As soon as the telephone call was completed, the three people got into the little car. Mary Louise herself took the wheel, for, as she explained, she was familiar with it by this time.
“Now tell me about your experiences, Mary Lou,” urged her father, as soon as they were well under way.
Mary Louise explained, for Margaret’s benefit as well as for her father’s, about deciphering the code letter and coming up to Center Square and breaking into the empty house in search of the valuables. But she made light of the coldness and desolation of the dark house and of her own hunger. She concluded with the statement that Margaret had come that morning and let her out with a key.
“But how did you happen to have the key, Margaret?” demanded Mr. Gay.
“I will have to tell you my whole story from the beginning,” answered the girl. There was a tragic note in her voice, which drew out her listeners’ sympathy, but neither made any comment.
“Then you can decide what to do with me,” she continued. “I guess I deserve to go to prison, but when I assure you that I have never done anything wrong except under compulsion, maybe you will not be so angry with me.”
“We’re not angry with you, Margaret,” Mary Louise told her. “Only terribly sorry. So please tell us everything. You remember that your grandparents have never heard anything from you since last Christmas.... So begin your story there.”
“All right.... Let me see—I was working in that department store in Philadelphia, and doing pretty well, for I got commissions besides my salary on everything I sold. I started in the cheap jewelry department and was promoted to the expensive kind. Christmas brought me in a lot of business, but I guess I overworked, for I got sick the week before and had to stay home and have the doctor. I’d already spent a good deal of money on presents, and when my doctor’s bill was paid I found my salary was all gone. So I went back to the store before I should—on the twenty-third of December, I remember.”
“The twenty-third of December!” repeated Mary Louise. “That was the day Mrs. Ferguson registered at the Benjamin Franklin Hotel.”
“How did you know, Mary Lou?” demanded Margaret.