“But I can help you, too,” Gretchen insisted. “I’m not really a trained maid, you know, but Nanette—that’s Mrs. Lawson’s French maid—has been teaching me. Gee, I’d certainly love to be your personal maid, Miss Jordan.”
“Well, you may be, some day, who knows?” she laughed. “But you can help me tonight, though there’ll be no bed for me until much later.”
Gretchen, who was arranging the pillows and smoothing the covers on the bed, turned her head sharply. “Secret Service Work?” she queried in an excited whisper.
Dorothy nodded and tossed her dress on to a chair. She continued speaking in a tone just above a whisper. “At twelve o’clock tonight I’ve got to go downstairs and commit justifiable burglary in Doctor Winn’s office. The real thief will be along later—at least, I hope so, for everybody’s sake. In the meantime I want you to do something for me—will you?”
“I sure will, miss—gee, this is exciting!”
“Don’t let it cramp your style.” Dorothy laughed, and pulling off her stocking, she handed Gretchen the packet of thin paper, the manuscript on “Winnite” that she had typed that morning. “When you finish up in here, I want you to find Mr. Tunbridge and give him these papers. You’d better pin it inside your uniform now, and be very careful that nobody sees you giving it to him.”
“You can trust me,” declared Gretchen, and she put the papers safely within her dress. “Is Mr. Tunbridge really a detective?”
“He certainly is, Gretchen.”
“I’d never have guessed it if you hadn’t told me. But then, I suppose not looking like one makes him all the better?”
“That’s the idea.” Dorothy put Janet’s quilted satin dressing gown on over her pajamas. “Now that I’m ready for bed, and you’ve put all my clothes away so nicely, I think you’d better run along, Gretchen. Not,” she amended, “that I wouldn’t love to talk to you while I’m waiting for twelve o’clock, but we must not let certain people in this house get wise to our friendship.”