“Of course, what I’m hoping for,” concluded Mary Louise, “is to catch her with the stolen goods and have her arrested. But she may not be the person I’m looking for at all, because I saw her in the dark with only a lighted candle behind her.”
“What is her name?”
“Mrs. Brooks is the only name I know her by. But I’ve learned that criminals have half a dozen names, so you can’t go by that. There isn’t anybody by that name around here, is there?”
The man shook his head.
“No, there ain’t. But let’s drive to the house you mean, and I can tell you who owns it. And maybe tell you something about the people that live there.”
“I don’t believe anybody really lives there,” replied Mary Louise. “It’s all boarded up.”
They got into Mary Louise’s hired car, and she turned off the main highway into the dirt road which she and Max had explored. Here it was difficult for Mary Louise to find her way, because on the former occasion it had been dark, and snow had covered most of the ground. She drove along slowly, past the empty house they had first visited, until she came to the hill and the place with the steep driveway. She remembered the house now; there was the tree under which Max had parked, and the barn beyond. A huge sign bearing the words “No Trespassing—Private Property” had been erected since her former visit.
“This place belongs to a Mrs. Ferguson of Baltimore,” announced the constable. “She’s a widow with two daughters. They never live here, but once in a while she brings a bunch of girls here for a house party. She’s wealthy—always comes in a car and brings a couple of servants.”
“Ferguson,” repeated Mary Louise, wondering where she had heard that name before. But she had heard so many new names in the past few days that she could not place it. “Could you describe her?” she inquired.
“Can’t say as I could. Never saw her close. She dresses stylish, I know that, and has nothin’ to do with the country folks around here.”