These questions ran through Judy’s mind as she sat before her typewriter. Mysteries intrigued her. But no mystery on earth would be worth the solving if it lessened her trust in people she loved.
“There has to be some way to get Irene out of this,” she said to herself. “Whatever Emily Grimshaw saw, she mustn’t be allowed to accuse Irene of taking the poetry.”
Then it occurred to Judy that, ordinarily, she would be under suspicion as well. Instead, Emily Grimshaw suspected someone named Joy Holiday. It sounded like an hallucination.
When closing time came, Judy walked in the direction of Gramercy Park and arrived at Dr. Faulkner’s house just as Pauline was leaving through a side door.
“Where are you going?” Judy asked in surprise. Usually Pauline would not be going out just at dinner time.
“I told Mary I’d not be home,” Pauline replied, “and you had better not be, either. Dale Meredith’s up on the roof garden with Irene, and we would be intruding if we thrust ourselves upon them.”
“Why? What makes you think that?”
“Just what I overheard.”
“Perhaps you didn’t understand,” Judy attempted. “There’s a brand-new mystery for us to solve. I’m sure Dale Meredith wants to hear about it. Something happened in the office today, and Irene was dreadfully upset. He may have been trying to comfort her.”
Pauline laughed bitterly. “A queer way of doing it—calling her a sweet girl, holding her hand and saying something about ‘another roof garden ... peppy orchestra, floor as smooth as wax ... and you to dance with....’ He said more, too, but that was all I heard. You see what a mistake I almost made! Of course he wants Irene to himself. He won’t be interested in your mystery now—only in Irene’s glorious eyes and her bright hair. I guess she knew what she was doing when she wore that party dress.”