“Yes! Oh Josie, she is a terrible person and as unscrupulous as the worst character in fiction! I feel she is in Dorfield for some evil purpose. I can’t imagine just why, but her being here depresses me so I can hardly bear life.”
“You mean she may work some ill on you or your brothers? But what could she do?”
“I can’t tell. Mr. Cheatham already has all the money we should have and—oh, Josie, I just can’t tell what it is but—but—” and here the poor girl burst into tears.
Josie drew her into her own bedroom, which was a small cubby hole tucked away in the rear of the shop.
“Now, now, you poor, dear thing!” Josie could be remarkably tender, considering she was such a determined and relentless little detective. Her voice now had a motherly ring. “You mustn’t feel so despondent over a thing like this. I don’t know what you dread—”
“I don’t know myself.”
“Well, whatever it is I can promise you that I am here to see you through. Tell me what was this Fitchet person doing?”
“I think she was following me, because I saw her several times as I went in and out of shops. She was heavily veiled, but her face isn’t what gives her away. I’d know her figure anywhere, under any disguise. She is quite stout, with abnormally small feet, and always carries her head a little on one side and she has a peculiar way of walking, never keeping on a straight line but unconsciously zigzagging.”
“Why, bless my soul! You’d make a good detective,” laughed Josie. “I can actually see the person from your description. Now I’ll go out and take Captain Charlie Lonsdale into my confidence and have him keep an eye on the person. He is chief of police, you know, and my very good friend. How old is Fitchet?”
“About thirty-five, I should say. She is a trained nurse and Mr. Cheatham had her nurse my poor little mother in her last illness. Thank goodness the boys did not have to know her. I sent them to friends in Peewee Valley during Mother’s illness.