“Not at all, Mr. McGraw, and to show that I am not I’ll ask you to come call on us at our apartment and then you can see my little breast-pin to your heart’s content.”
“Thank you! Thank you! Now I believe I will have another piece of cake. My appetite is restored,” grinned Billy.
Bob Dulaney looked thoughtfully at Irene while the above conversation was carried on. His eye fell on the brooch at her throat, a pretty little enameled violet, as modest at the model from which it was taken and as unassuming as its wearer. He wondered if Irene could take off her pin without upsetting her costume. He smiled at the thought. On Irene’s smooth brow was a slight pucker and in her honest clear eyes he could detect a slight suggestion of scorn. It passed immediately and her usual placid expression returned, but the young man wondered again what the lame girl had against the beautiful Mrs. Markle and if she had any reasons for what he felt was a distrust of the fair stranger. He looked up and caught a twinkle in the eye of Josie O’Gorman. As though conscious that someone was catching her twinkling when she had no idea of letting anyone onto the fact that she was amused, Josie immediately took on the dull fish-eyed expression which was the despair of her friends.
“Umhum!” said Bob Dulaney to himself. “These girls are up to something, at least that funny red-headed one is.” And having a nose for news, an essential to every good newspaper man, he began to go over the situation in his mind.
“Enter a beautiful stranger, known to most of the company! Immediately Irene, who seems to be all kindliness and loveliness, shows what might almost be called temper, except that it was so carefully kept in that one could hardly see it. The beautiful stranger refuses with the utmost tact to take off her breast-pin, giving what seemed a good excuse and again Irene’s fair brow is clouded and the little red-headed girl who is going to help keep the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop is plainly amused, even delighted, but does not want anybody to know how she feels. A mystery is a mystery and, even though it prove nothing more than some kind of girlish foolishness or jealousy, me for the solving of it!”
CHAPTER IX
THE BOOK OF CRIMINALS
The carpenters and plumbers were soon busy with their tasks. The old building rang with the sound of hammer and saw. The partitions for bedroom, kitchen and bath were up in an inconceivably short time with the help of the tongue and groove sealing which had been cut the right length at the lumber yard under Danny’s directions. The ready-made doors were hung and the bath and small gas range put into place by the muscular Bob and connections made by those more expert in pipe fitting.
“It has been finished so rapidly it is almost like the little house Peter Pan built Wendy,” laughed Elizabeth.
“It is lovely,” said Lucile, “but I’d be afraid to sleep in a room that had no top to it. Just think how easy it would be for burglars to crawl over the partitions and run off with the family plate!”