The Clue in Blue

When Connie Blair takes a temporary job modeling

glamorous clothes at Campions in Philadelphia she
becomes involved in a baffling mystery taking place behind
the scenes of the great department store.
It all starts with a missing fur beret. Connies dashing
young aunt, stylist for Campions, is deeply concerned. The
hat, a Paris original, is fabulously expensive. But what really
worries Aunt Bet is that it is not the first article in her care
to vanish mysteriously, only to reappear later even more
mysteriously.
Connie is faced with one unanswerable question after
another. Who was the man in the womans hat, that Sunday
afternoon in the deserted store? Why was Grace, the little
stock girl, sobbing in terror in the models dressing room?
Most important of all, what unknown enemy is trying to cast
the shadow of suspicion on Aunt Bet? Determined to find
the culprit, Connie enlists the aid of Larry Stewart, the
young display man, and finally comes face to face with a far
more ruthless enemy than she had ever imagined in her
wildest speculations.

The CONNIE BLAIR Mystery Stories

The Clue in Blue
The Riddle in Red
Puzzle in Purple
The Secret of Black Cat Gulch
The Green Island Mystery
The Ghost Wore White
The Yellow Warning
The Gray Menace
The Brown Satchel Mystery
Peril in Pink
The Silver Secret
The Mystery of the Ruby Queens

A CONNIE BLAIR MYSTERY

The Clue
in Blue
By
BETSY ALLEN

Grosset & Dunlap

PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK

 1948 BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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Fashion Preview
Connie Takes a Job
The Face in the Mirrors
Enter Larry Stewart
In the Models Dressing Room
The Little Stock Girl
Stop, Thief !
Lost, Strayed or Stolen?
Clue Conscious
Why, Aunt Bet!
The Missing Hatbox
Connie Pays a Call
Part of the Story
Display Room Quest
Curiouser and Curiouser
The Man in the Womans Hat
An Endand a Beginning

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CHAPTER

Fashion Preview

For the tenth time in half an hour, Connie Blah

peered out of the east window of the bedroom she
shared with her twin sister.
Aunt Bet ought to be here! she said impatiently.
Its almost two oclock.
A heat haze hovered over the quiet street, and not
a leaf on the maples rustled. Connie pressed her
nose against the screen and slid her eyes far to the
right, so that she could see the corner, but there was
no car in sight. There was not even a dog or a person
to bring movement to the scene.
I asked the girls for two-thirty, she said, turning
back into the room.
Kit, christened Catherine, who was twisting her
pale, shoulder-length hair into a careless knot on top
of her head, murmured, You know Aunt Bet! Shell
come dashing in just in the nick of time. Then her
1

eyes rested for a second on Connies face and she

laughed. Look at your nose.
Connie stooped so that she could see over her
twins shoulder into the dressing-table mirror, and
the two fair heads, identical in contour, came
together. The screen had made a crossbarred pattern
of black on the tip of Connies nose, and she rubbed
at it ruefully with the palm of one hand. Then her
brown eyes brightened as brakes squealed outside.
There she is! she cried.
High heels were clicking up the cement walk
even before the girls reached the first floor. As they
burst out onto the comfortable porch, shaded by
green-striped awnings, Elizabeth Easton, their
mothers youngestand prettiestsister, came
running up the steps.
Aunt Bet looked as cool as a mint frappe in a
pale-green linen suit. She had the ineffable polish of
a woman of fashion, but her smile was as warm and
engaging as the twins.
Fooled you! she said. Im here ahead of time.
I dont believe it! Mrs. Blair, plump and rosy in
a ruffled apron, came through the screen door and
laid her smooth cheek against her sisters. Then she
held her off with both hands. Let me look at you.
Its been months since Ive seen you. What is the
fascination that keeps you in Philadelphia all the
time?
2

Connie edged closer, scenting a romance, but

Aunt Bet shook her head.
Work, she insisted. Nothing but work. Being a
buyer was bad enough, but being a stylist is a fulltime job and then some!
But such fun, Connie sighed, looking envious.
And doing fashion shows must be marvelous. Her
eyes took on the glow of a visionary. Dont you
just love working in the city, Aunt Bet?
Elizabeth Easton nodded. I do, she admitted.
Its right for me. But it wouldnt be for some
people. She looked around at the stretch of garden
beyond the porch and at the zinnias massed in a big
stone crock by the door. Small towns have their
points.
Kit agreed. I never want to leave
Meadowbrook, she said. I want to stay right here
and get married and have a big family and
Hey! Wait a minute! Connie interrupted. We
only got out of high school in June.
Everybody laughed, and Mrs. Blair said
practically, What about this fashion show now?
The girls will be here to try on dresses in half an
hour.
Connie said, Weve two size twelves, and four
size fourteens and Ruth Shaw and Ginny Anderson
for the big ones. She began ticking off the number
of models on her fingers, trying to remember
3

everyone she had invited to participate. Kit and I

tried to choose girls who look like the collegeclothes type.
Aunt Bet grinned and nodded. Thats fine, she
praised her young assistants. I have some clothes
with me that youll just adore. She put her handbag
and gloves on the wicker table. Want to help me
unpack the car?
Well do it alone, Connie said. You go on in
with Mother and cool off. She pushed her aunt
gently toward the door. Then, instead of following
her twin down the walk, she ran to the side railing
and, cupping her hands and directing her voice
toward the rear of the house, shouted, Toby!
It took five vigorous Toby!s to bring a towcolored head into view from among the leafy
branches of a black walnut tree.
Whatdya want? Connies ten-year-old brother
finally asked.
Toby, come help us, like a lamb, Connie
invited. Aunt Bets here, and were going to
unpack the car.
A pair of skinny brown legs, bare to above the
knee, appeared under the umbrella of leaves. Toby
swung himself to the ground like a monkey and
strolled amiably across the lawn.
Did you call for long? he asked Connie as he
joined her. I was up in my tree house reading a
4

book.
A mystery, Ill bet.
Toby nodded. A neat one. All about atomic
engineers. He saw Kit coming back up the front
walk with a stack of dress boxes balanced under her
chin. Whats going on?
The Fortnightlys having a garden party and
fashion show, Connie told him. Tomorrow. Aunt
Bets doing the show, and the girls are trying on
dresses here this afternoon.
Toby stopped dead in his tracks and snorted.
And you got me down out of the tree for that?
Nevertheless he was persuaded to help his sisters,
and within ten minutes Connie and Kits room was
covered with a froth of white tissue paper, and both
the twin beds and the bureaus were decorated with
enough clothes and accessories to make any girls
eyes gleam with envy.
Toby, after sticking out a hand to greet his aunt
with manly casualness, escaped the melee and
returned to the platform in the walnut tree. From
there he caught occasional glimpses of some of the
twins friends arriving at the house, but he was out
of the hurly-burly of feminine fashion and back in
the safe haven of atomic intrigue, where he felt more
at home.
Within the twins bedroom, the collected models
were busy trying on Aunt Bets wonderful clothes.
5

Straight from the show windows of Campions, the

smart womans apparel shop in Philadelphia where
Aunt Bet worked, such costumes would have
gladdened the heart of any girl, college bound or
not. The suits and coats and sweaters and skirts and
bags and gloves lived up to everything Miss Easton
had promised the Fortnightly Club when she had
been invited to put on a fashion show of college
clothes in Meadowbrook. They were new and
exciting, as vivid as the colors of autumn and as
young as the girls who were to model them the
following afternoon.
Before the full-length mirror on the back of her
closet door, Connie pirouetted in a soft tweed suit of
quill brown. The color exactly matched her eyes,
and against it her hair and skin were one shade,
tawny gold.
She felt like a debutante in a soap ad. She felt like
an actress! She felt, in turn, like a cover girl on a
fashion magazine and like the heroine of a novel.
Its such fun to just change your clothes and get
a whole new personality! she cried.
Her aunt looked at her from across the room,
where she was buttoning one of the Size 12 models
into a plaid jumper, and thought that nothing could
change Connies own vivid personality, only
enhance it, as this suit did.
Thats a French import, she called, the one
6

really expensive thing in this collection. And just

wait till you see the beaver beret thats to be worn
with it. Youll feel like a glamour girl for sureif
you dont die from the heat.
Where is it? Connie was eager. Then she added
comfortingly, Well have a storm tonight and it will
cool off for tomorrow. You wait and see!
While her aunt searched through the stack of hatboxes for the fabulous beret, Connie relinquished
her position before the mirror, first to little Jane
Trotter, in a pansy-colored sweater and skirt, then to
Kit, in a polo coat that was bringing beads of
perspiration to her upper lip. She admired each of
them in turn, praising the way they wore the clothes
with such wholehearted sincerity that they forgot the
temperature was hovering in the high eighties and
walked with their shoulders flung back and their
heads held high.
You walk that way tomorrow, Miss Easton said
as she looked up from rummaging in the depths of a
large carton, and youll look enough like
professional models to deceive your own mothers.
She pushed a damp tendril of hair off her forehead
and got down on her knees in front of the carton.
Where is that hat?
Can I help? Connie asked, and her aunt sat
back on her high heels and described the box that
held the beret.
7

It was small. She made a circle with her hands.

About so big. Pink and gray. And there was a
pouch bag in with the hat. I remember it particularly
because I packed the beret and bag myself.
Kit, who had laid the heavy polo coat on the bed
and was standing around in a brief, lace-trimmed
slip, joined in the search. The three of them
ransacked the room, but no small, round box with
the Campion name scrawled on it in elegant pink
script could be found.
Maybe you left it in the car, Connie suggested,
and ran down to investigate, but neither in the trunk
nor inside the car was there so much as a scrap of
tissue paper that had been overlooked.
I just must not have brought it, Aunt Bet said,
while a small frown of annoyance appeared between
her eyes. But it was on my desk this morning. I
know it was.
Was it expensive too, like the suit? Connie
asked.
Miss Easton nodded. Fur hats always run into
money, she said. Especially beaver or mink.
Jane Trotter, who was going to the state
university in the fall, looked at the twins aunt
curiously. But are there many college girls who can
afford to buy things like that?
Miss Easton smiled. Thats a sensible question.
No, there arent, she told Jane. Our millinery
8

buyer thought the beret was simply irresistible with

the suit Connies wearing. It was she who really
insisted that I bring it along.
Kit, who had given up the search, said, Oh, well,
youll probably find it right on your desk when you
get back to the store.
But her aunt didnt take the matter so lightly. As
she folded away the clothes and replaced the bags
and scarfs and gloves in their boxes, for
transportation to the clubhouse, in the garden of
which the fashion show was to be held, she checked
every item against an inventory list. Not another
thing was missing, just the small, round box with the
beret and bag.
Finally even she was forced to accept Kits
conclusion, that the box must have been left in
Philadelphia. And it had better be there when I get
back, Miss Easton said, biting the end of her pencil.
It would cost me considerably more than a weeks
salary to replace two items like that.
Oh, but if a thing is lost, would they hold you
responsible? Kit asked navely.
Theyve got to hold somebody responsible,
Aunt Bet told her. Business is business, after all.
To associate their fashionable young aunt with
such a workaday statement was a new thing for the
twins. They had always considered her rather a
butterfly, who fluttered in and out of their lives to
9

give them occasional glimpses of color seldom seen

in Meadowbrook. Connie looked at her quizzically
and decided that Aunt Bet was more down-to-earth
than she had ever suspected. For the first time she
recognized the sisterly similarity to her own mother,
in spite of the difference in their years and in the
lives they led.
Girls! Her mothers voice cut into Connies
musing. If youre finished up there, I have some
iced tea and cakes you might be interested in.
Would we ever! Ginny Anderson, who never
could remember that a Size 1G should be a little
cautious about her figure, led the way downstairs.
On the porch Mrs. Blair had a tea table spread, and
within five minutes everyone was busy with tall, icefilled glasses and the tender cupcakes which Aunt
Bet admiringly called the spcialit de la maison.
Whats that mean? Toby, who had braved the
assembled company to rustle a couple of cakes,
turned back to ask.
Aunt Bet laughed. It means your mothers a
marvelous cook!
You said a mouthful, Toby replied inelegantly,
suiting action to words.
For the rest of the afternoon the discussion of the
fashion show was interrupted only to talk about the
various colleges to which the girls were planning to
go. The girls were thrilled by the clothes they were
10

to wear, and Jane Trotter was already planning to

cajole her mother into buying the plaid jumper with
the pale-green shirt.
They say its awfully important for a freshman
to make a good impression, she said with great
seriousness. Dont they, Miss Easton?
Miss Easton chuckled but refused to commit
herself. She turned to Connie. Are you getting
excited about going away?
The twins were entered at a college about a
hundred miles upstate. Connie hesitated, but Kit
answered promptly.
I am! Im a little scared, too. I dont make
friends as easily as Connie does.
You do too! Connie insisted. Then she turned
to her aunt. Kits going to adore college, but for
myselfI dont know. To be perfectly honest, Id
sort of like to skip it and get a job instead.
Connie! Kit sounded shocked, but Connie
raised her head defiantly. Well, I would! Id give
anything if I could land a job in the citymaybe in
advertising.
She glanced at her aunt to see how this attitude
seemed to strike her, but Miss Eastons attention
apparently was turned elsewhere. Connie noticed
that for the next half-hour her aunt seemed
preoccupied, and she wasnt surprised when Miss
Easton slipped into the house to put in a long11

distance call to Philadelphia. She knew that the fur

beret was still on her aunts mind, and that she
probably was checking with Campions to make
certain that the small, round hatbox really was safe
on her desk.
Refilling the plate of cupcakes, Connie heard part
of the conversation that ensued.
Campions? Miss Easton speaking. Connect me
with the advertising department, please. There was
a pause, then Aunt Bet said brightly, Jean? This is
Bet. Do me a favor and see if I left a hatbox on my
desk, will you? Ill hold the wire.
The screen door shut behind Connie as she again
emerged to the porch, and Aunt Bets further
discussion was drowned in the chatter which greeted
her. The cupcakes on the plate disappeared like
magic, and she thought with amusement that the
girls werent very different now than they had been
eight or ten years ago, when they used to come to
the Blair twins birthday parties. They still got
ecstatic and ravenous at the sight of her mothers
marvelous food.
It was several minutes before Aunt Bet
reappeared, and just as the screen door slammed
behind her, Jane glanced at her watch and cried,
Look at the time! Weve simply got to go.
There was the usual flurry of leave-taking,
accompanied by last-minute arrangements for the
12

fashion show and profuse thanks to Mrs. Blair.

Connie glanced once or twice at her aunt, but her
face revealed nothing of the outcome of the
telephone call. It wasnt until they had gathered up
the tea things from the porch and were all out in the
kitchen that Connie had a chance to put a direct
question.
Was it all right about the box?
It wasnt there, Aunt Bet replied, and her voice
sounded puzzled rather than surprised. She started to
add something else that piqued Connies curiosity.
You know, its the funniest thing. It isnt the first
time
I wonder if Toby knows anything about it, Kit
interrupted. He was helping unpack the car, you
know, and he might just have thought it would be
smart
She crossed the waxed linoleum floor to the
kitchen door and shouted Tobys name, then almost
dropped the glass she was drying, as a voice from
directly beneath her on the back steps answered.
Dont strain yourself, sis. Im right here.
It was a typical Toby retort, a little rough and
arrogant, as though the youngest member of the
Blair household were beginning to feel the need for
expressing his masculinity. Hearing it, Mrs. Blair
glanced at her sister, bit her lower lip and silently
shook her head.
13

Aunt Bet was amused. She smiled, but restrained

a chuckle, and walked over to stand beside Kit at the
door.
Toby, she said with forthrightness, weve lost
a small hatbox, a pink-and-gray job. The word
job brought her right to Tobys own level and he
looked up alertly. Did you see anything of it when
you were helping unpack the car?
Who, me? Tobys voice rose on the personal
pronoun. I didnt even look at the stuff. I just
helped carry it in. There was scorn for all feminine
frippery in his tone.
Over Aunt Bets shoulder Mrs. Blair asked, You
didnt hide it somewhere, just for fun?
Toby held his head and groaned. In his eyes, as
he looked up, were mingled honesty and disgust.
Of course not, he sighed, and not a person who
saw him could doubt his sincerity. What would be
the point?
His mother smiled back at him. All right, Son,
she said, satisfied. Then, as she was turning away,
she called back, Have you fed Ruggles, Toby? If
you havent, why dont you do it right now?
Ruggles was the family cocker, named, because
of his color, for Ruggles of Red Gap, and the
preparation of his dinner was one of Tobys daily
chores. He came in now with the spaniel at his heels
and began measuring out kibble biscuit from a stone
14

crock near the stove.

Women, he said to no one in particular, are the
limit. Always after a guy to do some sort of work.
His words fell into one of those sudden little
silences that occur for no reason at all, and a deep,
masculine chuckle answered them.
A philosopher in our midst! remarked his father
from the dining-room door. Then Mr. Blair saw his
sister-in-law and came forward to greet her. The
corners of his eyes still crinkled with laugh lines he
held her off with both hands on her arms. Youre a
sight for sore eyes, he told her admiringly.
Sometimes I think I made a mistake, going into the
hardware business. How dyou think Id do as a
junior floorwalker at Campions, Bet?
Junior! Mrs. Blair snorted, turning from the
sink and eyeing her husband affectionately. Youd
have to dye those gray hairs.
The twins laughed and Connie reached out a hand
and pinched her fathers ear. Gray at the temple is
very distinguished, she insisted. If you dont
believe me, Aunt Bet, you should see Dads new
photograph. Hes been elected president of the State
Hardware Association, you know.
Aunt Bet had not known, but she was ready with
congratulations, and in the rapid-fire family
conversation that lasted through supper and on into
the evening, the question of the missing hatbox was
15

forgotten even by Connie.

It wasnt until she was lying in the twin bed next
to Kits, when her promised thundershower was at
its height and lightning was streaking crazily across
the summer sky, that the hatbox flitted into her
thoughts again.
Then, as she turned over, she wondered sleepily
what Aunt Bet had meant when shed said, You
know, it isnt the first time
She must remember to ask her tomorrow, Connie
decided, never dreaming that on the morrow her
aunt was to make a proposal that would erase all
concern for the missing hatbox from her mind.

16

CHAPTER

Connie Takes a Job

Overnight, the temperature dropped ten degrees, and

the big enclosed garden behind the historic
Fortnightly clubhouse looked rain-washed and cool
when Connie and Kit arrived there with their aunt
the next afternoon.
Again, all the clothes had to be unpacked and the
accessories assembled, and Connie realized, as she
watched Aunt Bet work, that there was more to this
business of being a stylist than met the casual eye. It
called for a person who was physically strong as
well as fashion-wise. Hauling boxes as big as small
trunks in and out of the car was no job for a
weakling. She marveled that her small aunt could
keep her crisp smartness of appearance throughout
the necessary preparations for the show.
But Elizabeth Easton was an executive who had
earned her present position. In the nick of time the
17

girls were lined up in their first costumes. Aunt Bet,

exquisite in a lightweight suit that was just dark
enough against the summer clothes of the club
members to look new, stepped out the rear door to a
platform on which the models were scheduled to
appear and pose, before they descended the steps to
walk among the guests on the lawn.
Isnt she marvelous? Connie whispered to Kit
as they stood together in the dimness of the hall that
ran through the clubhouse from back to front. She
was listening to her aunts gracious speech of
introduction, in which she used the Campion name
with unobtrusive advertising skill.
I dont know how she does it, Kit agreed. Its
bad enough to have to walk out there, but if I had to
talk to all those people Id simply die.
Oh, no, you wouldnt, Connie chided her. She
was always rallying her more timid twin. Shyness
was not a characteristic of Connies and she found it
hard to understand in others. She felt friendly and
warmhearted to all those people out there on the
lawn. She wasnt in the least afraid of them; after
all, shed known most of them all her life.
Well start with clothes for traveling, then go on
to campus clothes, and finally well show you
costumes for various sports, and date dresses, and
dance frocks, Aunt Bet was saying. She clicked a
little metal beetle hidden in the palm of her hand and
18

out came Jane Trotter, demure in a basque-jacketed

suit of shepherds check, with a small, rolled sailor
perched on the back of her smooth brown hair.
Connie appeared next, wearing the imported
tweed, but carrying in her hand a felt sport hat of her
own instead of the fur beret which would have
capped the costume. She stood easily and well on
the platform, turned slowly, as Aunt Bet had
coached her, and started down the steps with a smile
that was both confident and gay.
Just once, as she started to move among the
guests, she looked back over her shoulder to be sure
that Kit was making out all right. Her twin had just
appeared on the platform, and if she was dying a
thousand deaths within, she certainly didnt show it.
With admiration, Connie watched her pose and turn,
and her own smile deepened. There was certainly
one thing about Kit; she always came through.
Costume changes, in the second-floor dressing
room, were swift, and Connie appeared next in a
tailored wool sports dress with push-up sleeves that
just matched the color of her eyes.
Most dear to her heart, however, was the dance
frock of amber taffeta caught up at one side to reveal
a flip, pleated petticoat of black-and-amber plaid. It
rustled when she moved, and as she lifted the skirt to
step out on the platform a soft murmur of
appreciation swept the audience and every head
19

turned her way. It was a little triumph for Connie

and she held her head very proudly as she descended
the wooden steps.
The minute she reached the grass, however, she
was Connie Blair again. It was as though she had
stepped out of a picture frame into reality. Now she
was chatting with her mothers friends, as she
passed in and out among them, without any
affectation at all.
Aunt Bet squeezed her arm when she passed her
on the way back to the dressing room. My nieces
were the success of the afternoon, she whispered in
Connies ear.
Thank you, Connie said, though her sidelong
glance was half doubting. Tell Catherine that. Shes
had the most awful stage fright, if you can believe
it.
Aunt Bet looked at her incredulously. I cant.
Yet it was true that Kit was relieved when the
show was over, while Connie was still elated even
after the last of the models had departed along with
the garden-party guests and just she and Kit and
Aunt Bet were left to reload the car. Mrs. Blair had
gone ahead to start dinner, because her sister was
driving back to the city early in the evening.
I wish you could stay over another night. It was
all such fun! Connie sighed.
Stacking the last of the garment boxes in the
20

luggage compartment, Aunt Bet paused. She looked

from Kit to Connie quizzically and said, Ive got an
idea, but I hardly know how to propose it, because
its only partially worked out.
She banged the compartment door shut, locked it
and walked thoughtfully around the car to slide
under the wheel. Only when the twins were settled
in the seat beside her and she had shifted into high
and was rolling slowly down the quiet street did
Aunt Bet continue.
I could use an extra model for our college show
at the shop, and one of you girls would fit in
perfectly.
Connie clapped her hands impetuously, but Aunt
Bets next words stopped her.
One. I cant use both of you, for a number of
reasons. Chief among them is the fact that, of
course, Id want you to stay with me, and my
apartment will only expand to the width of an
opened-up studio couch, with me on the other half.
Connies eyes were vivid with desire, but she
turned to Kit generously and quickly. You go, she
started. Youll
Aunt Bet cut in. Now dont start playing
Alphonse and Gaston, you two. I think the thing to
do is to draw straws. Well make a ceremony of it at
dinner and be sure that everything is perfectly fair
and square. That is, if your mother goes along with
21

the idea. Remember, we havent consulted her yet.

Mother will think its grand! Connie insisted.
Shell think its good experience, Im sure.
How long will the store show last? Kit asked
practically. And when does it start?
It starts Monday, her aunt told her, and it lasts
ten days. If either of you decides to take the job, you
can drive back with me tonight and spend the week
end. It would make it simpler all around.
Connies eyes continued to glow at the prospect.
Her mind leapt ahead to the drawing of the straws,
and she couldnt suppress the hope that she would
be the lucky one.
Then Kits voice pulled her out of her daydream.
Aunt Bet, Connie heard her twin saying seriously,
I hope you wont be offended. I think its terribly
nice of you to offer me the chance, but honestly, I
dont want to go.
Dont want to go? Connie cried incredulously.
Aunt Bet, dont believe her. Shes just trying to be
nice to me.
Im not, really. Kit sounded perfectly candid. I
just dont like modeling. I didnt this afternoon, and
I dont think Id like it any better next week.
Wedged between them as she was, both Connie
and her aunt could feel a shudder run through her.
And nearly two weeks of it! Kit groaned and shut
her eyes.
22

Aunt Bet leaned forward and took her eyes off the
road long enough to glance at Connie. I think shes
telling the truth.
By the time the car was parked in the Blair
driveway Connie also was convinced of Kits
sincerity, though she was still astonished that her
twinor any other girlwould refuse such a
chance.
A fortnight in Philadelphia, right in the midst of
the bustle and brilliance of a store like Campions!
Connies impetuous mind leapt ahead to a dozen
questions. How many models would there be? What
would they be required to do? Where would they
dress and how often would they change costume?
But first she had to settle the most important
question of all. Slamming the door of the car behind
her and racing across the lawn and into the cool
interior of the house, she accosted her mother in the
dining room and whirled her around.
Mommy, she cried, reverting to the old, pet
nickname that always popped out when she was
excited. Mommy, the most marvelous thing has
happened. Aunt Bet wants me to come to
Philadelphia and model for ten days at Campions.
Please, please say I can go!
For the next hour, at the house on High Street, not
another thing was discussed. Mrs. Blair was almost
as quick to give her consent as Connie had hoped
23

she would be. She telephoned her husband at the

store and he, too, felt that, under Aunt Bets
chaperonage, his daughters excursion would be
assured of success.
Connie, on her part, was jubilant. While Aunt Bet
helped set the table for dinner, she unearthed a
rather battered suitcase from the depths of the
storage closet and hastily packed. Kit offered two
pair of nylon hose that had never been worn, along
with an extra slip and some practically new pajamas
to supplement Connies rather sketchy collection of
clean lingerie. Three dresses, Aunt Bet insisted,
would be ample, since Connie would practically live
in store clothes. But just to be on the safe side,
Connie packed a few extra things. Ten days seemed
to stretch out like infinity before her, and she didnt
want to be caught short.
Mr. Blair found no one to meet him at the door
when he returned from the store. Everybody seemed
to be gathered upstairs discussing Connies exciting
job. Later, at the dinner table, he teased Connie
and called her my career girl.
I never saw a child more eager to leave home.
He shook his head despairingly and put an arm
around Kits shoulders. You and Ill have to get
together, he suggested. If you spurn the big city,
how about helping me out at the store while my
clerk goes on vacation? Ill pay you whatever
24

Connies getting. That ought to be fair enough.

Id like to, Dad, Kit said surprisingly. Even as a
little girl she had always liked the hardware
business, and used to beg to go down to the big,
amply stocked store on Main Street and help
Daddy sort nuts and bolts.
She still loved the myriad little drawers which
lined the wall behind the counter, holding
innumerable fascinating gadgets to help in
construction or repair. She liked the smell of the
moth flakes in the big barrel near the entrance; and
in the spring, when seed packets and fertilizer and
sprays came into ascendancy over kitchen wares and
cleaning equipment, she always felt that Blair
Hardware was personally responsible for the beauty
and fertility of Meadowbrook in the summertime.
Kits father looked pleased and almost relieved.
He squeezed her shoulder affectionately, and Connie
realized for the first time what a close bond existed
between her twin and her father. She adored Dad, of
course; everybody didhe was so genial and
friendly and sweet. But though Connie had inherited
his talent for friendliness, it was Kit who really
understood him. Connie, probably because opposites
attract, was her mothers girl.
Aunt Bet wanted to get off right after supper, so
that she could do the better part of the driving while
it was still light. The good-byes were necessarily
25

brisk, and before Connie quite realized that she was

on her way Toby had swung her suitcase into the
car, and her mother and dad and sister were walking
back across the lawn to the porch. Within five
minutes the familiar streets of Meadowbrook, shady
and quiet, gave way to open country, and Aunt Bet
turned into the highway that led to Philadelphia.
Behind a screen of trees the sun was dropping, and
the sky was aflame with carnival colors.
They matched Connies high spirits. Never before
in her life had she felt more excited and alive.
Aunt Bet drove in silence for a few minutes.
Connie could feel the tenseness of the days work go
out of her, to be replaced by the sense of relaxation
that seeps into a person who really loves the feel of a
cars wheel. She didnt disturb her, and let Aunt Bet
herself make the first overture. What she said,
finally, was rather astonishing.
I cant get that hatbox out of my mind.
Connie remembered something. What did you
mean yesterday, she asked her aunt, when you
said it wasnt the first time?
A little pucker appeared just over Aunt Bets left
eyebrow. I had a hand-blocked scarf up in my
office last week, she said slowly. It was pure silk,
a beautiful thing, and I had it in mind for a certain
suit. It was there when I left for the night. I know it
was. I can still see it along with some alligator
26

sandals and a matching bag. The next morning it

was gone.
Gone? You mean stolen?
I didnt know, Aunt Bet said. I ransacked the
office and called the accessory buyer and asked
everybody I could think of if theyd seen it. You see,
I get around the store a lot and I just might have laid
it down.
But if you were sure it was in your office the
night before
I rather pride myself on my efficiency, and the
store personnel knows that. Thats why it was an
especially good joke when the scarf turned up, two
days later, in the strangest place in the world.
Where?
Aunt Bet smiled wryly. In one of the drawers
under the perfume counter. The last place anyone
would think of looking. Ill admit Id been buying
some toilet water for myself the day the scarf
disappeared, but Id scarcely go around back and
tuck it into a drawer. It was just too silly for words.
It seemed silly to Connie too, yet her mind leapt
ahead to the disappearance of the beret and bag.
Maybe youve got schizowhats that word for
dual personality? she asked with a grin.
I cant pronounce it either, Aunt Bet said
companionably, but I know what you mean. She
negotiated a curve, then chuckled. You may be
27

right at that. It would be as good an answer as any

Ive thought of so far.
Big words seemed to be crowding Connies brain.
Or maybe theres a kleptomaniac who keeps taking
things, she offered. There was a girl like that in
school once. She just couldnt help herself.
Kleptomaniacs dont put things back, Aunt Bet
said sensibly. At least, that couldnt account for the
scarf.
Connie knew, without pressing a direct question,
that her aunt was genuinely concerned about the
beret and bag. They represented a sum of money
infinitely larger than the value of the scarf, and the
most obvious explanation of their disappearance was
that they might have been lost or stolen en route to
the Meadowbrook show. She brought up all the
questionable factors she could think ofthe honesty
of the helpers who packed the car, the possible stops
for gasoline, but to each of her suggestions Aunt Bet
shook her head.
I know it would be easy to steal a small hatbox,
but the car wasnt out of my sight once. And oddly
enough, I cant remember actually seeing it in the
car with the rest of the boxes. I cant remember it
anywhere except on my desk.
Suddenly she made a decision. I know what Im
going to do, she told Connie. Im going over to
the store tomorrow, even if it is Sunday. Theres
28

always a watchman on duty, and I have the privilege

of signing in and out. I just cant believe that Jean
looked really thoroughly for that box.
May I go along? Connie asked shyly.
If you like. Aunt Bet shrugged. I dont
suppose old George will care. But a department
store on a Sundays a pretty dismal place.
It was not only dismal, Connie was to discover. It
was full of mysterymystery in which she, as well
as her attractive young aunt, were to become
inextricably involved.

29

CHAPTER 3

The Face in the Mirror

Aunt Bets apartment was as small and clever as

Aunt Bet herself. There was a living room with a
picture window looking out on a patch of brickpaved, city garden, a kitchen no bigger than a closet,
and a bedroom barely large enough to accommodate
the opened studio couch, a chest of drawers and a
single chair.
Connie was entranced by its location, on one of
the many narrow side streets that Crosshatch
Philadelphia, and she exclaimed again and again
over the inexpensive antiques with which Aunt Bet
had furnished it, and over the gay Pennsylvania
Dutch hangings in the living room, contrasting so
effectively with the pine and maple.
I cant imagine anything more perfect! she said.
Thank you, Connie! Aunt Bet was pleased.
Someday, Connie thought, Im going to have an
30

apartment of my own, an apartment like this, in the

center of the city, where I can hear the clang of
trolleys and the voices of people passing and the
squeal of car brakes. The city noises spelled life to
Connie; she didnt cling to small-town life as Kit
did. She liked the feel of being in the center of
things. And the thrill she felt at looking out Aunt
Bets window and seeing the night lights of a tall
office building wink down at her was the same sort
of thrill that some people find in the mountains or in
the stars.
It was fun to lie in bed, between the cool, clean
sheets and pretend that the great day had already
come when she would be a business woman herself,
an executive in an advertising agency, perhaps, and
as smart and assured as Aunt Bet. She dreamed of
the friends she would have to dinner, of the plays
she would see and the concerts she would hear when
she lived in town. And there was about these dreams
a quality of reality. Connie was determined that they
should come true.
In the morning, Connie and her aunt breakfasted
on a drop-leaf table in front of the big window. Aunt
Bet wore a dressing gown, and looked relaxed and
comfortable and even younger than she did when
her hair was smoothly combed and she was dressed
with her usual urban care. They shared the Sunday
paper, then walked uptown to a church near
31

Rittenhouse Square. It wasnt until they had started

back toward the apartment that Aunt Bet made the
suggestion Connie had been anticipating all
morning.
Lets walk on over to Campions, she said
thoughtfully. Id like to check up on that beret and
bag.
Connie had been in the store before, on infrequent
shopping trips to Philadelphia. She recognized the
facade, with its great glass show windows and its air
of up-to-the-minute elegance. But as she approached
the shop with her aunt she had a new feeling about
itas though the fact that she would work here
somehow made it her shop. It was rather like the
sense of possessiveness her dad exhibited about all
cars of the same make as his own.
Well have to go around back, Aunt Bet said,
and Connie laughed because it was such a homely
remark to apply to such a luxurious establishment.
She walked with her aunt to the corner of the street,
then down about a hundred yards to a cobbled
passage that was little more than an alley. Old iron
hitching posts still lined its narrow sidewalks, and
there was barely room on the road for a single truck
to pass.
The rear of Campions was very different from
the front. It made no pretense of style. The broad,
businesslike door smacked of utility, and the words
32

Employees Only were stenciled on it in clear

script.
Aunt Bet rang the night bell, and they waited in
the sun for what seemed to Connie an interminable
time.
Maybe nobodys home after all, she suggested,
but Aunt Bet said, Old George is likely to be on
one of the upper floors. Itll take him some time to
get back here.
I cant imagine anything worse than being a
watchman, Connie said with a wriggle of her
shoulders. Imagine being shut up in a big building
all alone!
Aunt Bet smiled. I dont imagine George minds
being alone, she said. In fact, he told me one day
he rather enjoys it. Seems kind of nice to have it
quiet, he said. My wife and me, we raised eight
kids.
Aunt Bet had a knack for mimicry, but there was
understanding in her tone, not unkindness. She had
scarcely finished speaking when old George himself
opened the heavy door.
The moment he recognized his visitor a smile
broke over his gaunt face.
Miss Easton! he cried. I thought to myself,
whos wantin into Campions at midday on a
Sunday? Never would I have guessed it would be
you.
33

His very surprise implied a compliment to Aunt

Bet. It was as though he questioned why such a
lovely lady should want to return to the scene of
business on a summer week end.
Ive been out of town on a trip, George, and I
want to go up to my office for a few minutes, Miss
Easton explained. Then she turned to Connie. This
is my niece, Miss Blair.
The watchman acknowledged the introduction
with a nod of his grizzled head, then stood back so
that they could enter the building. It was as dark in
the corridor as it was blinding bright without, and
Connie blinked and almost groped her way along in
her aunts wake. George edged ahead from the rear,
and led them past a group of offices to the store
proper, where all the counters were shrouded in dust
covers and a few feeble night lights maintained an
atmosphere of eternal dusk.
Never before had Connie been so aware of the
height of Campions ceilings, nor of the length of its
block-long aisles. Empty and silent as it was, with
the street noises smothered by the closed doors, it
seemed like a different place from the busy store she
had known on weekdays. She felt as though she
should tiptoe and whisper, as though any brash
sound might disturb its Sunday peace.
Her aunt must have sensed some of Connies
feeling, because she turned and said, I always think
34

the counters look as though they were wearing oldfashioned nightgowns.

Connies sense of play was strong. Sh! she
whispered back. Theyre asleep.
George had come up with a book in which Miss
Easton was required to sign her name. She glanced
at her wrist watch and noted the time of her arrival
beside her signature. Then she said to the watchman,
Miss Blair can wait down here if you think it would
be best, George. I know you have rules.
Ive never even seen a young lady by the name
o Miss Blair, George said with a wink. Come
along, the two of you.
It was easy to see, as George took them upstairs
in the service elevator, that Miss Easton was a
favorite of his. Connie thought she knew the reason.
Aunt Bets warmth and social ease knew no class
distinction. She was as natural with George as she
would have been with the president of the company,
and in return for her friendliness George gave her
his admiration and any special favors of which he
was capable, like letting her take her niece upstairs.
Aunt Bets office was on the third floor, tucked
away in a corner behind the big Bridal Salon and
next to another door marked Advertising.
This office of mine is just a cubbyhole, she told
Connie as she opened the door with her own key.
Im sort of a stepchild of the advertising
35

department. Neither bird, fish, nor good red

herringthats me.
I think youre very good red herring indeed,
said Connie firmly as her aunt switched on a light to
reveal an office which was as cluttered as it was
tiny.
Isnt this place a mess? Miss Easton asked
brightly. I love to work in a clutter, even though at
home Im not happy unless everythings as neat as a
pin.
To Connie the disorder was interesting, because it
helped her understand Aunt Bets job. There were
proofs of newspaper ads, swatches of materials, a
profusion of fashion magazines and a mailbox piled
high with letters. Boxes and cartons crowded the
shelves that lined one wall, and a pair of motherdaughter dresses, made precisely alike of blue
corduroy, swayed slightly on their hangers, the wire
hooks of which were holding precariously to one of
the shelves.
The dresses were apparently a surprise. Aunt Bet
said, Arent they sweet? and walked over to feel
the material. But her interest was more particularly
concerned with the missing hatbox, and almost
immediately her eyes started to rove around the
office, as though she still couldnt believe that she
wouldnt find it somewhere here.
Five minutes search, however, convinced her
36

that it was not in the office. I just cant understand

it, she said with a puzzled frown. Ill have to
report it tomorrow morning, and the powers that be
will not be pleased.
Then her attention was diverted by a letter on top
of the pile on her desk. Heres something that
should have been answered Friday, she murmured
to Connie. Can you amuse yourself for fifteen
minutes while I get off a reply?
Certainly. Connie was perfectly agreeable. Is
it all right if I wander around?
Why dont you? Aunt Bet suggested. The
stairs are open. Ill meet you back on the first floor
by the elevators, if you like.
Connie thought it would be fun to explore the
store alone. She went back through the Bridal Salon
and into a dress department, then turned and walked
down a few carpeted steps to a suit-and-coat section,
stopping now and then to consider the models on
display. The front stairs, broken by landings
between floors, were easy to find, and she walked on
down to the next floor, and found herself in what
must surely be the College Shop, where she would
work. She lingered for several minutes here, then
strolled on back to a large, square room entirely
lined with mirrors, and furnished with little mirrored
tables, which was obviously the Hat Salon from
which the missing beret had come.
37

Two display cases at the entrance carried, within

plate-glass enclosures, an assortment of fall models.
The hats were so dashing and expensive-looking that
Connie wasnt surprised to find that in one case a
card bore the reproduced signature of a famous Paris
designer. She stood looking at the hats for a long
time, a half-smile lighting her face because it
amused and excited her to think that these little
scraps of felt, with their foolish but smart feathers
and ribbons and ornaments, had come on such a
long journey to rest in a showcase in Campions. All
the way across the Atlantic, wrapped in their tissues
and closed into hatboxes.
Sometime, she thought, and her lips moved to
form the words, it would be fun to own a Paris
hat.
Another showcase at the rear of the department,
opposite a door which Connie decided must lead to a
stock room, contained a group of even gayer
models, and she wandered back to look at a little red
felt sailor with two black-and-white birds on the
front.
The birds were so unusual that she bent to
examine them more closely. Their eyes were made
of the most brilliant stones she had ever seen.
Perhaps it was looking into those peculiar eyes
that made Connie freeze suddenly, attacked by an
eerie sensation that she was being watched. She
38

became conscious, for the first time, of the stockroom door behind her, and the next instant she heard
an unmistakable creak.
Still crouching to inspect the hat, she let her gaze
travel slowly to the mirrored back of the showcase,
and for a split second another pair of eyesa mans
eyes, narrow and surprisedmet hers. They peered
out grotesquely from under a large, beribboned
womans hat, and the mouth below them was thin
and hard.
A ruthless, ugly mouth, Connie thought. Then she
awoke to the fact that this was no apparition but a
flesh-and-blood man staring at her from under that
fantastic hata man who was standing directly
behind her in the shadow of the stock-room door.
She wanted to whirl and face him, but her knees
were like jelly and for the first time in her life she
felt fear so intense that it was paralyzing. The store
was like a tomb, it was so quiet, and the eyes in the
mirror held hers even as the image wavered and the
man seemed to move.
Then Connie tried to scream.
She felt sure that if she could get out one good
healthy yell Aunt Bet or the watchman would hear
her. But just as she opened her mouth there was a
blow like a soft thud at the back of her head.
Then, for Connie, there was nothing left in the
vacuum of the vast second floor save hideous noise
39

and the feeling of slipping, slipping into a well of

darkness.

40

CHAPTER

Enter Larry Stewart

When Connie opened her eyes again, an enormous

stretch of time seemed to have elapsed.
She couldnt remember where she was, and halt
expected to find herself in her bed at home,
awakening from a disagreeable nightmare. Then she
realized that her head was cradled by no pillow, but
that her cheek lay against a rough, red carpet which
bit into the tender skin with a thousand prickly hairs.
Connie tried to raise her head, but its ache was
sickening, and dizziness swept over her like a heavy
fog. Dimly she could hear her name being called.
Connie . . . Con-nie . . .
The sound came from a great distance and she
wanted to answer but couldnt. She closed her eyes
again.
When she awoke next, her head was in Aunt
Bets lap and the watchman, old George, was
41

bending over her with an expression of puzzled

solicitude on his face.
She must have fainted, Connies aunt was
saying. It may be the heat in town. Shes used to
country air.
Connie wanted to correct her, but it was so
pleasant to lie still that she couldnt rouse herself to
the effort. Very carefully she tried to move her head.
The ache was less intense now. She opened her eyes
again and tried to smile.
Feeling better, dear?
Connies eyelids lowered in assent, and her lips
formed the word Much.
Aunt Bet stroked her forehead. Think you can sit
up?
I think so.
She tried it, then said, Ouch! The back of my
head hurts. She felt the sore place gingerly. There
seemed to be a bump. Then abruptly she
remembered everything, the face of the man in the
mirror, the wavering image, the thud.
Somebody hit me, Connie said.
Surprisingly. Aunt Bet laughed. Defense
reaction, she murmured. There was nobody here
to hit you, Connie. You must have struck your head
on the edge of the showcase as you slipped.
But I didnt slip. Connie managed to sit up
alone and she looked from her aunt to the watchman
42

in indignation. There was a man. A man in a

womans hat. I saw him in the mirror. Honestly, I
did.
Miss Easton and old George exchanged a brief
glance that expressed volumes, and her aunt patted
Connies shoulder kindly. All right, dear, she said,
as though she were humoring a perverse child.
Lets see if we can get you on your feet now.
With the watchmans help, Connie stood up, and
Aunt Bet got quickly to her feet beside her and
tucked a supporting arm under her nieces elbow.
All right?
Perfectly all right. Righteous anger was
bringing Connie around. She remembered the
incongruous face in the mirror so clearly now that it
made her furious not to be believed.
Honestly, Aunt Bet, I didnt just pass out. Girls
today dont faint, she said scornfully. There was a
man standing in that doorway. She pointed. Right
over there.
Ill take a look in the stock room, the watchman
said, evidently impressed by the sincerity in
Connies voice.
He walked over to the door, opened it rather
cautiously, then went through.
At the time, Connie didnt know what she
expected to hear, unless it was the thud of another
blow, a falling body or a shot. What she certainly
43

didnt expect was to see George return in a moment,

smiling.
Nothin in there now but them bonnets my old
lady used to call cree-ations, he chuckled.
But there was a man! Connie insisted. Then, as
her brain cleared still further, she added sensibly,
Though I dont suppose hed attack me and then
just stick around.
But be logical, darling, Aunt Bet urged hastily.
Even if there had been a man, why would he have
wanted to knock you out? Cant you believe you fell
against the showcase, and that the rest was just a
very nasty dream? Because I really think thats the
answer. Dont you, George?
George nodded his head vigorously. I been all
over this floor just half an hour ago, he assured
them as he led them to the elevator. Warnt no man
here then.
He was opening the door for Connie and her aunt
at the main floor when the signal light from the
basement glowed.
Whos downstairs? Aunt Bet asked.
Oh, thats Mr. Kurt, the new floorwalker. He
needed to get into his locker for something, and now
he wants up.
George hesitated between the two demands for
his attention, then said, Suppose I let you out first.
Youll be wantin to get the young lady a cab.
44

I dont need a cab, Connie protested. Im all

right now. But she was glad the watchman didnt
keep them waiting in the corridor while he took the
elevator downstairs for the floorwalker. She did
want to get out in the sun and fresh air.
For a few minutes the bright light outside blinded
her, however, and her headache increased. She
leaned against a hitching post until she was sure of
her equilibrium, then meekly allowed her aunt to
lead her around the corner into Chestnut Street and
hail a taxi. They were driven back to the apartment
in style, and then Miss Easton insisted that her niece
take a nap. Connie, unusually acquiescent, lay down
and fell asleep at once, to awake an hour later
feeling right as rain, with only the bump on the back
of her head, sore to touch, as a reminder of the
strange incident at Campions.
She washed her face, ran a comb through her
glistening hair, flicked some powder on her nose and
then went into the living room to join Aunt Bet, who
was sitting curled up on the Victorian sofa amid the
comfortable disarray of the Sunday paper.
The late afternoon sun was creeping in between
the slats of the Venetian blinds, and the apartment
looked cooler than it felt.
Want something cool to drink? Aunt Bet asked.
Ive got grape juice, coke, ginger ale She began
ticking the possibilities off on her fingers, but was
45

interrupted by a whistle from the narrow street

below the casement window.
That sounds like Larry Stewart.
Whos he? Connie asked.
But Aunt Bet had already turned to kneel on the
sofa and pull up the blind. She peered down, grinned
and shook her head.
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday
sun! she chanted gaily.
Its not midday; its practically evening, a
young mans voice retorted, and Connie walked
over to stand behind her aunt and look down at the
speaker.
A boy who was long and lean and whose short
brown hair was trimmed in a crew cut squinted up at
them, though he couldnt see Connie in the shadow.
If somebodyd invite me, he said with assumed
plaintiveness, Id come up.
Aunt Bet said, All right. Youre invited. But
when she turned back into the room she shook her
head again. Larrys in the display department at the
store, she said. Hes a nice child, but hes getting
to be a little like a shadow. A thought seemed to
occur to her suddenly. Hes just about as much
older than you, Connie, as he is younger than me.
Maybe you can take him off my hands, she
suggested artfully as she slipped past her niece to
open the door.
46

Larry Stewarts reaction to Connie was

involuntary and complimentary. His brown eyes
widened and he whistled softly. Then, collecting
himself, he came forward and held out his hand to
Connie while he glanced at Miss Easton with a grin.
Something new has been added! he said.
My niece, Connie Blair. Aunt Bet made the
introduction casually, but she winked like a
conspirator at Connie behind Larrys back. We
were just about to get something cool to drink, she
said after a minute. Now, lets see, we have
Coke, ginger ale, started Connie.
Grape juice, Aunt Bet followed through.
Larry asked for a coke, and within five minutes
they were all settled comfortably with ice-filled
glasses, and Aunt Bet was explaining to her guest
that Connie would be around for a while, because
she was going to model college clothes at the store.
Nice! Larry said with a nod. But very nice.
And it was impossible to tell whether he was talking
about the girl or the idea. Come down to the
basement and visit the display department. Well
show you things youve never seen before.
Like the Lucy? Aunt Bet asked with a grin.
Like the Lucy, repeated Larry. And like
Armless Alice and Dumb Dora and Torso Tessie.
Youll be surprised!
It sounds as though I would, admitted Connie,
47

looking utterly confused. Whats he talking about,

Aunt Bet?
Mostly, laughed Miss Easton, hes talking
about some window dummies whove seen better
days.
Slander! accused Larry. Those girls are in
their prime. He turned to Connie. You wait and
see.
In spite of his teasing, or perhaps because of it,
Connie liked Larry at once. There were golden
flecks in his brown eyes that sparkled in the
sunlight, and his broad mouth had an upward twist
that indicated a happy disposition to go with the
sense of humor he had already displayed. He seemed
more sophisticated than the boys she knew in
Meadowbrook, but not much older. She wondered
about his job and wanted to ask some really serious
questions, but this scarcely seemed the time.
As they sat and chatted, the sun dropped lower
and lower behind the chimneys and roof tops.
Finally Aunt Bet said, We ought to be thinking
about food. How are you feeling now, Connie, up to
walking a few blocks for something to eat?
Before Connie could do more than nod, Larry
turned to her in surprise. Whats the matter? Have
you been sick?
Connie looked so full of youthful vitality that it
was no wonder such a thing seemed incredible. She
48

changed her nod to a shake of the head, then ran one

hand up under the hair at the back of her neck. No,
but I scared my poor aunt half to death this noon.
Her eyes twinkled mischievously and she added,
Aunt Bet contends I fainted from the heat like a gal
from the gaslight era, but my story is more
interesting, even if nobody seems to believe it.
Whats your story? Larry asked.
Before you laugh, remember Ive got a bump on
the head to prove it! Connie warned.
Ill remember.
A man in a womans hata big, ridiculous sort
of hat with lots of decorationcame out of the stock
room in the hat department at Campions and
knocked me out, Connie said firmly.
Larrys reaction was unexpected. But what
under the shining sun were you doing in Campions
on a Sunday? he asked.
Waiting for Aunt Bet, Connie replied promptly,
then glanced at her aunt and realized that a little
frown of concern was making tiny marks on her
brow.
Then what were you doing, Liz?
As Larry turned to her aunt, Connie began to
wish she had never mentioned the incident. It all did
seem absurdly farfetched, even though a shudder
still swept over her when she thought of the mans
eyes in the mirror. And somehow it seemed to
49

involve Aunt Bet in an explanation she didnt want

to make.
I had stopped in at the office to look for
something Id mislaid, Miss Easton said. She didnt
mention that the something was a fur hat and a bag.
Connie wandered on downstairs to see the store.
She hesitated a minute, then stood up with a slight
shake of her shoulders. Come on. Im hungry.
Want to join us, Larry?
Larry did want to, very much. On the way to the
restaurant he also wanted to pursue the subject
Elizabeth Easton seemed only too ready to drop.
Finally she explained her reason. It was a little
irregular for old George to let Connie go upstairs
with me, she said. I think he was just overlooking
the store rules in an effort to be nice.
She walked along for a few seconds in silence,
then added, And heaven knows we didnt expect to
cause him any trouble. The very last thing I
expected was to find Connie unconscious on the
floor.
This man Larry turned to Connie. Were you
just making that up?
Connie was confused now. She didnt know what
to say. I dont know. I really thought I saw a mans
face in the mirror, just before I blacked out. She
shrugged her shoulders and gave a little chuckle.
Oh, I suppose it could have been the heat.
50

Larry looked at her curiously, but she wouldnt

meet his eyes. The whole episode, with its undertone
of horror that she couldnt forget, seemed too utterly
fantastic when it was discussed walking across
Sixteenth Street.
Lets forget it, Connie said after another
minute. Aunt Bet will get disgusted with me and
send me home. Such a stunt to pull on my first day
in the big city!
Aunt Bet, walking on the inside of the pavement,
thanked Connie with a smile for dropping the
subject, and managed to give her arm a light
squeeze. Ill scarcely send you home, she
promised. Ill need you too badly at the store.
Their arrival at the restaurant put a natural period
to the conversation. Connie had actually forgotten it
by the time the waiter brought their dinner check, so
absorbed was she in an experience seldom enjoyed.
The people who came and went fascinated her. She
wondered what thoughts lay behind their polite city
expressions, what work they pursued, what lives
they led. With only half an ear she listened to the
casual conversation between her aunt and Larry.
When the boy tried to include her in the talk she
made a conscious effort, then quickly fell silent,
letting the wonder of just being here seep in.
But if her tongue was checked, Connies eyes
were sparkling. As she pushed her chair back from
51

the table she smiled ingenuously and said, Im

having such fun!
The remark seemed to delight Larry. He looked at
her with understanding warmth and stuck out his
hand and said, Shake.
Then later, following her down the aisle between
the tables with Elizabeth Easton at his side, he said,
Theres a girl! Natural and spontaneousthats
what I like. You can have these bored sophisticates.
Ill take a girl like Connie any time.
Miss Easton clasped her hands in a gesture of
despair. I told her shed cut me out in your
affections.
Oh, but Larry started.
I also told her you were the fickle type.
She escaped through the revolving door as the
boy made a playful lunge in her direction, and, still
laughing, joined Connie on the street.
The walk home through the warm, soft dusk was
all too short. Connie felt relaxed and peaceful,
though at the back of her mind was a little tickle of
anticipation, for tomorrow morning bright and early,
she would be launched on her firstthough
temporaryjob.

52

CHAPTER

In the Models Dressing Room

On Monday morning Campions held no hint of

terror. When Connie walked through the employees
entrance she could scarcely credit her own memory
of the Sunday incident. The store was alive with
workers. Lights were blazing, voices were brisk, and
dust covers were being whisked off counters by a
hundred hands.
Connies own eyes were almost as bright as the
lights. The prospect of being part of this colorful
scene for ten whole days seemed like the best luck
in the world. When her aunt took her to the
personnel office, where she was asked to sign her
name to a couple of cards and instructed in the
manner in which she could collect her salary, she
53

behaved soberly. Actually she was filled with

wonder that she should be paid for a job which
promised to be so much fun.
Just to walk around the store wearing beautiful
clothes! she whispered to her aunt when she
rejoined her. I think models have about the easiest
job in the world.
Miss Easton smiled. You wait until youve
talked to a few of the professional models wholl be
working with you this week. Maybe youll change
your mind.
In the models dressing room off the College
Shop Connie met the five other girls who had been
engaged to wear the clothes that would be featured
in the special promotion. To her they all seemed
attractive in a polished and sophisticated sort of
way, infinitely different from the girls in
Meadowbrook with whom she had grown up, and
equally different from herself.
At first she couldnt quite put her finger on the
difference. Two of them werent much more than
seventeen, yet their interests were so foreign to hers
that they seemed older. As a matter of fact, it was
one of the older girls, named Marcia Schuyler, who
made Connie feel most at home. It developed that
they both came from small towns, and it established
a kind of bond between them.
Marcia was a tall, slender redhead, with a certain
54

elegance in the way she moved that made her a girl

one would notice in a throng. She wore sports
clothes with great distinction, Connie thought.
Among the other models, Connie at first only
remembered one other name, that of Suzanne
OKeefe, who looked more Irish than French, with
black, curling hair and blue eyes the color of a
kittens. The other three girls were all brown-haired
and slender, of about Connies own height and with
equal ability to wear collegiate clothes.
Aunt Bet, along with the buyer for the College
Shop, was in charge here, and Connie had another
opportunity to admire the efficiency of Miss Easton
at work. She explained the girls duties, helped
select the clothes that they would wear and managed
every detail with experienced ease.
An hour later, as the store began to fill with
morning shoppers, many of them hunting bargains
advertised in the Sunday papers, Connie found
herself strolling from one department to another in
the same tweed suit she had worn at the
Meadowbrook show.
Well go down and get you a hat later in the
morning, perhaps, Aunt Bet had told her when she
sent her off. Until then you look lovely just as you
are.
Connie didnt feel particularly lovely. In this
brilliant store she had less assurance than in the
55

garden of the Fortnightly Club at home. The other

models all seemed to walk in a way that made them
identifiable, but Connie couldnt attempt to achieve
their studied perfection. She didnt feel arrogant; she
felt a little shy. Though she kept her head high, her
shoulders well back, and her stomach in, she
doubted that she looked like other than a girl dressed
expensively and a little unseasonably for a day in
town.
Customers, fortunately, thought differently. The
mere facts that Connie carried no handbag or gloves
and that her clothes were store-fresh made her
conspicuous. She could feel the eyes of many of the
women following her from time to time, and
occasionally a matron, shopping alone or with a
college-age daughter, would stop her and inquire the
price of the suit.
After a while Connies initial self-consciousness
left her and it began to be fun to wander at will
among the shoppers and to explore the store. Once
in a while she would meet one of the other five
models and stop to chat for a moment, but usually
she was alone.
She was alone, but she wasnt in the least lonely.
There was so much to see and hear, so much to
learn! For the first time Connie began to realize that
a big apparel shop is primarily a womans world.
Most of the workers at Campions, from stock girls
56

to buyers and department managers, were of her

own sex.
She didnt see Aunt Bet until nearly noon, and
then only in passing. Miss Easton was walking
through the coat-and-suit department, talking with a
large and rather florid gentleman in an insistent
manner. The man was talking, too, and shaking his
head with authority.
Whos that with Miss Easton? Connie asked a
sales clerk who was standing idle.
The girl gave a short laugh of surprise. Thats
Mr. George Campion, she told Connie. I thought
everybody knew him.
Connie turned to look back toward the elevators,
where her aunt and Mr. Campion had stopped. She
saw them take leave of each other, Mr. Campion
getting into one of the cars while Aunt Bet turned
back and would have passed her niece without
seeing her, so deep was her concentration.
Amused, Connie put out a hand.
Ohhello, darling Aunt Bet still seemed
vague.
You said something about selecting a hat.
Oh, yes. Come along. Aunt Bet tucked her arm
through Connies. We may as well get it over with
now.
Getting it over with, Connie discovered within
a few minutes, meant facing the hat buyer with the
57

news that the beaver beret had disappeared.

Miss Easton, when she had a disagreeable task to
do, was direct about it. While Connie stood in the
background her aunt approached a small woman
with strong, regular features and dark hair with a
wide stripe of white running diagonally through it.
Estelle, the stylist said, that beaver beret you
loaned me for the Meadowbrook showthe import
with the little pink cameo
Yes?
Its disappeared.
Disappeared?
Aunt Bet nodded. Either mislaid orshe
hesitated on the wordstolen.
The hat buyer was apparently the emotional type.
She clapped a hand to her forehead, shut her eyes
and groaned. That was an original! she shrieked
softly. We were going to make copies. It wasnt
even for sale.
Connie gulped, but Aunt Bet asked quietly,
What was its price?
We paid a hundred and a quarter for that hat,
the buyer said.
Very well. Aunt Bets voice was still contained.
Im still hoping it will turn up. But in the
meantime, of course, Ive made the usual report.
She gave a short chuckle. And I guess Ive stirred
up a hornets nest.
58

The hat buyer looked at Aunt Bet questioningly.

Connie, too, was interested and came closer.
A lace-and-chiffon robe has just disappeared
from the lingerie department, it seems. Mr. Campion
says too many losses have been reported lately. Hes
putting on a store detective. Miss Easton seemed to
lapse into thought and slowly shook her head.
But my beret! The buyer came back to the
original subject. Its absurd for it just to disappear.
Ridiculous, Aunt Bet agreed a trifle wanly. She
explained how she had come to miss the beret,
described the search that had been made. Then, as
though she had decided it was useless to pursue the
subject further, she turned to Connie and introduced
her to Miss Estelle.
Could you find something else for Miss Blair to
wear with this suit? she asked. Shes modeling at
the luncheon show in the Mirror Room.
Grudgingly, Miss Estelle brought out a selection
of hats. Connie noticed that they were all
inexpensive felts, and, indeed, she thought that they
were in far better taste for a college girl than the
fabulous fur beret that had disappeared. Between the
three of them, they made a choice, and Connie went
back to the College Shop wearing a soft tan felt.
At luncheon, in the small restaurant on the top
floor of Campions, the girls each modeled three
costumes, appearing briefly on a low platform built
59

for the occasion and moving about among the tables,

so that the clothes could be more intimately
displayed.
For the first time Connie realized that this job was
work as well as fun. She had been on her feet all
morning, wearing higher heels than usual, and her
toes were beginning to feel cramped. She had three
changes to make for the luncheon show, and by the
time she appeared in the last of the costumes, a fall
golfing outfit, she was both warm and a little weary.
It took effort, now, to answer shoppers questions
with a pleasant smile, and to avoid letting her
shoulders sag as she walked.
The break for Connies own lunch was
consequently more than welcome. The models ate
together in the emptying restaurant, seated at a
round table in a far corner. They were free until
three-thirty, when they would again be on parade
throughout the store.
Connie was the last of the girls to slip into her
seat.
Whee! Suzanne was saying as she reached
down to wriggle her heels out of her slippers. Do
my feet ache!
Connies feet didnt actually ache, but her arches
felt the strain of standing, and she could be
sympathetic with a girl to whom this business was
routine.
60

Do you model regularly here? she asked her

neighbor.
Suzanne shook her head. This kind of
modelings a seasonal business, she explained. I
work for a photographer part of the time, and once
in a while for a fashion artist. She shrugged.
Anything that comes up.
That sounds interesting.
Suzanne looked at Connie sharply. You can
have it, sister, she said. Its the most tiresome
work in the world.
Fortunately for Connies illusions, not all of the
models felt the same way. Marcia insisted that she
loved her jobIn spite, she laughed, of hurty
feet.
Is this your first crack at it? asked one of the
other girls, and Connie admitted that it was.
Immediately a wholesale discussion was
engendered, and the pros and cons of modeling as a
career were bruited back and forth.
Id like to land a job like Miss Eastons,
Suzanne said slangily. Thats for me.
Bbut dont you have to begin at the bottom
and work up? asked a brunette named Elaine Scott.
You do, insisted Marcia firmly. Im going to
go on modeling until I get married, myself.
Oh, are you going to be married soon? Connie
was full of innocent interest.
61

Soon as I meet a guy on a white charger,

retorted Marcia, and everybody laughed.
Marcia was undismayed. She rested her chin on
the palm of one hand and leaned forward languidly.
Afterwards, she said, think what fun it would be
to do mother-and-daughter adsin matching
dresses. You know, like the ones in the magazines.
Model Mother . . . Elaine murmured, and struck
a pose.
Suzanne yawned and pushed back her dessert
plate. Come on, Mother, she invited. Lets go put
our feet up on a railing somewhere. Coming,
Connie?
No, thanks, Connie smiled. I want to do some
shopping. Ill see you later, if you dont mind.
The shopping was simple enough. Connie simply
wanted to buy a gift to send to Kit. She still felt like
Little Jack Horner, and it hardly seemed fair that she
had stuck in her finger and pulled out such a
perfectly enormous plum as this fascinating job.
On her way back to the models dressing room
she almost skipped with exuberance. Rested now,
and fed, she forgot that she had ever been tired.
I never saw a girl who looked as though she
were having such fun! a voice said behind her as
she crossed the carpet of the College Shop, and
Connie whirled around to meet Larry Stewarts
eyes.
62

The young display man was leaning on a big

cardboard poster as though he were waiting for
someone. His eyes were full of admiration as he
grinned at Connie.
Why, hello, Larry! Connie cried.
Now dont go greeting me like a long-lost
brother. Ill bet you havent given me a thought all
morning, Larry said with a pretense at sternness.
Connie, instinctively honest, dropped her eyes.
Amused, Larry pressed his advantage. While I
slaved away in my cellar, waiting for that visit you
promised. I even dusted off Armless Annie and . . .
Last time it was Alice, Connie reminded him
with a grin. Better keep your women straight,
Larry.
Alice, then, Larry agreed amiably.
Ill come tomorrow, Connie promised before he
could continue.
Tomorrows too far away, Larry told her. I
was thinking that maybe tonight
But what Larry was thinking about tonight
Connie didnt learn. The department head bustled up
at that moment, cutting into their conversation with,
And now, Mr. Stewart, if you have a moment
Connie faded into the background in as
inconspicuous a manner as possible, resuming her
journey to the models dressing room.
As she pushed open the door she was still
63

wondering what Larry had had in mind for the

evening. A movie, possibly? She thought it would
be fun to have a movie date with Larry. Aunt Bet
had explained at breakfast that she would be
engaged after dinner, and had asked Connie if shed
mind being alone in the apartment. Connie had
assured her she wouldnt mind, but she couldnt help
thinking that spending the evening with Larry would
be more pleasant. She started to hum a little tune
under her breath.
Then, very suddenly, she stopped.
She wasnt alone in the room, though it appeared
to be empty of everything except the table of
accessories and the racks of college clothes. Connie
stood stock-still for an instant, listening to a muffled
sobbing, then pushed aside a ski suit, a polo coat and
half a dozen dresses, and revealed, behind the rack,
the small, huddled figure of a girl.
Pale, stringy hair did little to crown the bent head,
and the girls thin back was shaking. She didnt look
up when Connie made a startled exclamation of
concern. She cowered even closer to the wall, as
though she wished she could disappear into its
plaster surface. Her whole attitude said, Leave me
alone.
But Connies natural warmheartedness wouldnt
let her turn her back and tiptoe out of the room.
Why, whats the matter? Impulsively she put an
64

arm around the girls shoulders, patting her as she

would a hurt child, barely able to restrain herself
from saying, There, there.

65

CHAPTER

The Little Stock Girl

The girl, in the brown jumper which stock clerks

wore as a uniform at Campions, simply shook her
head without turning it from the wall. Connie could
tell she was making a fight for self-control, yet still
the sobs racked her.
Come on over here, Connie urged her, and sit
down.
When finally the girl allowed herself to be led to
the low window sill of the dressing room, which was
its most comfortable seat, Connie saw her face. She
was so slight that she seemed little more than a
child, and her dark eyes were so enormous and
frightened that Connie felt more sorry for her than
ever.
Whats the matter? she repeated. Cant you
tell me?
Speechless, the girl shook her head, and her eyes
66

overflowed again. Im sorry, she said, after a

minute. Ill get out of here.
Connie had never seen anyone so utterly
whipped. Abruptly she changed her mind about
shopping for a present for Kit. It would be utter
inhumanity, she decided, to leave this poor child
alone.
On the table where the models made up was a
box of pale-blue cleansing tissues. Connie whipped
out a couple and handed them to the girl.
Here, dry your eyes, she said in a tone of
authority which did more to help the situation than
any amount of sympathetic words. She waited for a
few moments, then asked kindly, Whats your
name?
Grace Blair.
Why, thats funny. Thats my last name too!
Immediately it seemed to Connie that a bond of
interest was established, and she was conscious that
a little warmth also crept into Graces drenched
eyes.
Blairs a common name around here, the girl
said.
Its a good name, Connie replied. Im proud of
it. Arent you?
The girls eyes dropped again, and she didnt
reply. Connie sat down on the broad window sill
beside her and tried again. Cant you tell me whats
67

upsetting you? Maybe I can help. Im new around

here, but Miss Eastons my aunt, and I know
shed
But Grace was on her feet. Theres nothing
anybody can do, she said a little wildly. Thank
you. Thanks a lot, but there isnt, really. She started
toward the door, then turned and looked back at
Connie. Her dark eyes were full of fright again, but
at the same time they were compelling. Except,
dont tell anybody I was in here, she added quickly.
Promise me that?
Of course! Connie told her, anxious to do
anything to allay such alarm. Then, the moment the
girl had gone out the door, she was sorry she had
made the promise. Why shouldnt Grace want
anyone to know she was in the models dressing
room? Had she been doing something wrong?
Then Connie laughed at such a notion. Well, if
Im not getting jumpy! she said out loud. The poor
kid had probably ducked in here just to be alone,
knowing that the models would be on their lunch
hour. After all, she couldnt just succumb to tears in
public. She needed privacy for grief like that.
Or was it grief? The question puzzled Connie.
She couldnt decide whether fear or sadness had
been dominant in the girls eyes. Shed like to know
Grace better, Connie decided. Of one thing she was
entirely certain. Grace Blair needed a friend.
68

Why so pensive? Interrupting Connies reverie,

Marcia came through the door. She walked to the
mirror and started to repair her lipstick, smiling at
Connie in the glass.
Connie didnt feel like confiding. She shrugged
and managed a fairly convincing grin. Just trying to
carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, she
said.
Dont, Marcia advised. Just carrying these
clothes ought to be enough. She yawned. Its
going to be a hot afternoon.
Only the first floor of the store was air-cooled,
and Connie remembered Marcias prediction an
hour later, as she sauntered through the third-floor
Baby Bazaar and the Junior Miss Shop wearing a
flannel sports dress. August in Philadelphia was
anything but cool! Surreptitiously Connie ran a
forefinger across her damp upper lip.
Hot to be wearing winter clothes, isnt it?
It is! Connie replied succinctly to a portly
woman with a flowered hat and straight gray hair
worn in an old-fashioned bun on the nape of her
neck. She smiled her thanks for the older womans
solicitude, and the woman smiled back and looked
after the girl as she walked away.
Customers, sales girls, wrappers, comparison
shoppersall sorts of people seemed to want to talk
to Connie Blair, to reach out and share for a moment
69

some of her freshness and charm. As she walked

about the store, she collected new acquaintances as a
butterfly bush collects bees, and before she had
spent one full day at Campions she could nod a
greeting to half a hundred people and call at least a
dozen by name.
Most of these names belonged to girls or women.
There was pretty Miss Potter, at the jewelry counter,
Miss Lilian in cosmetics and a girl with a slight lisp,
by the name of Dotty Smith, in lingerie. There were
the other models, and the sales girls in the College
Shop, and, of course, there was Grace Blair, who
had captured Connies concern and interest more
than anyone else.
Only two among her new acquaintances were
men, with the exception of Larry Stewart. These
were the first- and second-floor floorwalkers, Mr.
Kurt and Mr. Goudge.
Mr. Goudge was a plump gentleman who rather
alarmed Connie with his heavy efforts to be amusing
whenever she came into sight. Youngish Mr. Kurt,
on the first floor, was prematurely bald, dapper
andConnie thoughta little too obsequious to the
customers. She found herself hurrying a little
whenever she passed him, as though he might try to
engage her in conversation if she loitered, as,
indeed, he finally did.
It was late in the afternoon when this happened,
70

just before closing time, and Connie was making her

final round of the main floor. She had met the stock
clerk, Grace, back by the elevators, and had stopped
to ask if she was feeling better and to repeat her
assurance that shed be only too glad to do anything
to help.
Grace had mumbled that she was all right now,
and then had scurried away like a frightened rabbit.
Connie was still bemused by the stock girls attitude
when, a few seconds later, she passed neatly dressed
Mr. Kurt, who was standing with his back to her at a
counter. He glanced over his shoulder, smiled, and a
second later fell into step beside her as she sauntered
down the center aisle.
I see youve already won a staunch admirer,
Miss Blair, he said.
I?
Mr. Kurt nodded knowingly. Your namesake,
the little stock girl.
Oh! Connie laughed. Only our last names are
the same.
But thats a lot to have in common, Mr. Kurt
said, and there was a smoothness in his manner that
could almost be described as oiliness, Connie
thought.
Before she could think of a suitable reply, the
floorwalker, with a slight inclination of his head,
added, Of course we have something in common,
71

tooyou and I.
Connie edged away slightly. I dont
understand.
Why, were both novices around here, arent
we?
II guess so. Connie remembered that old
George had described Mr. Kurt as new. Still, she
couldnt see where this conversation was leading.
Im only here for ten days, she felt impelled to
add.
I know, Mr. Kurt seemed to know everything.
It is too short a time.
There was something in the way he looked at her
out of his narrow eyes that made the attempt at a
compliment fall flat. Connie was seized with an
impulse to get away. She started to walk faster, but
Mr. Kurt matched her stride. As a final recourse she
changed the subject abruptly.
You were talking about Grace Blair. She seems
a sad sort of girl.
Youre right. She isnt very attractive, said Mr.
Kurt.
Oh, I didnt mean that. Connie stopped and
faced the floorwalker. I mean sorrowful. Sort of
beaten down. She acts as though she were scared
half out of her wits.
What has she been telling you?
Telling me? Nothing. Nothing at all. Now
72

Connie wished she had never mentioned Grace. She

felt that Mr. Kurts eyes were searching, almost
accusing. What, she wondered, did the floorwalker
know about Grace Blair?
Oddly, Mr. Kurt shrugged. Dont you worry
your pretty head about her, he advised.
But Connie started to insist, really puzzled
now. Then a clerk, wanting the floorwalkers
signature on a charge slip, nipped her remark in the
bud, and she found herself alone near the front
elevators, with more questions buzzing in her brain
than she could possibly answer, and a vivid desire to
talk to somebody nice and normal like Larry Stewart
or Aunt Bet.
She considered going down to the basement, to
seek out Larry in his lair, but she was afraid it would
look too forward, and besides, it was probably out of
bounds for models on duty. With a sigh she
followed some last-minute shoppers into the car
waiting under the green light.
She had scarcely left the elevator on the third
floor when the closing bell sounded. Immediately
the activity in the store underwent a change.
Customers began drifting toward the stairs and
elevators, while clerks hurriedly closed their books
and cleared their counters. Connie trotted back to the
models dressing room behind the College Shop to
find it already deserted by all of the girls but
73

Suzanne, who was standing in front of the mirror

dressed in her own street clothes, admiring the
reflection of a beautiful shoulder bag Connie had
modeled with one of her costumes.
Connie crossed the carpeted floor quietly, and her
reflection met Suzannes as she greeted her with a
casual Hi.
Oh, hello. Suzanne started, made a gesture to
remove the bag from her shoulder, then stopped and
turned, measuring Connie with her eyes.
Looks all right with this dress, doesnt it?
Connie nodded, starting to unbutton her flannel
fly front. Its a heavenly bag.
Suzanne turned back to the mirror and considered
herself again critically. Ive got a dinner date with a
guy whod appreciate this, she murmured.
From the clothes rack where Connie was hanging
the flannel dress she replied, Anybody would.
I might borrow it, just for tonight, Suzanne
said, her head on one side, her sharp eyes watching
Connie closely.
Connie reacted spontaneously. She turned,
shocked, then relaxed as Suzanne laughed and
slipped the bag off her shoulder.
For a minute I thought you meant it, Connie
said, embarrassed.
Suzannes smile was cynical as she picked up her
own rather worn purse. Maybe I did, she replied.
74

Slipping her own cotton dress over her head after

Suzanne left the room, Connie considered this last
remark thoughtfully. For girls like Suzanne, who
had to live on slender incomes, the beautiful clothes
they wore must be tempting. To have the looks, to
have the figure to carry these costumes, and then to
have to change back into the everyday clothes that
could be bought on a models salary
Connie buckled her belt and shook her head. She
was glad that she had no intense craving for
expensive clothes. It would be such a frustrating
passion. The brown-and-white striped chambray she
wore was cool and comfortable and made her quite
happy. She ran a comb through her hair, slipped on a
brown velvet band, and started for her aunts office.
Miss Easton was gloved and hatted and ready to
leave. She smiled at Connie and tucked her hand
through her nieces arm as they went through the
half-deserted store together.
Well, what kind of day did you have? she
asked.
A wonderful day! Connie replied. I like my
job!
Fine. Aunt Bet grinned. But now confess and
tell me your feet are killing you.
Theyre not, really.
Its an occupational disease, Aunt Bet cried.
They must be!
75

Have it your own way. Connie pretended to

limp along, groaning.
Thats better, Aunt Bet approved. Now you
look as though you really work at Campions,
instead of standing around talking to Larry Stewart
all day.
I never! Connie started, then laughed because
she had bitten so readily on her aunts sly bait.
Hes a nice lad, Miss Easton said. You could
go far and do worse. Did he ask you for a date
tonight?
I think he started to, Connie admitted. Im not
sure, but I think so. We were interrupted.
Aunt Bet looked pleased. Never mind, she said
gaily. The phone will be ringing when we get
home.
It was.

76

CHAPTER

Stop, Thief!

After the movies, like a couple of kids, Connie and

Larry bought double-decker ice-cream cones and
walked back to Aunt Bets apartment by way of
Rittenhouse Square.
Lights from the hotels and clubs and apartment
houses twinkled down at them, and the air was soft
and stirring. The trees in the little old park spread
like sheltering umbrellas over their heads, and the
water in the fountain pool caught wavering
reflections from the passers-by. It was a night for
romance, despite the incongruity of the ice-cream
cones, but Connies thoughts were elsewhere.
Larry, she asked thoughtfully, as she ran the tip
of her tongue expertly around the cone, dyou think
something queers going on at Campions?
Queer? Campions? Larry stopped and looked
at Connie in astonishment. Campions is the least
77

queer place I know.

I, Connie replied, dont think so.
What are you getting at, anyway?
Suddenly Connie was wary. She didnt want to be
considered absurd, especially by Larry Stewart. Oh,
forget it, she said, shrugging. Maybe Im making
mountains out of molehills. She had been intending
to tell him about finding Grace Blair in tears, but she
realized that it would sound like sheer feminine
gossip, unrelated to the other things that were
troubling her. Its a beautiful night, I think
Philadelphias wonderful, and I listened to too many
five oclock radio programs when I was a child.
She grinned disarmingly and spread her arms to
embrace the excitement of the city.
Larry smiled back. I go for small towns,
myself.
You and Kit.
Whos Kit?
My twin sister, Connie told him.
Larry whistled softly. Does she look like you?
Exactly, Connie said. We could fool you if we
wanted to.
I doubt it.
If I were back in Meadowbrook, Connie
chuckled, Id make you a bet.
Larry asked questions about Meadowbrook and
her family, and Connie found herself telling him
78

things about her mother and dad, Toby and Kit.

Larry was easy to talk to; he was so interested in
everything. And he was a good listener, with an
attractive habit of drawing his companion out.
Connie herself bubbled like a zestful spring until she
realized she was doing all the talking. Then she was
contrite. Im boring you? she asked.
Not at all. Larry seemed to be thinking. If you
like the city so much, why dont you get a
permanent job here?
Id like to, Connie replied, but in the first
place, Im supposed to be going to college next
month, and in the second place, I wouldnt know
how to begin.
A street light illumined her face for an instant,
and Larry looked at her closely. Youd rather get a
job in town than go to college, wouldnt you?
Connie admitted it. I like action.
What kind of job would you want?
Timidly now, because the subject was close to her
heart, Connie told him. Id like to work in an
advertising agency, or at least in the advertising
department of a store. Is that a funny thing to want?
Not at all, Larry assured her. If you could get
a job, do you think your family would let you try
working for a year?
I dont know, Connie said thoughtfully. I
really dont. Then she turned hopeful. They
79

might!
Bet and I each have a few contacts with agencies
around town, Larry told her with a certain pride.
Well talk over this job idea of yours sometime, we
three.
Sometime wasnt soon enough for Connie, who
was frankly ecstatic at the mere idea. She rounded
the corner into the side street where her aunt lived,
with quick, skipping steps.
Now! she cried as she looked up and saw lights
in the apartment. Aunt Bets home. Come on up
and talk it over now!
Larry grinned at her impetuosity and flicked the
end of his cone into the gutter. Just a minute, lady!
he begged. You make my head swim.
But he followed Connie into the entry and up the
stairs to Aunt Bets second-floor apartment amiably
enough, and waited while Connie fitted her key into
the lock.
Aunt Bet! Larrys with me. May he come in?
Connie waited a second for her aunts answering
hail, then pushed the door open and looked down the
lighted hall.
Aunt Bet!
There was a creaking noise from the kitchenette
that Connie, after two days, could identify as the
stiff hinge on the door to the service entrance, then
silence. Thats funny, she said, then called again
80

loudly, Aunt Bet!

Larry waited on the threshold. Maybe she isnt
home yet.
But the lights are on. She must be home. As she
spoke, Connie moved down the short hall to the
living room, then stopped with a gasp.
Larry! For In the doorway she stood stockstill. Somebodys been here!
Thats putting it mildly, Larry muttered as he
peered over her shoulder at a scene of wild disorder.
The closet door stood open, and every box and
carton it contained had been pulled down from the
shelves. The doors of the Pennsylvania Dutch water
bench were unlatched, and the lid of a pine chest
was thrown back. Its contents obviously had been
pawed through hastily, then tossed aside.
Larry whirled around and glanced into the
bedroom, which showed even greater upheaval, then
pushed open the swinging door to the little kitchen,
which was undisturbed.
Suddenly Connie found herself staring at the door
that led to the service stairs. Her eyes met Larrys
briefly, carrying a wordless message. In two steps
Larry crossed the room, tugged at the sticking door,
and went through it with Connie at his heels to peer
down the stair well to the floor beneath.
The night light in the hall was small and dim, but
Connie was certain that she caught a glimpse of a
81

dark coat. She snatched at Larrys arm, anxious to

confirm her half-sight, but before she could whisper
a question there was a soft slam that could be
nothing but the door to the areaway. With Connie
not two steps behind him, Larry raced pell-mell
down the cement stairs.
He shouted as he ran, though he didnt realize it.
Connie herself felt an almost uncontrollable impulse
to yell Stop, thief! like the heroine of a bad
melodrama. She clutched at the railing as her feet
carried her so fast that she almost tumbled, letting
herself slip and slide along in Larrys wake. Not for
a moment did it occur to her that it might be
foolhardy to follow in pursuit of the suspected
intruder. She was filled with righteous indignation
that anyone should have dared to enter and ransack
Aunt Bets apartment. She wanted to catch the
burglar personally, and she didnt for a second count
the cost.
It wasnt forty seconds after Connie had fitted her
key into the lock that she and Larry reached the
deserted first-floor back hall. Larry grabbed at the
knob of the heavy rear door, flinging it open almost
in Connies face, and they found themselves in a
narrow alley between the small apartment house and
the private dwelling next door. A wooden gate at
one end opened on a back street, and this was
swinging gently, as though someone had just made a
82

hasty exit.
Shouting Hey! at the top of his lungs Larry
hurtled the length of the brick-paved path and,
without breaking his stride, burst through the
unlatched gate.
The moon had passed under a cloud, and the
narrow street was as black as pitch. The facades of
small, mean houses faced a dozen gates like the one
to the apartment house. These were used in the
daytime by garbage and trash collectors, but tonight
not a soul disturbed the quiet, no sound of heels rang
on the cobbles, not a movement betrayed a fugitive.
Connies eyes flicked along the row of dingy
houses. Only one or two of them were occupied and
showed feeble lights. Then, standing in the middle
of the narrow roadway, she looked at the closed,
black gates. A shiver ran like lightning up her spine.
Behind any one of the dark gates the intruder they
sought might lurk. Belatedly cautious, she grabbed
Larrys coat sleeve.
Were too late, she said.
Larry was breathing hard, turning his head this
way and that, as though he couldnt believe that the
chase could end here. The moon swam out from
under the cloud and painted the cobbles with silver,
but the bulk of the houses was still in shadow.
Connie tugged harder at his arm. Were too late,
she said again.
83

Larrys eyes were dark and his brows met in a

frown. By golly, we just missed, he agreed.
Then suddenly he seemed aware of his
responsibility for Connie. He, too, glanced at the
closed black gates, and sensed that behind any one
of them danger might lurk. Gosh, Connie, you
oughtnt to be here. And the apartments all open,
too! he exclaimed.
Gently he urged her back the way they had come,
and breathed more easily when the door to the
apartment house was closed behind them. Together
they trudged up the cement stairs and into the little
kitchen, the swinging door of which still stood open,
revealing Aunt Bet standing in the middle of the
living-room debris, her lips parted in astonishment
and in her eyes an expression of complete
incredulity.
What under the sun?
Somebody, said Larry inadequately, was
going through your things.
The understatement was so apparent that
Elizabeth Easton couldnt stifle a chuckle.
A burglar, Connie added, her eyes blazing.
Right here under our very noses. Well, practically.
Not quite close enough under our noses, Im
afraid, Larry added, and together they pieced out
the story for Aunt Bet.
Its just fortunate, said Miss Easton soberly,
84

that neither you, Connie, nor you, Larry, is lying

out in the back street with a broken head. Well, lets
get this stuff cleaned up and see whats missing.
She took off her hat with energy and threw it on the
couch.
Did you have any cash lying around? Larry
asked as he began stacking boxes on a chair.
Aunt Bet snapped her fingers. My
Meadowbrook expense money. She walked quickly
to her desk and pulled open one of the small
drawers. Connie heard her give a sigh of relief as
she took out some folded bills and counted them.
Well, thats luck! she said. I meant to take this
back to the store this morning. She tucked it in her
handbag. I wont be so forgetful again.
Rapidly, now, Aunt Bet checked her other
valuablesthe sterling silver she had inherited from
her grandmother, the few trinkets of some worth in
her jewel box, the antique brass samovar she
cherished. I cant find a thing missing, she
murmured in surprise.
Even when everything had been set to rights both
in the living room and bedroom, there seemed to be
no loss. The thiefif now the intruder could be
called a thiefevidently had been surprised before
he could collect whatever loot he sought. Larry said
as much, but Connie, sinking cross-legged to the
bedroom floor, shook her head thoughtfully.
85

I think the person who was here must have been

looking for one certain thing, she said, and I dont
think he found it.
Why do you say he, dear? Aunt Bet asked.
Couldnt it have been a she?
It could, Connie admitted. Certainly.
But what could he, she, or it, have wanted?
Larry asked.
Connie shook her head again. I cant imagine,
she said. Then she turned to her aunt and asked
abruptly, Can you?
Aunt Bet answered with candor. I havent the
foggiest idea.
Connie began musing to herself. It wasnt
something small. The desk drawers werent turned
out.
Larry began to tease her. And it wasnt
something edible, because the kitchen wasnt
touched.
Connie looked up from under her dark lashes
with an expression meant to be scathing.
It must, Aunt Bet said, leaning her chin on a
finger, have been my mink coat.
What mink coat? Then Connie sprang up from
the floor. This is no time for teasing.
Restlessly she wandered from the bedroom back
to the living room. If only the intruder had left some
clue. If only
86

She walked back along the hall to the apartment

door, opened it and glanced down the stairs. Nothing
disturbed the peace of the front hall. She came back,
shut the door and examined the rug. On a rainy
night, now, there might have been footprints. She
retraced her steps to the living room again, head
down, thoughtful. Finally she sank down in an easy
chair, tapping the table beside it impatiently with her
fingers.
So far as she was concerned, this forced entrance
of Aunt Bets apartment was one strange occurrence
too many. Somehow, in some way, Connie felt that
this incident was connected with others, with the
face she had seen in the mirror, with the
disappearance of the fur hat, with all the recent
happenings at Campions. But what thread could tie
them together; what needle could weave them into
one?
At least, Connie called after a few minutes, we
should report thisthis housebreakingto the
police.
We should, agreed her aunt, coming into the
living room with Larry. Ill phone now. Though it
probably wont do much good. She made the call,
then said, as though she intended to dismiss the
whole matter from her mind, Im hungry. Its past
eleven oclock, and the police say theres no use
sending a man over, since nothing was taken and we
87

couldnt any of us identify the intruder.

It is practically morning, Larry agreed, and
yawned behind his hand. And tomorrows a
working day. But, he admitted, Im hungry too.
Have you ever tasted Bets fried egg sandwiches,
Connie? Theyre out of this world.
In five minutes they were all crowded into the
tiny kitchen, Connie and Larry swinging their legs
from the porcelain-topped table while Aunt Bet
broke eggs into a pan of sizzling bacon fat.
Onion? she asked.
Onion, pronounced Larry definitely.
And once over lightly?
Right.
Mm-m-m! he said, after he had tasted the
result. When you get tired of being a stylist, Bet,
you could open a lunch wagon. He made a feint at
dodging, then grinned. And Ill be your first
customer, he added loyally.
Connie took her sandwich and wandered back
through the other rooms.
Come on, bird dog, quit stalking, Larry called
after her.
Bird dogs dont stalk, Connie called back.
What do they do?
Connie wasnt sure. Theythey Then,
abruptly, she stopped trying to think and gave a
long, low, boyish whistle. A second later she
88

appeared back in the kitchen door with the halfeaten sandwich in one hand and a large pottery ash
tray held like a torch in the other.
A clue! she announced dramatically. An
honest-to-goodness clue.
Together Larry and Aunt Bet asked, What?
Connie came forward, lowering the ash tray to
convenient eye level. In it was a single, crushed,
cigarette butt.
Aunt Bet doesnt smoke. I dont smoke . . .
Make it three, said Larry, and so?
Theres no lipstick on the cigarette, Connie
announced triumphantly. The housebreaker must
have been a man.
Might have been a man, Aunt Bet corrected.
Not all women use lipstick.
Tut, tut, chided Larry, refusing to be earnest.
Ill bet all housebreakers do.
But Connie was staring down at the stub in
something close to amazement. The person who had
been here had left it, because the ash tray had been
clean at suppertime. It seemed as though this were a
proof of his presence more tangible than all the
ransacked shelves put together. The intruder, with
his own hand, had crushed this out.
She was so absorbed in thought that she didnt
notice when Larry moved close to look down at the
ash tray too.
89

Ill bet it was a man at that, the boy said with

an unexpected return to seriousness. Ive never
seen a woman whod smoke a cigarette that close.

90

CHAPTER

Lost, Strayed or Stolen?

In the morning Connie and her aunt overslept.

They made a marathon of dressing, gulped orange
juice and coffee at a drugstore counter, and sprinted
the last three blocks to Campions.
Whew! Connie gasped as they reached the
employees entrance. Now I know how you keep
that waistline. You certainly can run.
Aunt Bet laughed aloud. Im only twenty-eight,
after all. You make me feel like the Ancient of
Days.
Connie went to the models dressing room and
Aunt Bet went up to her office. I have a tea date
this afternoon, Miss Easton told her niece as they
parted Can you take care of yourself until I get
home?
Of course I can! Connie told her competently.
I hope its a nice man because you look lovely!
91

Then her eyes twinkled roguishly and she added,

Incidentally, you make me feel like a Child in
Arms.
Touch! Aunt Bet said as the elevator door slid
shut. She touched a hand to her forehead and
grinned at Connie, who had just time to grin back.
Connie was still grinning as she walked across
the carpeted floor of the College Shop. Aunt Bet
was such fun to be with, so easy and casual, so full
of quips and small talk. She felt like a very lucky
girl.
Here comes Little Miss Sunshine, said Suzanne
glumly as she entered the dressing room, and for a
moment Connie was brought up short and the smile
faded from her face.
Pay no attention to Suzy, Marcia said as she
pulled her street dress over her head. Shes got a
toothache, Connie, and that automatically makes
cheerfulness a sin.
Oh, Im sorry, Suzanne! Connie said
sympathetically. Ive got some aspirin, if that
would help.
Suzanne accepted the aspirin, and, without further
comment, changed to the pajama-and-robe ensemble
she was to model.
At least, Marcia comforted her, youll spend
the morning in the lingerie department. Theres a
rest room with a couch right off there, you know,
92

and if things get too bad you can go lie down.

Suzanne managed a wan smile. It isnt my feet
this time, its my face, she said, and left them.
Connie, modeling a long suede coat, reached the
main floor shortly after the street doors had been
opened. At once she was aware of a little knot of
people gathered at the jewelry counternot
customers but store personnel.
Almost automatically, her feet carried her toward
that section of the store. She recognized Mr. Kurt in
the group, and Miss Potter, who seemed flushed and
upset.
Its ridiculous, she heard the floorwalker say as
she approached. When costume jewelry runs into
three figures it should be kept in a safe. An amateur
could pick the locks on those undercounter drawers.
Why, Ill bet I could do it myself.
Connie, curious, edged closer.
It isnt my responsibility to determine store
policy on where jewelry shall be kept, she heard
Miss Potter flash back. I only work here.
Mr. Kurt raised his eyebrows. Ill take it upon
myself, therefore, to tell Mr. Campion that this floor
appears to need special protection I cannot give it,
he said. This thing is reaching absurd proportions,
in my opinion at least.
What this thing was Connie didnt then learn,
though she could guess what the floorwalker meant.
93

The group broke up as a customer approached, and

poor Miss Potter was left to make a sorry attempt at
looking interested. Passing behind the customers
back, Connie could see that her eyes were bright
with unshed tears and her cheeks brilliant with
unaccustomed color. What, she wondered, could
have disappeared now?
It was afternoon before she learned. Then, to the
models luncheon table in the Mirror Room, Marcia
brought the startling news that a necklace of
cultured pearls, the most valuable piece of costume
jewelry that the store offered for sale, had
unaccountably vanished from the jewelry
department.
Things always seem to happen in threes,
Connie murmured, her fork poised in mid-air.
What do you mean? Marcia asked.
Then Connie remembered that the other models
probably knew nothing of the disappearance of the
hatbox, nor would it be very likely that they would
learn of the missing negligee. She looked down at
her plate in confusion. I was just thinking out
loud, was the best she could do.
Fortunately there was so much interest in story of
the necklace that her slip went practically unnoticed.
Who discovered it was gone? one of the other
models wanted to know.
Larry Stewartyou know, that good-looking lad
94

from the display department came the surprising

answer. He was supposed to photograph it with
some baum martens and a Paris hat and when the
sales girl went to get it for him, it just wasnt in the
drawer where it was usually kept.
Marcia seemed to have such a complete story that
it was evidently store-wide gossip. Mr. Campions
wild, she said, and Connie couldnt contain a smile
at the immediate mental image of big, florid Mr.
Campion tearing his sparse hair.
I think it looks like an inside job, Suzanne
offered thoughtfully. Unless a customer could have
been trying it on, and then slipped it into her bag
while the clerks back was turned.
They say Miss Potter at the jewelry counter says
she hasnt shown the necklace for a week. Its been
right in the showcase during store hours and locked
up in the drawer below at night.
Suzanne shrugged and started to yawn, then
remembered her aching tooth and stopped. Well,
its not my funeral, she murmured. Ive got to go
phone the dentist. Anybody else going downstairs?
I am, Connie said, remembering that she hadnt
yet bought the present she wanted to send Kit.
Impulsively she decided to make it a link bracelet
instead of the nylons. She wanted to talk to Miss
Potter and it would furnish a logical excuse. She
followed Suzanne to the elevators and left her on the
95

main floor, sauntering over to the jewelry counter

and waiting while Miss Potter finished writing up
the charge on a pair of earrings.
Idly, she examined the bracelets hanging from a
display rack. She considered broad links versus
narrow ones and chose the latter, selecting a silver
one to match a clip Kit wore a lot. Shed have it
sent, she decided. It was always such fun to get a
package in the mail.
Now. What can I do for you? Miss Potter
pushed the hair back from her low forehead and
came toward Connie, very correct and professional
in her manner until she recognized the girl as a
College Shop model. Then she relaxed and leaned
on the counter with a sigh.
Excuse me. I didnt even look up to see who it
was. She sighed again. Its been an exhausting
day.
Connie said, I heard about the necklace. Im
terribly sorry.
Miss Potter nodded. Its the strangest thing.
What do you mean by strange?
How it could have disappeared from a locked
drawerhow it could have been stolen without the
lock being sprung? Theres no sign at all of its
being tampered with, the lock, I mean.
Miss Potter seemed weary and distrait, and no
wonder, Connie thought. She had been alone at the
96

jewelry counter for the past two days, because her

superior, the buyer, had been in New York.
You hadnt had the necklace out at all? Connie
asked.
Only yesterday afternoon, when Mr. Stewart and
Miss Easton looked at it, to decide whether it should
be photographed. It was in its box, on the counter,
for just a few minutes, with a chiffon scarf and the
furs.
And you put it away yourself?
Of course. Just as soon as Miss Easton okayed
the picture idea. Mr. Stewart was standing right here
when I locked the box in the drawer.
A matron shopping with two small children
stopped to price a choker, and Connie glanced at her
wrist watch and realized that the time left on her
lunch hour was short. She waited while the shopper
considered, reconsidered and finally said, I dont
know. Perhaps Ill stop back. Then Connie paid for
the bracelet she had chosen, gave Miss Potter her
home address along with Kits name, and dashed
upstairs again to change to the corduroy slacks and
jacket she was to model in the afternoon.
But during all of her promenading through the
store, the new complication of the necklace
occupied her mind. She had an irresistible impulse
to seek out Larry Stewart and see what further light
he could throw on the situation. Finally, during the
97

fifteen-minute, mid-afternoon rest period, instead of

joining the rest of the models in the dressing room,
she took the elevator to the basement and found her
way to big double doors boldly lettered with the
single word, DISPLAY.
For a moment she hesitated. This was unexplored
territory and she felt a natural timidity. Then she
remembered Larrys urgent invitation and his
promise of an introduction to Armless Alice and the
rest. Cautiously she pushed one door open and
peered inside. Larry was nowhere to be seen, but a
boy in shirt sleeves was sitting at a drawing board
working on a large square of sky-blue cardboard
with a vermilion-tipped paintbrush. Connie let the
door swing to noiselessly behind her, walked a few
steps toward him and said hello.
Hel-lo! The boy looked up, apparently startled
but not displeased. He eyed Connies costume
appreciatively, put down the paintbrush and made an
elaborate gesture of covering his eyes with his hand.
Dont tell me! Let me guess. Youre Connie
Blair.
Connie smiled. How did you know?
I was told, said the young man, whose hair
exactly matched the freckles that peppered his face,
if the prettiest girl Id seen since Easter came
through those doors and asked for Larry Stewart,
that was Connie Blair.
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But I didnt mention Larry.

That, said the boy, is why I had to guess.
Connie laughed at his foolishness and Larrys
coworker laughed with her. Im Chipper White, he
introduced himself, and while Connie didnt say as
much, she thought it a very suitable name.
With interest, she came closer and inspected the
blue oblong on which Chipper was working. It
turned out to be an elevator car card illustrating a
very dashing dinner dress.
Mmm! Connie admired.
Not for you, Chipper said instantly. Strong
colors would kill that hair. He considered Connie
critically, with an artists eye. A corn-colored
organdy, he decided. Wedding ring waist and
yards and yards of skirt.
Connie looked at the boy and chuckled, and the
dreamy expression instantly left Chippers eyes.
Whats the matter?
Its just funny, Connie said, to hear a boy that
looks like you talk like a dress designer.
Chipper was offended. Whats wrong with dress
designing? he asked, waving his paintbrush. Look
at Adrian.
Connie turned around, half-expecting the master
stylist himself to appear in the doorway, so insistent
was Chippers tone, but instead she met Larry
Stewarts amused eyes.
99

Dont let Chipper threaten you, he said

companionably. Hes a mean fellow.
Really? You know, I rather like him, Connie
retorted, and Chipper looked decidedly mollified.
Why is it that if girls find out a guy knows
anything about clothes they immediately think hes a
sis? he muttered as he dipped his brush into the
water-color paint at his elbow.
Be patient with Connie, Larry told him with a
sidelong glance at the girl. Shes never run across a
couple of window dressers before.
Window dressers, Chipper snorted. This is the
display department, my lad. Or did I spend four long
years at art school for nothing?
Come away from here, Larry urged, catching
Connies wrist. Hes apt to get violent, and I want
to show you the shop before he starts breaking
things up.
Led by Larry, Connie began looking around the
big, cluttered room. Fluted columns of odd lengths,
some dingy and marred, some freshly painted,
cluttered a triangle of floor space. Two enormous
wire bird cages, painted bright yellow, hung from
the ceiling incongruously upside down. Larry
pointed to them.
Left over from spring.
Synthetic palms leaned against the wall, dusty
and forlorn, and a miniature sleigh was upended
100

beside them. In another corner and ranging along a

whole side of the room was a weird collection of
window dummiessmartly coifed, vacant-faced
maidens in various stages of undress and in
appalling dismemberment. Some lacked arms,
others, legs, and there were several headless ladies
and a torso or two that made Connie shudder
distastefully.
Larry put an arm around a beautiful blonde and
made her bow toward Connie. Armless Agatha.
You will keep forgetting the poor girls name.
Alice! Connie hissed.
She cant hear me, Larry shot back. Its a very
sad thing, but shes deaf.
The construction of the dummies fascinated
Connie. They were made on lines impossibly
slender and elegant, yet they had a lifelike quality
and incomparable style.
She said so and Larry agreed. Yet styles in these
figures change, he told her and led her to a group of
chipped, discarded models. Look at these five-yearold jobs, he said. Dont they look dowdy now?
They certainly do, Connie agreed. Like
something out of the attic in comparison to the new
ones.
The world, Chipper commented from his
drawing board, do move.
I want to see the Lucy, Connie exclaimed after
101

a few minutes.
What a memory! Larry crossed the floor to a
contraption that looked like a cross between a movie
projector and a large, square camera laid on its side.
Here she is.
Connie was disappointed. That? Whats that?
The Lucy, Larry repeated. It blows things up.
Connie stepped back a pace and Larry laughed.
Not like dynamite, he told her. Like this.
He picked up a small photograph of a model in a
lounging costume and slid it into an opening at the
base of the machine. Then he leaned over, clicked a
switch, and turned a wheel to focus. Finally he
straightened and beckoned to Connie. See?
The photograph, against a canvas curtain, was
magnified to many times its original size.
Interesting, Connie said. But she led the
conversation away from the Lucy after a few
minutes. What she had really come to talk about was
the pearls.
Larry was willing enough to discuss their
disappearance, but he had no new light to throw on
the subject. I went up for them this morning and
they were gone, thats all, he said. The box was
there, but the pearls werent.
The box was there? repeated Connie. She felt
that this should mean something to her, but it didnt.
The box is like half a hundred other boxes for
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Campion jewelry, said Larry. He shrugged. So

what does that prove?
You were planning to photograph them, werent
you?
Thats it. For a larger-than-life backdrop for the
east window. Very plush.
Maybe theyll turn up, Connie remarked, but
Larry shook his head. I doubt it, he said.
Well, its certainly all very mysterious, Connie
murmured, cocking her head thoughtfully.
For once, Larry told her as he went with her to
the elevators, and pushed the Up button, Im
inclined to believe youre right.

103

CHAPTER

Clue Conscious

It was by pure coincidence that Connie met Grace

Blair on her way home from work that night.
She had stopped in a cut-rate drugstore on
Chestnut Street to buy some facial tissues and there
was the little stock girl, sitting with her legs curled
around a stool at the soda fountain, drinking a coke.
Connie made her purchase and, because she was
in no hurry and was also a little thirsty, slid onto the
stool beside her. Grace didnt look up from her
straw, so Connie said with a friendly smile,
Hello. May I join you?
Graces head jerked around. Oh. Miss Blair.
For an instant there was the same expression in the
girls eyes that had confounded Connie the day
before, when she had found her weeping in the
models room, only this time Connie didnt mistake
it for grief. She knew it for what it wasnaked,
104

deep-rooted fear. Then Grace dropped her lashes

and when she looked up again the fear was veiled.
Certainly, she said.
Connie ordered a milk shake. And you mustnt
call me Miss Blair, she told Grace, smiling. You
make me feel like Methuselah, and Ill bet Im not
much older than you.
Probably not as old, Grace told her. Im small,
but Im seventeen.
Something else we have in common, besides our
last names. So am I.
Grace had a suit box with the Campion label on it
laid across her lap, wedged between the counter and
her knees. Connie glanced down at it and Grace
said, This is a special delivery that was too late for
the truck. I make a little extra money, sometimes,
delivering specials in town.
Good idea, Connie said, and read the address
on the label. Youre going my way, if thats
Rittenhouse Square. We can walk over together, if
youll wait until I finish this drink.
Grace waited, but Connie had the feeling that she
would have preferred to go on ahead. The girl
trotted along beside her in comparative silence,
seeming to feel a little out of her element, a little
lost.
Connie did her best to put her at ease, and her
best was usually very good, but Grace failed to
105

respond. She answered questions in monosyllables

and let the conversation drop like a stone. Before
they had gone two blocks Connie found herself
hard-pressed for subjects of possible interest. As a
last resort she asked Grace about her family.
Do you live right in town here?
Over south, Grace said.
Oh, near the river? That must be nice.
A look that was almost sullen crept into the stock
girls eyes. You must never have been in South
Philadelphia, she said. Then, as though it were
wrung out of her, she volunteered her first
unsolicited remark. In the summer its hot and
crowded and dirty. You feel like you cant breathe.
Connie began to understand, but she had no reply.
It was her turn to feel ill at ease, and to cover her
discomfiture she asked, Do you have a big family,
Grace?
Nope, Grace shook her head. My mother
works, and I have a sisteryounger than me
whos been sick with rheumatic fever a long while.
She knits things for the Baby Bazaar at the store.
Shes real good, Grace added proudly. You ought
to see them.
Ill certainly try to, Connie said. That ought to
be interesting work.
In the winter its not bad, Grace said, but in
the summer the wool gets soiled and sticky if you
106

dont watch it.

Connie nodded understandingly. Ill bet! Then
she asked, sympathetically, Can your sister get out
at all?
Grace frowned unexpectedly. Thats the trouble.
The doctor says she ought to, but she hasnt any
interest. She stopped abruptly and sighed.
Typically, Connie began to plan. Impulsive
generosity bubbled up like a spring within her, and
she said, The weathers beautiful now, and Aunt
Bet has a car. I wonder if maybe this week end
Concern suddenly showed in Graces dark eyes.
Oh, no, she burst out. Miss Eastons a fine lady,
and shed do anything for anybody, I know, but Id
be obliged if you didnt mention this to her. Please!
But
Please!
All right. Grace was so insistent that there was
nothing for Connie to do but acquiesce. Yet she
couldnt avoid appearing puzzled.
Grace made a clumsy and not very ingenious
attempt to explain. Its that myfamily
problemsshouldnt get mixed up with things at the
store. It wouldnt be right. She looked up at Connie
appealingly.
Connie nodded. I understand, she said, though
she didnt really understand at all.
One thing was obvious, however. Her unfortunate
107

remark about Aunt Bets car had nipped in the bud

any further confidences from Grace. They walked
along in silence past the expensive shops on Walnut
Street. At the entrance to Rittenhouse Square Grace
left Connie abruptly, hurrying down Eighteenth
Street with her parcel as though she were relieved to
get away.
Connie crossed the park slowly, stopping to
watch some children who were sailing boats in the
pool around the fountain, but without really seeing
them at all.
Suddenly she snapped her fingers and said
Darn! under her breath. She had forgotten to
question Grace Blair on one of the things that
interested her most. She had neglected to make any
attempt to find out what possible connection the
little stock girl might have with Mr. Kurt.
Oh, wellConnie shruggedthere was always
another day. She gave herself up to the beauty of the
late afternoon, with the sunlight filtering through the
green trees that formed an oasis in the square of tall
buildings. She passed an old man feeding crumbs to
pigeons from a rumpled paper bag and stepped aside
to avoid a pair of dowager dachshunds waddling
along in the center of the path on the ends of a split
leash. She was full of the joy of living and intrigued
by everything and everyone she saw. The city
spelled fascination and Meadowbrook seemed much
108

more than a hundred miles away.

But when she reached the apartment,
Meadowbrook was there, in the shape of a postmark
on a letter addressed in her twin sisters handwriting.
Just the faintest twinge of homesickness swept over
Connie as she tore open the envelope. She realized
that in all their lives she and Kit had never been
separated for more than overnight before.
Then she got her chin in the air and refused to
succumb to sentiment. After all, separation from
ones family was just part of growing up, and
Connie decided that it was high time she gave the
process a prod. If she wanted to be a city girl
Larrys offer to help her get a job flashed into her
mindsuch an attitude would never do!
The letter was characteristic of Kit, smooth and
newsy and agreeable, without the dashes and
exclamation points with which Connies efforts
were always dotted. She was enjoying helping out at
Blair Hardware I told you I was a country girl at
heart, she wrote. Everyone in the family, including
Ruggles, was busy and well, but it seems as though
youd been away a month, Connie, instead of just a
few days. Ruth and Ginny and Kit had been going
swimming evenings, since the August weather was
so warm. Toby had built an addition to his tree
house and his gang had formed a club called the
GropersI suppose, wrote Kit a bit
109

ambiguously, because they hold their meetings up

in the tree at night.
Connie read the letter twice, lying back among
the cushions on the couch. She could imagine Toby
and his pals startling passers-by with weird noises
from the dark leafiness of the walnut tree. Toby and
she both loved a lark; they were a lot alike.
Toby would get an enormous kick out of the very
situation in which Connie found herself now. Toby
was a persistent sleuth, always trying to figure out in
advance the outcome of the mystery books he
adored.
But this was no childs play. Theft and assault
and the ransacking of Aunt Bets apartment were
quite different as Connie faced them in real life than
similar crimes would have seemed in one of Tobys
books. She let the letter fall in her lap and propped
her head on her arms thoughtfully. Somewhere, to
this whole series of episodes, she felt certain that she
should be able to find a key.
The pearls, now. The most recent disappearance.
Here, certainly, was a real robbery. There was no
chance of loss, as in the case of the hatbox. Some
personConnie made herself think the word thief
had taken them from the drawer.
But the drawer had been locked, and the lock was
still undisturbed. Abruptly Connie sat up straight on
the couch and snapped her fingers. Aloud she said,
110

very slowly, as though each word were being

weighed and considered for flaws, Theydidnt
havetobetakenthen.
Connie!
So absorbed had she been in her own reflections
that she hadnt heard her aunt open the door.
Aunt Bet! You home already?
Miss Easton came into the room and tossed her
hat on a table. Dropping into a chair facing the
couch, she said, I never even got to the tea.
Never got there?
Aunt Bet shook her head. Mr. Campion called a
meeting of all department heads and such. Hes in a
perfect tizzy about the disappearance of those
pearls.
I
dont
wonder,
Connie
murmured
sympathetically.
I dont either, but I know how poor Miss Potter
feels, said Aunt Bet. She hasnt any more idea
what could have happened thanthan I have about
the hatbox.
Or than Miss Jean had about the chiffon
negligee, said Connie slowly.
You and Mr. Campion see eye to eye, dont
you? He thinks weve got a shoplifter in our midst.
Well, the things cant just walk away.
On the other hand, mused Miss Easton, the
store exercises all the ordinary precautions to avoid
111

theft. Inspectresses check things at the wrapping

counters. Department heads are trained to be
watchful. And a checker stands at the rear door to
make sure that no undeclared packages are carried
out by employees at night.
Still, couldnt there be slips? asked Connie.
Oh, yes, Aunt Bet admitted with a shrug.
When the girls go to lunch nobody checks them
out. They go at all hours; it would be next to
impossible. And there are always certain employees
who practically have the run of the storestock
girls, buyers, people like you and me
The pearls, Connie said with consideration,
would have been the easiest.
Theyd have been a cinch, Aunt Bet agreed.
Why, they could have been worn right out of the
store in broad daylight. Everybody wears pearl
chokers these days and I doubt that even an expert,
at a few yards, could tell junk jewelry from the real
thing.
Suddenly Connie swung her feet to the floor, sat
forward and clasped her hands. Aunt Bet, she said,
when you and Larry were looking at the necklace
yesterday afternoonwhen you were deciding on
whether to photograph it, can you remember exactly
what happened?
Miss Eastons eyebrows shot upward. Then she
threw back her head and laughed. Dont tell me
112

you suspect Larry Stewart!

Be serious, Aunt Bet. Id really like you to try to
think back.
Miss Easton reached down and slid her heels out
of her high-heeled pumps. Well, let me see. I was
supposed to help dream up a montage effect for a
background for fall suits. I talked with Larry in the
morning, and we decided on furs and a French hat
and maybe a scarf and some pearls. We wanted
something that looked luxurious and would
photograph well and we selected the martens and hat
before lunch. Then I had to do the Mirror Room
show so Larry and I made a date to meet at the
jewelry counter at two-thirty.
Yes?
He was there when I got there, Aunt Bet
continued. He was chatting with Ruth Potter
Had they started to look at the pearls?
Miss Easton shook her head definitely. No. They
were just standing and talking. Then I came along
with the furs and a square of chiffonI couldnt get
the hat because Estelle had a customer who was
trying it on, to decide whether she wanted it copied
in brown or beige. We told Miss Potter what we
wanted, and she suggested the cultured-pearl choker
right away. She said it was made in a design like a
thick collar, and would show up well.
And so? Connie prodded.
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She got it out of the drawer and showed it to us,

thats all.
Was it in a box? Connie asked.
Miss Easton looked at her niece quizzically, then
apparently decided to humor her. Yes, I guess it
was. In fact, Im sure it was. She hesitated, then
went on. But she took it out of the box so that we
could get its effect with the scarf and furs.
Now try to remember everything very
carefully, Connie urged.
Larry asked the price and Miss Potter told him
and he whistled.
Any man would whistle. Connie smiled.
We considered the whole ensemble for a few
minutes, and Larry said he thought the choker had
enough bulk to be effective with the scarf and furs.
He played with an arrangement on the counter for a
while, and I said he had my okay to go ahead, so we
arranged to do the initial photograph today. I was
just ready to go back upstairs when Miss Estelle
came up with the hat we needed.
Miss Easton paused, now, and leaned back
against the cushion of the chair. Miss Potter had to
attend to an impatient customer and just as Estelle
came up, Mr. Kurt asked Larry if he might speak to
him for a second about some wiring mix-up in a side
window. I started to walk back toward the elevators
with Estelle, and then I suddenly remembered the
114

value of the pearls and thought I shouldnt leave

them unattended. I glanced back, and Miss Potter
was already putting the box away.
The box, said Connie, half to herself.
Thats right.
Did you see her putting the pearls into the box?
Aunt Bet tried to remember. No. I think the box
was closed. She had it in her hand.
Then there were a few seconds when the pearls
were on the counter, alone.
Well, if you want to call it that. After all, we
were all right there, along with a few dozen other
people, customers and such. People do keep going
past in the aisle.
And any one of them could have picked up the
pearls, Connie mused.
They could, but who would? To the average
customer theyd look like any other ten-dollar item.
But if someone did know their value. Connie
persisted. Again she returned to the conclusion she
seemed to share with Mr. Campionthat it was an
inside job.
Can you remember anyone who went past while
you were standing there? she asked her aunt after a
moment.
Plenty of people. Miss Easton yawned as
though she were getting a little weary of this
inquisition. Chipper White from the display
115

department, Suzanne, two clerks from the shoe

department who had no business dawdling along,
and that little stock girl, Grace, who always looks
like a scurrying rabbit. Also the new house
detective.
Who is the new house detective? Connie asked.

116

CHAPTER

10

Why, Aunt Bet!

The moment Aunt Bet mentioned the new house

detective she bit her lip, and her reply to Connies
question was a negative shake of her head.
Im sorry, I cant tell. Im not even supposed to
know myself.
Connie looked puzzled. But why?
Mr. Campion is very anxious to keep the identity
of the detective a secret, Miss Easton said. For
two reasons. In the first place, hes pretty upset at
being forced to engage one at all. Campions has
always prided itself that a detective on the premises
wasnt necessary. The standard of the personnel is
pretty high, you know. Then theres a second reason.
He feels the detective can do a better job if the
employees are kept in the dark. Thats logical, I
think.
Connie agreed, but nevertheless, she was bitten
117

by a curiosity bug so active that it kept her eyes

dancing around the store all the next morning. Who
could the detective be? She considered every man
who seemed in the least likely, from an elderly
colonel type with a Vandyke beard, who seemed
bent on buying perfume for his lady, to a small,
rabbity fellow without a hat, who kept scurrying up
and down the main-floor aisles in apparent search of
a mislaid department.
But each of these likely prospects disappeared
within half an hour, not to return again, at least not
to Connies knowledge. She kept a firm picture of
each of them in mind, however, in case she should
encounter them at another time or on another floor.
In the meantime, she had her job to do, and by
now she felt that she was actually beginning to look
like a model. Adaptable by nature, she fitted into the
scene in which she found herself, and even adjusted
her walk to the clothes she wore.
When she was modeling a dance frock she looked
very soft and feminine and took shorter steps than
when she wore the rugged country tweeds and
loafers designed for the classroom and campus.
More and more people returned Connies smile and
called her by name. She was becoming one of the
most popular of the models.
Also, according to the clerks in the College Shop,
she was selling clothes. Customers, after seeing her
118

on the main floor, or at the luncheon show in the

Mirror Room, would come to the shop and ask to
see the dress that blonde model was wearing.
Imagining themselves feeling as glamorous as
Connie looked in the costumes, they made their
purchases happily. Then they went home to parade
before their mirrors and wonder why the effect
wasnt quite the same.
Much of Connies appeal came from the fact that
she was innocent of any vanity. She modeled with
none of Marcias arrogance, with none of Suzannes
air of bored condescension. Possibly, if she had been
a little less interested in the strange happenings
behind the scenes at Campions, she would have
patterned her behavior more closely on that of the
other models. As it was, she developed a style of her
own that was individual because it was natural. She
seemed like the essence of the college girl whose
clothes she wore, wide-eyed with the excitement of
her first week on campus, starting out on a four-year
career that promised to be fascinating and fun.
Walking through the Baby Bazaar on the way to
the suit department at midmorning, Connie
happened to notice a handmade blanket and some
tiny knitted sacques and booties in the palest shades
of pink and blue.
Oh, are these the things that Grace Blairs sister
knits? Connie asked an idle salesclerk impulsively.
119

Grace Blairs sister? The clerk looked

confused.
The little stock clerk on the main floor, Connie
explained. She was telling me she had a sister who
did hand-knit things for the Bazaar.
Thats right. A more seasoned salesclerk,
coming up, asked, Were you interested in buying
something, dear?
Oh, no, thanks. Connie, whose acquaintance
with particular babies was not large, looked a little
abashed. I was just interested in seeing some of the
work. Its beautiful, isnt it?
The second clerk lifted a sacque from the case.
Terribly painstaking. And when you think what a
knitter like that gets paid for her time, the price
really isnt high.
Connie glanced at the price tag and pursed her
mouth to pantomime a whistle. That seems
expensive to me, she said.
Then, for the first time, Connie was introduced to
a department stores markup system, and the reasons
behind it. The clerk, who was also the assistant
buyer in the department, took time to explain it to
the interested girl, and when Connie walked away
she said to her companion. Theres a character with
a head on her shoulders. Shell get along.
The other clerk shrugged and yawned. What
does she care? She doesnt have to sell the stuff.
120

Why addle your brain?

But Connie, well out of earshot, did not hear
them. She was trying vainly to think of someone to
whom she might give a small sacque as a gift. Shed
like to buy one, she decided, even if it was
expensive. Shed like to help out Grace Blair and
her sister in some little way.
An idea occurred to her. Maybe Aunt Bet had a
friend with a small baby. On her tour of the third
floor she could pop her head in Miss Eastons office
and ask. Too impatient to wait for an elevator, she
hurried up the carpeted steps.
The Bridal Salon, when she crossed it, was
entirely empty, even of salespeople, but at the door
to the advertising department, right next to Aunt
Bets office, there was an excited little group.
Everyone was talking at once. Then one of the salon
clerks turned, saw Connie, and nudged the girl next
to her in dismay. There was a hush as sudden as the
quiet after snapping off a radio switch. An
embarrassed voice was raised in some forced
inanity; then the quiet descended again as Connie
passed.
Ill at ease, and feeling that she must in some way
have contributed to the excitement, yet at a loss to
understand why, Connie went to the door of her
aunts office and glanced in. It was empty, which
wasnt unusual. Aunt Bet was always flitting like a
121

busy butterfly around the store. But the group of

people outside the advertising department glanced at
Connie covertly as she passed them again, and she
found herself almost running back across the Bridal
Salon, her chest tight with premonition.
Somethingsomething she knew nothing about
was wrong!
Now she wanted to find Aunt Bet in the same
way that a child, lost in a store like Campions,
would want to find its mother. Connie needed her
aunts reassurance and protection. She felt
uncomfortable and uneasy, as though she were about
to take an exam for which she was totally
unprepared.
Hastily she traversed the entire third floor,
looking for Aunt Bet in each department. Then she
went down to the second floor, and from there to the
first. At the back elevators she saw Mr. George
Campion talking with a portly woman in a flowered
hat. Connie was about to go past them and on to the
offices in the rear, where Aunt Bet might possibly
be engaged, when Mr. Campion stopped her.
He simply reached out and touched her arm.
Arent you Miss Eastons niece?
Yes, Connie answered, astonished that the head
of the big, busy store could identify her. I am.
Miss? he hesitated.
Connie Blair.
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Oh, yes. Miss Blair, Id like to talk with you for

a few minutes. In my office. Do you know where
that is?
Connie wasnt quite sure. On the top floor?
Thats right. Will you go up and wait for me?
Quite without reason, Connie felt as though she
were being sent to the principals office for some
grammar school misdeed. She wore a puzzled frown
between her dark eyebrows as she rode up in the car,
and walked slowly and uncertainly down the
corridor until she came to a corner door with a
glazed glass pane and the impressive lettering:
GEORGE R. CAMPION
President
She had a moments hesitation. Should she
knock? Then she pushed the door open and walked
in.
A dark girl with harlequin glasses looked up from
a secretarys desk directly in front of the door.
Yes?
Im Connie Blair. Mr. Campion asked me to
come up here and wait for him.
Oh, yes, said the girl, as though she understood
everything that Connie didnt. Have a seat. She
123

waved her hand vaguely toward a long bench by the

wall.
Connie sat down and looked around. Behind the
secretarys back was a door to an inner office, paned
with the same opaque glass as the one she had just
entered. This, she decided, must be the sanctum
sanctorum. She wondered if shed get a chance to
see the inside.
Then she became aware of a shadow behind the
glass pane. Someone was already in that office,
someone who was pacing back and forth, back and
forth, so that the shadow wavered and flickered
across the door. The someone was a woman, Connie
decided after a few minutes, because the shadow had
none of the squareness that a mans shoulders would
give it. She wondered who it could be.
Then the telephone rang and the secretary
answered it and Connies attention was distracted.
No, the secretary said, Mr. Campion will be in
conference. Yes, it is important. No, I cant tell how
long he will be.
Was she the conference, Connie wondered? It
scarcely seemed possible; she almost grinned at the
thought. Then the outer door opened and the
president of Campions was standing before her.
Come in, Miss Blair, he said with a wave of his
hand toward the inner door. Miss Carpenter, see
that we arent disturbed.
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Connie walked toward the door that the owner of

the store held open for her and went through it, to
stare straight into the startled eyes of the young
woman who whirled around from the window to
meet them.
Why, Aunt Bet! she said.
Elizabeth Easton, for the first time in Connies
memory, seemed to have lost some of her usual
polish and poise. She seemed younger, as though
she were trying to cope with something quite
beyond her. She looked from Connie to Mr.
Campion and then said, Im sorry you felt it
necessary to bring my niece into this.
Mr. Campion eased himself into his desk chair
with a sigh. He seemed far less disturbed than Aunt
Bet when he replied, Im sorry, too, Miss Easton,
but I felt that any light we could cast on the situation
would be to the good.
Connie could contain herself no longer. What
situation? she burst out. I feel as though
everybody were in on some kind of a secret
Then, remembering to whom she was talking, she
paused, feeling foolish.
Surprisingly, Mr. Campion chuckled, but his face
soon grew grave again. Youre not far from
wrong, he told her. Miss Easton, do you want to
explain? He turned and seemed to be watching
Connies aunt very carefully as she spoke to her
125

niece.
The missing pearls, Miss Easton said
tonelessly, have been discovered.
This, to Connie, seemed no cause for alarm. Oh,
good! she exclaimed. Where?
Ruefully her aunt smiled. Wrapped in a square
of cleansing tissue, she said, in my handbag.
Oh, no! Connie cried. Why, thats impossible.
How could they have gotten there? Then she
seemed to realize the implications of the statement
and whirled on Mr. Campion. You surely dont
think?
We dont think anything, Miss Blair, Mr.
Campion broke in a little wearily. His face seemed
less florid than usual, almost pasty, but Connie
noticed that his gray eyes held no hint of accusation.
He simply looked tired. Were just trying to get to
the root of a situation that none of us likes.
Of course, Connie said, feeling quite chastened.
But make no mistake! Steel suddenly glinted in
the gray eyes. There is no one in the store who is
not under suspicion until proven innocent. Mr.
Campion looked from Connie to her aunt and back
to Connie again. That, he said slowly, goes for
everyone.
Now Connie knew why her Aunt Bet did not
seem to be at all herself. This man of variable moods
was inclined to be kindly, but underneath he had a
126

core of hardness that would permit no favoritism.

Miss Easton might be a trusted employee of
standing, but she would get no more consideration
than the most menial worker in the shop until this
mystery was cleared up.
And suddenly Connie guessed how she herself
fitted into the picture. She was new around here; she
had the run of the store; she might have had an
opportunity to steal the pearls, and then, frightened
at the furor it created, slipped them into her aunts
handbag because she thought Elizabeth Easton
would be above suspicion. If Mr. Campion and his
elusive house detective were bent on exploring
every possibility, this was one.
Id like to ask you a few questions, Mr.
Campion was saying, and Connie met his eyes and
nodded, keeping her hands clasped very tight in her
lap.
Do you remember what your aunt usually does
with her handbag when she goes into her office?
I think, said Connie, that she usually puts it on
her desk.
Tosses, she felt belatedly, would have been a
better word, for Aunt Bet, when she was working,
showed an utter disregard for personal belongings,
flinging them from her to make room for the
paraphernalia of her job.
Did you see it there at any time this morning?
127

I wasnt in her office this morning. Then

Connie corrected herself. Until just a few minutes
ago, that is, when I happened to be looking for her.
Why were you looking for her?
Connie knew it sounded silly and far from the
sort of thing she should have been doing during
working hours, but she was determined to be
truthful. To see if she knew a baby I could buy a
sweater for, she said.
Mr. Campion looked confused and Miss Eastons
eyebrows lifted perceptibly.
Its awfully involved, Connie admitted. Do
you want me to explain?
No, Mr. Campion barked quickly, passing a
hand graphically across his high forehead. One
thing more, he continued, and cleared his throat.
Connie had the feeling that he was watching her
with particular interest as he asked the next question.
Do you remember the color of the cleansing tissue
currently in use in the models dressing room?
Why, yes, I do, she replied with careful
certainty. Its blue.
Mr. Campion took from his desk drawer a small
package and laid it on the blotter. Wrapped in a
square of pale-blue cleansing tissue was the choker
of cultured pearls.

128

CHAPTER

11

The Missing Hatbox

It wasnt until Connie was alone with her aunt,

walking down the corridor toward the elevators, that
she had a chance to ask the actual circumstances of
the pearls discovery.
We were having an advertising confab, sort of
an impromptu get-together with the buyer of the fur
departmentLarry Stewart, and Mr. Macom from
advertising and myself. I needed some notes I had
left in my bag, and one of the stock girls happened
to be passing, so I asked her if shed run back to my
office and get my pocketbook for me. I reached in
the bag to get my notebook. When I pulled it out, the
cleansing tissue had caught on one of the wires of
the binding. The pearls, dramatically enough, simply
dropped on the floor.
Its absurd to think youd carry stolen goods
around in your handbag, argued Connie.
129

Absurd, Aunt Bet agreed. But there seems to

be a good deal of absurdity in this case.
So now, thought Connie, it has become a case,
even in practical Aunt Bets eyes. That, she decided,
was all to the good, if they were ever to solve the
mystery.
And it isnt as though, Connie murmured, her
mind off on another tangent, there werent plenty
of blue cleansing tissues in the world. She didnt
want to think that the pearls were wrapped in tissue
from the models dressing room. She liked and
trusted those girls; she shook off the slight doubt she
had been harboring about Suzanne.
Blues not a popular color, though. Peach and
white are the common shades. Aunt Bet added,
The reason we have blue in the dressing rooms just
now is because the store has been closing it out.
Will all the models be questioned, do you
suppose? Connie asked abruptly.
I dont know. Its not unlikely, Miss Easton
said.
Look, Aunt Bet, just because a girl loves clothes
with a passion, just because she cant help imagining
herself in the things she modelsafter hours, I
mean, when she has a datethat doesnt mean shed
feel it was all right toto sort of borrow things,
does it?
I should hope not! cried Aunt Bet. Her eyes as
130

she looked at Connie were penetrating. What are

you driving at?
But Connie wouldnt tell. She might herself be
concerned about Suzannes integrity, but she
couldnt discuss it until she was more certain. She
couldnt disclose a suspicion that might be
unfounded, even to her aunt.
Fortunately, there was no more time for
conversation. The hour for the luncheon fashion
show was at hand and Miss Easton didnt even have
time to powder her nose before her appearance in
the Mirror Room.
Connie thought the other models looked at her
rather curiously when she appeared, late, to make a
lightning change. She had already noticed how
rapidly gossip traveled around the store, and she was
sure they had heard of the discovery of the pearls.
Probably because Miss Easton was her aunt they
were loathe to mention it. She watched Suzanne
closely, but her attitude seemed no different from
the otherspleasant enough, but just slightly
constrained.
Connie was modeling a sweeping, taffeta dinner
dress, walking between the tables of the mirrored
restaurant with a conventional smile curving her
lips, when suddenly she stood still. She had thought
of a question she should have asked Aunt Betan
important question. With an effort she remembered
131

where she was and walked onward, but her mind

was far away. The answer to that question might
mean a great deal! She wanted to get to her aunt as
soon as she could.
But, as luck would have it, after the show
Elizabeth Easton was unavailable. She had dashed
off to another appointment before Connie could
reach her, with the result that her niece was left to
spend an impatient andshe felta fruitless
afternoon.
Then, about four oclock, she remembered that
Larry Stewart had been with Aunt Bet at the
advertising conference. She could ask him the
question if she could find him. Without a seconds
hesitation she took the elevator to the basement and
almost ran along the cement-floored corridor to the
display room.
Larry was inside talking to a stranger, a thin
young man with his hat on the back of his head.
We want to get a montage effect, he was saying as
Connie came quietly into the room. Luxury angle.
Here are the props. And for Petes sake, take good
care of those pearls!
Watsamatter? asked the young man, who was
apparently a photographer. Are they worth some
dough?
Larry frowned. Theyre not only worth some
dough, but theyve got a habit of disappearing and
132

turning up in the wrong places.

The young man picked up the choker and
weighed it critically in his hand. Then he collected
the furs, the scarf and a hat that Connie recognized
with a shudder as the one with the birds heads that
had so fascinated her on that first Sunday morning.
Have em back tomorrow, he promised. Watchagonna do with the photo, blow it up?
Thats it, for an arty backdrop, Larry told him.
Then he saw Connie over the photographers
shoulder and dismissed him rapidly with a Be
seeing you, boy.
Connie was flushed with excitement. Her eyes
were dark and intense and she looked vivid and very
pictorial in a dark-red wool jumper with a paleyellow shirt. Larry, she said, as soon as the door
had closed behind the thin man, Ive got to ask you
a question. It wont take a minute.
Larry looked at her admiringly and grinned. At
your service, he said.
Think hard, Connie urged him. Can you
remember who it was that wentthis morningto
get Aunt Bets bag?
Thats easy. It was that skinny kid, the one with
the stringy hair and big eyes. Grace he snapped
his fingers. Whats her last name?
Grace Blair, Connie said.
She wasnt surprised. It was as though this had to
133

be the answer, as though she were building in her

mind some unconscious pattern, and that this morsel
of information fitted in. Only one thing nagged at
her; the pattern was flawed. It did not include the
face in the mirror; it did not include the ransacking
of Aunt Bets apartment. Part of it was ragged and
incomplete.
Do me a favor, Larry?
Sure.
Forget I asked you that question.
Curiouser and curiouser, Larry quoted,
scratching his head.
Promise?
Sure, Ill promise, but cant you tell me why?
Maybe I can later, Connie told him, but not
now.
Youre concerned about those pearls turning up
in Bets handbag, arent you?
Connie nodded.
Theres nothing to it, of course.
But its unpleasant, and it could be extremely
awkward, Connie murmured. Aunt Bets upset
more than a little. I can tell.
Theres bound to be a lot of confounded gossip,
Larry muttered, kicking at a papier-mch prop with
the toe of his shoe. He was confirming Connies
own suspicion, that in a womans specialty shop like
Campions, such a story could gather momentum
134

like a snowball racing downhill. And when it finally

came to rest it might be unrecognizable, with Aunt
Bet crushed in its core.
From that moment on, the solving of what Connie
now frankly faced as a real mystery became more
than a game with her. It became a crusade. That her
beloved young aunt should be in any way connected
with thievery was more than distasteful; it was of the
most serious concern. Granted that Elizabeth
Eastons reputation was of the first order, it was still
imperative that she should be completely exonerated
from any blame in connection with the pearls. And
to clear her, Connie knew that the real thief
somehow must be disclosed.
Even if it meant hurting someone? Connie
asked herself, and admitted sadly that her answer
had to be yes.
That night she and her aunt spent a quiet evening.
Connie did more than her share of the supper-getting
and dishwashing because Aunt Bet seemed
depressed and self-absorbed. They didnt discuss the
reappearance of the pearls at any length. There
seemed to be little else to say. And they went to bed
early and slept with the exhaustion that frequently
follows overstrain.
Thursday morning, Connie murmured when
she awoke. It seemed to her that the week was
slipping by very fast.
135

Thursday morning, her aunt echoed with more

decision. Well be busy today. There are several
sales scheduled at the store.
They were busy indeed, so busy that Connie had
no chance to give any attention to anything but the
strict business of modeling. The College Shop salesclerks had such a big day that there was more than
one murmur of relief as they closed their books. The
models, to a girl, kicked off their shoes as they came
into the dressing room for the last time.
Whew! Marcia breathed, sinking down on a
chair with her feet stretched out straight in front of
her. Give me a nice quiet circus any time.
With elephants to ride, agreed Connie. Tonight
her feet were burning with fatigue.
Id rather be a trapeze artist, put in Suzanne
dryly.
Marcia grinned. Because they never touch
ground at all?
They hang by their ankles, though, or is it their
toes? Connie asked.
Ouch, Suzanne cried. I take it all back. She
pulled a silk jersey dress over her head, reached for
a belt and clasped it around her slender, waist, ran a
comb through her hair, freshened her lipstick with a
single, vivid stroke and was gone.
Connie changed without hurrying. She called
good-bye to one after another of the girls, then
136

finally left the dressing room to seek out her aunt in

her office. But Mr. Macom from the advertising
department met her before she reached Miss
Eastons door.
Your aunt has gone down to the hat
department, he said. She wants you to meet her
there.
Connie thanked him and took the elevator to the
second floor, wandering slowly through the deserted
suit section back to Miss Estelles domain. She
passed a few clerks, homeward bound, and wove in
and out among the mirrored tables toward the stock
room, from which came womens voices, one shrill
and excited, another unmistakably her aunts.
It could, Aunt Bet was saying thoughtfully,
have been there all the time.
It was the first remark Connie heard as she
pushed open the door. May I come in? she asked
with more assurance than she would have shown a
few days before.
The hat buyers back was toward her, but she
could see that both Miss Estelle and her aunt were
bending over an open box.
Come in, come in, called Miss Estelle crossly
without turning around. Then she responded to Miss
Eastons previous remark with obvious impatience.
The entire things just too silly for words. But what
I want to know is wheres my hat?
137

Id like to know that too, Estelle. Connies aunt

faced the buyer and met her eyes with a calmness
that must have cost her an effort.
Miss Estelles shoulders jerked in a shrug. You
dont seem too excited.
I just cant see that getting excited will help.
Connie, meanwhile, had crossed the floor to the
wrapping table where the two women stood. Before
them was a small, round hatbox in Campion pink
and gray, identical to the dozens that were piled
along one side of the room; but within it the tissue
paper was mussed, and at the bottom was a brown
pouch bag.
The hatbox? Connies eyes were round with
surprise.
Aunt Bet nodded. But without the hat.
Where did you find it? Connie breathed.
One of our wrappers found it, said Miss Estelle,
still crossly. She spread her hands and shrugged
again. It was stacked in with all those empty boxes.
At the bottom. We had a big day today and just
happened to work down to it. She opened the box to
pack a hat in it, and there was all this crumpled
tissue paper and the bag.
So thats what Aunt Bet meant by saying it
could have been here all the time, Connie
murmured.
Miss Estelle looked at her sharply. I suppose it
138

could, but what difference does that make?

I dont quite know, Connie answered, a puzzled
frown gathering between her eyes. But it might
make a lot.
What day did they stack this new shipment of
boxes? Can you remember, Estelle? Miss Easton
asked.
Certainly I can remember, the buyer snapped,
as though she felt an implied criticism in the
question. It was last Fridayno, Saturday morning.
I phoned for them Friday, but the boys didnt get up
with them until the next day.
Connie and her aunt exchanged a glance. That
would tie in, Connie said. You missed the hatbox
Friday, remember?
I remember, said Aunt Bet.
Miss Estelle glanced at her wrist watch. Well, I
cant stand here forever, she decided wearily. I
have a dinner engagement. She looked at the
hatbox as though it annoyed her and gave it a little
push with her hand. Do you want to take charge of
this, Elizabeth?
I guess its my responsibility. Aunt Bet smiled.
Ill take it to my office and deliver it to the powers
that be in the morning. She closed it, tied it and
carried it out of the stock room, Connie trailing
behind her. I wish this hatbox could talk, she said
ruefully as she unlocked her office door and put the
139

box on her desk.

Wait a minute. Connie untied the box and took
out the pouch bag, weighing it in her hand. It was
made of glove leather and was very light. Then she
examined the outside of the box itself, which looked
fresh and completely unmarred.
I think youre right, Aunt Bet, she said, as she
replaced the bag and tied the box up again. I dont
think this box has ever been out of the store.
Why?
There isnt even a dent in the rim of the hatbox,
top or bottom. It looks as though it has never been
used.
Aunt Bet nodded, and walked toward the back
elevators slowly.
Theres another thing, Connie added.
Whoever took the hat might have missed
completely the fact that the bag was there.
Miss Easton looked puzzled. I dont know what
you mean.
The hat, Connie explained, was probably
fairly heavy, being made of fur.
Yes?
And the bag is unusually light. In the bottom of
the box, covered by tissue, it could have been
overlooked.
Thats an angle, her aunt agreed as she stepped
into the car. They were so late that the regular
140

elevator operators had gone off duty, and it was old

George, the watchman, who greeted them. George
looked worried.
You know, Miss Easton, he said almost at once,
somethin queers goin on around here. Mr.
Campion hisself sent me a note, wantin to see my
night book. Its the first time in twenty year such a
thing has happened. I dont like the look of it, and
thats a fact.

141

CHAPTER

12

Connie Pays a Call

In old Georges night book were the signatures of all

employees of the store who had been admitted to the
premises after hours; and on Friday morning,
Elizabeth Easton, Chipper White, Mr. Kurt, Miss
Estelle and four members of the advertising
department who had been working overtime,
received invitations that were really command
performances.
They were asked to meet in Mr. Campions office
the following morning, and Connie almost wished
her name had been down in Georges book too,
because she suspected that at that time they would
learn the identity of the house detective.
She also wondered whether she should tell
someone in authority about the strange mans face in
the mirror, then decided against it, since neither old
George nor her aunt had given credence to the tale.
142

Even with the implicit belief she felt in the

evidence of her own eyes, Connie felt that the
Sunday encounter confused the issue. It didnt fit in
with the rest of the evidence she was collecting. It
never had.
Otherwise, she felt that she was thinking in a
fairly straight line now. She had asked her aunt a
question at breakfast, and she felt that the answer
had been important.
Aunt Bet, she had said, remember, back in
Meadowbrook, after you phoned the store and
discovered that the hatbox was really missing, what
you said?
No. What did I say?
Connie could repeat the exact words. You said,
It isnt the first time What did you mean?
Oh, theres probably no connection, but for
several months now, it seems to me things have
been disappearing. Not big, important things like the
fur beret and the pearls, but things like a silk scarf,
or a bottle of toilet waterthings Id been using as
props. Theyve just seemed to vanish into thin air
for a day or so; then theyve turned up in odd places.
Its given me the creeps, rather Her voice trailed
off.
Thats very interesting, Connie had said.
Interesting, but not very illuminating.
But Connie was not inclined to discount this
143

observation, as Aunt Bet did. She mulled over it all

day long, and it tied in so inevitably with her own
uncomfortable suspicions that she felt sick at heart.
Throughout the day, as she changed from one
costume to another, as she quoted prices to
interested customers and walked about the store with
her head held high and her shoulders well back, she
felt as though she were carrying about with her a
secret too big to be borne.
I could be wrong, she kept telling herself. I
still could be wrong. Much as she wanted to
confide in someoneher aunt or Larry Stewart
she didnt feel that she had the right to do so until
that last small doubt was eliminated.
During the afternoon rest period for the models,
Connie simply couldnt sit still. The chatter of the
girls, as they relaxed in the dressing room, seemed
superficial and pointless. To escape it, Connie went
downstairs to pay a visit to the display department.
Larrys nonsense, she thought, might divert her
where this small talk couldnt. Besides, he had made
her promise that shed come and see the Lucy at
work.
They were enlarging the photograph of the pearls,
the bird-trimmed hat, the scarf and furs when she
arrived. Larry was adjusting the machine, which
looked rather like a streamlined magic lantern, so
that it threw a clear image against a big oblong of
144

tinted cardboard. The props from which the

photographer had made his eight-by-ten-inch glossy
photograph still lay on the long table.
Want to be an errand girl, Larry asked Connie
as she inspected them idly, and return those
things?
Why? Connie asked with complete candor.
Because Im busy.
Connie chuckled and raised her eyebrows
impishly. You?
Atta girl! called Chipper White from behind a
wire bird cage which he was repainting a violent
shade of green. Youve got the right angle on our
Larry.
Connie relented suddenly. Ill take them back,
she told the young display man. I was just teasing.
It wont be any trouble at all.
Larry really looked busy this afternoon. His hair
was rumpled, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and there
was a smear of paint across one cheek. He bent and
squinted as he focused the delineator. There! he
said finally. Does that look right to you?
Connie looked at the enlargement of the
photograph. Yes, she nodded, but Im no
authority. Then she stepped closer to brush her
fingers over a section of the cardboard on which the
image was thrown. There seemed to be a thread or a
flaw in the paper that ran right behind the enlarged
145

picture of the pearls.

But there was nothing that could be brushed off.
Connies eyebrows crinkled and she hesitated a
moment, then inconspicuously walked back to the
table and took the choker out of its box. Both Larry
and Chipper were so absorbed that they didnt notice
when she examined it carefully, turning the pearls
this way and that under the brilliant overhead light.
They didnt hear her catch her breath as she found
what she had been seeking. They didnt see her eyes
grow dark and troubled as she gently replaced the
choker in the silk-lined box. Against the creamy
background she could see the dismaying evidence
even more clearly. Caught in the intricately strung
pearls was a fragment of a thread of pale-blue
knitting wool.
Connie shut the box lid carefully. She picked up
the hat and the rest of the props and called a
negligent Good-bye to Larry.
The boy came out of his trance of concentration
abruptly. Are you and Bet going to be home
tonight? he asked. I thought I might stop around.
Do that, Connie told him, but without the
enthusiasm she would normally have felt. Im sure
well be in.
Then she walked very slowly down the cementfloored corridor to the service elevators. She wasnt
pleased by what she had discovered, but in her own
146

mind the last small doubt was eliminated.

At the elevators, waiting to go up, she met Mr.
Kurt, who said, You seem to have an armful, Miss
Blair.
I seem to have gotten a new job. Im an errand
girl now, Connie told him with a routine smile.
The floorwalker, always suave and often, Connie
thought, annoyingly unctuous, said, Cant I relieve
you of some of your burden?
Connie shook her head. Oh, no, thanks.
Mr. Kurts eyes were on the red hat. But I
happen to be going right to the hat department, he
told her blandly as he reached out a hand for it. It
wont be any trouble at all.
The elevator door rasped open and the operator
stuck his head out. Going up.
Connie had no recourse. She couldnt get into a
tug of war with Mr. Kurt. More graciously than she
felt, she acquiesced. Well, all right. Thank you,
then.
At the first floor she got off and took the pearls
directly to Miss Potter. Hang on to these, she told
the salesclerk ruefully. Maybe I ought to get a
signed affidavit of their return. Then, because she
was afraid she had sounded caustic, she grinned and
said, Im teasing, really, but I must admit Im glad
to get them out of my hands.
She dropped off the furs and the scarf on the way
147

back to the dressing room, exchanging pleasantries

with the clerks who received them, although her
thoughts were elsewhere. She was trying to decide
what would be the right thing to do with the
information she now possessed.
The other models noticed her absorption when
she returned, and teased her about it.
Connies in love, Suzanne insisted. Her
minds a million miles away.
Marcia retorted slyly. It isnt a million miles to
the display department.
At that Connie awoke. She whirled around,
searching for some flippant retort, but at the same
time she could feel a red flush staining her cheeks.
Im not going to fall in love for years and years
yet, she told them feebly. Im going to be a career
gal, didnt you know?
Somehow, although she meant what she said, it
sounded unconvincing, and Marcia and Suzanne
both laughed. Connie joined them, in spite of her
discomfiture. She had learned in these few days the
value of being able to laugh at herself.
Connie changed into a pair of hunter-green slacks
and a plaid wool shirt, and then wandered down to
the hat departmentnot to check up on Mr. Kurt,
she told herself, but just to make sure that her
responsibility was discharged. The red hat was
already occupying a position of honor in a front
148

showcase, she saw with satisfaction.

And tomorrow, she thought grimlyor at the
very latest, on Mondaythe fur beret should be
beside it. Because now Connie thought she knew
how the beret had disappeared. More important, she
also thought she could get it back, singlehanded.
Once it was returned, at least a part of Aunt Bets
worries would be over. As to her future course of
action, Connie wasnt quite clear. It seemed to her
that the recovery of the fur hat was of the most
immediate importance. After that, there would be
time to decide . . .
Anything wrong? Miss Estelle stood at
Connies shoulder and the girl came out of her
brown study with a start.
No. Nothing at all. Telling the little white lie,
Connie forced a smile. I was just admiring this red
sailor. I think its my favorite hat. The birds eyes
are so unusual, like
Like stars, Connie had been about to say, but as
she actually examined them now, they seemed
different to her. They lacked their old sparkle, their
former gleam.
But Miss Estelle seemed to see nothing amiss.
These French designers do remarkable things with
paste jewels, she agreed. Now whod ever think of
using those fake stickpins for birds eyes?
Who indeed?
149

Connie turned the question over in her mind as

she made a tour of the second floor. She wondered
whether her imagination was running away with her,
whether there was even a morsel of common sense
in the wild idea that was growing in her mind like a
genie emerging from a bottle. She shook her
shoulders, as though she could shrug the notion off.
Im getting to be worse than Toby, she told herself.
Deliberately, now, she put this new possibility
from her mind and began to plan a course of action
that would result in the return of the fur hat. She
went to the personnel director and asked if she could
glance through the address file of employees, then
carefully noted down two addresses on a slip of
paper, and put the slip into her wallet. One she
might never use, but the other she needed
immediately. After work, that very evening, she
intended to make a call.
Connie told her aunt nothing of her real
destination. She manufactured an excuse and
promised to be home for dinner by seven oclock.
The store closed at five-thirty. That left her a full
hour and a half.
On Seventeenth Street Connie took a southbound
trolley. Within a few blocks of Walnut the
neighborhood began to change, and the car lurched
and rattled along between close-packed houses,
dingy shops and ill-kept streets. It was a different
150

Philadelphia into which Connie was taken, as

remote from the section of luxury apparel shops as
anything she could possibly imagine. For block after
city block, the dreariness was unchanging. Even the
softness of the late summer twilight could lend it no
charm.
Connie consulted the address in her wallet, then
asked the conductors advice.
Ill tell you when to get off, he told her. Just
sit down there.
The car, crowded when it had passed through the
center of town, was almost empty when the man
beckoned to Connie. Its west from here about half
a square, he said.
The word west made it easy. The sun was
sinking rapidly behind a screen of houses, a fat
golden ball that touched dusty windows with a rosy
glow. Connie walked rapidly toward it, winding in
and out among playing children and empty ash cans
waiting to be reclaimed from the brick sidewalk. She
began checking off the numbers above the doors
1720, 1722, 1724.
Finally, before one that seemed tidier than its
neighbors, she paused. Now that she was actually
here, she scarcely knew how to proceed.
Because she was at a momentary loss, Connie
walked on a few paces, then turned back toward the
scrubbed marble stoop. An older woman, as thin and
151

wan as Grace Blair herself, had appeared on the

steps to shake out a mop. and Connie took her
courage in hand and approached her.
Are you Mrs. Blair? she asked.
The woman looked at her as though she were
seeing an apparition, and it was small wonder,
because Connie looked more than ever like a
magazine-cover girl as she stood alone and vivid in
the dingy street.
Yes, Im Mrs. Blair, came the reply.
Im a friend of Graces, from the store, Connie
told her.
Grace isnt home yet, Mrs. Blair said, as though
she mistrusted her own ears.
Connie knew that Grace would have had to do
some special hustling to have reached here ahead of
her, but she pretended disappointment. Oh, isnt
she? I particularly wanted to see her. She smiled
disarmingly, then asked, with some hesitation,
Could I, perhaps, come in?
Mrs. Blair hesitated on her part for. a moment,
then, apparently unable to find a plausible excuse,
stood aside. You can wait in the front room, she
told Connie. It used to be the parlor, but now its
sort of torn up, because my other girls been sick,
and we had to move her in there.
Nothing could have suited Connies convenience
more perfectly. Dont apologize, she told Mrs.
152

Blair, giving her arm an impulsive squeeze of

comfort. Grace has told me about her sister, and I
think having her on the first floor is a fine idea!
There was such genuine friendliness in Connies
voice that Mrs. Blair warmed to her. Ellie ought to
be up and out by now, she said in a lowered voice,
but she just cant seem to grab hold of any interest
in life. Grace and I have tried and tried
Im sure you have! Connie replied when Mrs.
Blair seemed at a loss to go on. Let me talk to her
while Im waiting. Maybe a new face will help.
By now they were in a narrow, dark hallway
which ran along the wall of the row house. It was
hard for Connie to adjust her eyes to the gloom, and
she groped along in Mrs. Blairs wake to the
archway which led to the front room.
Ellie, she heard her hostess say, this is a young
lady from Campions, come to see Grace. She
turned again to Connie. I didnt get your name.
Connie. Connie Blair. My last names the same
as yours. Again Connie made this remark
companionably, as though it established terms of
intimacy between them. She looked toward the
windows, where Ellie was no more than a shadowy
silhouette propped against pillows on a couch.
Blinking and fighting to see clearly in the darkness,
Connie walked forward.
Im so glad to meet you, Ellie. Ive been seeing
153

a lot of the beautiful knitting you do for the store.

Connie couldnt see that the girl had bone needles
in her hands now, but she could hear their muted
clack-clack.
Ellie always could knit just beautifully, Mrs.
Blair was saying proudly, from the time she was a
little thing.
To Connie, whose vision was now clearer, the
girl on the couch still seemed a little thing, and so
fragile that she was almost transparent. She was like
her mother and sister in some ways, yet in others
quite different, as though the same family
characteristics had been molded in finer clay.
For the first time she spoke, raising her gray eyes
directly to Connies brown ones. Wont you sit
down, she said.
Connie sank into the chair she indicated with a
grateful sigh of relief. She had scarcely dared hope
that the invalid would accept her. But now that she
was inside the Blair house the solution of the
mystery that was baffling Campions seemed
actually at hand!

154

CHAPTER

13

Part of the Story

When Connie Blair made a special effort to be

charming she was very attractive indeed, and her
friendly overtures were irresistible to Graces sister,
who thawed perceptibly as the minutes passed.
I think the things you knit for the store are
perfectly lovely, Connie complimented her. You
should see the way theyre displayed in the Baby
Bazaar. Youd be terribly proud!
The clack-clack of the needles continued, and
although the younger girl merely nodded, a light of
interest came into her eyes. This is a new design for
a sweater, she offered after a while, smoothing out
the garment on which she was working. Connie
moved forward to examine it more closely.
Oh, its sweet!
It was a tiny sacque of the palest blue wool, as
fine and soft as a ducklings down, and Connie put
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her next question carefully.

How long does it take you to make a sweater
like that?
Ive been working on this for three days.
Up to this minute, Connie realized that she had
been hoping against hope that this visit would
disprove her theory, but Ellies answer sounded a
death knell to such a fancy. Her chest felt tight with
dismay and it was hard to make her answer sound
casual.
Such a short time! You must be fast.
Ellie was smoothing the wool with her thin hand.
If it takes more than three days for a garment, it
doesnt pay me, she said.
Connie, conscious of the passing time, tried a
new tack. You love pretty things, dont you?
Ellie stopped fondling the wool abruptly. I guess
most girls do. Why?
You have such sensitive fingers, Connie said.
My aunt is a stylist and she loves to touch fabrics
and run her hands over materials and furs. Ive
watched her, often.
Does she, really? Ellie sounded surprised.
You should meet Aunt Bet! Connie found
herself saying. Shes a marvelous person. Shes
young and full of enthusiasm. And she has a terribly
responsible job at the store.
I think Grace has told me about her, Ellie said.
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Mrs. Blair appeared in the doorway. Grace ought

to be home in a few minutes, she said. I have to go
down the street to the store. Her glance roved from
her daughter to Connie nervously, as though she
couldnt quite figure out what this visit meant.
You go right ahead. Were having a fine time.
Connie felt like a hypocrite as she smiled back at
her, but the pale woman in the doorway accepted her
assurance, and managed a thin, tired smile in return.
There was a quality in Mrs. Blairs smile that
affected Connie with the force and directness of a
blow. She felt like more than a hypocrite now; she
felt like an interloper. Her impulse to help Aunt Bet,
to exonerate her from any connection with the
disappearance of the pearls or the fur hat, was
supplanted by a sudden welling of desire to protect
these people, who looked so beaten, who seemed so
much less able to get along in the world than she.
She wished she hadnt come. She wanted to get
out of this house. She never wanted Grace to know
that she had pried. Frantically she began to seek for
an excuse to leave.
But now that Ellie had accepted her she was
growing more talkative. What do you do at the
store? the girl asked.
Im a model, just for two weeks. I dont work
there regularly, Connie said.
A model! Again a shy gleam of interest
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awakened Ellies eyes. It must be wonderful to

wear pretty clothes.
It is fun, Connie told her, and in spite of herself
she began to respond with a description of her job.
She told Ellie about the other models, about the
fashion shows in the Mirror Room, about life behind
the scenes in a big store, painting such a vivid and
exciting picture for the invalid that Ellie stopped
knitting and sat forward attentively, her hands
clasped in her lap.
You make it sound different than Grace does. I
think Id like to work in a store like that, Ellie said
at last.
I think you would too. Why dont you try to get
a job there when you get better! Connie cried.
Then, carried away by her own enthusiasm, she
began to plan. I could speak to Aunt Bet
What are you doing here?
The voice that came from the doorway was cold
and level. Connie got to her feet as one would
prepare to meet an adversary, and turned to face
Grace.
What are you talking about to my sister? In the
stock girls voice there was both belligerence and
fear.
We were just talking about the shop. I was
telling her about my job, Connie added hastily as a
glint of suspicion appeared in Graces eyes.
158

Why?
Connie shrugged lightly, and tried to make her
smile natural and friendly, although she felt
decidedly ill at ease. We were just passing the time,
waiting for you.
Ellie raised confused eyes to her sisters. I think
it might be fun to work at Campions, someday, she
said thoughtfully. Miss Blair makes it sound like a
lovely store.
Graces shoulders sagged in obvious relief, and at
the same time she seemed surprised at her sisters
interest.
Its better than most, she agreed.
Connie glanced at her wrist watch. Goodness,
Ive got to run! Walk to the trolley with me, Grace,
will you? I can tell you what I came to see you about
on the way.
Grace recognized this for a ruse, but she
reluctantly agreed. Connie said good-bye to Ellie,
and was rewarded with a request. Come see me
again, wont you? the girl on the couch urged.
Id love to, Connie told her, and I will!
But she wondered, as she followed Grace down
the narrow hallway into the twilight, whether she
would ever be permitted to see the inside of that
house again.
The stock girl stopped at the foot of the marble
steps and whirled to face Connie. All right, what is
159

it? She spoke barely above a whisper, but she

reminded Connie of a terrified fawn that the
headlights of her dads car had picked out, one night
on a lonely country road.
Connie knew that now she must think and talk
fast. Dont mistrust me, she begged, reaching out
a hand to touch Graces arm. I want to help you,
really I do.
Again Connies winning personality stood her in
good stead, for the expression in Graces eyes
softened slightly. Help me? Why?
Together the girls had turned toward the corner,
and were walking slowly along the narrow street. I
think you know why, Connie said. Dont lets
pretend any more.
But Grace still had the fighting instinct of the
trapped. Pretend? she said, her voice unnaturally
shrill. I dont know what youre talking about.
I think you do. Connies direct brown eyes met
Graces gray ones for a fraction of a second; then
Graces slid away.
Dont think I blame you too much, Connie
plunged. I know youve beenborrowingthings
from the store to bring home to your sister, and
Grace stopped and turned, her eyes narrowing.
Did you get her to tell you that? You!
Connie shook her head in vigorous denial. No!
Grace, honestly, I didnt. I came here to see you. I
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wouldntinvolveEllie for the world.

Slowly, as she realized that she had betrayed
herself, a red flush climbed up Graces neck.
Ive always taken them back, she mumbled, her
eyes on the ground. Ellie loves pretty things so
loves to see them and touch them. I was just trying
to get her to want to get well.
I know, Connie said, and waited.
Grace raised her head, a spark of defiance in her
pale eyes. It wasnt really stealing, she insisted,
Ive always taken them back.
Always? Connie asked, forcing the girl to meet
her eyes.
Why, of course. What do you mean?
Connie could be blunt. What about the fur
beret?
Beret? Grace looked sincerely puzzled. Oh,
the fur hat! I felt badly about that. I didnt know
Miss Easton wanted it for her fashion show.
But it was on my aunts desk, wasnt it? You
must have known
In a low voice, little more than a whisper, Grace
replied, I was only borrowing it. I was going to
bring it back.
But then you couldnt?
Oh, yes, I did get it back on Monday, Grace
said earnestly. But there was such a hue and cry
about it I didnt dare take it to the hat department. I
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just put it down in the display room, on a shelf

behind some dummies. I thought sure one of the
boys would find it before now.
Connie caught hold of Graces arm. Grace, she
said slowly, will you tell me how you got that box
out of the store without being seen?
A look of surprise replaced the fear in the stock
girls eyes. Whywhy, all I took was the fur hat.
II hid it in my blouse, she said.
It was Connies turn to look surprised. But what
did you do with the box? she exclaimed.
Graces eyes did not meet Connies. After a
moments silence she muttered sullenly, I took the
box down to the hat department and hid it among
some empties along the wall.
Didnt you notice a leather purse in the bottom
of the box? asked Connie.
All I saw was a lot of tissue paper, the girl
replied in a dull voice. I didnt steal anything. I
brought everything back that I ever took. She began
to sniffle.
Connie shook her head. The devious workings of
Graces childlike brain puzzled her. Dont you
realize how much trouble this has meant for my
aunt? she asked.
Graces eyes dropped again. Im sorry, she
murmured. I never thought
Connie bit her lip. Scolding wouldnt help at this
162

point. But she couldnt resist asking, curiously,

Why dont you like my aunt?
Miss Easton? Oh, but I do like her! Grace cried.
Shes a wonderful person. And shes always been
awfully nice to me.
Then why in the name of common sense,
Connie asked, spreading her hands, would you
want to plant that choker of pearls in her handbag
and make her look like a thief?
The word, coming close to home, seemed to
strike terror to Graces heart. She backed up against
a board fence, her hands behind her, her eyes fixed
on Connies. I didnt put them there, she
whispered. I wouldnt do a thing like that.
It was Connies turn to show puzzlement. You
didnt put them there?
No. Honest!
Connies face expressed her disbelief.
Honestly, Miss Blair. Im not lying.
In Graces eyes there was utter candor. Connies
own brows knit and she tried to think clearly.
But you did bring them home to Ellie.
I Grace started, but Connie said quickly,
Dont tell me you didnt. I know. There was a
thread of pale-blue knitting wool tangled in the
pearls.
Graces shoulders straightened a little. I was just
going to tell you that I did bring them home. I
163

wasnt going to deny that. They were lying on the

counter, and they had such a pretty glow. I didnt
dream they were worth a lot of money. Dont you
see?
Connie tried hard to see, to understand the
impulse that would lead Grace to borrow the
pretty things with which she prodded her sisters
lagging interest, but she was too essentially honest
and normal to really comprehend this distortion of
right and wrong.
Tell me the whole story, Grace, from the time
you took them to the time you brought them back.
Grace clasped her hands in front of her, the
knuckles showing white under the thin skin. It was
Monday, she said. In the afternoon. I just
happened to be going past the jewelry counter and
there was the choker, with nobody near it. I know I
never should have touched it, especially now. But I
couldnt seem to resist it! I just slipped it in the
pocket of my jumper. There were lots of strings of
pearls on the rack, so I thought nobodyd miss it
overnight.
And then? Connie asked, not enjoying her role
of inquisitor but knowing that for Aunt Bets sake
she must get the truth from Grace.
I took the choker home. Ellie held it in her hand
and wore it that night. In the morning she begged me
to let her keep it one more day, and I did.
164

Grace paused and looked up and down the narrow

street, empty now except for a lean gray cat foraging
in a trash can.
So you brought it back on Wednesday, Connie
said. But how did it get into Aunt Bets handbag if
you didnt put it there?
Suddenly Graces expression became guarded. I
dont know, she said. I dont, really. I was just as
surprised!
Connie frowned, conscious of a missing link
somewhere. When you brought it back, just what
did you do with it? she asked.
But Graces eyes had darted toward the corner,
around which Mrs. Blair was coming with an
armload of groceries. She said, Id better go help
my mother, and without any further good-bye she
scurried off.

165

CHAPTER

14

Display Room Quest

All the way home, on the northbound trolley,

Connie tried to find the missing link. Somehow, she
believed that Grace hadnt planted the pearls in Aunt
Bets handbag, but if she hadnt, who had?
Did Grace know?
Connie couldnt be sure. She felt that Grace at
least suspected the culprit, and Connie was
determined, before another day went by, to force the
information from her. For who, in all of Campions
big store, could hate Aunt Bet to such an extent?
Who could want her to be suspected of shoplifting,
of thievery? Who could want to have her reputation
smirched? It seemed incredible to Connie that her
attractive young aunt should have an enemy. It
didnt quite make sense.
It was very close to seven oclock when Connie
reached the apartment. Elizabeth Easton was making
166

French dressing, crushing a clove of garlic in the

bottom of a wooden bowl. She looked up with a
cordial hello but did not inquire into her nieces
whereabouts. Connie appreciated her tact.
Conversation during dinner was sporadic. Aunt
Bet seemed preoccupied and Connie was busy with
her own tangled thoughts. It wasnt until they had
finished dessert that the girl put the question that
was troubling her most.
Aunt Bet, is there anybody at Campions who
seriously dislikes you?
Miss Easton looked up in surprise, then chuckled.
Not that I know of, she said, unless it could be
the person who slipped the pearls in my handbag.
Thats what I was thinking about, Connie said.
Further conversation was interrupted by the
arrival of Larry Stewart, who breezed in with the
suggestion that they all go out to the last of the
summer concerts at Robin Hood Dell.
Wait till I call my family, Connie persuaded
him. I havent had time to write, and Mother will
think Im lost or strayed.
But not stolen? Larry asked.
Not stolen, said Connie firmly. Please lets not
even mention the word. Its getting me down.
The evening was a pleasant interlude. Connie,
warmed by the conversation with each member of
her family, who took turns at the telephone, let the
167

music of the famous orchestra lull her as she sat in

the great, dim bowl which was the open-air dell and
looked up beyond the fireflies to the stars. Larry was
on one side of her, Aunt Bet on the other, and they
seemed like the most perfect companions a girl
could wish.
They had driven out to Fairmount Park in
Elizabeth Eastons car, and as they walked back to
the great parking lot after the concert, Connie
enjoyed the feeling of being anonymous, of being
lost in a crowd. It was part of her liking for the city,
the sensation of being one with many. A little
shudder of pleasure ran through her, because she
was here, because the night was so beautiful, and
because she was young.
A penny for that thought, Larry said at her
elbow, but Connie shook her head. She couldnt put
the feeling into words. It was too close to the core of
living to be expressed.
Why she didnt want to tell Larry or her aunt
about her interview with Grace, Connie wasnt quite
sure. Perhaps it was because she felt that their
conversation was unfinished, incomplete, or perhaps
it was because she felt that Grace had the right to
make her own confession, had an obligation to do so
if she were to regain her self-respect.
In any event, Connie went to bed with her secret
unrevealed, and slept unusually soundly, to awaken
168

in the morning to rain pelting against the windows

and the city turned dun-colored. She yawned aloud
and stretched, and said to her aunt, A lovely day!
The day of inquisition, Aunt Bet said.
Inquisition?
In Mr. Campions office. The Case of the
Missing Necklace or Who Stole the Tools?
But behind her nonsense Connie felt a genuine
concern. She knew that her aunt did not like the
situationnot one little bit.
The conference was called for ten oclock, and at
ten-twenty Connie, who was modeling a ski suit,
was tapped on the arm by the assistant buyer in the
coat department. Youre wanted in Mr. Campions
office, the woman told her. Theyve been calling
all over the store.
Connie could guess the reason why. Old George,
conscientious and loyal to his employers, had
revealed the fact that she, too, had been in the store
last Sunday. Connie hurried upstairs hoping that this
would not cause fresh difficulties for her aunt.
In the Campion inner sanctum quite a little group
was assembled, seated on office chairs around the
big mahogany desk of the president.
Send her in, Mr. Campion called brusquely
when his secretary announced Connie. As she
walked through the door, Chipper White rose and
pulled up another chair.
169

Connie had hoped to meet the house detective,

but there was no strange face here. Mr. Kurt nodded
to her blandly, the advertising men acknowledged
her with little jerks of their heads, and Miss Estelle,
fingers drumming on her chair arm, ignored her
completely. Her aunt caught her eye and smiled, and
Chipper made an indistinguishable noise of
encouragement as he<seated her.
Mr. Campion skipped the preliminaries. You
were in the store last Sunday with your aunt, Miss
Blair?
Yes, sir, Connie said, feeling more than ever
like a recalcitrant student before a school principal.
On what floors?
On the third, the second and, of course, the
first.
What were you doing on the second floor?
I was waiting for my aunt to finish some work
and I wandered down to the hat department, Connie
said.
Tell me in exact detail what happened there.
Connie glanced at her aunt and Miss Easton
nodded, so she told the entire extravagant story of
the face in the mirror and her consequent awakening
with old George and her aunt holding her head.
The reaction of the listeners was quite interesting.
Mr. Campion heard her out with no change of
expression, Miss Estelle looked insulted, the
170

advertising men disbelieving, and Mr. Kurt wore a

flickering smile that told the assembly that he
considered this narrative completely absurd.
When Connie finished, Mr. Campion made no
comment, but he asked one question.
Would you be able to identify this man if you
saw him again?
Im not sure, Connie said slowly. I had such a
fleeting glimpse of his face, and, of course, the thing
that attracted my attention most was the hat.
Thank you. That will be all just now, Mr.
Campion told the group. I may ask one or two of
you to come back this afternoon.
Connie felt that Mr. Campion was looking
directly at her when he made this parting remark,
but it may have been her imagination, because
Chipper admitted, as they rode down in the elevator
together, that he felt the same way.
It was past eleven when Connie again reached the
first floor, and although she had been looking for her
all morning, she still hadnt seen Grace Blair. If the
stock girl didnt turn up soon, Connie decided, shed
simply march down to the display room and hunt for
that fur hat herself.
She was just suiting her actions to this decision
when, in the basement corridor, a middle-aged
woman who looked vaguely familiar stopped her.
I wonder if you could help me? she asked
171

Connie, adjusting her sensible felt hat.

I dont know, but Ill try, Connie said with
ready courtesy.
Im looking for the personnel office, and I
understood it was down here.
Oh, no, Connie told her, smiling. Its on the
second floor, at the north end of the building.
The woman looked more helpless than ever. I
wonder if you could take me there, she asked
persuasively. I dont know why, but in a big store I
always seem to get turned around.
Connie tried to hide her reluctance as she
acquiesced. Although she was sure that no one
except herself and Grace knew that the fur beret was
secreted in the display room, she would feel easier
in her mind when it was safely back in the hat
department where it belonged.
Since last night she had been puzzling about how
this should be done. It was Graces obligation, she
felt, to make the restitution. Connies essential
honesty told her that there was no way out for Grace
but to go to someone in authority and confess
everything. While what she had been doing was, of
course, wrong, there was no actual felony involved,
and Connie felt fairly certain that the stock girl
would be let off with a severe reprimand. But first
she had to persuade Grace that this was the right
thing to do.
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Campions is such a nice store, the woman with

whom she was walking down the corridor was
saying. Do you like working here?
Oh, yes, Connie told her. But Im only
employed here temporarily. Im modeling for the
College Shop.
Goodness, then what are you doing down in the
basement? the woman asked with a little laugh.
I just had an errand to the display department,
Connie told her, although she considered the
question rather prying. She pushed the elevator
button, wishing the operator would hurry. She didnt
want to be off the floor long enough to be missed
and this unnecessary escort job might mean shed
have to postpone her visit to the display department
until after the luncheon show.
It did, as a matter of fact. The elevator was slow,
and the woman was inclined to be voluble.
Immediately after delivering the lady safely to the
door of the personnel manager, Connie met Marcia,
who signaled to her with a raised finger.
Theres a customer in the College Shop who
wants to see that outfit youre wearing. Better get
back; theyve been looking for you.
Connie thanked her and hurried off, to parade
before a stout matron and her thin daughter, who
planned to take up skiing at Middlebury and was
buying her entire winter wardrobe in one fell swoop.
173

Then the College Shop buyer asked Connie to

change into some other costumes for the same
customer. By the time she was finished, it was the
hour at which she regularly joined the other girls in
the models room to dress for the luncheon show.
When she reached there she found Suzanne
studying a typewritten notice newly tacked to the
bulletin board.
All models, it read, are to remain in areas
assigned to them during working hours. Rest periods
will be spent in the models room, not on the floor.
It was almost as though, Connie thought,
someone were directing this ruling straight at her.
She raised her eyebrows, returned Suzannes shrug,
and thoughtfully began to change her dress.
It was three oclock in the afternoon before
Connie had the good fortune to run into Grace Blair.
By obeying this new ruling she had no opportunity
to seek her out, but Grace, bearing a pile of boxes
from the stock room, almost collided with her as she
was traversing the first floor, and Connie had time to
whisper, Meet me on the back stairs in five
minutes, and Grace to give a nod of reply.
The back stairway was out of bounds, but Connie
felt she had to have a word in private with Grace,
and the employees rest room was always crowded
with salesclerks.
Grace met her promptly, trembling with agitation,
174

as though the previous evenings interview were still

fresh in her mind.
What are you going to do? she asked at once.
Im not going to do anything, Connie said
gently, meeting the girls alarmed eyes. But I think
you ought to take back the hat yourself, and tell
Miss Estelle and my aunt the whole story. They can
decide what to do next.
But Ill lose my job, Grace said tonelessly.
Not necessarily, Connie told her. But its a
chance youll have to take.
They could even send me to jail. Fright was in
Graces upturned eyes, fright and an awakening
sense of shame.
Nonsense, Connie said. You havent kept
anything youve takennot once youve returned
the hat.
But how am I going to get the hat? Mr. Stewart
and Mr. White are always there.
The little stock girls attitude confounded Connie,
who was herself so direct. Ill help you, after work.
Well go down there together. Well take the beret
back to the hat department tonight, and Monday
morning first thing, well get Miss Estelle and Aunt
Bet together. Ill stick by you, Grace. It wont be too
hard.
Itll be awful, Grace groaned, but nevertheless
she agreed to meet Connie in the display department
175

fifteen minutes after the store closed for the night.

By then, Connie knew, most of the employees
would have left, and they would have a clear field.
All right then. Quarter of six.
Quarter of six, Grace echoed. In the display
room.
There was a creak from the door just above them,
and Connie glanced upward. In the doorway was the
stout woman she had led to the personnel
department in the morning, looking just as baffled as
she had several hours before.
Oh, I beg your pardon, the woman said. I
thought this was the door to the street.
The door shut hastily behind her, but Connies
brown eyes wrinkled. She seems awfully vague
she started.
Shes been around a lot lately, Grace cut in. I
think she must live in this store.
Connie laughed. Some of our customers seem
to, she said. I seem to recognize her face, too,
Then she scampered, because it was growing late,
and Grace went on about her less interesting tasks.
At closing time Connie dressed with apparent
languor, stretching out the process as far as possible.
When Miss Easton stuck her head in the door of the
models room and said, Ready, Connie? her niece
was still in her slip.
You go on, Connie suggested. Ill be along in
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a little while.
Her aunt agreed readily enough. Ill stop at the
market, she said, naming one near the apartment.
Look for me there if you should catch up.
Connie promised that she would, and kept on
dressing at a snails pace until the models room
emptied. Then she glanced at her wrist watch,
slipped out the door, and, avoiding the elevators,
started down the enclosed stairs at the rear of the
store.
From the second to the first floor she met no one,
but on the flight leading to the basement, just as she
turned the corner from the landing, she suddenly
came upon Mr. Kurt.
The floorwalker was on his way up, and Connie
encountered him so suddenly that she was startled.
Oh! she cried, momentarily caught off guard.
Then she offered the first excuse for being on the
stairs that came to her head. I was just trying to
catch one of the stock girls before she left the locker
room, she told him, edging past him as though she
were indeed in a hurry. She forced her voice to
sound casual and bright, and managed to smile at the
floorwalker, although she actually had little love for
the bald-headed man.
The locker rooms were in the basement. It was a
safe enough fib. Yet Connie bit her lip as she
hastened on. Everybody seemed so suspicious and
177

wary these days that it made her uncomfortable, and

she wished she hadnt left herself open to any
further criticism.
Oh, well!
She whispered the words as she hurried along the
corridor to the display room. Through the double
swinging doors, she could see a dim ceiling light
burning. It made shadows flare along the dark walls,
and on the big drawing tables which were clear and
tidy for the night.
The room was apparently empty when Connie
walked in, but from a far corner came a scratching
noise.
Softly Connie spoke. Grace!
She waited a moment, but there was no answer,
so she walked forward a few paces and called again.
Grace!
The scratching noise increased, and Graces pale
face appeared from behind a rampart of showwindow props. Her hair was disheveled and she
looked very intent.
Theyve piled a lot of new stuff in front of these
shelves. No wonder nobody found the hat, she said.
Turning, she dragged at the dismembered torso of
a window dummy, pulling it away from the pile of
odds and ends hiding the wall. The top of an Ionic
pillar came next, then the removable sides of a red
wheelbarrow. Connie hurried forward.
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Here. Ill help.

In the dim light, the girls worked for a few
minutes in silence. Connie had a dozen questions on
her lips, but she felt a sense of urgency to get this
job over and done with. She hadnt forgotten that
they were on forbidden ground. If she were found
here with Grace, before the stock girl had a chance
to make a voluntary confession, the consequences
might be very serious indeed.
You certainly picked a spot, Connie whispered
after a while. She straightened and blew the hair out
of her eyes.
The shelves were right in plain sight on
Monday, Grace whispered back. I didnt dream
theyd use this corner for storage this way.
Suddenly, to Connies sharp ears, came the sound
of footsteps. She touched Graces arm and put a
cautionary finger to her lips. Both girls turned,
expecting old George, the night watchman, but it
was not a man who came quietly into the room.
It was a woman, the woman in the sensible felt
hat who had been haunting Connie all day. From
where she crouched in the shadow behind the
diminished pile of props, Connie could see that her
eyes had lost their baffled expression, that they were
alert and watchful. She walked to the center of the
room, paused by the worktable, then gradually
began making a circuit of the floor. Connie and
179

Grace shrank against the wall, scarcely daring to

breathe. They were completely hidden by their
screen of display materials if the visitor did not think
to peer over the top.
If
The feet, hitting the cement floor evenly, came
closer, receded. Connie let a long breath out slowly.
The hinge of the swinging door creaked and the
footsteps died away.
Stiff from crouching, Connie arose and pulled
Grace to her feet. The stock girls eyes were wide
with surprise.
Shes a customer here. Ive seen her around lots.
What do you suppose?
I suppose, Connie whispered quickly, that Ive
been completely blind. Shes been dogging my
footsteps all day, and she heard us make an
arrangement to meet down here. Thats the new
house detective or my name isnt Connie Blair!
Detective? Grace seemed to shrink.
Theres nothing for you to get upset about now,
Connie told her. The dangers over, for the
moment. Youre going to be able to return that hat
under your own steam.
They had gone back to work, but with added
quietness, and after a few more minutes Grace was
able to pull aside a heavy ladder and reach the shelf
where she had left the hat.
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Its still here, she told Connie in some relief the

minute she could see it. She wriggled toward it,
reached it, and a second later was blowing display
department dust from the soft fur as she held the
beret in her hand.
Connie looked at the little piece of Paris millinery
curiously. The famous hat! she said. Not being
familiar with the fabulous selling prices of French
originals, it scarcely seemed possible to her that this
scrap of fur, with its gay, extravagant little ornament
of feathers and ribbon and what looked like a
reproduction of an old pink cameo, could be worth
far more than Aunt Bets salary for a week.
She took it from Grace and turned it in her hand.
A pretty thing, she said, and a tricky ornament,
made to look genuine. But why anyone would pay
into the hundreds for an original like this
Hundreds? Grace was shocked.
Certainly. Didnt you know? Connie was so
relieved to have the hat in her hand that her tone was
almost teasing. You didnt borrow any little twoninety-five items to take home to Ellie. You had an
eye for quality, Grace. Nothing but the best.
Then, from the expression in the stock girls eyes,
she realized that her attempt at raillery had been
cutting. Im sorry! She reached out a hand. I
didnt mean
She never finished the sentence. From no more
181

than two feet behind her a mans voice said, in a

tone of sneering accusation, So! The Misses Blair!
And Connie whirled around, still holding the fur
beret, to look straight into the narrow eyes of Mr.
Kurt.
He had his right hand in the pocket of his
pinstriped suit coat, and the other held a light felt
hat. His glance flew for a second to the beret Connie
was clutching, and Connie thought she detected a
glimmer of relief as the pupils of his eyes widened.
Just what, he asked with a contemptuous curl of
his upper lip, do you think youre doing here?

182

CHAPTER

15

Curiouser and Curiouser

Grace cringed against a papier-mch pillar, but

Connie, far from being intimidated by the
floorwalkers unexpected appearance, took a step
forward.
Just what business is that of yours?
Mr. Kurts dark eyebrows shot upward, as though
he were surprised at such insolence. His bald head
shone in the dim light and his nostrils quivered like
a wary rabbits, in contrast to the cold steadiness of
his eyes.
The moment she spoke Connie could see the hand
in the right pocket of his coat jerk forward, and it
occurred to her that he might be carrying a gun. But
she wouldnt give him the satisfaction of glancing
downward. She kept her brown eyes fixed with
equal steadiness on his.
Youll find out, he said, with just a suggestion
183

of a curl to his upper lip. His eyes flickered toward

Grace, then returned to Connie. I already had the
goods on the kid here, but I must admit Im a bit
surprised to find you in this racket too.
What racket? Connie could be equally cool.
Dont bother bluffing, Mr. Kurt said. His left
hand shot forward, palm upward, after he tossed his
hat to the display table. Suppose you pass over that
fur beret.
Why? asked Connie, without moving.
Because, Mr. Kurt said, its just about time it
got back to where it belongs.
We were thinking the same thing, Connie told
him. We were about to put it there.
Dont make me laugh. The dry cackle that
came from Mr. Kurts throat was hardly merriment.
Connie glanced at Grace, and Grace surprisingly
took a timid step forward. Dont give it to him,
she said, scarcely above a whisper.
But Mr. Kurt had taken a menacing step toward
Grace. Shut up, you!
Connies even eyebrows wrinkled. This was
getting a little thick. The bulge in Mr. Kurts pocket
looked more and more like the barrel of an
automatic. Could she have been wrong in her guess
as to the identity of the new house detective. Could
Mr. Kurt?
Handoverthathat.
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Each word was rapped out with staccato

sharpness, and this time Grace didnt murmur, but
Connie reacted almost instinctively to the bullying
tone of his voice.
She put her hands, still holding the beret, behind
her in a childish gesture of refusal. By what
authority? she asked, and she backed away a pace
or two, moving toward the precariously stacked pile
of props.
Mr. Kurt was apparently losing patience. Ill
show you by what authority, he muttered. He thrust
his neck forward and fixed Connies eyes with his,
coming toward her slowly, with the air of an angry
man who has been baited too far.
Connie still backed away. She wished, in the
second or two that remained before Kurt could reach
her, that she knew whether he was faking that
concealed gun. There was an evil glint in his eyes
that crystallized a purpose she had been forming,
and with a sudden kick of her left foot she took a
long chance. With the toe of her slipper she hooked
the leg of a small table, using all her strength to send
it spinning outward between her and her attacker.
All the miscellaneous props with which it had been
piled, hatstands, baskets, boxes and wooden
pedestals, went crashing to the floor, and at the same
instant Grace, who had been edging toward the door
unobserved by either Connie or the floorwalker,
185

clicked the switch that controlled the single

overhead night light.
For a second, to Connie, the blackness seemed
intense. She dodged still farther backward, not
thinking to fling the hat from her. She clutched it as
she would have clutched a life line, as though it had
become her talisman of safety rather than her
charge.
She could hear a bodyKurts, she supposed
bang against the table. She could hear his expletive,
and then the tap of feet running along the corridor
outside the room. A shaft of light from the swinging
door waved and slanted across the floor, thinned,
then broadened as heavy feet followed the lighter
ones. In the display room there was sudden, absolute
silence.
But only for a few seconds. Before Connie could
feel her way across the floor to the electric switch,
there was a confused sound of voices from the
direction of the elevators, a commotion of hurrying
feet, a flinging open of the doors. In an instant more,
every overhead light in the room blazed, and Connie
stood in the midst of her self-created debris, looking
into a tribunal of faces which now included old
Georges and the strange womans which Connie
had seen so frequently that day.
Right down here, Mr. Kurt was saying. I
caught them red-handed. This girls the one who had
186

the hat. He shook a finger at Connie and now

Connie didnt hesitate. She held out the beret and
walked directly to George.
This is the beret that disappeared from Aunt
Bets office, she told the watchman. Will you see
that Miss Estelle gets it? I trust you.
A smile flickered and faded on the stout womans
lips. She held out her hand and George put the hat
into it.
I am Mrs. Morton, she said calmly. George
can identify me as the detective Mr. Campion
employed to get to the root of this case. Ill
personally see that this hat is returned to the
department this evening, but just now there are a
few questions Id like to ask you two girls.
Mr. Kurt nodded as though he thought this was
quite in order. Grace Blair, as usual, shrank. Old
George stood by looking puzzled, and Connie kept
her chin in the air.
Mr. Kurt said, If theres anything more I can
do
Mrs. Morton was very polite. I really dont think
well have to trouble you further this evening, Mr.
Kurt. Perhaps Monday morning She sounded
friendly and a little vague.
But Grace seemed to find her tongue in spite
of herself.
Mrs. Morton ignored her feeble gesture
187

completely and smiled at the floorwalker. Thank

you very much.
Mr. Kurt was again his usual urbane self.
Anything I can do for Campions He started to
bow himself out.
Old George hesitated. Ill have to go open the
street door.
Connie sprang forward impulsively, as though
she wanted to grab Kurts arm and detain him.
Dont let him go! she cried. He
But Mrs. Morton was already nodding to the
watchman. Do, George, she said, without an
apparent qualm. Yet it seemed to Connie that her
eyes were shrewd and calculating when she turned
back to face the girls.
Now suppose we sit down right here and have a
talk.
She pulled three stools from under the long worktable, and under the searching glare of the 200-watt,
green-shaded bulb that lighted its bare wooden
surface, Connie and Grace sat down. Mrs. Morton
sat opposite them.
Now, she said, not unkindly, suppose you tell
me the whole story of what happened down here
tonight.
Grace once more had apparently become
inarticulate, so Connie began. It meant revealing the
fact that Grace had been borrowing pretty things
188

from the store to take home to her ill sister. Connie

scarcely felt that this was her prerogative, but she
put the matter before the detective as gently as
possible, and Grace kept giving little nods of
agreement. She had apparently become convinced
that it would be wise to make a clean breast of the
whole affair.
When Connie began recounting the events of the
past half-hour, one point gave her pause.
When Mr. Kurt demanded the hat, Grace
whispered, Dont give it to him. She turned to
the stock clerk. Why did you say that?
Graces face was as white as flour. I gave him
the pearls, she said. He saw me take them, and he
made me bring them back to him. I didnt put them
in Miss Eastons handbag, really I didnt! I gave
them to Mr. Kurt myself. He said if I told anybody,
though, hed have me sent to jail.
Mrs. Morton seemed interested. You gave them
to Mr. Kurt, she said thoughtfully. Then she turned
to Connie again. Can you think of any reason why
Mr. Kurt would want to frame your aunt?
Frame? The word was strange on the lips of
this motherly-looking woman, who seemed as
innocuous as any housewife on a shopping tour. It
was also strange to Connies vocabulary, a word
with which her young brother Toby was doubtless
more familiar than she.
189

The detective rephrased her question. Can you

think of any reason why Mr. Kurt would want to
make your aunt look like a thief?
Connie shook her head. No, I cant.
Nevertheless, the question set a whole sequence
of ideas weaving in Connies busy brain. Tidbits of
information, fragments of observation, were
rearranging themselves in a new pattern, and it was
a pattern as complicated as that of an intricately
woven tapestry, yet it seemed to make sense.
Grace had come to life, and was, in a halting
manner, trying to explain, if not to defend, her
actions in borrowing goods that belonged to the
store. Connie sat silent, thinking, and Mrs. Morton
seemed to be thinking, too, listening to the little
stock girl with only one ear.
Suddenly Connie burst out with a question.
Grace, didnt it seem to you that Mr. Kurt was
awfully interested in that particular hat?
Grace looked surprised, then she, too, became
thoughtful. Why, yes, it did, she said after a pause,
but I cant imagine why.
Connie got up from her stool and began pacing up
and down the long room, her vivid face passing
from light to shadow, from shadow to light. As she
walked, her brain was increasingly busy. She was
remembering another hat in which Mr. Kurt had
been interestedthe red hat. She was remembering
190

his insistence that henot shereturn it to Miss

Estelles department after it had been used for the
montage. At the time it had seemed merely a heavy
attempt at gallantry. But now . . . ?
Meanwhile, Mrs. Morton was questioning Grace.
In an indirect manner, without seeming unduly
prying, she was gleaning more information about the
little stock girls family and about her relationship
with other store employees than Connie had been
able to unearth in a week. Time marched along
unnoticed in the basement room. The September
dusk deepened into night and still the two of them
talked while Connie continued her restless pacing,
supper and Aunt Bet forgotten, so important was the
problem posing itself to her excited mind.
Finally the detective seemed satisfied. She backed
up Connies judgment when she said to Grace, I
think you should put your case honestly before Mr.
Campion. I know it will be hard, but I dont think he
will be ungenerous. He has a very paternalistic
viewpoint toward his employees.
Grace looked as though she didnt quite
understand the meaning of the word paternalistic,
but it must have sounded friendly to her, because
she managed a feeble smile. Then she glanced at the
wall clock, and the detectives eyes followed hers.
Goodness, it is late! Mrs. Morton rose. You
run along, Grace. Miss Blair and I will follow you in
191

a few minutes. And, she called after the girl, you

might ask George to wait by the door to let us out.
When they were alone, the woman turned to
Connie. You have something on your mind,
havent you?
Connie nodded.
What?
I dont think I can tell you yet, Connie said.
Im pretty sure in my own mind, but I need to
know one or two more things. Could I phone you
later tonight?
You could, Mrs. Morton told her, and gave her
a number on a slip of paper. The two of them parted
outside the rear door of the store, and as Connie
turned the corner she noticed that the older woman
was still standing by one of the old hitching posts,
staring after her thoughtfully. No wonder, Connie
decided as she hurried along. She must think Im
having a brain storm or something, and maybe I am!
It was nearly eight oclock when Connie ran up
the apartment stairs. She met her aunt, gloves and
bag in her hand, just coming out the door, and the
relief which flooded Miss Eastons face when she
recognized her niece made Connie doubly aware of
the lateness of the hour.
Ive been frantic! Aunt Bet cried. Where have
you been?
At the store. Connie looked contrite. Im
192

terribly sorry. I didnt mean to scare you. Ill tell

you all about it while we eat.
Aunt Bet turned back into the apartment. Larry,
its all right, Connies here, she called, and Connie
heard the telephone receiver bang as Larry Stewart
called back, Alive and kicking?
Alive, Connie said as she walked into the living
room. Isnt that enough?
We were going to drag the Delaware, Larry
said, and then the Schuylkill.
Ugh. Connie made a face of distaste. Not the
Schuylkill.
Dont be flippant, Aunt Bet scolded. I was
really scared.
Scared enough to call me, Larry told Connie.
I am sorry, Connie replied. But Ive got so
much to tell you. Wait till I get tidied up
First of all, she said on her return to the living
room, where Aunt Bet was already serving a hot
casserole to Larry, who had been persuaded to eat
his second dinner that night, the fur beret is back in
the hat department where it belongs.
You mean itsfound?
Found! Connie nodded.
Where? Larry asked.
In the display department, Connie told him to
his shocked amazement. Just where its been since
Monday.
193

Aunt Bet looked incredulous. Her spoon poised in

mid-air she said, Larry, you
Larry didnt have a thing to do with it, Connie
told her, grinning. Its a long story. Do you want to
hear it now?
Both of her companions nodded, and while they
were at the supper table Connie let her own food
grow cold to tell them how she had come to suspect
that it was the little stock girl, Grace Blair, who was
responsible for the mysterious disappearances at the
store. At first they were indignant, but as Connie
described Ellie, and her childlike delight in the
pretty things her sister borrowed to show her, their
eyes softened, and at the end Aunt Bet murmured,
The poor child.
Then Connie launched into the more confusing
tale of the evenings adventure, and both Larry and
Miss Easton looked puzzled.
Curiouser and curiouser, Larry affirmed.
With her aunts permission Connie disclosed the
identity of the new house detective, and the young
display man raised his eyebrows. A smart move,
hiring a woman. I was betting on our Mr. Kurt,
myself.
Why? Connie asked quickly.
Larry shrugged. I dont know. He seems to get
around. Sort of the gumshoe type, sticking his nose
into places he doesnt belong.
194

Connie nodded. His description bore out her

opinion. But he was taken on before the
management got upset about the disappearances,
she reminded him.
So he was. Id forgotten that.
Connie pushed her plate aside and leaned
forward. Ive an errand to do tonight, she said
soberly, and then Ive got to call Mrs. Morton. If
the errand works out the way I expect it to, Im
going to risk having a theory explode in my face.
A theory? Aunt Bet asked.
A hunch. An idea that Grace Blairs deceptions
are pretty insignificant in comparison to something
else that is going on at the store. Connie jumped
up. But I cant tell you about it now. Wait until
tomorrow. Maybe then I can do more than tell you;
maybe I can show you what I mean.
If youre going out, Im going with you, Larry
decided. He struck a fatherly attitude. I dont
approve of a young girl wandering around a big city
alone at night.
Nor do I, agreed Aunt Bet, quite seriously.
Connie laughed at them. Come along, then. It
wont take half an hour. She planted an exuberant
kiss on the top of her aunts head. And dont you
touch the dishes. Ill do them when I come back.
On the way down the stairs she took a slip of
paper from her wallet and consulted the second of
195

the two addresses she had jotted down the day

before. Can we walk to this place, she asked
Larry, or is it too far?
We can walk, Larry told her. Its only about
ten minutes, and he turned her toward Broad Street
and lengthened his step to a stride. Now tell Uncle
Larry all about it, he urged her as she trotted along
by his side. What clue are you tracking down
now?
Im just checking to see if a certain person lives
at a certain addressthe address thats in the
personnel department files.
And that certain person is Mr. Kurt?
Connie looked surprised. How did you know?
Larry, pleased with himself, waved an arm
expansively. To me, my dear young lady, youre an
open book.
But how did you know?
By a process called simple deduction. Youre
bound to be interested in why Mr. Kurt should be so
interested in you.
In me? Hes not interested in me, nor in Grace
either. What he was interested intonight
anywaywas that fur hat.
Larry whistled. A brilliant thought. But why the
hat? There my mental processes bog down.
Connie grinned irritatingly. Mine dont, she
teased him. Arent we almost there?
196

Next square, Larry promised, turning a corner.

He led her to an unpromising brick front with dirty
windows, in one of which a small sign read
Roomers. A pretty habitation, he said.
Will you ask, or shall I? Connie, at the very
door, felt a little timid.
Ill ask, Larry said.
He greeted the wispy-haired woman who came to
the door with an ingratiating smile. Does a Mr.
Kurt live here?
No, came the reply, he dont. The door
started to close.
Not a thinnish man, bald, with a mole under his
left eye?
Connie listened admiringly. She would never
have thought of that mole. It wasnt very large.
Then suddenly her head jerked upward and her
eyes narrowed. She was seeing another face, a face
in a mirror, a face in a ridiculous womans hat, but
with cold, ruthless eyes that met her own for barely
an instant.
Never mind, Larry, she cried, not even hearing
the woman in the doorway repeat her denial. Ive
just remembered something. Something important!
Lets get to a telephone, quick!

197

CHAPTER

16

The Man in the Womans Hat

It looked like a typical Sunday morning at

Campions.
The counters were curtained by their week-end
dust covers, and the night lights burned dimly along
the corridors. Old George padded his way from floor
to floor with mechanical precision, and only the
occasional flash of excitement in his eyes showed
that anything unusual was afoot.
For the first time in his history, at the express
order of Mr. Campion, he had allowed quite a group
of people to enter the building without signing in.
Right now, in Elizabeth Eastons office, sat that
pretty Miss Connie Blair, Larry Stewart from the
display department, stout Mrs. Morton, Miss Easton
herself, and a man who, although he wore plain
clothes, had the look about him of a policeman.
Old George had his instructions. He was to listen
198

sharply for the night bell. And he wasnt to act

suspicious, no matter what.
George was enjoying himself. Excitement was
rare in a watchmans life, and he relished every
minute of it. He didnt know what was afoot, but
whatever it was, he would play his part. A love for
the dramatic, had old George.
For an hourtwo hoursnothing happened. A
thunderstorm was brewing, and no Campion
employee seemed to have an urge to work overtime
on a rainy Sunday. Only church bells, sweet and far
away, disturbed the quiet, and the little group in
Miss Eastons office sat in the darkness which
comes before a morning storm, not talking much,
not turning on a light.
Connie began to get restless. This was her show,
and if it should not come off as she expected she
would feel pretty silly. Mrs. Morton smiled at her
confidently, but her response was weak.
He might wait till afternoon, she said.
He might, but I doubt it. Hell be anxious. Mrs.
Morton sounded unbelievably calm.
Ten minutes more passed, fifteen, twenty. Old
Georges dragging steps came along the corridor and
the office door opened softly. Aint nobody yet,
he said, cept Mr. Kurt. You told me to tell you
about anybody, but he just said he wanted to get his
raincoat from his locker, since its fixin to storm.
199

Then he stopped and scratched his head, because

the expressions on the faces before him had
galvanized.
Mrs. Morton stood up. How long ago did you let
him in?
Bout five minutes. Old George looked
surprised.
Thats all right. You go about your business. But
dont let him out of the store, hear? In fact, youd
better give me the keys.
Having a woman order him about this way was
new to old George, but her voice had authority he
couldnt help respecting. On the street back of the
store, a horses hoofs sounded on the cobblestones
and the man in plain clothes went to the window,
opened it quietly, stuck his head out and nodded to a
mounted policeman who gave one casual glance
upward.
Well wait five minutes more, Mrs. Morton
said.
Old George left, and the little group sat in tense
expectancy.
Now? asked the man in plain clothes finally.
I think so, Mrs. Morton said.
Quietly, over the carpeted floors and down the
similarly carpeted front stairs, Connie, her. aunt, and
Larry followed the two detectives. Reaching the
second floor, they turned toward the hat department,
200

moving catlike, screened by the racks of the suit

department, until they were directly at the entrance
of the little salon.
Like the rest of Campions, the bare French tables
with their double mirrors had a look of Sunday
innocence. Nothing disturbed the peace.
Then, quite casually, and without the slightest
suspicion that he had an audience, the door to the
stock room opened and Mr. Kurt walked out,
carrying a pair of millinery shears in one hand and
the fur beret in the other.
He didnt turn toward the front of the store, where
the group waited, scarcely breathing, but walked
toward the light from the long back windows, and
bent over the hat.
Snip went the scissors, snip, snip. He flung the
beret from him with one hand and pocketed with the
other the pink cameo brooch that had adorned the
hat.
Then he turned.
At the very second that Mr. Kurt, with
incredulous eyes, saw his gallery, the plain-clothes
man stepped forward. I think that brooch will be
safer with me, he said.
Outside, the wan light faded further, and the first
terrific clap of thunder heralding the approaching
storm fell on Connies ears like a whipcrack.
Simultaneously Mr. Kurt, who had paused, facing
201

them like an animal at bay, dodged away.

The back stairs!
Connie didnt realize that she yelled, but she felt
a calming hand touch her arm. Theres no way out
of the store, remember? Mrs. Morton said. Then
she walked to the wall telephone, dropped a coin in
the slot, and called Mr. Campion at his home in
Merion.
I think, she said with considerable satisfaction,
that you might be interested in something we have
just found at the store.
It took Mr. Campion only fifteen minutes to reach
the center of town. Traffic was light on Sundays in
Philadelphia, and his chauffeur was instructed to
drive as fast as safety would permit. He came at
once to the hat department, which by now was in
considerable disarray. Connie and Mrs. Morton had
laid out every hat identifiable as belonging to the
last Parisian shipment, and Mr. Kurt, subdued and
handcuffed to the policeman in plain clothes, was
regarding them with a jaundiced eye.
You have Connie Blair to thank for clearing up
the mystery, Mrs. Morton said to the president of
the store. While the rest of us were busy trying to
catch a shoplifter, she uncovered a much larger
plot.
Stumbled on it, you mean, Connie put in
202

modestly. Mr. Kurt shot her a look of pure venom.

Larry Stewart instinctively moved a protective step
closer, and Elizabeth Easton regarded her niece with
unconcealed surprise and pride.
If Id been really smart, Connie went on, as
though she were thinking out loud, Id have
realized what was going on the minute I noticed that
the birds eyes in the red hat had been replaced. The
new ones had none of the brilliance She spread
her hands. And I gave the hat to Mr. Kurt, just
handed it to him. If the fur beret hadnt still been
missing, hed have pocketed the jewels and walked
out of the store forever. Think of that!
Aunt Bet was becoming more confused by the
moment. Jewels? she murmured, but Larry and
Mrs. Morton just smiled.
Apparently Mr. Campion knew something of the
story, because he looked at the store detective and
said, So Miss Blairs theorywild as it seemed
when you phoned me last nightwas right?
Entirely, Mrs. Morton replied. The police even
have a list of the missing items.
Mr. Campion stepped forward and held out his
hand to Connie with a warm smile.
Congratulations, Miss Blair!
Theres just one thing, said the plain-clothes
man as though it had just occurred to him. I think
Miss Blair should be asked to identify Kurt in the
203

womans hat he was wearing last Sunday, dont

you? He grinned wryly. Just so we can add the
charge of assault to the rest.
Mrs. Morton nodded. Which hat was it,
Connie?
Connie walked forward and picked up the most
fantastic import of the lot. This.
Sullenly Kurt stood while the policeman clapped
it on his head. The man looked so grotesque that
Larry could scarcely stifle a laugh, but Connie
shuddered convulsively. There was no question of
her recognition. Why did you do it? she asked.
Kurt didnt reply, so the policeman jerked his
arm. Answer the young ladys question, you!
But it was to the policeman that he spoke. She
gave me a start, standing there looking in the mirror.
I had the hat in my hand. Im bald. It was just a
quick disguise.

204

CHAPTER

17

An Endand a Beginning

Now, said Aunt Bet an hour later, will somebody

sit down and patiently explain to me a few things I
dont know.
They were all having brunch at the apartment
Connie, Larry, Mrs. Mortonbuttered and toasted
English muffins, scrambled eggs hot from the frying
pan, and big cups of steaming coffee to combat the
sudden fall chill that had followed the thunderstorm.
A few things? Larry teased her. Why, Bet, it
would take thirty days and thirty nights
Be quiet, Aunt Bet scolded. Im not going to
be put off.
Mrs. Morton smiled. Once upon a time, she
said in the old-fashioned storytelling tradition,
there was a very bad man who lived in Paris,
France. Then she dropped her pose and leaned
forward. This mans name was Pierre Cibot, and,
205

like most of his ilk, he played both ends against the

middle. No honor among thieves, you know. He fell
into a fortune, because he knew the hiding place of a
store of loot taken by a gang of crooks from an
antique dealer in the Faubourg St. Honor. There
was only one fly in the ointment. He had no way of
disposing of it. French police are a discerning lot,
and the minute he tried selling any of the stuff he
was bound to be picked up.
Most of the value was in small itemsivory
miniatures, cameos, pieces of antique jewelry
bought during the depression years from titled
Europeans. Cibot, after a short stretch in prison for
some crime or other, still had his hoard at his finger
tips, and his fingers were beginning to itch for the
feel of money. Finally he conceived a plan, and he
made a friend.
How does crook meet crook so inevitably?
Mrs. Morton shrugged. I dont know. But somehow
Cibot got acquainted with a fairly shady character
an American by the name of Frank Kurt, who was
waiting for passage home. Cibot made a deal with
Kurt to dispose of the heirlooms in the United
States, where Kurt knew some dealers who would
accept hot goods.
The slang of the underworld was so astonishing
on Mrs. Mortons lips that Connie couldnt hide a
smile. She caught Larrys eye and knew that he was
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amused too, but by now the detective was so

engrossed in her story that she paid them no heed.
At one time Cibot had been a milliner employed
by a famous Paris designer, and just before he met
Kurt he had gotten his old job back. He conceived
the ideabecause of the wild and extravagant
ornaments on some of the original models being
designed at the momentof exporting the valuable
miniatures and precious stones as decorative parts of
womens hats.
It was a daring notion, to ship the valuables so
that they practically stared the customs officials in
the face. But such is the disinterest of the average
man in womens frippery that he got away with it.
Of course, part of the plan was to make sure that
Frank Kurt, on this end, got himself into a position
where he could pick up the loot.
There was no particular time problem involved.
Paris hats are usually copied, seldom sold, at least
until some copies can be made. Kurt got a job as a
floorwalker, and figured he could substitute
worthless paste ornaments for the real ones at his
leisure. What he didnt count on was the
disappearance of the most valuable item in the
collection, the priceless cameo once owned by
Marie Antoinette, which had adorned the fur beret.
And he didnt count on running into me last
Sunday, Connie put in ruefully, feeling the place on
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her head where the bump had been.

Thats right. Normally, things would have
worked smoothly for Kurt. He came into the store,
ostensibly to go to his locker, but crept up the back
stairs from the basement to the second floor and
opened the stock-room door with a master key. He
had already substituted paste ornaments for some of
the precious ones, when he opened the door to
discover Connie. Those the police have yet to
recover, but theyre working on it now.
The birds eyes on the red hat, Connie said
suddenly, were diamond-and-ruby stickpins from a
Florentine collection.
How do you know? Aunt Bet asked.
Thats another angle of the story, Mrs. Morton
replied. Just after the shipment of hats left Paris,
Cibot was arrested on another charge. A list of the
items in this collection was found in his rooms, but
though he was suspected of having gotten them out
of the country he wouldnt confess. Paris police
forwarded duplicates of the list to the proper sources
in the United States, and our police have been on the
lookout for the stolen goods for several weeks now.
When we reported Connies strange suspicion to
headquarters, they hopped on it at once!
They even had photographs of some of the
stuff, added Larry. To think, Connie Blair, that
you were to run straight into a hotbed of sedition on
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your first trip to the big city! He shook his head.

Sedition, murmured Aunt Bet with a chuckle,
isnt quite the word.
To think, Connie said dreamily, that if it
hadnt been for Grace Blair, and for the
disappearance of the fur hat, the thief never would
have been caught. Then she looked slyly up at Mrs.
Morton from under her eyelashes.
Mrs. Morton didnt miss the glance. She laughed
reassuringly and nodded in Connies direction.
Well make sure that Graces misdemeanors are
treated gently, she said. Personally, I think that
what that child needs is some guidance and help.
Connie sighed gratefully. Thank you. I like
Grace, she said.
I know you do.
But to go on? Larry urged.
From here on, said Mrs. Morton, I think its
Connies story.
Connie hesitated. Well, you all know how I
happened to find out about Grace, and the talks I had
with her. Everything she told me seemed perfectly
straight, but there were some things that didnt quite
fit in. There was the face of the man in the mirror,
the ransacking of Aunt Bets apartment, and the
deliberate attempt to cast suspicion on her by
planting the pearls in her handbag. Grace wouldnt
admit that somebody was threatening her. It wasnt
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until last night, when I discovered that she had

returned the pearls to Mr. Kurt, that things began to
fit together. Naturally, Mr. Kurt had been able to
discover that Aunt Bet was planning to use the hat in
the Meadowbrook fashion show, and when it didnt
come back with the rest of the models, he got a little
panicky and went looking for the Marie Antoinette
cameo in the place it was most likely to be.
If wed come in from the movies thirty seconds
sooner wed have nabbed him, put in Larry.
Youre lucky you didnt, Mrs. Morton told him.
A crook can be dangerous at a time like that.
Theres one thing I still dont understand, said
Connie thoughtfully, after a pause.
Whats that? Mrs. Morton asked.
Id like to know why Grace Blair was crying, the
day I found her in the models room, and why she
was so panicky when I mentioned Aunt Bet.
You can ask her tomorrow, Mrs. Morton
promised, but meanwhile, I think I can guess. I
think Mr. Kurt knew she had taken the chiffon robe,
but that he didnt know she had also taken the hat
because he thought it had gone with Miss Easton to
Meadowbrook. He thought she was simply a petty
thief, not knowing that she was given to borrowing
and returning things the way she did. However, he
started to blackmail her right there and then, and
made her promise to turn over to him any
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information she could dig up about the hat. Grace

had already hidden the hat down in the display
room, but she wouldnt admit it. Although she didnt
know the reason, she must have seen that Kurt was
awfully anxious to get his hands on that hat, and
Grace had an idea that once he got it Campions
would never see it again.
That must have been it, Aunt Bet said. He
must have believed I still had the hat. Otherwise,
why would he have tried to pin the theft of the pearls
on me? And he did, didnt he?
Thats right, Mrs. Morton replied. Kurt got the
pearls from Grace and planted them in your
handbag. He thought that might lead to an
investigation that would turn up the hat, I suppose.
Kurt wasnt in a very good position by then,
Larry put in. Hed muffed his Sunday job, hed lost
the cameotemporarily, anywayand the store had
put on a dick. Not a pleasant spot. He yawned and
stood up, to look out the window.
And he had Connie Blair looking over his
shoulder! Mrs. Morton said, also rising. Ive got to
run, but first I want to thank you, Connie, for all
youve done.
Done? Connie looked surprised. I havent
done anything.
But her aunt put an arm lightly across her
shoulders. Just for me, she told her, youve done
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a very great deal. Its nice to have the reappearance

of those pearls explained.
Connie laughed. That blue cleansing tissue was
a neat touch! To think that for a minute I even
suspected poor Suzanne.
Larry stood restlessly at the window. Its
clearing, he said. Its going to be a beautiful
afternoon. He began to gather up coffee cups and
stack them in the sink, and after Mrs. Morton had
disappeared down the stairs he repeated his
assertion. Too good an afternoon to waste. Lets,
he said, go somewhere!
Where? asked Aunt Bet.
Out to Valley Forge, said Larry promptly,
away from all this urban intrigue to some clean,
country air.
And lets walk, suggested Connie, stretching
luxuriously. Id love to take a good long walk!
A busmans holiday. Larry shook his head. As
though you didnt walk all day every day at
Campions.
Connie looked a little sad. Only for a few more
days, she said.
Suddenly Larry snapped his fingers. I almost
forgot. I made an appointment for you at an
advertising agency. Are you still interested in
getting a job in town?
Am I! Connies eyes began to sparkle.
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But Aunt Bet stood with her arms akimbo and

looked from Larry to her niece. Now what, she
asked them with pretended sternness, is this all
about?

213