Evening Star Newspaper, December 29, 1929, Page 74

THE SUND. AY “ STAR, WASHINGTON, R ———— DO AS YOURE TOLD—B}/W allace Irwomn Doll?¥ as Bored, So She Embarked on a Career fashionable restaurant, Maudie Stoat, affectionately called “Doll” by Hector, her husband, owed nothing to her clothes for her fresh, young prettiness. Her hat she described as a “tack,” and the much- sponged dress she wore had seen better days. It had two advantages, though. It was cool for the unseasonably warm day and it gave her the look of a hesalthily starved working girl. That was on the cards. The discussion had arisen during breakfast, when she was secretly admiring her handsome Hector. She’d spurted out something about a detective having nothing but romance, and a housewife naught but dusty rugs. “Romance? A lot of my work is duller than peeling potatoes,” Hector had said rather bit- terly. “A detective’s got to have something women don't.” Sarcastically Doll had men- tioned a mustache, but his answer was harder than that. *“I mean psychic equilibrium and intuitive powers.” That was a hard combina- tion. Doll's assertion that she had intuitive powers anyhow brought him to a point where he ad- mitted, “Sometimes you’ll find a women who combines those two qualities. We’'ve got a Mrs. Harmsworth in our office. She’s eccentric, but she's disciplined.” “And pretty?” Walking down Park avenue, Doll remembered Hec's expression when she asked that. He hadn’t seemed to hear, but lec- -tured on. “She’s got the most valuable trait of all. She's does as she's told.” “Oh.” This had smitten Doll and she com- plained, “Hec, if you don’'t think I do as I'm told, try me. Give me some mean, silly job.” She was delighted when he took her seriously. “I've got something that'll change your mind about romance in the detective world. Listen: The richest women in town go to Tanquay's restaurant for lunch. And some one has been picking pockets in the ladies’ cloak room there. ‘We want to plant a detective, just to watch. Is that romantic?” “Fine!” She pretended to enthuse, but was stricken down by Hec's final -instructions, “Riley will meet you at Tanquay's. Twelve- thirty. And remember one thing, Doll. Do as you're told.” “Ye're on time, Mrs. Stoat.” Riley, Cheever's best man at restaurant work, met her at Tan- y'S. w:lt‘s a small job, Mrs. Stoat. Mrs. Stein, what manages the check room, she’ll give ye a uniform and show ye the ropes. Keep yer eye on the coat racks. That's where's the monkey HIS bright, Fall moon, walking down ' ? toward Tanqguay's unapproachably “No,” coldly. Then, because the Irish eyes were pranking, “Is she pretty, Mr. Riley?” “Handsome, Mrs. Stoat. Slender little woman and stylish. Blond. Wearin’ black. Yell recognize her by a light brown hat, and what she does. She’ll be carrying a coat over ’er arm. She’ll wander by the desk once, slow, they were very like other check room girls. But Estelle had greenish eyes and a pert tongue. She referred to Mrs. Stein as Sneaking Susie. Before the rush hour began and fashionabl women were keeping the counter busy, Doll de- tided that Estelle was probably guilty. Smartly gowned gossiping of polo. It seemed that som - tine champions were playing some champions. The ladies were excited about it. As the crowd thinned, Doll began to be bored, to watch the hand of a little French clock over the mantel. Then the lounge was empty. Ding- ding went the French clock. Doll, “this Mrs, Harmsworth isn’t any prompter than anybody else.” And the thought seemed conspicuous for her blondness; she walked slowly, almost hesitantly, past the counter. She went half way across the room, hesi- tated, sat down. To Doll, staring morbidly, Mrs. Harmsworth was somehow tragic, her eyes lowered as if her mind were occupied with an insoluble problem. Psychic equilibrium, per- haps. “Do as you're told,” Hector's advice seemed 1o ring in Doll's ears as she went across to Mrs, Harmsworth and pointed to the Russian sable wrap which lay across the woman’s arm. “Want it checked?” she said softly. . “Would you take care of it for me?” 8he handed the coat to Doll. “Certainly, if those are orders.” ‘The woman smiled; and now her face showed nothing but light prettiness, “How long will you be on duty?” “Until I'm ordered away, I suppose” In sudden admiration Doll blurted, “I've heard so much about you, Mrs. Harmsworth, and I ought to be proud to—to——" “Mrs. Harmsworth thanks you,” said Mrs. Harmsworth, The attempted compliment had a pleasing effect on the fair detective. Her eyes lost some- thing of their coldness as she leaned over and gave Doll's hand a little pat. “I'm coming back in half an hour and that coat’s so dreadfully warm. Won’t you take care of it? And please don’t check it with the others, Watch out for it yourself, will you?” “I always do as I'm told,” said Doll, a little annoyed at Mrs. Harmsworth's laugh. Appar- ently she was relishing the office joke. “Do you think you could get away this after- fioun?” asked Mrs. Harmsworth suddenly, “Well, I'm under your orders and——" “Hm,” sighed. “That’s fine. time——" then with tion—"I've torn turned a silken pocket inside o long rip. “If thread—" “I'm sure I » and ordered a taxi. going to Meadowbrook So, getting out of Tanguay’s for Doll. She had hung the private closet and mended the pocket between jobs. At 3 o'clock, when it was evident that Mrs. Harmsworth wasn't coming, Doll had slipped into the closet room, changed to her street things and started out, with Mrs. Harms- worth's sables. Then she had paused, unnerved by her responsibility. The coat was worth thou- sands; suppose she should drop it, leave it some- where, let it blow out of a window. There's only one safe place for clothes, she thought—on your back. She had got into it and began to suffer the torments which too often come to the dutiful and true. THE second chukker was under way when she found her seat, high in the west grand- stand. There was an empty seat besides hers; somehow she was glad that she had beaten Mrs, Harmsworth to Meadowbrook. worry and confusion she was caught up by the fascination of a game quite new to her, “Harriman’s coming in strong again.” A pleasant baritone said this, causing Doll to turn and see that Mrs. Harmsworth’s seat was occupied by a tall, middle-aged man with shell glasses and an outdoor complexion. His eyes were somehow queer, but the pleasantness of his smile quite disarmed her. “Harriman?” asked Doll “You mean——* “Yes. The rather slight one. Wow! Look at Lacey coming down the field——" Everybody was standing up watching a tight scrimmage around a goal post And when the noise subsided Doll was aroused by the unpleas- ant feeling of eyes upon her. The man at her side was looking at the sable coat, minutely, appraisingly. The deformity of his left eye— it was filmed with white—made his suave face sinister. Then they sat down, and she could have run away, although his voice was still when he asked, “Isn’t this rather a warm for a fur coat?” “It is, sort of. But it isn’t really mine. mean, I brought it out for a friend and I it on, because I was afraid of dropping it.” “I don’t believe I could suffer like that for friendship.” His smile was attractive. “Isn't your friend Mrs. Harmsworth?” “Why, yes.” Her eyes were wide. “Then you're in her party? You're—" “Not exactly.” And now he was serious. “Mrs. Harmsworth had a little accident. She cut her hand on a broken windshield—a nasty skid. We've put her to bed at our house in Garden City. She's been worrying about the coat. So I came over to get it for her.” Doll came to her feet. “I'll take it over my- self.” “That will be charming.” He smiled. “Mrs. gave me instructions to bring the coat to her,” she explained. “I know you're all right, Mr.——" “Joyce,” said the gentleman. “Mr. Joyce. But I wouldn't feel right, if X didn't carry out instructions.” When they came out through the section K entrance a blue sedan drove up and a uniformed chauffeur opened the door. “Go back to the house, Monk,” Mr. Joyce spoke with authority. While they rolled forward through a forest of parked cars, he talked on. But Doll felt un- easy. She wished Mr. Joyce wasn't there, that he’d told her Mrs. Harmsworth’s address and let her go alone. Then, looking over her left , she could see Garden City's cathedral spire fading in the distance, “Mr. Joyce,” she said as quitely as she could, “your driver's lost his way. We're going just opposite——" “Don’t worry about that. Spencer knows Long Island like a book.” “Well, T don’t. But I do know——" Some- thing in the gleam of that queer white eye threw her in a panic. “You're not taking me there. Let me out or I'll scream, I'll—" “You'll do nothing of the sort.” Suddenly Joyce's face, close to her, had grown cruel and common. “You're right, kid. We're not taking you to Mrs, Harmsworth, We're taking you to headquarters——" “Headquarters?” “Yeah. Police headquarters. I'm a plain clothes man and I happen to know where you stole that coat.” Doll lay back against the cushions, rapidly considering what to do. No practical ideas came. Mrs. Harmsworth, then, had been used as a bait to get her aboard the car. Should she tell Mr, Joyce that her husband was Hector Stoat, that she, too, was on a detective case? Another thought intruded. Why shouldn’t she let this mean Mr. Joyce take her to headquar- ters? Then she could ecall up Hector and show him what a fool the detective force had made of itself. But how could Mrs. Harmsworth, whom Hector and Riley and idolized so—how could she have mixed herself up in stealing? With this unanswered problem, the car stopped at a red light signal. A trafic po- liceman came so close to them that Doll could have dropped a button down his collar, “Why don’t you have him arrest me, Mr. Joyce,” she asked innocently. “I'm taking you to headquarters. His face looked drawn. The chauffeur half turned. “Then I'll scream,” she threatened. But a hard, blunt instrument was poking her in the ribs and Joyce was growling in her ear. “Open your trap and I'll shoot you down. You're right, lady. That’s a gun.” Tflt pistol was never for a second withdrawn from her side. They had taken many de- tours, to avoid policemen, she guessed; for by now she had had time to patch together sections of the broken picture. It was all too apparent to her. These two men were confederates, desperately intent upon getting control of the sables. The coat, per- haps, was worth $20,000. Sold to a “fence” it wouldn't bring a tenth of that price. Yet they had laid this elaborate plot. These weren't common crooks she was convinced. Mrs. Harms- worth's connection with the affair worried her more than anything else. “Well, I've done as I was told,” she assured herself, with sarcastic bitterness. The car shot into a side road, siowed down, stopped. “Creep out of that coat and make it snappy.® Hands were grasping at her sleeves, her cole lar. She could hear the delicate pelts ripping as she sprawled there, fighting like a tiger. Then there was an alarm. A number of cars were rounding the bend. The pistol went back to Doll’s side as Monk drove sedately on. Traf- fic had caught them again. And, when Doll could recover her mind, she remembered one im- portant gesture during that struggle a momens ago. Joyce had snatched at the right-hand pocket, turned it inside out. The pocket she had sewed together at Mrs. Harmsworth's orders! If she could only get at it! It was on the other side from where Joyce sat, and she waited for him to look out of the window in a discussion over road signs. Then her hand stole down until her fingers touched a thread. Some- thing told her that her destination was very near. If only she could break entirely through the hole in that pocket, find what it really was they wanted. She ground the flap of the coat between her knees and felt something small and rolling, like loose beans. Up to that instant she had been on the point of casting aside her furs and begging for release. But would they let her €0 now? They turned into a village, went slowly be- tween two gate posts which bore a sign on & strip of canvas, “Glen Eden Addition. To Be Opened November 15.” Near the end of a street the car stopped. This was number three. “See if she's there,” commanded Joyce of Monk. Doll could see Monk take his clumsy way up to the concrete walk. Three yards from the porch he stopped, a door cautiously opened and a woman's head appeared. Mrs. Harms- worth! To Joyce's rasping command, “Gwan in,” Doll responded like an automaton. And, as she walked, she placed an unreasonable hope on Mrs. Harmsworth. Almost chivalrously Joyce helped Doll into a freshly plastered entrance, then up a stairway, odorous with varnish. “Hey, don’t put ’er in the back bed room.” It was Mrs. Harmsworth's voice, grown suddenly coarse like her companions. “People are living in the house back there. Take ’er in front.” Shades were down in the two windows of a room which probably faced the street. It was in twilight, with blank white walls and unfine ished electric light equipment. Then Mrs, Harnsworth’s complaint came in a common nasal tone: “What'd you bring her for? Nobody wants her.” “Close your trap, Lou,” said Joyce. “If you hadn’t gummed the cards, we'd be okay. Of course, you had to get stuck on that fur coat. That's what burns me.” “She’s an amachewer,” Monk began this, but was quelled. The quarrel in the doorway was gaining in heat. Quite evidently the stealing of the bulky coat by this strange Mrs. Harmsworth had em- barrassed the gang. She had been sent after a smaller, more precious prize. There were words about telephoning, and they confirmed Doll's suspicions. Something had gone wrong with Lou's program at Tanquay’s. She had been cornered and passed the coat on to a check room girl. 2 Huddled in the dim room, Doll got snatches