“I don’t know. I never saw him. But I overheard a phone call, and Hortense Weinberger said she’d slip out about eleven tonight. Could you be watching then?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Mary Louise joyfully. Oh, suppose it were true, and she could identify the man! Wouldn’t it be too wonderful?
“I think you’re terribly clever, Miss Stoddard,” she said, “if you really have found the solution. It will mean so much to Mrs. Hilliard. She has been worried to death.”
They had been so interested in their conversation that they did not realize how near they were to the church. In another minute they were walking reverently into the old building, and for the next hour and a half, robberies and mysteries were forgotten in the solemn beauty of the service. Nor did they refer to the subject afterwards, but walked back to the hotel talking about historic Philadelphia.
Mary Louise went to her room after dinner and wrote down everything Miss Stoddard had said about Hortense Weinberger. The explanation was so plausible that she could hardly wait for the evening to come, with her chance to identify her own particular burglar. If he were the man who had entered her room, the whole thing would be solved and she could go home for Christmas! Oh, how glad she was that she had had that talk with Miss Stoddard!
In the midst of her daydreams a knock sounded at the door. A maid handed her a card with the name “Max Miller” engraved on it.
Mary Louise let out a wild whoop of joy and, not waiting to explain, dashed past the maid and down the steps to the lobby. And there he was. Good old Max—looking handsomer than ever! Mary Louise could have hugged him in her delight.
“Max! You angel!” she cried. “How did you know I’d be so glad to see you?”
“Because I knew how glad I’d be to see you,” he replied, still holding onto her hand.
Mary Louise withdrew it laughingly.