The girl looked imploringly at Mrs. Hilliard, but the latter could not refuse to grant Mrs. Macgregor’s demand.
“I can prove I didn’t take any bag,” said Ida. “By Miss Brooks. I went right into her room next and made her bed. She can tell you I did. She was just going out—I’m sure she’ll remember.”
“Is Miss Brooks here?”
“I think she left the hotel about fifteen minutes ago,” stated Miss Horton, the secretary. “Before Mrs. Macgregor screamed.”
“Well, we can ask her when she comes back,” said Mrs. Hilliard. “Where were you, Ida, when I sent for you?”
“Still in Miss Brooks’ room,” replied the girl tearfully. “I was running the vacuum cleaner, so I never heard the disturbance.”
Mrs. Hilliard turned to Mrs. Macgregor. “If Ida did steal your bag,” she said, “she would have to have it concealed on her person. Mary Louise, you take Ida to my apartment and have her undress and prove that she isn’t hiding anything.”
Without a word the two girls did as they were told and took the elevator to the fourth floor. Mary Louise felt dreadfully sorry for her companion, who by this time was shaking and sobbing. She put her arm through Ida’s as they entered Mrs. Hilliard’s apartment.
“You know, Ida,” she said, “if you did do this it would be lots easier for you if you’d own up now. The police are bound to find out anyhow, sooner or later.”
“But I didn’t, miss!” protested the other girl. “I never stole anything in my life. I was brought up different. I’m a good girl, and my mother would die if she knew I was even accused of stealing.”