall, we must.” The headwaiter, although very red in the face, merely bowed and led them to a table for two by a window. When he had taken their order, Mr. Oriole said to Vicki, “You have no idea, Miss Barr, what a 107

headache the hotel business can be. Our chef insists upon inspecting the dining room every day just before the doors open.” Vicki nodded. “And the headwaiter doesn’t like it.” The manager sighed. “If Marshall stays on till the first of February, I shall be very much surprised.” He dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “Now about Lily. Mrs. Moser did very wrong to cause such a scene in your room this morning. It was most kind of you to take such an interest in the girl’s appearance. But you must understand the housekeeper’s point of view. Everything must be done on schedule or nothing at all would be accomplished. Five minutes’ delay in one room might mean an hour’s delay elsewhere. Mrs. Moser is, well, rather a martinet, but that is why she is so valuable to me. She keeps the maids on their toes.” “I’m sure she does,” Vicki said blandly, “and I’m sorry I interrupted her routine. But it was my fault, not Lily’s. You’re not going to fire her, are you?” “Oh, no, no,” the manager said, smiling. “Lily is a good girl, and Miss Dawn is so fond of her. We couldn’t dismiss anyone against Miss Dawn’s wishes, could we?” Vicki shook her head in full agreement. “Now, Mr. Oriole, about the transient who occupied my room over the week end.” She waited while he 108

raised his glass of water and delicately moistened his lips. “I know you’re packed and jammed and don’t like to turn away theatrical people. But—” “So good of you to understand,” he interrupted. “Miss Jackson is a lovely person. Stranded here in Chicago en route to the Coast. Not a vacancy in the house, Miss Barr. Marianne herself, under my own personal supervision, moved your things to the linen room, and back again last evening. I’m sure you found everything exactly as you had left them. And your friend, Miss Cox. We did everything to make her comfortable. But you were wrong, my dear, to have given her a key to your room without first consulting me. Strictly against the rules of any house, Miss Barr. If she had not been wearing her uniform, it might have been most unpleasant for her.” Vicki flushed and then laughed. “Well,” she said, “I guess we each owe each other an apology. I certainly should have consulted you before I blithely told Miss Cox she could use my room. I realize that now. And it was very kind of you to have that cot put in for Miss Cox last night. Mrs. Moser explained to me this morning that it’s against the rules to convert a single room into a double room, although when you get right down to it, Room 507 doesn’t come under either heading. It’s a cubbyhole, part of Miss Dawn’s suite.” She leaned forward, frowning 109

slightly. “Sometimes it’s a nuisance not having a phone, Mr. Oriole. I was wondering why you didn’t keep your promise. Why was Mr. Brownson given the first room vacated by a transient?” It was now the manager’s turn to flush. “I was afraid you would ask that question,” he said, and explained. The Chicago representative of Magna Films, it seemed, had made a reservation for Lionel Brownson shortly before Federal Airlines had reserved a room for Vicki. “First come, first served,” Mr. Oriole said in conclusion. A waiter removed their empty soup bowls and brought the entree. “I don’t know much about the hotel business,” Vicki said, “but I’m glad airlines don’t operate in the same haphazard way. We don’t accept reservations when there are no seats on a plane. Passengers do arrive at the airport on the chance that there may be a last-minute cancellation, but that’s different.” Mr. Oriole formed his hands into a small tabernacle and said patiently, “Not so very different, Miss Barr. The departure of a transient often amounts to the same thing as a last-minute cancellation. And I shall now be honest with you. This morning a transient departed a day ahead of time. There is a vacancy on the sixth floor, but I cannot give it to you.” “Why not?” Vicki demanded. And suddenly she 110

knew that she could answer that question herself. She didn’t want to be on the sixth floor; she wanted to stay where she was so that she could be near Chalice and help her solve the mystery of the missing Chadawn. “Because,” Mr. Oriole was saying, “right after the transient checked out, a very famous lady called me and asked for a room. I could not disappoint this lady who wishes to be here for Miss Dawn’s opening. And when I tell you her name, you will understand why.” He lowered his voice to an awed whisper: “Frances Harlow!” Vicki stared. “I never heard of her.” Mr. Oriole seemed about to faint from surprise. “You never heard of Frances Harlow? My dear young woman, Frances Harlow retired before you were born, when I myself was a boy, but she is one of our greatest living actresses. Famous for her Shakespearean roles; there has never been another Juliet like her!” “I do remember now,” Vicki admitted, “but only vaguely. Isn’t she very old? I don’t remember ever seeing a picture of her.” “You must have seen pictures of her,” Mr. Oriole said, rather impatiently. “But none that were taken after she retired about a quarter of a century ago. She announced at that time she would never again pose in front of the camera. I can understand that. A 111

woman who has once been a great beauty would not want the world to see her face after it has been touched by age.” “I don’t see how she could have avoided having her picture taken since then,” Vicki said. “Famous people, whether they like it or not, are always being snapped by news photographers. That is, if they travel. Won’t the lobby be swarming with newspaper people when Miss Harlow arrives?” Mr. Oriole smiled. “Miss Harlow is arriving incognito. She will register under the name of Charlotte Dearborn. Only Miss Dawn will know her true identity. Miss Harlow greatly admires Miss Dawn, although they have never met. I had to let you in on the secret, my dear Miss Barr. I had to because I was afraid you might object if you learned through one of the maids—Lily, for instance, that a transient had checked out. But now I am sure you understand why I cannot give you Room 610—not until after the opening, my dear. And I am also sure you will keep our secret.” Vicki could not help smiling. “Really, Mr. Oriole,” she said, “I don’t see how you can be sure that I will keep the secret. What is to prevent me from telling one of the maids—Lily, for instance, that the guest in Room 610 is really Frances Harlow? A slip of my tongue and it would be all over the hotel in an hour. I honestly think you’ve 112

been rather indiscreet.” “Not at all, my dear,” he said cheerfully. “Not at all. I am an excellent judge of character. I know a young woman who can keep her own counsel when I see one. Moreover, when I had lunch with your charming Miss Benson the other day, she spoke very highly of you. Your looks are deceptive, granted, but they did not deceive me, not for one moment. Our secret, Miss Barr, is, I am positive, absolutely safe with you.” Vicki, her lips twitching, bowed. “I am highly flattered, Mr. Oriole.” Inwardly she was not flattered at all. She doubted very much if this chipmunklike man was a good judge of character. With a laugh, she opened her handbag and took out the man’s handkerchief Lily had given her that morning. “Just to prove that I’m an honest person,” she said, “here’s a little something Miss Jackson left in my room. I was going to turn it over to the desk clerk, but I imagine your secretary won’t mind mailing it to Miss Jackson’s Hollywood address.” Inclining his head in a courteous gesture, Mr. Oriole accepted the handkerchief and placed it in his pocket. “Such a charming young woman, Lenore Jackson. It is to be regretted that she missed meeting dear Mr. Brownson by a mere ten minutes. So influential in Hollywood, you know. Magna Films. One of the top-flight talent scouts. By picking up the 113

phone he would have arranged things so that Miss Jackson could have had a screen test immediately after her arrival. But now, I am afraid, she may be kept waiting for days and days. That’s the cinema for you. So different from the legitimate stage; all sorts of wires must be pulled before a bit-part player receives proper recognition. Just a walk-on part in Tigers and Kings, you know, but Miss Jackson told me that her performance was mentioned in Variety, the Bible of show business, and so, of course, Magna sent for her.” “Oh,” Vicki interrupted, “then Lenore Jackson isn’t a famous star?” “Not yet, my dear,” the manager replied, his graylashed eyes twinkling. “A young hopeful, shall we say? I felt so sorry for the child, so unsophisticated and alone, stranded in this huge city, on her way, perhaps, to great disillusionment. I understand one can starve in Hollywood while waiting for a promised screen test. I did introduce her to Miss Dawn, of course, to bolster the child’s morale. But you know how Miss Dawn feels about the cinema. No help at all; cares nothing for it. The silver screen hardly exists so far as she is concerned.” Mr. Oriole sighed. “If only I could have had the opportunity of introducing dear Miss Jackson to that charming Mr. Brownson!” And then, at some secret signal from the hovering headwaiter, he pushed back his chair 114

and stood up. “I am afraid I must leave you, my dear. Order anything you like for dessert. I recommend the Cream a la Versailles.” Before Vicki could say “thank you,” he was gone, threading his neat, crisp way through the now crowded tables. She decided to have a large cup of black coffee instead of a rich dessert. Her mind was reeling. Lenore Jackson . . . Charlotte Dearborn . . . Frances Harlow—or had the manager said Charlotte Dorn? . . . What had made her think of Charlotte Dorn? . . . Oh, yes, now she remembered. Linda Murray had written that name in the space after in case of accident notify on her application blank. Vicki sighed as she gulped down the scalding coffee and went back to her office. Why did so many things keep reminding her of Linda? Would she never be able to forget the girl?

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CHAPTER X

An Amazing Discovery

Vicki had a busy afternoon, so it was after six when she got off the elevator on the fifth floor. All the doors to Chalice Dawn’s suite were thrown wide open, and the mingled voices of her guests floated down the corridor. The tea in honor of the ingénue, Claire Forester, was obviously in full swing. Vicki had planned to shower and change from her uniform into an afternoon frock, but she was caught up by a laughing crowd at the staircase and carried on and into Chalice’s living room. The actress had piled her hair high on her head and was wearing a long, flowing hostess gown with a short train. Both arms outstretched in welcome she greeted the new arrivals effusively. “Oh, you dear, sweet people. How truly angelic of you to come. Sylvia, you’ll fall madly in love with Lionel Brownson. He’s that gorgeous, gorgeous man over by the window with my sweet little Claire. Go over and introduce yourself. . . . 116

Arnold, you lamb! Orchids—for me? . . . Beatrice, it’s been ages . . . Vicki, my pet. I thought you’d never come.” Before Vicki could utter a word she was swept through the crowded living room and bedroom into the smaller dressing room. The actress closed the door. “My dear,” she whispered in her husky voice, “I am so baffled; completely baffled. The worst has happened. The very worst. The manager dropped in at four. I had just returned from rehearsal, and Dolly made us a pot of tea. That clumsy Ivan, wagging his tail, knocked over Mr. Oriole’s cup. Mr. Oriole mopped up with this. THIS!” She yanked opening a dressing-table drawer and handed Vicki a man’s handkerchief. “Smell it, Vicki. Smell it. It positively reeks of Chadawn. What am I to think? Is Mr. Oriole a thief? Is he my deadliest enemy? He, who I had always thought was such a dear, sweet person!” Vicki took a whiff of the handkerchief Chalice was holding under her nose. “Oh, dear,” she sighed, “this is the very same handkerchief I gave Mr. Oriole at lunch.” “You?” The actress sank down upon the stool and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, my throbbing temples. I can’t stand it another minute. It’s a nightmare. That’s just what it is. A nightmare.” “Oh, Chalice, please,” Vicki begged. “It’s all so 117

simple. This handkerchief was left in my room by Miss Jackson. Lenore Jackson. You met her, I understand. She borrowed my room over the week end, and Lily found this when she emptied the scrap basket Sunday evening. The perfume on it is the same perfume you smelled this morning when you said Lily reeked of Chadawn. The handkerchief was in my bag and my bag was open on my bureau. Now do you understand? It isn’t Chadawn—it couldn’t be. It’s simply another very similar fragrance.” “Not Chadawn?” It was almost a shriek. “Why, you must be insane, Vicki Barr. Do you mean to stand there and tell me that I don’t know my very own, specially blended perfume when I smell it?” She yanked the glass stopper from a large bottle of cologne and held it under Vicki’s nose. “This is Chadawn. Toilet water, and, of course, not nearly as concentrated as the perfume. But, unless you have taken leave of all your senses, you cannot deny that it is the same fragrance as that on this hideous handkerchief.” Vicki was too dumfounded to deny anything. The two delicately exotic perfumes were undeniably identical. “This hideous handkerchief,” Chalice repeated. “Dolly naturally snatched it away from Mr. Oriole and did the mopping up herself with a dishcloth. She told him she would wash and iron the wretched 118

thing and return it to him in the morning. I was sitting in a chair, quite a distance from Mr. Oriole, and holding a handkerchief, soaked in the cologne, to my throbbing temples. So naturally I suspected nothing until after Mr. Oriole had gone. Then Dolly wordlessly handed me this loathsome thing. At the same moment Claire and Lionel arrived, so I thrust it into this drawer, deciding to do nothing until I spoke to you.” She held her slender arms above her head in a gesture of supplication. “Oh, good heavens, what am I to do?” “Nothing,” said Vicki, who had been trying to think with one part of her mind and listen to the actress with the other. “Nothing now. After your guests leave, let’s start from the very beginning again. It is all very mysterious and confusing, but I am sure Mr. Oriole did not steal your Chadawn.” With a resigned expression on her lovely face, Chalice led the way back to the party. Lionel Brownson immediately attached himself to Vicki. “I’m so sorry about lunch,” he said apologetically. “I planned to escort Miss Dawn to the theater, get myself introduced to Claire, and come right back here. But the director had called the eleven-o’clock rehearsal for only Miss Dawn and her leading man. The love scene in the last act, you know. Claire didn’t show up until noon and Miss Dawn wouldn’t let me leave until I had seen her 119

perform.” He grinned. “You know how Chalice Dawn is. There’s no sense in arguing with her. I hope you’ll understand and forgive me.” “Of course,” Vicki said with a smile. “As a matter of fact, I couldn’t have kept the appointment, anyway.” Abruptly she changed the subject. “Did you have a successful day? Claire is so lovely I’m sure she is just what Magna Films has been looking for.” He frowned. “As a matter of fact, she isn’t. At the rehearsal she threw her lines, probably because my presence made her nervous. Actually she’s too petite for the part we had in mind for her. We’re looking for a platinum blonde who is tall and broadshouldered. If you run across one downstairs who lacks all of the necessary qualifications for a stewardess, I hope you’ll send her to me.” Vicki laughed. “How about Diana Harding, the college girl Miss Dawn described last night? Did you have time to interview her today?” He frowned. “Diana Harding is a myth—at least so far as De Paul University is concerned. I’m afraid Miss Dawn foolishly paid for a lot of magazines she’ll never receive.” His long gray eyes were steely. “I haven’t told her yet, but she obviously fell for the good old ‘College Boy Gag,’ which is a modernized version of the Fagin plot. The ‘brain’ of the outfit recruits boys and girls, trains them to 120

arouse the sympathy of prospects with misrepresentations, such as, that they are working their way through school, supporting a sick relative, etc. Every year millions of innocent, kindhearted people are duped into paying for magazines and Christmas cards which never arrive.” Vicki nodded. “In spite of the fact that the Better Business Bureaus constantly campaign against such schemes.” He shrugged. “I’ve come to the conclusion that people like Miss Dawn must enjoy being victimized. When the so-called Diana knocked on her door, she should have notified the manager immediately. All hotels strictly forbid peddlers, beggars, and charity canvassers. But they can’t very well screen everyone who uses the elevators and stairs. In the ‘College Boy’ racket, for instance, the young women look and act their parts to perfection. They dress in excellent taste, have charm and poise, and speak in well-modulated voices. Except for the fact that they lack proper references, I imagine many of them would be snapped up by Federal and given stewardess jobs.” Vicki’s blue eyes twinkled. “We don’t go around snapping up people. In fact, we turn them away by the dozens. But I know what you mean. Only last Thursday I was about to interview a girl who apparently had everything, but who, like Diana 121

Harding, turned out to be a myth.” “A myth?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why on earth should a myth wander into an airlines’ recruiting office?” “I have no idea,” Vicki admitted, and suddenly found herself telling Lionel Brownson all that she knew about Linda Murray. By the time she had finished they were on a first-name basis. He interrupted so frequently to ask curious questions that it took an hour to tell the tale. “The description, Vicki,” he said finally, “fits Miss Dawn’s ‘Diana’ to a T. They were both here the same morning; both were tall, broad-shouldered, with longish, platinum-blond hair. Typical college girls, and if they are one and the same, she’s an excellent actress, quick-witted and—” “I can’t believe it,” Vicki interrupted. “Linda didn’t try to sell me anything. Although she was sick and frightened, she didn’t even want me to take the trouble to help her. I really have never stopped worrying about that girl. I wish I could find her, or at least find out what happened to her.” “I’ll help you,” Lionel offered. Vicki laughed. “And if you find her, I suppose you’ll lure her to Hollywood, instead of letting me lure her to the skyways.” He shook his head gravely. “If I find her I’ll lure her to the nearest police station, because I’m 122

convinced she’s Diana Harding. To prove I’m right, go and ask Miss Dawn what Diana was wearing last Thursday morning. Miss Dawn has a fabulous memory, you know.” Vicki started across the room toward her hostess and then stopped. Seated beside the actress on the sofa was an elderly woman whose lavender-tinted white hair was piled high on her head. It was a Gibson girl coiffure, and on it was a Gay Nineties beribboned and beflowered hat. A short, nose-length veil of lavender chiffon descended from the front of it, and the purple velvet ribbons ended in a large bow under the woman’s chin. Her orchid silk gown had short sleeves but her arms were covered by long opera gloves of pale lavender kidskin. The reverent expression on Chalice Dawn’s face told Vicki at once who the “lady in lavender” was. Chalice looked as though she might jump up and drop a curtsy or fall upon her knees any minute. For once her hands were quiet; only her luminous black eyes betrayed how completely in awe of the woman she was. Her eyes, and her slightly parted lips, made Vicki feel sure that the woman could only be “the greatest living American actress,” Miss Frances Harlow. Vicki hesitated. She had no right to intrude upon their conversation. Lionel’s voice prodded her: “What’s the matter? Got stage fright? Or don’t 123

you dare put my theory to the test?” Vicki laughed but didn’t move. The crowd had thinned now, for it was almost eight o’clock. Dolly, in her hat and coat, came out of the bedroom leading Ivan on his leash. One of the guests cried, “Oh, heavens, Ivan’s going out for his walk. It must be eight. I’ve got to dash.” Several others left with her, waving to Chalice who hardly seemed to see them. The French clock began to chime as Dolly led Ivan out into the hall. “I think we’ve outstayed our welcome,” Vicki said to Lionel, for they, and the lady in lavender, were the only remaining guests. She crossed over to the sofa. “Good night, Chalice,” she said, “and thanks for a lovely time.” Chalice sprang to her feet. “Darling! I’ve neglected you. And you too, Lionel pet. I want you both to meet an old friend of mine. Miss Dearborn, may I present Miss Barr and Mr. Brownson?” “How do you do?” Miss Dearborn inclined her head slightly, and the pansies and violets on her bonnet quivered. Her low voice had only the faintest timbre of age. “That’s the result of years and years of voice training,” Vicki reflected. “When Chalice is Frances Harlow’s age, her voice will still be beautiful, too.” She smiled at the ancient actress, wondering if Mr. 124

Oriole had told her that one Vicki Barr shared the secret of her identity. But the woman’s face, halfhidden as it was by the veil, told her nothing. Vicki could see now, though, that she was heavily madeup, so much so that her skin had a stiff, leathery look. But layers of foundation cream, powder, and lavender-tinted rouge, could not completely hide the wrinkles. The droop of her shoulders, too, betrayed her age, as well as the way she carried her head, bent forward so that her chin seemed to be resting on the purple bow under it. But in spite of everything, she was a handsome woman, and had undoubtedly once been beautiful. Lionel, having no idea that he was in the presence of the great, merely bowed courteously and said to Vicki, “Go on, ask Miss Dawn the questions I told you to ask her so we can solve the mystery.” Chalice frowned at Vicki. Her eyes said, “Good heavens, you haven’t told him about Chadawn?” Vicki shook her head slightly. “We want to know more about the girl who sold you those magazine subscriptions last Thursday, Chalice. Do you—” “A lovely child,” Chalice interrupted, including Miss Dearborn in the conversation with a humble smile. “Definitely a screen possibility. But you, Miss Dearborn, would have seen in her at once what I did. She lacks that indefinable something which is a must for a successful career on the legitimate 125

stage.” The lips of the ancient actress moved, but Vicki couldn’t hear the word she muttered. Chalice nodded, obviously in full agreement. “No warmth— no true temperament—no soul. I was, however, completely captivated by her beauty and charm. I bought several magazines from her. She is working her way through college. Did you interview her this morning, Lionel darling?” “I tried,” he said soberly. “According to the receipt Dolly gave me, she should have been a junior at De Paul, Miss Dawn, but she isn’t. I’m afraid you’ve been cheated out of twenty-five dollars.” The ancient actress stirred. “I really must be going.” “Oh, no,” Chalice cried. “Lionel, we mustn’t bore sweet Miss Dearborn with unpleasant topics. No matter what you say, I know that Diana Harding didn’t cheat me out of anything. What else did you want to know about her, Vicki, my pet?” “Do you remember what she was wearing?” Vicki asked. “But, of course,” Chalice said. “She had a babyblue cashmere scarf tied around her lovely hair, and she was wearing a short fur coat. Imitation leopard. A brown tweed suit and a baby-blue sweater which matched her scarf. I made her take off the scarf, and 126

then, because it had flattened down her hair, I took her into my dressing room and got her to fluff it up again. She crammed the scarf into the pocket of her coat and was not wearing it when she left.” Vicki realized that Chalice was showing off, proving for the benefit of the older actress that she did, indeed, have a fabulous memory. Vicki also realized that Chalice had described in detail the clothes Linda Murray had been wearing last Thursday. Now there could be no doubt about it; Lionel was right. Linda Murray and Diana Harding were the same person.

127

CHAPTER XI

The Elusive Clue

“Do you give up?” Lionel’s gray eyes twinkled. “You win,” Vicki said with a rueful grin. “What on earth are you two talking about?” Chalice demanded. Before either of them could reply, the old actress got stiffly to her feet. “I really must be going,” she said to Chalice. “It is way past my bedtime.” “Oh!” Chalice’s voice was poignant with disappointment. “I hoped you’d have supper with me. Please! I have already telephoned to the chef. Pasquale himself is coming up in a few minutes to prepare the crêpe suzette. You must stay, Miss Dearborn.” She hurried to the door and peered down the corridor. “I thought I heard the elevator. It must be Pasquale now . . . Oh, no, it’s Dolly and Ivan. Dolly! You didn’t keep him out long enough. A dog that size must have at least an hour’s exercise every day. Half an hour in the morning and half an hour in the evening.” Dolly and the dog appeared, both of 128

them looking cold and miserable. Chalice kept right on scolding. “Dolly, I’m so annoyed with you. You were right here when the veterinarian told us we mustn’t vary Ivan’s routine by an ounce or a minute. Those were his very words.” The French clock chimed the quarter hour. Dolly sighed. “Yes, ma’am, but it was so bitter cold.” Lionel took the leash from her limp hand. “Vic and I will give him a little walk, won’t we, Vic?” Vicki nodded. “Wait till I get my overcoat from my room.” “Oh, you angels,” Chalice cried as she followed Vicki down the hall. When Vicki unlocked her door and grabbed her coat, hat, and warm gloves, Chalice added in a whisper: “I must see you alone later this evening, darling. I must. If we don’t have a chat, I won’t be able to sleep a wink.” She tucked her arm through Vicki’s as they started back toward the open doors of her suite. “My dear, I am counting on you to solve the Chadawn mystery.” The door to the service elevator clanged open and Mr. Pasquale, wearing his tall white cap, appeared. Behind him were bus boys wheeling tray tables. Chalice broke away from Vicki, calling, “Pasquale, you sweet man! I knew you wouldn’t fail me. Miss Dearborn. Dearest. Go right back and sit down. Dolly, set the table. My best linen. Lionel, 129

take that huge dog away from the entrance. He’s blocking the way. I adore him, of course, but he’s so stupid and so enormous. Oh, why didn’t I have sense enough to buy a papillon instead of a borzoi?” She was still talking in disjointed sentences as Lionel and Vicki led Ivan toward the elevator. “He is dumb,” Lionel said in a low voice. “But if Miss Dawn plans to turn him in for a smaller dog she ought to get a dachshund. They can detect the faintest sound and immediately give the alarm, If ever a woman needs a burglar alarm, it is she. Did you ever know anyone quite so impulsive and impractical?” “Never,” Vicki agreed. “She certainly took both of us at face value. I, at least, was wearing the uniform of a well-known airline when I met her— but you—I’ll bet she never did ask for letters of introduction which would prove that you really are a talent scout representing Magna Films.” He jabbed for the third time at the elevator button. Then he took from an inside pocket of his jacket a long envelope. He handed it to Vicki with a bow. “I detect a note of suspicion in your voice, Miss Barr. Here are my credentials.” Vicki chuckled and returned the envelope to him. “I believe you, but I must say you don’t look or act or talk like the talent scouts I’ve read about in stories.” 130

He looked annoyed. “Just because I don’t run around calling everyone darling and wear handpainted neckties!” Vicki laughed. The elevator finally stopped for them and they rode down in silence. Out on the street, Vicki said, “Now let’s get back to Linda and Diana, or should I say, Lindiana?” “You should,” he said, “for they are one and the same. The fact that you haven’t heard from Captain Bevin proves that he got nowhere tracking down the various clues you gave him. If Linda had really been suffering from amnesia, she would have been on the police Missing Persons list by Saturday. I mean, a description of her would have been sent in by friends or relatives long ago. Attractive young women like that just don’t disappear—unless they want to. Since you are neither a friend nor a relative, the police can’t really consider her a missing person.” “I don’t see why not,” Vicki said. “Maybe she hasn’t got any friends or relatives.” She sighed. “Oh, I realize now that she faked the amnesia and made a fool of me. But why? Why did she come into our reception room at all?” “Simple,” he said. “After she fleeced Miss Dawn, she would naturally want to leave the hotel as soon as possible. Just in case Miss Dawn might check up on her. Down in the lobby something happened, 131

Vicki, something which frightened her. So she ducked into your reception room. Once there she had to go through the motions of an aspiring flight stewardess, so she filled out the blanks on the form with anything that came into her head. Then, having ascertained that the coast was clear, she was about to leave when you appeared. There is no doubt that the girl is an actress, otherwise you wouldn’t have been taken in by the amnesia act. She must have been furious when you stuck like a burr, but in the end, she got away through trickery. Crocodile tears, but not so crocodile at that, for, of course, the last place she wanted to go was to the police station. Members of a ‘College Boy Gag’ organization are trained to avoid contact with the police. Contact with the law often means routine fingerprinting, and once a law violator is fingerprinted, his chances of escaping justice are practically nil.” “You know an awful lot about criminal law,” Vicki couldn’t help pointing out. “I should,” he replied easily. “I was graduated from Columbia Law School and admitted to the bar. I don’t practice because I don’t like it. I only took the exams to please my dad.” “But a talent scout,” Vicki cried impulsively. “It’s such a far cry from law practice.” A blast of icy wind cut across their faces as they waited on a corner to cross the street. He lowered his 132

head with a chuckle. “Not any farther than a certain flight stewardess I know has flown from her father’s chosen profession. I seem to remember that Jean Cox told me your dad is a professor of economics.” Ivan, pulling impatiently on his leash, turned around and started back toward the hotel. “You win,” Vicki said. “Are you speaking to me or to the borzoi?” Lionel asked. “To you,” Vicki said, her teeth chattering. “To both of you. Let’s get out of this icy wind. I’m numb, mentally and physically.” She noticed then for the first time that he was carrying his topcoat. But he strode along as though the near-gale was a soft tropical breeze. “Ye gods,” she gasped. “I remember Jean telling me that you were an All-American fullback, but I’m beginning to think you’re Superman. Aren’t you frozen?” “No, but I’m awfully hungry.” He grinned. “Won’t you have dinner with me, Vicki? We haven’t even scratched the surface of the Lindiana mystery. We can turn Ivan over to the doorman and grab a cab. Let’s try the Pump Room.” “I’d love it,” Vicki said enthusiastically. “But do you think it’s all right to turn Ivan over to the doorman? Aren’t Russian wolfhounds fabulously expensive?” 133

Lionel shrugged. “The doorman is Dolly’s brother. He’ll guard the beast with his life. Ed worships the ground Chalice Dawn walks upon. She made Mr. Oriole hire him despite the fact that the kid has rather a shady past. When Chalice does that kind of thing, I approve of her; but when she welcomes perfect strangers into her boudoir, I don’t. A boy who has once been in reform school should not be condemned for life as a potential criminal. On the other hand, a young woman, just because she has lovely platinum-blond hair, should not be taken at face value.” Vicki took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching the white steam until it disappeared. “Is there anything you don’t know, Lionel Brownson?” she asked. “You’ve only been in the hotel about twenty-four hours and you already seem to know the life history of all the employees.” He chuckled. “I don’t know much about the hotel staff, but anyone who has spent an hour with Chalice Dawn is bound to pick up some facts about her private life, as well as the private life of anyone remotely connected with her.” “That’s true,” Vicki agreed as they waited at the curb for a taxi. “Right here, on this exact spot, when I hardly knew her, she told me in a loud, clear voice exactly where she kept her safe. I shudder to think of it. Dozens of people were passing, and some of them 134

looked none too savory.” He sighed. “Don’t worry about unsavory-looking people. Bums and pickpockets don’t commit hotel burglaries. They couldn’t get by the doorman or the desk clerk. The types Chalice Dawn should be warned against are those who look, dress, and act like cultured people. Not,” he added, “that it would do any good to warn Chalice.” “That man in the gray overcoat who’s standing under the awning right now,” Vicki interrupted in a whisper. “He certainly looks like a cultured gentleman and I remember now that he strolled past us when Chalice told me she was thinking of giving her pearls to Claire.” Lionel narrowed his eyes. “A gentleman, but a very nondescript one. You probably noticed someone else, equally nondescript on Sunday evening.” Vicki shook her head. “I’m interested in people, you know, all types, and so I notice little things about them that other people might not notice. It wasn’t anything you could put your finger on, but I know he was deliberately listening, just as I’m sure that the young assistant engineer was eavesdropping when I left Chalice’s suite later that evening.” Lionel’s broad shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Hotel employees are forever eavesdropping. They exist on gossip. And as for the 135

man in the gray overcoat, he’s probably a guest, who, like Ivan, has been told that for the sake of his health he must take a walk every evening.” “I suppose so,” Vicki said, grinning. “And when you get right down to it, who wouldn’t listen when a famous actress announces dramatically that she plans to give away ‘pearls of great price’?” Half an hour later they were seated in the famous restaurant, eating pancakes with caviar in sour cream. “Vicki,” Lionel said slowly, “I want you to tell me everything you can remember about Linda Murray. Not just the facts you gave the police. Tonight I’m going to have a talk with Captain Bevin. I want him to find Lindiana. It might mean the breaking up of an enormous ‘College Boy Gag’ organization. If the Fagin who heads it could be put behind bars, a lot of young people might perforce go straight. It’s worth a try, anyway.” Vicki could not help admiring this sincere young man. “You should have kept on with your legal career,” she said. “You probably would have ended up as a juvenile court judge. I just can’t believe you’re happy working as a talent scout.” He grinned. “Let’s say it’s only a temporary job, which it is. Whether I like it or not is beside the point. Right now, the important thing is to trace the young woman who duped Chalice Dawn.” Vicki frowned. “You obviously know more about 136

these things than I ever will know, but can we be sure that something happened to Lindiana in the Hartwood lobby which made her duck into our reception room? In all fairness to the girl, we should realize that there may be a perfectly logical explanation of why she pretended to be suffering from amnesia when I met her. There’s a possibility that Lindiana doesn’t like cheating people; that she wants to go straight, and would, if she could get a job which would mean travel, meeting people, and adventure. When she passed our recruiting notice in the lobby she might have acted on a sudden impulse which she later regretted. I’m sure a lot of girls think they’d like to be flight stewardesses, but after they see the questions on the application form, they realize they haven’t a chance. I felt that way myself. When I was waiting to be interviewed, I was so miserably sure I wouldn’t be accepted that I would have run away if I hadn’t been frozen with fright.” “That,” he said, using her own words, I can’t believe. You’re not the type who flees from anything—even danger. According to Chalice, you’ve solved a lot of mysteries . . . some of them involving a great deal of risk.” His long gray eyes were steely now. “I think that you are a very observant person and that you know something about Lindiana which you are keeping to yourself. It may be buried in your subconscious mind, but it’s 137

there. I don’t mean what she was wearing or what she said or what she wrote on the form. It’s something more elusive; something which your feminine intuition sensed. And let me tell you right now that I have the greatest respect for feminine intuition. And so do smart policemen. I’ve known criminal investigators who say they get a prickly sensation all over when a witness is lying, no matter how plausible his lies may be.” Suddenly Vicki knew what the “something wrong” was about Linda Murray which she had sensed in the very beginning. It was not her long, pointed fingernails as Ginny had suggested. It was the same elusive something which had made Vicki think of Linda when she had joined Chalice Dawn in the tiny kitchenette the night before. She had come close to the answer when she had chanted “Sugar and spice.” But it wasn’t the fragrance of spices that had made her think of Linda Murray. It was the faint, elusive fragrance of Chadawn which clung to Chalice’s clothing. Only when you were close to the actress did you notice it. Linda, Vicki now remembered, had been wearing the same perfume. When the girl had shrugged away to tie on her scarf, Vicki, for a fleeting moment, had been carried back to glamorous Hawaii. And in that moment Vicki’s subconscious mind had absorbed the fact that the lovely platinum blonde was dressed 138

becomingly and in excellent taste—but she was wearing a perfume that was definitely brunette. Linda Murray . . . Diana Harding . . . What was it Chalice had said about Diana Harding? “I took her into my dressing room and made her fluff up her hair. She crammed the scarf into the pocket of her coat and was not wearing it when she left.” What else had Lindiana crammed into her pocket with the blue scarf? How easy it would have been to waft away the vial of Chadawn at the same time! A deep, masculine voice broke into Vicki’s thoughts. “All right. Give.” Vicki, genuinely sorry, shook her head. She was sorely tempted to confide in this pleasant, wellinformed young man. But the Chadawn mystery was Chalice Dawn’s secret. Without the actress’s permission, she couldn’t share the secret with anyone connected with show business. Besides, any information she gave Lionel Brownson would be relayed to the police. The fact that Chalice Dawn had a talisman which was missing might get into the newspapers. Even if it was found before opening night, the other members of the cast might still be jittery. And that, Chalice had said, would mean disaster. There was a note of command in Lionel’s voice as he said quietly, “You’ve thought of that something you couldn’t remember when you 139

reported the Linda Murray case to Captain Bevin. Tell me what it is.” Vicki forced herself to laugh lightly. “The only additional information I can give you about Lindiana is something you’ve already figured out for yourself. You’ve said more than once that she can act out a part very convincingly. My feminine intuition tells me that you’re right. She is or was in show business.” Silently she asked herself: “How else could she possibly have known that Chalice had an amulet, a tiny vial of perfume, the only one on the dressing table that had sealing wax around its crown-shaped stopper?” As they rode back to the Hartwood, Vicki sat silently thinking. That very morning Lily had held a handkerchief under her nose and asked: “What does it make you think of, Miss Barr?” And Vicki had replied promptly, “Linda Murray.” Adding: “I guess that man’s handkerchief made me think of her.” But it wasn’t the handkerchief—it was the perfume. How had that Chadawn-drenched handkerchief got into the wastebasket of Room 507? Was dark-haired Lenore Jackson somehow connected with the disappearance of Chadawn?

140

CHAPTER XII

An Impostor

Later that evening when Vicki tapped on the door of Chalice Dawn’s suite she was told by Dolly that the actress could not be disturbed. “Her headache is much worse, Miss Barr,” the maid said. “She did so want to see you, but I told her, no. Tomorrow would do as well. She is so worried about opening night, Miss Barr. So dreadfully worried. I gave her a triple bromide and a massage. I think she’s asleep. I hope so. Miss Dearborn did tire her so. They were closeted in the dressing room for an hour after supper. Miss Dawn would show the lady all her jewels. Every one of them. I’ve only just finished putting them away.” Sighing, she followed Vicki down the hall. “Miss Dawn does not have to rehearse tomorrow. Could you, perhaps, have lunch with her? She is so anxious to talk with you about—well, you know what.” “I’d be glad to,” Vicki replied. “Good night, Dolly. I’ll see you at noon tomorrow.” 141

Dolly hurried away. As Vicki put her key in her lock she noticed out of the corner of one eye that the door to Lionel Brownson’s room was slightly ajar. She hoped he had not heard Dolly say: “She is so anxious to talk with you about—well, you know what.” Then the door closed. Vicki slipped into her room. Had Lionel been deliberately eavesdropping? Had he been eavesdropping the night before, too, and only pretended that the night clerk had given him the wrong key? Who was he, anyway? He claimed to be a talent scout and apparently had the proper credentials, but he certainly didn’t behave like one. At Chalice’s tea he had almost completely ignored the lovely young ingénue, and had devoted himself to Vicki. He had explained his lack of interest in Claire by saying that she was too petite, which had indirectly—or perhaps by his direction—led her into telling him all she knew about Linda Murray. Vicki climbed wearily into bed. Claire, Lionel had also said, had “thrown away her lines.” What would happen to the star’s lines if Chalice Dawn’s talisman were not found before opening night? If Chalice, through nervousness, threw away her own lines, the entire cast might follow suit. In that case, the play would not last long. Hundreds of people would be out of work as a consequence; the small 142

fortune which had been invested in the vehicle, irretrievably lost. “I’ve got to find Chadawn,” Vicki decided. “And that means I’ve got to find Lindiana.” The next day over lunch in the actress’s suite, Vicki told Chalice why she was sure Diana Harding and Linda Murray were the same person. It took from soup to dessert to convince Chalice that her Chadawn had been taken by the blond young woman; but once convinced, the actress was outraged. She paced the floor in a fit of temper. “The horrid, horrid creature. What did I ever do to her to deserve such treachery? I paid her in cash for those magazine subscriptions—twenty-five dollars—for magazines I would never have read, anyway. I should have yanked her hair out by the roots, and I shall if I ever lay eyes upon her again. You must find her, Vicki, you must. Why did she do this to me? Why? Why?” Vicki sighed. “I can’t think of any motive for Lindiana except revenge. Think hard, Chalice. Did you ever cause an extra, or someone with a bit part, to get fired? Someone whom you hardly glanced at but knew at once she would not work out in your play?” “Oh, do stop talking such nonsense,” Chalice interrupted. “Never in my whole life did I ever do 143

anything to get anyone fired.” “How about Mrs. Moser?” Vicki reminded her calmly. “Oh, that woman.” Chalice sank down on the sofa beside Vicki. “I suppose I shall have to interrupt my trend of thought and explain to you why I detest her so. It was she who had Dolly’s brother sent to reform school. He was working here as a bellhop, his first job, the poor dear boy. I don’t know the details, but you may be sure that if I hadn’t been playing in New York at the time, my own lawyer would have defended him. Something was stolen, I don’t know what, but Mrs. Moser accused Ed. It was all circumstantial evidence; any number of other employees could have been the thief. In fact, it might not have been an employee at all. Twice a day when they change shifts, at eight in the morning and at eight in the evening, the employees’ entrance, stairways, and elevators are swarming with people. Anyone, walking in off the street during those times, and equipped with nothing but a skeleton key, could have stolen whatever it was that Mrs. Moser reported missing. As a matter of fact, the house detective is so stupid, a notorious criminal could walk right by him and into the elevator without Mr. Strode being any the wiser.” “I can believe it,” Vicki said with a smile. “This place is such a madhouse anything could happen. 144

And now I do understand why you dislike Mrs. Moser. If you feel that Ed was innocent—” “There is no question of it,” Chalice broke in impatiently. “He told me himself that he was innocent.” It was all Vicki could do to keep from laughing. Chalice was pathetically naive. The fact that Ed denied guilt meant nothing. Suddenly Vicki was struck by another thought. Mr. Strode, the house detective—was his presence in the lobby the reason why Lindiana had ducked into the recruiting office? Vicki herself had no idea who Mr. Strode was or what he looked like. A member of a “College Boy Gag” organization, however, would undoubtedly have been briefed on such matters by the Faginboss. Lionel had said the night before that hardened criminals were often equipped with a sixth sense akin to feminine intuition. They could almost smell a detective, no matter what disguise he was wearing. Lindiana’s Fagin probably was too practical to rely on a sixth sense. Before Lindiana came into the Hartwood’s lobby she might well have been shown a picture of the house detective, or at least have been given an accurate description of him. The more Vicki thought about it, the more Vicki felt sure that this was the explanation of why “Linda Murray” had spent an hour filling in the application form with fictitious information. The aunt’s name, “Charlotte 145

Dorn,” was the result of word association, for in Linda’s pocket, as she posed as an aspiring flight stewardess, was the missing vial of Chadawn. Chalice’s voice broke into Vicki’s thoughts. “I can understand her getting money from me under false pretenses, but why did she steal my Chadawn?” The actress was pacing the floor again. “On my dressing table are several bottles of imported perfumes, their seals unbroken. She could have taken them to anyone who knows about perfume and have received fifty to a hundred dollars an ounce for them.” Vicki sighed. “If her motive wasn’t revenge, I have no idea why she took your Chadawn. Unless— unless— Oh, I think I’ve got it, Chalice.” Vicki jumped up. “Think of yourself when you were Lindiana’s age. You slaved to get to the top of the ladder. Lindiana hasn’t got your stamina. She gave up; stooped to petty crime. The fact that she fooled us both proves that she can act out a part convincingly. She didn’t come in here with the intention of stealing Chadawn, but when you offered her the opportunity, she couldn’t resist it. Can’t you see her sitting at your dressing table, staring at the only bottle encased with sealing wax and thinking: ‘Perhaps if I was wearing Chadawn at my next audition . . . ? Miss Dawn’s talisman might become my amulet!’ ” 146

“Yes, yes,” Chalice cried, her voice husky with excitement. “A deft motion of her hands and my Chadawn disappears into her pocket with her scarf. Yes, I see it all. She couldn’t even wait to get home to break the seal and dab a bit of it behind her ears.” She stopped, her face very pale. “Oh, good heavens, Vicki! Without the sealing wax, my Chadawn may have evaporated by now.” “I don’t think so,” Vicki said. “She would be as careful of it as you were. I think she wound a large white handkerchief around it to make sure the stopper stayed securely in place. A tiny droplet may have leaked out, and a tiny bit of concentrated perfume would make that handkerchief reek of it. The handkerchief still reeks of it. It’s the same one Mr. Oriole left here yesterday; the same one Lily found in my room on Sunday.” “Lily!” the actress interrupted. “She’s mixed up in this. I’ll tear her straw-colored hair out by the roots.” Before Vicki could stop her, Chalice was on the telephone in the bedroom. “Operator, Operator . . . This is Miss Dawn. Get hold of the housekeeper and have the fifth-floor maid, Lily, sent to my suite at once.” She came back and glared at Vicki. “Oh, I can tell from the expression on your face that you think Lily had nothing to do with this baffling mystery. But what else am I to think? How did that handkerchief get into your room?” 147

“I don’t know,” Vicki said coolly, “but I’d sooner suspect Miss Lenore Jackson than Lily. She occupied my room over the week end. She’s a bit player, I understand, and might well be a friend of Lindiana’s. I’m not accusing her of any crime. I’m simply thinking that she might have borrowed the handkerchief from Lindiana.” Chalice pursed her lips thoughtfully. “A strange girl. I didn’t like her at all. I can’t tell you why. There was something false about her. I sensed it, my dear. Mr. Oriole introduced us, but I did nothing further about it. I did not encourage her . . . Something that didn’t ring quite true . . .” The actress suddenly snapped her fingers. “Oh, yes, I have it. She mumbled something about having a walk-on part in the revival of Tigers and Kings. Impossible, you know, unless the script has been drastically changed since I played the lead. I made the playwright famous, you see, with my interpretation of Monica. Droves and droves of extras in the jungle scenes, but no bit players. Strictly an all-star cast. As unusual a vehicle as We and the River.” Someone tapped on the door and Dolly admitted a pretty little brunette maid. Her henna-tinted hair flowed around her crisp cap in a soft halo. She smiled shyly and said: “Did you want to see me, Miss Dawn?” 148

“Heavens no,” the actress cried impatiently. “I sent for Lily. How can that Mrs. Moser be so consistently incompetent? Shoo! Go away, my dear, and tell Lily I don’t wish to see her, after all.” “But I am Lily,” the girl said meekly. “You?” The actress pressed her hands against her brow. “I can stand no more. I am going quite insane. If there are two maids on this floor named Lily I shall check out at once. If your name is Lily, change it immediately to Diana or Lenore or Linda — anything—anything at all.” “Yes, ma’am,” the girl said. “But I’m the only Lily. I just did like Miss Barr told me. Got a haircut and an end permanent and a shampoo with just a little something in the rinse. I spent all my money and all my four hours off-time yesterday in the beauty parlor. Even Mrs. Moser didn’t know me when I came back.” She giggled. “Will that be all, ma’am?” Both Vicki and Chalice were so surprised that they could only stare at the maid until she backed out of the room and softly closed the door. “What a metamorphosis,” Chalice cried. “From caterpillar into butterfly. Vicki darling, you have missed your forte. You could make a fortune as a make-up artist. Why, that child was a feminine Cyrano de Bergerac, and now she has no nose to speak of.” 149

“I never would have recognized her,” Vicki said. “It’s really amazing. But I honestly think if she hadn’t dyed her hair, we—” She stopped suddenly. “Dyed her hair. That’s what made the tremendous difference. Chalice! Do you think it’s possible that Lenore Jackson could have been Lindiana with dyed hair or a wig?” The actress narrowed her eyes. “It’s possible. The Jackson girl had broad shoulders and was very tall and slender. She was wearing an ultra-sophisticated gown and gobs of make-up. Mascara, eye shadow, eyebrow pencil, lipstick, rouge, and powder. Except for her figure there was nothing about her at all that even faintly resembled Diana Harding. But after seeing what four hours in a beauty parlor did to Lily, I am willing to believe anything. Especially since I am quite positive that Lenore Jackson lied.” She strode into the bedroom, saying crisply, “I shall put through a long-distance call to New York at once and find out if there ever was such a person in the cast of Tigers and Kings.” Vicki sat silently thinking. If Lenore was Lindiana in disguise, why had she come back to the Hartwood? Had she perhaps regretted stealing the vial of Chadawn and hoped for an opportunity to return it without being seen? But snubbed by the actress, she had not even been invited into the suite, let alone into the dressing room. 150

The dressing room! Only a thin partition separated its closet from the closet in Vicki’s room. Had the week-end guest heard something while she was hanging up her clothes? Had she, like Vicki, heard Chalice repeating to herself numbers that might have been the combination of her safe? And being an unscrupulous person, one of a “College Boy Gag” gang, wouldn’t she be tempted to use that accidentally acquired knowledge? Vicki shivered. Chalice, her eyes blazing, strode out of the bedroom. “Just as I thought. I talked to the casting director himself. He never heard of anyone by that name, nor has he recently hired anyone answering her description.” She bit her lip angrily. “Mr. Oriole is such a fool. He is taken in by everyone and anyone. The idea of his giving your room to that impostor! Your room—why it’s mine! I only loaned it to him.” “Chalice,” Vicki interrupted quietly, “did you happen to mention to Diana Harding that my room is part of your suite? And did you tell her that I always go home on week ends?” “Good heavens, Vicki!” The actress swept her long hair up from her shoulders and clasped it to the top of her head. “You’ve lost your mind. Why, oh why, would I—?” “Beg your pardon, Miss Dawn.” It was Dolly’s voice from the kitchenette. “You did tell the young 151

lady about Miss Barr. You said, ‘A charming young flight stewardess is occupying the maid’s room of my suite. I had Mr. Oriole lock it off from my dressing room when I heard she was stranded. Such a sweet child and so devoted to her family. Goes home every week end.’ ” Dolly dropped a curtsy and disappeared inside the kitchenette. Vicki shook her head gravely. “Chalice, I’m worried about you. I don’t think that girl came here for the sole purpose of selling magazines. I think she’s planning to steal your jewels. The fact that she took your Chadawn proves she’s a thief. The fact that she apparently came back in another disguise makes me very suspicious. It wasn’t just luck that she got a room so close to yours. She could have found out that the hotel is packed and jammed by simply asking the desk clerk if there were any vacancies. You had told her that I went home week ends. From then on it was simple. All she had to do was take advantage of Mr. Oriole’s infatuation with anyone connected with the stage. How could he refuse to let her occupy my room? If you loaned it to a stranded flight stewardess, couldn’t he count on your approval when he loaned it to a stranded young actress?” Chalice frowned. “That girl deliberately came back so she could spy on me. Is that what you’re leading up to?” 152

Vicki nodded. “And I think she succeeded in spite of the fact that you didn’t invite her to any of your parties. There is only a thin partition between my closet and your dressing-room closet, Chalice. I think she spent a lot of time in my closet, eavesdropping. Even after she had gone the fragrance of a definitely brunette perfume lingered.” She leaned forward impulsively. “Chalice, I don’t know what’s behind all the mysterious happenings, but you must change the combination on your safe and have burglarproof locks put on your doors.” “I’ll do nothing of the kind,” Chalice said impatiently. “Good heavens, how could I endure the din and confusion? Men pounding and banging at the doors. My temples throb at the thought.” “You’re right about the locks, Miss Barr,” Dolly said from the kitchenette. “Ed was telling me that anyone with a ten-cent-store skeleton key can get in and out of these rooms. He told the judge so, too, but it only went against him when his case came up in court. Mrs. Moser said there wasn’t a word of truth in it, and so did Mr. Oriole. But how should they know? Have they ever bought a skeleton key and tried? Ed did, just to prove that he was innocent, but, like I say, it only went against him.” “Never mind, Dolly,” the actress interrupted. “That’s all water over the dam. Must you hover around in that tiny kitchenette and listen to every 153

word we say? Hadn’t you better get into your coat and overshoes so you’ll be ready to take Ivan out for his walk on the dot of one-thirty? How many times must I remind you that his routine must not vary by one second?” “Yes, Miss Dawn,” Dolly said humbly. “But when you don’t have a rehearsal, you usually take him out for his midday walk yourself.” “Well, I’m not going to budge today,” the actress said emphatically. “Miss Barr has upset me with all her silly chatter. As though I have anything at all to fear from that ridiculous impostor! That—to be vulgar, ham actress! Good heavens, Vicki, you’re not going?” “I’m afraid I must,” Vicki said, starting for the door. “My boss said I could have an extra half hour because I worked overtime last night, but it’s almost one-thirty.” She hesitated. “Chalice, I wish you wouldn’t dismiss the mystery so lightly. Now that we know who stole your Chadawn, don’t you think you ought to notify the police? If you explained to them why it must be kept a secret, I’m sure nothing would appear in the papers.” Chalice shrugged. “My dear, call it temperament. Temperament is the difference between a secondrate actress and a star. What it really is, is an overwhelming sense of responsibility. So much depends upon my opening-night performance. The 154

lives of so many little people will be affected. If there is even the faintest rumor that my Chadawn is missing—!” “But it is missing,” Vicki pointed out sharply. “And unless you get help from the police, I don’t see how you can hope to find it before opening night. They probably could track down Lindiana Jackson in twenty-four hours. They have fingerprint experts, handwriting experts, and—” Chalice interrupted with a wave of her expressive hands. “Nevertheless, I have more confidence in you, Vicki darling. What would fingerprints and handwriting prove in this case? That the same girl who filled out the receipt for those magazines is the same girl who filled out the application blank in your office. We already know that!” Vicki sighed. “I don’t think you quite understand, Chalice. The girl may have a criminal record. In that case her fingerprints would be in the police files. They might be in the files of the Identification Division of the FBI in Washington.” “Pooh,” Chalice said airily. “I am an excellent judge of character, Vicki Barr. That girl was no hardened criminal. While you have been talking nonsense, I have been thinking. The girl has been snooping around in order to get material for a feature article on me. Some newspaper sent her— those editors are up to all sorts of tricks. She was 155

given the assignment because she is a one-time actress. She borrowed my Chadawn, of course, so that a blown-up photograph of the vial could appear in a montage with my picture in the Saturday morning edition.” The actress’s eyes flashed. “But she will be back in another disguise to return it—and soon. Then, my pet, I will see through her disguise and drag the whole story from her in time to prevent even so much as a word being printed about me and my Chadawn. The hussy! I’ll get a confession from her even if it means dragging her hair out by the roots.” Vicki left then, shaking with suppressed laughter. As she raced down the stairs she couldn’t help reflecting that Chalice’s theory had some merit. Lindiana Jackson might be a reporter who had taken up writing as a career after failing in the dramatic profession. While playing in summer stock or as an extra, she could have heard the Chadawn legend. But reputable newspapers did not print legends; the risk of a libel suit was too great. Therefore, Lindiana Jackson might have been sent to get proof that “America’s Most Beloved Actress” was, indeed, “America’s Most Superstitious Actress.” How could a reporter prove that Chalice Dawn’s fetish was a small vial of perfume? By “borrowing” that vial until after opening night! What a frontpage story! Vicki could almost see the headlines: 156

WE AND THE RIVER A FLOP! MISS DAWN, LACKING HER AMULET, THROWS HER LINES! With a shudder, Vicki quickly dismissed the whole theory. Not even the most ruthless tabloid editor would dare stoop to such treachery. Not even the most ambitious girl reporter would dare “borrow” Chalice Dawn’s talisman. No publication, merely for the sake of an exclusive story, would deliberately bring about a situation which might mean unemployment for hundreds of people and the loss of thousands of dollars to the play’s angel. What was the answer then? Who was Lindiana Jackson? Why had she stolen the vial of Chadawn? Why had she returned to the hotel disguised as a brunette? Would she return again? If so, in what disguise—and for what purpose? Vicki felt sure there could only be one answer. Lindiana Jackson was a shrewd but superstitious criminal who planned to rob Chalice Dawn’s safe.

157

CHAPTER XIII

A Clue in a Clipping

That afternoon when Vicki left her office she found that Lionel Brownson had been waiting for her in the lobby since five o’clock. “News,” he said, without any preliminary greeting. “Bad news from Captain Bevin. Let’s have tea in the lounge and discuss it.” “All right,” Vicki said, quickly making up her mind. She couldn’t tell Lionel about the missing Chadawn, but she could tell him about Lenore Jackson. When the tearoom waitress had taken their order, he said, “I had a long talk with the good captain last night and again this afternoon. He agrees with me that Lindiana is probably a member of a ‘College Boy Gag’ gang, but none of the fingerprints on that application form are on file with any lawenforcement agency. He even had photographs of the prints flown to the FBI. No soap. He was not amused when I provided him with your clue that she 158

is or was an actress. He can’t very well demand that every young platinum blonde in the theatrical world submit to fingerprinting. However, he is interested in locating Lindiana, in the hope that through her he may be able to find and arrest the head of the gang. Vicki,” he finished soberly, “you’re holding out on the law. You know something about that girl, which, for some reason, you are keeping a secret. What is it?” “Well,” Vicki began, “I think she came back to the hotel last week end and occupied my room. She had either temporarily dyed her hair black or was wearing a wig. Her clothes and make-up were as sophisticated as Lindiana’s were unsophisticated, but, like Lindiana, she was beautiful, tall, slender, and broad-shouldered. Furthermore, the brunette is an impostor. She registered as Lenore Jackson, formerly of the Tigers and Kings cast. When I told Chalice I suspected her, she telephoned the casting director in New York and he never heard of such a person.” She shrugged. “But that doesn’t get us anywhere either, does it?” His steel-gray eyes seemed to bore right through her. “And what, may I ask, led you to suspect that this brunette was Lindiana?” Vicki carefully buttered an English muffin. How she longed to tell him about the Chadawn-smelling handkerchief! If only Chalice had not made her 159

promise not to tell anyone connected with show business that the vial was missing! She glanced at him through her tangled lashes. His powerful jaw was set grimly. Vicki felt as though she were on the witness stand about to be cross-examined by a hardboiled district attorney. With an effort she forced herself to laugh lightly. The laugh was hollow. She flushed guiltily. And then a familiar voice came to her rescue. “Hi, you two.” It was Jean Cox, striding in from the lobby. “May I join you, or is three a crowd?” “Three is not a crowd,” Vicki said with a little sigh of relief. “How glad I am to see you, Jean.” Lionel jumped up to help Jean with her overcoat. He remained standing until she was comfortably seated. There was nothing steely-eyed or grim about him now. He was simply an attractive, wellmannered young man, who, as he drew up another chair for himself, said to Vicki with a grin: “Saved by the bell.” Jean arched her eyebrows. “Did I interrupt a proposal of marriage?” she asked mischievously. “No,” Vicki said, laughing. “How are flying conditions, Jean? Any chance that you can spend the night with me?” “Flying conditions,” Jean said, “are perfect. And I have three days off. I’m going to spend them at home, but I’d love to have dinner with you, Vicki, 160

before my train leaves.” She turned to Lionel. “How is the talent scouting? Did the ingénue turn out to be a find?” He shook his head sadly. “It was a mistake coming to this hotel. Nobody worth an audition gets by Vicki’s recruiting office.” Jean chuckled. “Smart gals. Anyone with any sense would much rather be a flight stewardess than a movie star. Who would swap wings for a goldlined swimming pool?” Out in the lobby a boy’s high-pitched voice was droning monotonously: “Mr. Brownson. Paging Mr. Brownson. Mr. Lionel Brownson.” Lionel jumped up and said good-bye to the girls. On his way out of the lounge he gave the waitress a five-dollar bill. “Thanks for the tea party,” Jean and Vicki called after him. “He’s really divine, isn’t he?” Jean added. “Do you suppose that call was from Hollywood ordering him back to the Coast?” “I doubt it,” Vicki said. “He’s supposed to stay for Chalice Dawn’s opening, you know. And in all fairness to the ingénue, he should. I don’t see how he could judge her ability fairly from watching only one rehearsal.” She frowned. “Jean, do you think there could be any possibility that he’s an impostor?” Jean’s mouth fell open with surprise. “You’re 161

insane, Vicki Barr,” she cried. “What on earth made you ask that silly question?” “I don’t quite know,” Vicki admitted. “But this hotel is filled with theatrical people, most of whom he ignores.” “How do you know he does?” Jean demanded. “How do you know what he does while you’re interviewing aspiring stewardesses?” “I don’t,” Vicki admitted. “But it strikes me that he is far more interested in finding Lindiana Jackson than he is in discovering talented amateurs.” “And who,” Jean asked, “is Lindiana Jackson?” “It’ll take at least an hour to explain,” Vicki said, pushing back her chair. “Let’s go up to my room so we can stretch out on the bed and rest our weary bones.” “Weary is right,” Jean agreed as they rode up in the elevator. “I had a four-year-old fiend as a passenger today. One of those precocious imps. Keeping him from driving the other passengers mad took all my strength. I—” She stopped suddenly and Vicki thought she knew why. In the rear of the crowded elevator was Miss Charlotte Dearborn, complete with Gibson girl hair-do and Gay Nineties hat. Her head was bent forward so that the veil covered most of her face, but there was no mistaking that costume and the lavender-tinted white hair. 162

When the elevator let them out on the fifth floor, Jean led the way down the corridor, pretending to reel. “Who on earth was that mummy?” she asked as Vicki unlocked the door to Room 507. “Do I look as though I’d seen a ghost? I feel as though I had! I never saw so many velvet pansies and violets on one hat in all my life.” Vicki closed her door, took off her shoes, and stretched out on the bed. “That was no mummy,” she said. “That was a very famous actress. She’s here incognito, so I can’t tell you who she is.” Jean stretched out beside Vicki, her arms folded behind her head. “I couldn’t care less,” she said. “On almost every other flight from New York to Chicago I have an incognito movie actress to cope with. If they aren’t wearing veils to attract attention, they don glasses with thick, rhinestone-studded frames, and are almost always petulant, fretful, and demanding.” She yawned. “If Lindiana Jackson is a movie actress I don’t want to hear any more about her.” “I don’t know who she is,” Vicki began, and an hour later finished the tale. “Now you can see why I suspect Lionel Brownson of being an impostor,” she said in conclusion. “Oh, I know he apparently has all the proper credentials, but suppose they’re forgeries? Why should a talent scout spend so much time trying to break up a ‘College Boy Gag’ gang?” 163

“Because,” Jean said blithely, “he’s a good citizen. It’s the duty of every citizen to do whatever he or she can to help break up rackets. Besides, he’s a lawyer. Once a lawyer, always a lawyer, I imagine.” She swung her stockinged feet to the floor. “As for you, Miss Barr, people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. It seems to me that, for a flight stewardess, you’ve helped to put quite a lot of criminals behind bars.” She rummaged through her handbag and produced a folded newspaper clipping. “This was in the drama section of last Sunday’s New York Times. If you will examine it closely you will see that the columnist mentions the fact that Magna Films has sent one Lionel Brownson to catch Chalice Dawn’s opening in Chicago. It even states that Mr. Brownson will be stopping at the Hartwood.” Vicki accepted the clipping with a bow. “And what made you tear this item from the Times, Miss Cox? Could the answer be that you are, shall we say, infatuated with the handsome man?” “Who wouldn’t be?” Jean demanded without a blush. “But that’s not the point. What I’m driving at is that impostors are not written up by New York Times columnists.” She slipped on her shoes. “You may keep that clipping, sweetie pie, to remind you of the fact that you have a suspicious nature. And now let’s go out and eat. In spite of those éclairs I 164

wolfed at tea, I’m ravenous.” “Me, too,” Vicki said, scanning the news column. “Magna Films,” she read out loud, skipping hurriedly, “m-m-m. Lionel Brownson, m-m-m. The Hartwood in the Windy City, m-m-m. Famous cuisine ruled by the great Pasquale formerly of—mm-m.” She was about to refold the clipping when her eye fell on a name near the bottom. “Traveling incognito and heavily veiled as usual, Frances Harlow sailed yesterday on a Mediterranean cruise. Hardly a layman is now alive who remembers the great Shakespearean actress, so the veil and the incognito were hardly necessary . . .” Vicki sank back on the bed. “Jean,” she gasped, “could you possibly miss your train? I mean, could you take a later one? What I’m trying to say is that I’ve got to do a little breaking and entering tonight and I’ll need you to stand guard.” Jean hastily ducked into the bathroom and came back with a wet washcloth which she placed on Vicki’s forehead. “There, there,” she crooned, “just ree-lax. Ree-lax, little one, and all will be well.” Vicki pushed away the cloth and handed Jean the clipping, her fingers clamped just above Frances Harlow’s name. “The ancient lady you saw in the elevator,” she said, “is supposed to be Frances Harlow. And she can’t be if New York Times columnists don’t write up impostors. Therefore, 165

Miss Charlotte Dearborn is an impostor. She’s a myth just as Charlotte Dorn was a myth, and Linda Murray and Diana Harding and Lenore Jackson were all myths.” “Not a myth,” Jean said solemnly. “A mummy. But I see what you mean. Behind that ancient mask she is the gal who stole the vial of Chadawn?” “She’s got to be,” Vicki said. “And I happen to know that she’s having dinner tonight with Chalice Dawn. What’s to prevent me from searching her room?” “Nothing except a skeleton key,” Jean agreed, “and I know where you can get one. There’s a tencent store just around the corner that stays open until nine. Since I have my shoes on and you haven’t, I’ll dash out and buy one. Also some sandwiches and milk shakes. If we get arrested I don’t want to go to jail on an empty stomach.” She grabbed her handbag and coat and was gone before Vicki could say a word. Alone in the little room, Vicki suddenly felt icy cold. Could she be wrong? Could the Times columnist have made a mistake? Had she really any right to enter Room 610 with a skeleton key and search it? Suppose she was caught in the act by someone—by Mrs. Moser, for instance? “I can’t do it,” Vicki thought. “I can’t take that risk. If I’m caught it would mean the end of my 166

career.” But deep down inside her she knew that she would take that risk. She had to!

167

CHAPTER XIV

Vicki’s Plan

“Of course we’ve got to do it,” Jean said as they munched turkey sandwiches. “Showing that clipping to Mr. Oriole and Miss Dawn would get us nowhere. Those two excellent judges of character would insist that the columnist was mistaken. It would kill them to admit they’d been kowtowing to an impostor.” “And we can’t notify the police,” Vicki agreed. “If we did, the Chadawn business probably would be blazoned in headlines. For the same reason, we can’t get help or advice from Lionel Brownson. He’d have Captain Bevin and a squad of detectives over here in an hour. Or anyway, five minutes after they received a cable from the real Frances Harlow.” “That’s right,” Jean said. “It will be time enough to notify the police after you’ve retrieved that vial. Then they can simply arrest Lindiana for impersonating Frances Harlow.” “I don’t think the police should be notified even then,” Vicki said thoughtfully. “There’s something 168

behind all these mysterious happenings, Jean. Something evil. That girl or woman, whichever she is, didn’t come here to sell Chalice subscriptions or steal her Chadawn.” “I agree,” Jean said. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t keep coming back in different disguises. Why does she keep coming back, Vicki?” “To spy on Chalice,” Vicki said promptly. “To study her habits; to find out when the suite is empty; where the safe is located; and, if possible, get the combination of the safe.” Jean whistled. “You’re so right! As they say in detective stories, she’s been ‘casing the joint.’ Ed is one of her confederates, and so is the Irish engineer who spends most of his time on this floor, and so is the man in the gray overcoat who always seems to be out in front of the hotel.” “I don’t think so,” Vicki said. “I think Lindiana is working alone. I can’t suspect Ed—he adores Chalice. Barrow spends most of his time on this floor, I’m sure, because he’s crazy about Marianne. And I’ve decided that the man in the gray overcoat must be Mr. Strode. Even house detectives, I imagine, are allowed to leave the lobby occasionally for a breath of fresh air.” “I guess you’re right,” Jean reluctantly admitted. “Lindiana doesn’t need any confederates. She can certainly act out a part convincingly and she’s 169

marvelous at the science of make-up. Frankly, I never saw anyone look more like a mummy in one of Queen Mary’s hats than she did in the elevator. It’s still hard for me to believe that she’s the Gypsy Girl who reminded me so much of Carmen.” Vicki pried the top off the container of milk shakes. “She’s an actress all right, and a superstitious one. That’s why she swiped the Chadawn. My theory is that she took it because she thought it might bring her luck in this venture. It was a stupid thing to do, of course, but then all criminals are basically stupid. Another theory of mine is that she didn’t get anywhere in show business. To become a star like Chalice requires stick-toitiveness. Lindiana either lacks that quality or else she lacks real talent. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have left the theater for crime.” “I think I can guess what you’re leading up to.” Jean twisted a straw around her finger. “In spite of the fact that she’s stupid, she’s as sharp as a young fox. She realized that her knowledge of theatrical people would come in handy when she took up crime. Chalice isn’t the only great star who takes perfect strangers into her boudoir and practically hands them the combination of her safe on a silver platter. That screen star who was mysteriously robbed in Boston last summer is the same type. And so is the actress whose jewels were stolen while she 170

was staying at the Abercrombie in New York on Halloween. According to the papers, the police think the same gang committed both burglaries.” “Exactly,” Vicki said. “And I think Lindiana is the gang—the elusive Ghost Thief who strikes swiftly and then miraculously disappears without a trace.” Jean gasped. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m taking the nine-fifteen after all. Whether she’s a ghost or a mummy, I’m not going to let you put your foot into her room. If she’s what you think she is, she’s dangerous, sinister.” She shuddered. “I felt it when she was playing the Gypsy Girl part. Remember, I said I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she’d produced a knife from the folds of her skirt? Well, now we know she’s armed. Hatpins can be lethal weapons! Vicki laughed. “She and her hatpins will be safely ensconced in Chalice’s suite before I make a move. It really shouldn’t take me more than five minutes to find that bottle of Chadawn if it’s in her room. But I’m not going to stop there, Jean.” Jean was nervously shredding a wax-paper sandwich bag into bits. “If there was a phone in this room,” she muttered, “I’d call the police. I would so!” “I wouldn’t let you,” Vicki retorted. “Don’t you see, Jean? If she’s arrested now she’d get off with a 171

light sentence. She’s young, and so far as the law knows, getting money from Chalice under false pretenses was her first offense. Masquerading as Frances Harlow might come under the heading of a prank if the judge were lenient. The Ghost Thief burglaries would never be solved. The jewels she has already stolen might never be found, and a small fortune would be waiting for her when she was released after a year or two in jail.” “Oh, no,” Jean moaned. “I can’t bear it. I can see your future as plainly as though it were in a crystal ball. You, Vicki Barr, are going to catch Lindiana in the act of robbing Chalice’s safe!” “That’s right,” Vicki said in a voice which she hoped wouldn’t betray her inner nervousness. “While you were out shopping, I did a lot of thinking. Lindiana already knows exactly when she can go in and get Chalice’s jewels. On the dot of eight every evening Ivan is taken out for a walk. On opening night Dolly will do that chore because, of course, Chalice will be at the theater. For half an hour no one will be in the suite. That gives her plenty of time to play around with the dial if she hasn’t got the exact combination of the safe. She could even, if necessary, pry off the dial and punch out the combination. Small, portable safes are not very burglarproof. The whole hotel will be a madhouse at that time on opening night, so no one 172

will hear her pounding and banging.” “Uh-huh,” Jean said. “I think she knows the combination, but if she doesn’t, she’ll bring along a sledge hammer and a mallet. They’ll come in handy when she finds it necessary to bop you over the head. I think I’ll measure you for your coffin now.” “Don’t be silly.” Vicki grinned. “I’ll be as safe as a bug in a rug. On Friday night at eight o’clock I’ll be in my closet. I’ll hear her when she opens the door of Chalice’s closet. Then I’ll go into the dressing room through my bathroom door. She’ll be busy with the safe combination, so all I’ll have to do is give her a push, slam, and lock the closet door. Then I’ll calmly stroll to the phone in Chalice’s bedroom and call the police.” Jean thought for a minute. “You make it sound so simple, but I guess you can’t fail. How I wish I could be here as your rear guard, though! Suppose somehow the tables get turned and you’re the one who’s pushed into the closet?” “That can’t possibly happen,” Vicki said. “When I sneak into the dressing room, she’s bound to be down on her knees in the closet with her back toward me.” “Suppose she totes a rod,” Jean said slangily. “Gangster molls do, don’t they? And from what I’ve read, they’re trigger happy.” “You read too many of the wrong kind of books,” 173

Vicki replied tartly. “If she were a gun moll, she’d operate in an entirely different way. That type holds up the victim, binds, and gags him, and then departs with the loot. I doubt if Lindiana even knows how to shoot. She doesn’t have to—she’s too shrewd. If I don’t stop her, she’ll walk out of here Friday night with a small fortune in jewels. By the time Chalice discovers that she has been robbed, Lindiana will be miles away, in another disguise, having left behind absolutely no clue. Not even a smudged fingerprint.” “She’ll probably wear those lavender opera gloves,” Jean interrupted. “She is shrewd! I’ll bet she wears the lavender lady outfit. No one would suspect a mummy.” “Speaking of costumes,” Vicki said, opening the door of her closet, “we’ve got to get ready for our own little burglary. In order to avoid attracting attention when we climb the stairs to the sixth floor, we should look as much as possible like the other guests who roam around in the evening. I wish we had a couple of brunette wigs.” “So do I.” Jean peered over Vicki’s shoulder at the dresses on the rack. “A false face would be nice, too. I’ll wear that yummy evening gown, thank you. And those gold slippers I see on the shelf. Hope they aren’t too tight. Have you got a bit of chiffon I could tie around my hair and yank down over my face if necessary?” 174

“In my top bureau drawer,” Vicki said, handing Jean the blue velvet frock. “I know what I’m going to wear. The gorgeous flowered holoku I bought in Honolulu. It’s no more bizarre looking than some of the housecoats the actresses in this hotel float around in. “It’s beautiful,” Jean said when Vicki finished dressing. “When you make your getaway, don’t trip over that train. Now, how are we going to be sure the coast is clear?” “Simple,” Vicki said. “We’ll simply stroll down the hall toward the stairs. Chalice’s door is almost always hospitably open at this time of the evening. When we pass her living room we can make sure that the lavender lady is among those present. Come on. “I hope Chalice doesn’t hospitably invite us in,” Jean whispered as Vicki closed her door. “Much as I’d like to be able to tell my grandchildren that she spoke to me, I’m too keyed up for crime at the moment.” “Sh-h,” Vicki cautioned her. “Here comes Pasquale from the service elevator. Don’t do anything to attract his attention and he may not recognize me in this holoku. I’m in no mood for recipe swapping.” Jean’s giggle was lost in the sound of laughter and singing as a merry troupe of guests appeared 175

from the stairs behind the chef and his assistants. They crowded past the tables and into Chalice’s suite where they were boisterously greeted by other visitors. In the confusion, Jean and Vicki reached the stairs without being noticed. “She was there all right,” Jean said. “As large as life and twice as deadlooking.” As they climbed the stairs, she sang softly: “Oh, if I had the face of a mum-my, How happy and safe I would be!” “If you don’t watch out,” Vicki warned, “you’ll be singing other words to that tune: “ ‘If I had the wings of an an-gel, Over these prison walls I would fly!’ When they reached the floor above they both collapsed with laughter. On this floor, too, the halls were filled with guests who were on their way to, or returning from, visits. Everyone was laughing, singing, or calling out gay greetings. “I’m not the least bit afraid,” Jean said blithely. “Why, we could walk on our hands and no one would pay any attention to us. Six-ten must be just above Lionel’s room. All you have to do is walk in boldly while I stay outside and watch for the ogress. 176

What sort of signal should I give you if Mrs. Moser should appear?” “One loud knock,” Vicki said, inserting the skeleton key in the lock. “If I hear it, I’ll duck into a closet. Three knocks will be the ‘all clear.’ Don’t forget to warn me if you see a maid or the linenroom girl.” She slipped inside, closed the door, and switched on the light. The bed, she was glad to see, had already been turned down, so the chances were that she would not be interrupted by an employee as she searched. “If you had something,” she asked herself, “which you didn’t want anyone to see or break, where would you hide it?” In another moment she was standing on a chair, reaching for the suitcase on the top shelf of the closet. The suitcase was locked but it wasn’t heavy. Vicki swung it down to the floor of the closet and hurried into the bathroom. Sure enough, in the medicine cabinet was a pair of eyebrow tweezers. Then her heart stood still as she heard a loud knock. Quickly she switched off the light and ducked into the closet. There was nothing hanging from the rack except a Mother Hubbard wrapper and a long, old-fashioned cloak. Holding her breath, she crouched behind these garments. Oh, why hadn’t she remembered to lock the door? The moment anyone put a key into the lock of Room 610, he or she 177

would know at once that the door was unlocked. Lindiana had locked it when she left to go downstairs. She would remember that. And she would know that someone had entered while she was out. She might guess that the someone was still there. Vicki’s nails dug into her palms. It seemed like ages until at last she heard three loud knocks. Clumsy with nervousness, she groped her way to the light switch. Then she realized that she had left the skeleton key on the closet shelf. Somehow she forced herself to get it and lock herself in before starting to work on the suitcase lock. Eons later her trembling hands lifted the lid. The bag was filled with dainty nylon underthings, panties and slips which did not go at all with the ugly garments in the closet. And they were not packed neatly; they were bunched together and tied with a silk stocking. One sniff of the perfume which permeated the interior of the suitcase told Vicki what she would find when she untied that roll. In less than a second she was triumphantly clutching it, a tiny vial with a crownshaped stopper that was securely held in place by strips of adhesive tape! Now it was agony to waste precious minutes retying the bundle so that nothing would look as though it had been disturbed. And when she tried to snap the suitcase lock she found that she couldn’t; 178

she must have broken it, prying and twisting with the tweezers. Well, there was nothing she could do about that now. It simply meant that Lindiana would know that the vial had been taken sooner instead of later. Vicki hastily replaced the tweezers, unlocked the door with the skeleton key, and switched off the light. Then she opened the door a tiny crack to whisper, “All clear?” “All clear,” came Jean’s voice. Vicki walked boldly out into the hall and locked the door. “I’ve got it,” she breathed, her voice shaky with relief. “I’ve got it right here in my hand!”

179

CHAPTER XV

The Chef Provides a Clue

Back in Vicki’s room, Jean carefully examined the tiny vial. “There’s not much left,” she said. “I’ll bet a lot leaked out into that handkerchief before Lindiana got around to resealing the stopper.” Vicki nodded. “She was an idiot to break the seal until she was safely in another state with the contents of Chalice’s safe. But once she had the bottle in her hand, I guess she couldn’t resist dabbing a bit behind her ears. Just for good luck. When I met her downstairs I don’t think she’d broken the seal yet. The faint fragrance I smelled must have been clinging to the bottle itself which was in her pocket with the blue cashmere scarf. After she broke away from me in Hungerford Street, she probably decided she needed an amulet. That whole episode was a narrow escape, you know, a harrowing experience for her. I’ll bet that shortly after she got rid of me she broke the seal, and then tied the bottle up in the large handkerchief she was 180

carrying.” “That makes sense,” Jean agreed. “When she came back here as Lenore Jackson, I’ll bet the vial, still wrapped in the handkerchief, was in her suitcase which she probably kept on the top shelf of your closet. That’s why the closet still reeked when I came in Sunday evening. The stopper must have leaked all week and I guess she didn’t discover it until just before she left. It was stupid of her to throw that handkerchief into the wastebasket.” “She had to get rid of it,” Vicki pointed out. “Chadawn is very concentrated. A handkerchief drenched with it would smell to high heaven even if it was inside her suitcase. She might have gone down in the elevator with Chalice, or passed her in the lobby on her way to checking out. And you’re right, Jean, she did discover that the stopper leaked while she was here. I remember now that Lily said she gave her a dollar tip just for getting her a roll of adhesive tape.” “Well, now what?” Jean asked as she changed back into her uniform. “The last train that’ll land me near my Minnesota home town leaves at ten-thirty. How are you going to return the Chadawn to Chalice without telling her the whole story? And won’t she have hysterics when she finds there’s only a trickle left?” For answer, Vicki went into her bathroom and 181

came back with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and an eye dropper. “You do it, Jean,” she said. “My hands are still shaking from the million years I lived through between your warning signal and the ‘all clear.’ About twenty drops should do it. Who or what made you give the warning signal?” She tore the adhesive tape from the vial and watched Jean carefully dilute the concentrated perfume. “There,” Jean said smugly, replacing the stopper. “The talisman is weaker physically but just as potent metaphysically. The essence is there, and that’s what counts.” She grinned at Vicki. “What caused me to rap loudly on the door of Room 610 was the appearance of the Irish engineer complete with stepladder and a carton of light bulbs. He recognized me all right. I died a thousand deaths myself until he was finally hailed by a cadaverous-looking male actor who had evidently been the victim of bulbsnatching neighbors.” She shivered reminiscently. “What’s next on the agenda?” “A dress rehearsal,” Vicki replied, and went into the closet. When she came out she was smiling. “Not a sound. The coast is clear. Using this lovely skeleton key you bought me, I’m going to walk in through the adjoining door, put Chadawn down in the midst of the myriad bottles on Chalice’s dressing table, and return before you can say ‘jack-in-thepulpit.’ ” 182

“I won’t say a word,” Jean said, giggling. “I won’t even breathe. I’m going to blindfold myself and keep my fingers in my ears until you return safe and sound.” “Sh-h.” Vicki slipped through her bathroom door into the actress’s suite. She could hear Chalice’s voice and knew that she was in the bedroom, telephoning. One step brought Vicki near enough to put the tiny vial down on the glass-topped table. In less than a second she was back in her own apartment, stealthily relocking the door. Triumphantly she dusted her fingers. “Now, Miss Cox, you may depart. Your services are no longer needed. Me, I’m going to the party. Not for all the world would I miss the expression on Chalice’s face when she finds her Chadawn!” Jean sniffed, pointing to her wrist watch. “I’ve got a whole hour before I have to leave. After what I’ve been through this evening I deserve some reward.” She crooked her arm at Vicki. “Let’s go.” Five minutes later they were being greeted effusively by the actress. “Vicki, my sweet,” Chalice cried. “A holoku! But how beautiful. The last time I was in Honolulu I had several made to order, but where they are now I couldn’t tell you. Dolly, where are my holokus? I’d like to show them to Miss Barr and Miss Cox.” “In your dressing-room closet,” Dolly said. “Shall 183

I get them?” “No, I’ll get them myself.” Chalice led the way across the crowded room. “Come, my dears. They’re really divine. If you like them, you may have them.” Once they were in the little mirrored room, Jean surreptitiously nudged Vicki and said, “Oh, Miss Dawn! I’ve never seen so many bottles of perfume in all my life. Are they all imported?” Chalice smiled graciously. “Most of them are, dear. Let me see, you’re the lily-of-the-valley type. I’ve some Muguet you may have. I care nothing for it myself.” Her hands fluttered above the gleaming glass stoppers and then she shrieked. “Vicki! Vicki, my dearest! Chadawn is back. Oh, good heavens, how wonderful!” She forgot everything else as she cradled the tiny vial against her cheek. It did not seem to matter that the seal was broken, and not until much later did she express any curiosity as to how and why it had reappeared. All of the other guests had gone by then and she said to Vicki, “It was just as I told you. That newspaper girl took it. She came back in another disguise this evening and returned it. There were dozens of people here I’d never seen before, and the women were forever going in to powder their noses or comb their hair.” She sighed. “I suppose it will all be written up in one of the Saturday papers with an enlarged photograph of my Chadawn. I’ll feel a 184

perfect fool, but what does it matter?” Tossing her lovely head she finished defiantly, “I am a great actress, an artiste! My public must allow me a few little foibles.” “Of course,” Vicki said soothingly. “As a matter of fact, I think your public will love you all the more. The Greeks worshiped their goddesses, but their goddesses had a great many human qualities.” “True,” Chalice said thoughtfully, and added in an impressive whisper, “Vicki, I am going to let you in on a little secret. Miss Dearborn is a great actress, here incognito. I cannot tell you her real name, but I want you to know that she, too, is, shall we say, eccentric. Can you believe it? She is in mortal terror of chefs! That is, until she knows them. When Pasquale appeared with the crêpe suzettes last evening, she all but jumped out of her skin. No one else noticed it; I am particularly sensitive to things like that. Later, when I questioned her, she tried to deny that she had been startled. It was really quite impertinent of me, she is such a great artiste, but I was consumed with curiosity. Why should anyone stiffen with fright at the sight of a handsome man in a tall white cap? I pressed her, Vicki darling, and she finally broke down and admitted that it amounts to a phobia with her. It dates back to some dreadful childhood experience, of course. But it is so comforting to know she, too, has an obsession.” 185

Vicki left then and went back to her own room to think. The lady in lavender, she felt sure, was no more afraid of chefs than she was. Then why had Pasquale startled her? Suddenly Vicki knew the answer, and she also knew why Lindiana had ducked into the recruiting office. She had seen someone in the lobby who she was afraid might recognize her. That someone was Pasquale, formerly of the Hotel Abercrombie in New York. Before Lindiana committed that robbery she had certainly paid several visits to her intended victim. And Pasquale, no matter where he worked, always inspected the dining room before the doors opened for lunch and dinner. Lindiana must have noticed the tall, distinguished-looking man in the lobby of the New York hotel. Then, when she saw him in the Hartwood lobby, she must have jumped to the conclusion that he was a detective, trailing her. No wonder she was shaking when Ruth Benson first saw her. No wonder she had almost jumped out of her skin when he had suddenly appeared in Chalice’s apartment. Even though she was fantastically disguised, it must have been a bad moment. She had quickly recovered from her fright; it hadn’t taken long to realize that Pasquale was an internationally famous chef, not a detective. Vicki climbed into bed, but she lay awake for a long time. Had Lindiana discovered that her suitcase 186

had been broken into? What was she thinking now? Whom would she suspect? If the sight of Pasquale had panicked her twice, what would the disappearance of the vial do to her nerves? Wouldn’t she feel sure that someone had seen through one of her disguises if not all of them—someone whom Chalice Dawn had given the confidential assignment of finding her Chadawn? “What would you do if you were Lindiana?” Vicki asked herself. “To use one of Jean Cox’s pet expressions, I’d scram. I’d scram and come back again on opening night in another disguise.” Vicki fell asleep deciding that she would watch out for a new night chambermaid who probably would wear dark glasses and have very short titian curls. The next morning while she was having breakfast in the lounge Mr. Oriole joined her. “My dear,” he said, beaming, “you may have Room 610 whenever you wish. Dear, dear Miss Harlow left at midnight. Such a surprise. She felt one of her attacks coming on and wanted to be near her own doctor. So disappointing for Miss Dawn; she was counting on having Miss Harlow in the audience opening night.” His smile broadened. “But it’s an ill wind, eh, that blows no good? Shall I have Mrs. Moser and Lily move your things into Room 610 this morning?” “No, thank you,” Vicki said hastily. “I’ve decided 187

to stay where I am, for the rest of the week, anyway. That little cubbyhole grows on you. It’s so cozy. Besides,” she added sweetly, “I really don’t trust you, Mr. Oriole. If some celebrity arrived at the last minute to catch Miss Dawn’s opening, you know perfectly well you’d move me out bag and baggage without the slightest hesitation.” “As you wish,” he said, assuming a hurt expression which made him look more than ever like a chipmunk. Before she could stop him, he signed his name to her check, bowed, and left. Vicki couldn’t help feeling smug; she had been right in her reasoning. The lavender lady must have checked out as soon as she discovered the vial of Chadawn was no longer in her suitcase. However, she probably had already achieved her purpose. In her Frances Harlow disguise, she must have learned all she needed to know about Miss Dawn and her suite and the hotel itself. Now, in the bright light of morning, Vicki realized that there was no necessity for Lindiana to return to the premises she planned to rob until the very last minute. She must know that the employees changed shifts at eight o’clock in the evening, and that, on opening night at that hour, most of the guests would be departing for the theater via the stairs and elevator. In the confusion no one would notice her. She could ride up, or walk, and she could 188

make her getaway before Dolly and Ivan returned at eight-thirty without arousing the slightest suspicion. Theatrical type of make-up and evening clothes would be all she needed to change her from Linda Murray into a stunning, sophisticated blond woman. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” Vicki thought, “if she plans to cram some of Chalice’s jewelry into her evening bag and wear the rest. All the feminine firstnighters will probably be bejeweled from tiaras to diamond anklets. It would be just like Lindiana to walk out of here wearing the famous Dawn pearls.”

189

CHAPTER XVI

The Ghost Thief

Opening night turned out to be even more hectic than Vicki had anticipated. Chalice herself, with Dolly on guard, remained incommunicado the entire day. But Vicki did not see how she could have had any rest from teatime on. The noise and the informal gaiety reminded her of stories she had heard about the Mardi Gras when she stayed in New Orleans. Everyone seemed to be “at home” to everyone else. Even Mrs. Moser was in a festive mood. And Lily was starry-eyed and ecstatic. It was Ed’s night off and Chalice had given him two tickets so he could take Lily to the opening. Vicki had promptly donated her blue velvet evening gown and gold slippers for the occasion. Lily had her own dress rehearsal right after Vicki came up from her office at six. For a long time she stared at herself in the mirror without even blinking. “Don’t be afraid of the mascara,” Vicki said. “It’s waterproof. Even if you cry all through the second 190

act you’ll still be beautiful.” She gave the little maid an impulsive hug. “You are beautiful, honey, and don’t forget it for one minute.” Lily’s round eyes were huge. “Do you think Ed’ll think so, Miss Barr? He’s so handsome! And he never even spoke to me until I got my hair fixed like you said. Right off he spoke to me then. Said, ‘Hello, cutie.’ I all but died right there by the time clock. Ed’s real nice, Miss Barr. I don’t care what some folks say, he’s a nice boy. Miss Dawn thinks the world of him.” Reluctantly she changed back into her uniform. Hardly had she left with her borrowed finery when Lionel Brownson tapped on Vicki’s door. He was already in his swallowtails but was humming the “Dwarfs’ Song” from Snow White. He grinned ruefully. “Off to work I go. How I hate first nights and first-nighters. You don’t look as though you’d been invited to the dinner party Mr. Oriole is giving in his suite. How I wish I could get out of it and take you to dinner instead. You are, of course, going to catch the show?” “Oh, yes, of course,” Vicki fibbed. With all those people jostling one another in the corridor she couldn’t take any chances. No one must know that she had no intention of leaving her room until she did so for the sole purpose of catching a thief. Something flickered in and out of his long gray 191

eyes. “Listen, Cinderella. Why don’t you get into your glad rags and barge on up to Mr. Oriole’s suite? Everyone else except the cast will be there. We’re all leaving for the theater together in a fleet of taxis. I’m sure he meant to invite you, but he’s so vague I doubt if he even knows what his name is half the time.” Vicki laughed. “I’m off the manager’s list at the moment. I accused him of favoritism this morning. But don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll probably see you between acts.” Gently but firmly she closed her door. She hadn’t fooled him; he knew perfectly well that she was fibbing when she said she was going to the opening. The flicker in his eyes told her that. But what difference did it make? He couldn’t possibly know what her plans for the evening were. He was simply a nice young man who was sorry she was a wallflower. If the theater business were not his business he would have been her escort. Because he found her an attractive young woman? Vicki stared thoughtfully at her reflection in the mirror. No, Lionel Brownson had not been attentive for that reason. Almost every minute that they had spent together he had directed the conversation so that they were discussing the Lindiana mystery. Why was he so interested in Lindiana? Could the answer be that he was working with her and had to find out how much Vicki knew and suspected? 192

Remembering the newspaper clipping, Vicki shrugged away the thought. Then she was struck by another. Suppose Linda was not working alone? Suppose she was, as Lionel had suggested, merely a member of an organization which was headed by a Fagin—a ruthless criminal who was the real Ghost Thief? Vicki shivered involuntarily. Then she scolded herself: “Oh, stop it. You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Seeing Lionel reminded you of the Fagins who run ‘College Boy Gag’ gangs. The Fagins of this world don’t commit hotel robberies. . . . Lindiana is working alone. I know it. . . . I’m sure of it. . . . There’s nothing to be afraid of. . . .” Then suddenly it was eight o’clock. Vicki crept into her closet and laid her ear against the far wall. Her heart was beating so loudly she was sure it would drown out all other sounds. But it didn’t. The hands on her wrist watch showed her that it was exactly four minutes past eight when she heard a faint click. Someone had opened Chalice’s closet! At eight minutes past, Vicki was stealthily turning the skeleton key in the lock of her bathroom door. She opened it a crack. The dressing-table lamps cast a rosy glow, and the first thing she noticed was that the door to the bedroom was closed. The door to the closet was wide open, and as soon as her eyes 193

grew accustomed to the pale light she could see that there was someone in there. Vicki slipped into the room, her feet making no sound on the thick carpet. Her reflection in the mirrored walls followed her and all at once she felt bewildered, dizzy. It wasn’t possible, she was imagining it—seeing things. Vicki closed her eyes. The person who was kneeling beside the safe must be Lindiana; it couldn’t be a man wearing swallowtails. Vicki opened her eyes and then she saw, on the dressingtable stool, the evening topcoat, white scarf, and tall silk hat. Against her will a little gasp came out of her dry throat. Before she could turn, the man was on his feet, and the gun he held in his white-gloved hand was not two feet from her face. Even in that pale, rosy light she recognized him at once. Bruno Ventura! And his homely cashier, Letty, must have been Lindiana in another disguise. Now all of the pieces of the puzzle fell into place—too late. Bruno Ventura was Lindiana’s Fagin; he was also the Ghost Thief. “What is this?” he demanded in a hoarse, threatening whisper. “How did you get in here? Who are you? Answer me!” Vicki was still so stunned she could only swallow and shake her head. Then, as he apparently noticed her uniform and 194

the half-open door behind her, he sneered. “The little flight stewardess! I should have taken care of you right after you barged into my place with Jack last week. But Jack’s a good guy, so I didn’t pay any attention to Letty when she said you were too nosy. What she didn’t tell me was that you have the habit of breaking into other guests’ apartments.” Vicki found her voice then. “Letty,” she said defiantly, “should have told you that. She should know that I break and enter whenever it suits my purposes. Who else do you suppose got back the Chadawn your Letty stole from Miss Dawn?” His small brown eyes were mere slits. “Letty stole what?” “Miss Dawn’s very valuable perfume,” Vicki replied coolly. The French clock in the living room had just chimed the quarter hour. If she could keep him talking for another fifteen minutes Dolly would be back with Ivan. “If Letty hadn’t stolen that perfume,” she went on, “I wouldn’t have seen through her various disguises. You should scold her for that mistake.” “I’ll do more than scold her.” His voice was very ominous. “I was going to marry the little fool. Thought she was better than all my other operators put together.” As he spoke he moved toward the dressing-table stool, holding the gun even closer to her face. Vicki could see now that the safe was 195

open; the trays of jewels out on the closet floor. And she knew why he had picked up his white scarf. He was going to bind and gag her; fill his pockets with those jewels, and walk calmly out before Dolly came back. If she screamed he’d pull the trigger. And then, to the surprise of both of them, they heard a voice in the bedroom. “It was too cold out, Ivan, wasn’t it? Much too cold for us. You curl up there on the rug while I take a little nap on Miss Dawn’s bed. What a day! What a day!” As Dolly rambled on in the next room, Ventura said softly to Vicki: “Open your mouth and I’ll blow your head off.” But she could tell that Dolly’s unexpected return had unnerved him. The hand which was holding the gun was shaking, and beads of perspiration dotted his brow. She guessed that this was the first time in his life that he had ever been in such a predicament; he had always taken great care to avoid unexpected events which might endanger him. Ventura’s accomplices took all the risks, getting the information he needed before he himself appeared on the premises to be robbed. Now Ivan was sniffing curiously on the other side of the door. Vicki knew that Ivan wouldn’t bark; Ivan’s life was just one stranger after another. If he had tried to bark at all the strange people who frequented his mistress’s home, he would have died 196

of exhaustion long ago. She knew he wouldn’t bark, but Ventura obviously wasn’t so sure. In the rosy light from the dressing-table lamps Vicki could see that his face and lips were a sickly color. He was trying to make a decision. He had two choices. He could try to bind and gag her without making enough noise to attract Dolly’s attention; pocket the jewels and depart through Room 507. But that was risky. Dolly, if she were still awake, could hear even the faintest click, clink, or bump. If she suspected that someone was lurking in the dressing room, she would simply pick up the phone beside her mistress’s bed and yell for help. Then the Ghost Thief would be trapped. And he also ran a risk if he suddenly knocked Vicki out with the butt of his gun and swiftly took Dolly by surprise. That would be the safest way if it were not for the dog. How could he be absolutely sure that the huge wolfhound wouldn’t spring at his throat the minute he opened the bedroom door? Letty had undoubtedly reported to Ventura that Ivan was harmless, or had she? The dog, according to the prearranged plan, didn’t enter the picture at all. According to that plan, Ivan should still be out on the street, and by now, the Ghost Thief would probably be there too, calmly entering one of the fleet of taxis in front of the hotel. 197

“No,” Vicki quickly decided. “Ventura is terrified; he doesn’t know that Ivan wouldn’t spring at a mouse.” He turned his face slightly to glance at the half-open door to her bathroom and Vicki knew that he had decided to escape that way. “Oh, Dolly, stay awake,” she prayed silently. “Stay awake and listen!” And then, in the nerve-racking silence, she heard a lusty snore followed by deep, regular breathing. Poor Dolly, exhausted by a day of coping with her mistress’s preopening nerves, was sound asleep. She probably was so sound asleep that nothing short of an explosion would arouse her. A triumphant smile twitched the gunman’s lips, but still he hesitated. Vicki could almost read his mind. You couldn’t gag and bind a person without using both hands. The minute he laid down his gun she would scream. Therefore, his next step was to knock her out with the butt of it. For more reasons than one, Vicki didn’t want to be knocked out, and she sensed that the gunman in evening clothes would welcome an excuse for avoiding violence. His success in crime, she guessed, had been due to his brains, not his brawn. He did not look at all like the hard-boiled moving picture and stage gangster. He was neither tall nor short; heavy nor slight. In fact, he looked like hundreds of other men in their early forties who 198

have small brown eyes and thinning sandy hair. His very looks played an important part in his success— that was obvious. Later, when the burglary was discovered, who would remember seeing such a nondescript person on the stairs, in the elevators, in the lobby? With a deft movement, he shifted the gun so that he was now holding it by the barrel. But still he hesitated. Then Vicki knew what she should do. She had seen it done on the stage many times. Before an actress fainted, she swayed slightly and then crumpled to the floor. If Vicki fainted now the gunman’s problems were solved. She forced herself to go limp all over; her head fell forward, her knees sagged, and just as the French clock chimed the half-hour, she was a little heap on the carpet. Through her tangled lashes she saw him drop to his knees, place the gun beside him, and with the scarf in both hands— With a violent wrench of her whole body, Vicki kicked the gun out of his reach and screamed at the top of her lungs. The scream was muffled by the silken folds of the white scarf as the Ghost Thief’s hands jerked downward, and Vicki knew that she wouldn’t have to pretend to faint—she was going to faint—she couldn’t breathe. And then, as though it came from miles away, she heard a crisp, stern voice: 199

“All right, Ventura, I’ve got you covered. Get up with your hands above your head. You can see me in the mirror on the opposite wall. You can see my badge. This is the FBI, Bruno, boy. Special Agent Horning.” Vicki disentangled herself from the folds of the scarf and stared up into the face of Lionel Brownson. He was still in swallowtails but was holding in one hand a menacing revolver. In the other hand was his badge. “Fidelity, Bravery, and Integrity,” Vicki thought, scrambling to her feet. “I should have guessed who he was from the moment Jean called him a superman!

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CHAPTER XVII

A Reward for Vicki

It was midnight when Chalice returned from the theater, flushed with triumph. She was not at all surprised to find her suite a bower of flowers and filled with people. She was only slightly annoyed to discover Dolly in her own bed with the hotel nurse beside her. “Good heavens, child,” she cried. “I do hope you haven’t anything catching. I never had any of the childhood diseases. And I simply can’t come down with measles now. Such a success. Such an appreciative audience. Will someone go out and get the morning papers as soon as they’re off the press? Vicki, love, what is the matter with Dolly? . . . Mrs. Moser, must you stand there with that idiotic expression on your face? Gracious! Can’t somebody do something to create some order out of this chaos? I’ve invited simply everybody to supper. But I can’t cope without Dolly. Tell me, Vicki darling, has she scarlet fever? She looks most dreadfully jaundiced. Or is that a symptom of yellow fever? Send all the 201

reporters away, Vicki. I couldn’t speak to another. There were hundreds of them in my dressing room backstage. All asking such silly questions. Somebody’s safe was broken into. As though that were any concern of mine!” She stopped to catch her breath and Vicki said quickly, “It was your safe, Chalice. And there’s nothing wrong with Dolly except that the excitement was too much for her. The doctor gave her a sedative and asked the nurse to stay with her until you got back.” Dolly’s eyes fluttered open. “Oh, Miss Dawn,” she moaned, “it was so awful. Miss Barr got the gun away from him at the risk of her life, and me in here sleeping. I’ll never forgive myself. Never! And Mr. Brownson being a G-man! Who would have guessed it? But he couldn’t have done anything if it hadn’t been for Miss Barr. He said so himself.” Still mumbling she lapsed into semiconsciousness. Mr. Oriole appeared then, nervously patting a handkerchief against his upper lip. “So unfortunate, my dear Miss Dawn. Or should we say fortunate? I was at the theater, of course, and knew nothing of it until just now. The fellow is safely behind bars. Bruno Ventura! A mere nobody! Whoever heard of him? Not I! But he’s the hotel Ghost Thief all right. There’s no denying that! Those Federal men never make a mistake. Had you any idea, Miss Dawn, that 202

Mr. Brownson was here incognito? Imagine it! The Department of Justice did not let me in on the secret! I can’t help feeling hurt. I, who am the soul of discretion!” At that Chalice lost her temper. “You dodo,” she screamed. “Stop talking such utter drivel. Oh, my throbbing temples. Vicki, love, if you have any fondness for me whatsoever, you’ll take me into your room and put me to bed with a triple bromide.” “I’d love to,” Vicki said, slipping her arm around the actress. “We can go in through your dressing room. The door is still open.” Mrs. Moser hovered closer to whisper: “Couldn’t I do something to help, Miss Barr? Shall I have the engineer put a cot in your room? We on the staff— well, we all think you’re just grand!” Vicki smiled her thanks and shook her head. Ten minutes later Chalice had calmed down enough to listen to the whole story. But she interrupted frequently with little shrieks of rage and horror. “That woman—that unspeakable creature! How could I have thought she was Frances Harlow? What will they do to her, Vicki?” “Don’t worry. She’ll be properly punished,” Vicki said. “Lionel suspected from the very beginning that Linda Murray was working for the Ghost Thief. You see, the only clue they had to the hotel burglaries was a slim one. Early last month, 203

part of the loot that was stolen in Boston turned up in a small Colorado town. Then the FBI was called in, and Lionel, who was only recently graduated from the Academy, was given the assignment. After long talks with both the actresses who had been robbed in hotels, he finally gleaned one clue. The New York victim admitted she had given an order for Christmas cards to a lovely blond girl who was working her way through modeling school. When he checked with the school and the greeting card firm, he learned that they had never heard of ‘Elizabeth Sayre.’ After further questioning, the Boston actress remembered that she had given a small sum of money to a ravishing blonde who was collecting funds for a charity, which, it turned out, nobody had ever heard of. Lionel now felt sure that both crimes had been committed by the same shrewd criminal who employed, among many others, a beautiful blond young woman. “These employees carefully examined the hotels and the actresses’ suites long before the robbery was committed. In various roles, they studied the victims’ habits until enough knowledge had been obtained so that the robbery could be committed without any possibility of interruption.” Vicki sighed. “The other actresses, like you, Chalice, made it easy for the criminal and difficult for the police. They welcomed perfect strangers into 204

their apartments. They took anyone and everyone at face value. They made no secret of where they kept their jewels or when those jewels could conveniently be stolen. One of them even hired a maid without asking for references.” Chalice pouted. “At least I wasn’t that stupid!” “No,” Vicki said, smiling, “but it didn’t take Lionel long to figure out that you were next on the Ghost Thief’s list. You fitted into the pattern perfectly. Before he left New York, Lionel sent the Chicago police a description of the lovely platinum blonde. He asked that one detective be constantly on duty inside the hotel and another outside in front. When our precinct captain received this request and a description of the blond girl, he naturally relayed to Lionel the facts of the Linda Murray ‘amnesia’ case. No one had any way then of connecting her with you, but she answered the description and had certainly behaved suspiciously in the Hartwood. Furthermore, she had disappeared without a trace which was suspicious in itself. The clues I had given Captain Bevin petered out by Saturday night, but when he talked over the phone to Lionel, who was still in New York, he told him that when I reported the disappearance I had said that there was something wrong about her which I couldn’t put my finger on. “Lionel made up his mind to find out what that 205

something was. He immediately got in touch with the director of personnel in our home office, who gave him my life history from the day I cut my first tooth, including the fact that I had already helped the police solve several mysteries. Lionel couldn’t, of course, risk letting me know that he was an FBI agent, but he decided to waste no time getting acquainted with me.” “I like that man,” Chalice interrupted. “He believes in a woman’s intuition. And I don’t care what you say, no one could possibly have seen through his incognito. He had a letter of introduction to me from the president of Magna Films, and his arrival at the Hartwood was mentioned by several New York and Chicago columnists.” “At the request of the Department of Justice,” Vicki added. “And the gentleman who occupied Room 510 then was equally co-operative. When Captain Bevin explained, he checked out at once so that the room across the hall from your suite would be free when Magna Films’ Chicago representative called for a reservation.” Vicki shook her head. “Mr. Oriole fibbed when he said he received Lionel’s reservation long before he received mine.” “Mr. Oriole is a dodo,” Chalice said. “He played right into that awful Ventura man’s hands when he gave your room to his accomplice last week end.” Vicki smiled. “And I suppose you weren’t helpful 206

when you kept mumbling the combination of the safe loud enough for her to hear through the closet wall? Anyway, when Federal gave Lionel a seat on the plane to Chicago, he was told that the stewardess was a classmate of mine. He made it a point to get more information about me from Jean, without, of course, her having any idea that he wasn’t a bona fide talent scout. That evening, when he heard the bellhop knock on my door with a message from Federal for Jean, he came out into the hall and pretended to be having trouble with his key so he could have an excuse for talking to me. He was sure that buried in my subconscious was an important clue to the blonde’s identity, so the next morning, forgetting about the rehearsal, he made a luncheon date with me. Then he hurried off to prove what he already suspected: De Paul University had never heard of your Diana Harding. At the tea you gave for Claire I told him all I knew about Linda Murray and later you yourself proved that she and Diana Harding were the same person.” “My memory is fabulous,” Chalice said smugly. “And I’m sorry I made Lionel break that luncheon date with you. But how was I to know that he was more interested in you than he was in Claire? And it was his own fault that you didn’t help him solve the mystery sooner. If he’d told me the truth about himself, instead of posing as a talent scout, I would 207

have let you tell him about my Chadawn.” Vicki laughed. “In the end it didn’t matter. Because in a roundabout way I gave him the clue to Lindiana’s identity. He was with me when I finally remembered what the elusive something wrong about Linda Murray was, and he could tell from the expression on my face that I had remembered. When I refused to share the secret with him, he ordered the inside detective, Barrow, who was working here as assistant engineer, to keep his eye on me. Barrow, pretending to be busy with light bulbs in a room across the hall, saw me come out of Room 610 after I had found your Chadawn. When he reported to Lionel, Lionel quickly decided that the lavender lady was Linda in another disguise. He figured out that I must have seen through her disguise, too, and was playing amateur detective when I sneaked into her room. When she checked out at midnight she was trailed to Bruno Ventura’s night club on Hungerford Street.” “That’s what I don’t understand,” Chalice cried exasperatedly. “Why didn’t they arrest that awful man then and there instead of turning my suite topsy-turvy? I’ve a good mind to sue the Department of Justice.” “They couldn’t arrest him,” Vicki explained patiently, “because they had absolutely nothing on him. But, of course, they suspected him from the 208

moment the lavender lady went upstairs and came down again in a startlingly different disguise. By simply removing all make-up, pulling her hair back into a tight bun and wearing horn-rimmed specs and unattractive clothes, Lindiana is Ventura’s homely cashier.” “I can believe it,” Chalice said. “After seeing what your good advice did for Lily, I can believe anything. And I suppose the homely cashier of Hungerford Street is the explanation of how Linda Murray disappeared without a trace right after she broke away from you?” Vicki nodded. “Linda was Ventura’s nemesis. Previously he had hired several different people, never using the same ones twice, but she so quickly got valuable information about the Boston actress that he decided to use her again in New York. On this job he decided to use her alone. She is, as we guessed, a one-time actress who gave up because she was never given anything but walk-on parts. Her experience made her invaluable and her jealous hatred of all stage and screen stars made her a loyal and hardworking operator. Bruno never robbed anyone but the easy victims so many famous actresses are. The police had wondered about him because the night club is nothing but a cheap restaurant and recently Bruno had been spending money like water. But they could prove nothing, and 209

of course did not connect him with the Boston and New York robberies. He never appeared in those hotels until the last minute, and returned to Chicago immediately after both burglaries. “Both crimes were committed during nights of unusual festivity when no one would notice a nondescript man in evening clothes. The one in Boston took place at a Fourth of July ball, and the one in New York during a Halloween masquerade. It didn’t take Lionel long to decide that an attempt to rob you would be made on opening night between eight and eight-thirty. He made careful plans because he wanted to catch Ventura with enough evidence on him to convince any jury of his guilt. So on opening night, instead of leaving the hotel with the other guests, Lionel slipped back to his room, leaving the door open a crack. “Sure enough, shortly after Dolly left with Ivan, Ventura appeared, right on schedule, and using a skeleton key boldly walked into your suite. Lionel settled down to wait. He anticipated no trouble at all; most criminals collapse when a G-man catches them with the stolen goods in their possession. Lionel, of course, had no way of knowing that I had gone into your dressing room. He was sure I was safely in my room and thought I might not even be disturbed when he quietly arrested Ventura.” “Then,” Chalice interrupted, “to the surprise of 210

everyone, Dolly returned ahead of time with Ivan. That girl was born and bred in Chicago, but you’d never guess it. She simply cannot stand a bit of winter wind.” Vicki chuckled. “Her unscheduled return certainly did surprise everyone. Lionel was flabbergasted. You had scolded her so severely the other evening when she didn’t walk Ivan for his full half-hour, it never occurred to him that she would disobey you. The silence that followed Dolly’s return, Lionel figured, could only mean that she was being silenced at the point of Ventura’s gun. Any attempt to capture Ventura now would mean shooting, and Dolly might be harmed. The FBI is dead against shooting at the risk of innocent bystanders. But neither could he leave her alone in there with a criminal. “Using his master key, he quietly slipped into your living room. To his astonishment the only sound he heard was Dolly’s snoring in the bedroom. And then I screamed. Naturally Lionel didn’t hesitate a second after that. He burst into the dressing room before Ventura could grab his gun, and before I could scramble to my feet, Bruno was safely handcuffed. And then the whole suite was simply swarming with people, among them my own private detective, Barrow. “Right after that, the detectives, who had been 211

watching the Ventura night club ever since the lavender lady entered it, appeared with the dowdy cashier. Mr. Gray Coat, the police detective on duty in front of the Hartwood, had notified them the moment Bruno came into the lobby. Lionel didn’t want Letty picked up until he had arrested her boss. He had planned a surprise attack on both of them, and it worked. Letty didn’t stay dowdy long after she saw those handcuffs on Ventura. She literally and figuratively let down her hair and said a lot of things which I imagine she now regrets.” “I can imagine,” Chalice said with satisfaction. “She naturally jumped to the conclusion that she had been arrested because of information Ventura gave the police.” “That’s right,” Vicki said. “When she started accusing him of treachery, he in turn accused her of bungling the job. I told him, you know, that I never would have seen through her various disguises if she hadn’t stolen your perfume.” Chalice stirred restlessly. “I do wish you hadn’t brought my Chadawn into it, Vicki. Was it really necessary?” “Of course not,” Vicki said, silently laughing. “I never mentioned the word, nor did anybody else. The FBI, the police, and reporters know that Letty stole a bottle of your perfume, but that’s all they do know. I had to give Lionel some explanation of why 212

I sneaked into Room 610. He was very nice and didn’t ask me a lot of embarrassing questions. He simply shook his head and said: “ ‘Once an amateur detective, always an amateur detective, I suppose. I could have you arrested for breaking and entering, but I won’t. Without your reluctant help, this would have been a much harder case to crack than it was.’ ” “Pooh,” Chalice said, swinging her long legs out of Vicki’s bed. “He couldn’t have solved the case at all without you. I am an excellent judge of character and I was right when I said in the very beginning that you would solve the mystery.” She started off toward her dressing room. “You shall have a reward, darling. Not the pearls—they’re not your type—but my Ivan pin. . . . No, no, NO, don’t argue with me. I want you to have it, Vicki. Next time you’re involved in a mystery you’ll wear it and remember me.” Next time! Vicki smiled and followed the actress into the mirrored dressing room. She stood at attention while Chalice, with the pompous air of a four-star general, pinned the beautiful miniature above the wings on her jacket. Wings and a fleet wolfhound! Vicki seemed to be gazing into the crystal ball of her future. Did another mystery await her? With all her heart Vicki hoped so! 213