"I can't guess. Gran'pa, I'm going to telegraph Josie O'Gorman, and ask her advice," said Mary Louise.
"Do. It's a good idea, Josie might put us on the right track," approved the Colonel.
So Mary Louise went to the telegraph office in the hotel lobby and sent the following message:
"Josie O'Gorman,
1225 F Street,
Washington D.C.
"A girl friend has mysteriously disappeared from the Blackington, where we are stopping. What shall I do?
Mary Louise Burrows."
Two hours later she received this answer:
"Miss Mary Louise Burrows,
Hotel Blackington, Chicago.
"Notify police at once. Keep cool. I'm coming.
Josie O'Gorman."
Mary Louise felt tremendously relieved when she read this. Josie was a girl of her own age, but she was the daughter of one of the most celebrated secret service men in the employ of the United States government, and John O'Gorman had trained Josie from babyhood in all the occult details of his artful profession. It was his ambition that some day this daughter would become a famous female detective, but he refused to allow her to assume professional duties until she had become thoroughly qualified to excel. He did not wish her to be ordinary, but extraordinary, and Josie's talents, so far, had seemed to justify his expectations. Mary Louise knew Josie very well and admired and loved her, for in her amateur way Josie had once helped to solve a stubborn mystery that threatened the happiness of both the old Colonel and his granddaughter, and through this experience the two girls had become friends. Josie O'Gorman was devoted to Mary Louise, who knew she could rely on Josie's judgment in this emergency but had scarcely expected her to come all the way from Washington to Chicago to render her personal assistance.
In appearance the young girl—who was destined some day to become a great detective—was not especially prepossessing. She was short of form and inclined to be stout—"chubby," she called herself. She had red hair, a freckled face and a turned-up nose. But her eyes, round and blue and innocent in expression as those of a baby, dominated her features and to an extent redeemed their plainness.
Mary Louise hurried to the Colonel.
"Gran'pa Jim," she cried excitedly, "Josie is coming!"