Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
Culture Documents
The Gray
Menace
By
BETSY ALLEN
NEW YORK
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Introducing David
Poodle Trouble
Gun-metal Gray
Whodunit?
Accused!
The Green-eyed Falcon
Connie Shadows a Suspect
A Ride with the Admiral
Change of Heart
The Mysterious Hand
Slightly Warmer
In the Sheridan Wing
Frosti to the Rescue!
Strategy
The Guilty One
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CHAPTER
Introducing David
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CHAPTER
Poodle Trouble
Ill bet that the old gal in black lace supports the
place. Take a quick glance at those rings!
Sh! Connie cautioned as their own waiter
approached, but she couldnt resist following Hanks
command. Miss Whitneys fingers were indeed
laden with diamonds, which flashed in the discreet
light of the elegant dining room like winking stars.
But even more interesting was a brooch which
she wore at the throat of her dinner dress. It was an
unusual piece, and Connie wished she could see it
more closely. A green-eyed bird, fashioned in gold,
seemed to be perched on a large baroque pearl.
She didnt mention it to Hank, however, for just
then it occurred to her to tell him the complete story
of Frosti and the sausage. Speaking of humaninterest stories she concluded with a smile.
Pity we cant use it, Hank said sadly. But if
the judges knew that one of the major ingredients of
Mrs. Ferillis lasagne came straight from Frostis
mouth theyd probably refuse to taste it and poof
would go her chances for a prize.
Connie sighed. I suppose so. She had been
visualizing the possibility of posing Frosti once
again with some less important sausage dangling
from his mouth but she abandoned the scheme.
By the way, Hank said, returning the
conversation to more plausible Standard Fixture
business, the boss wants a line on what cooks crave
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CHAPTER
Gun-metal Gray
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CHAPTER
Whodunit?
alarmed.
Me? Gosh, no! I told you he was very young.
Oh, I beg your pardon! Hank leaned forward,
inspecting Connie inquisitively.
What are you doing? she asked.
Looking for the gray hairs.
She was laughing at his nonsense when Phoebe
Miller went past the door, caught a glimpse of
Connie, and turned to call, Youre feeling okeydoke now, I see. Good girl! She clasped her hands
in a signal of victory, grinned at them both, then
waddled on.
Whos that blowzy dame? Hank whispered.
Dont tell me. Let me guess. The public
stenographer.
Right, Connie agreed.
Do you think she might be the killer type, in
disguise?
If she is, its a mighty good disguise! Connie
chuckled. She was feeling better by the moment, and
was becoming increasingly aware that the evening
was slipping by, and that Hank was really anxious to
check up on developments at the pier, even though
her misfortune was uppermost in his mind. Come
on, she suggested. Lets see how the boys
wrestling with the crates are doing. Im feeling fit as
a fiddle again.
In this last remark Connie was stretching the
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CHAPTER
Accused!
knock.
Come in, come in! called an impatient voice,
and a chair squeaked back as the detective opened
the door and held it for Connie to pass.
The man who arose from behind the desk was
squat and stout but impeccably groomed, in the
tradition of hotel managers the world over. His
sharp, beady eyes appraised Connie quickly and his
manner, as he held out his hand, was very suave.
Miss Blair, I believe?
Connie nodded without speaking.
Wont you have a chair?
The seat which he indicated faced the long gray
panel of the window. Connie shrugged out of her
coat and sat down, looking especially glowing after
her brisk walk. But the manager, whose desk plate
announced him to be J. Clifford Beebe, was
apparently able to ignore her charm along with the
high color in her cheeks.
He tapped his blotter briskly with a pencil. Miss
Blair, youre acquainted with Miss Abigail
Whitney? he asked.
So I was right, Connie thought, but she nodded
demurely and said, Just barely. We met last night.
Would you mind describing exactly what
occurred last evening in Miss Whitneys room?
Not at all. As concisely as possible, Connie
repeated the story of her unexpected attack.
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wealthy woman.
I know nothing whatever about her
circumstances, Connie replied.
Mr. Beebes scant eyebrows raised. It is rather
common knowledge, he said.
Ive been a guest here for less than a day,
Connie reminded him a trifle tartly. And for a great
deal of that time Ive been working. As I should be
doing right now.
Miss Blairthe manager leaned forward
after your entry into Miss Whitneys room last
night it was found that a rather valuable brooch had
disappeared. Perhaps you will recall having seen it if
I describe it to you.
I? Connie was nonplused.
But Mr. Beebe ignored the monosyllabic
question. It was a handmade French piece, quite
unusual. A golden falcon with emerald eyes is
clutching a smoky pearl in his talons. The wings are
set with diamonds. Quite unusual, I should say. Not
a piece one would be likely to forget.
No, indeed, Connie said slowly. I remember
the brooch. Miss Whitney was wearing it at dinner
last night. But she went walking afterward on the
boardwalk. Might it have become unfastened?
The managers smile was humorless. Im afraid
not. Miss Whitney reports that she had taken it off
and laid it on the bureau. He leaned forward even
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CHAPTER
myself.
Poor guy! Connie teased him. Nothing to do
all day but shoot billiard balls.
Remembrance mingled with amusement in
Davids eyes. Say, what were you doing back at the
hotel in the middle of the morning, anyway? I
thought you were supposed to be hard at work
quizzing your half-a-hundred cooks?
A frown crinkled Connies eyebrows. Its a long
story. Maybe Ill tell you sometime. She was
deliberately evasive.
But she reckoned without Davids tenacity. He
settled back in his chair comfortably. The time is
now.
Well, Connie thought, why not? Davids reaction
would be a fresh point of view, and reviewing the
subject might throw some new light on the situation.
Still, she knew the hazard of confiding in a stranger,
even such an attractive young man as David
Maxwell, and she glanced at her watch, hesitating
between caution and impulse.
David himself called the play. Wasnt that
Jones,, the house detective, trotting along at your
side?
If he knew this much, Connie decided, he might
as well know the rest, and she would rather hed
hear it from her than from Phoebe Miller or from
one of the bellhops. By now she had no doubt that
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CHAPTER
pad and a pencil, and the urge to use them was great.
She sat down on a bench close to the pier door and
scribbled rapidly a query to herself:
Who could have been in Miss As room when I
went to return the bag?
Then, for a few minutes, she sat in thought,
reviewing the people at the hotel whom she knew.
Then she began to number, and to write names after
the numbers.
1. Paul. (He wasnt walking dog.)
2. David Maxwell. (I saw him go past diningroom door while Hank and I were still eating.)
3. Miss Sloane. (She didnt go walking with Miss
A and Admiral.)
4. Phoebe Miller. (She could have faked her
surprise at finding me.)
5. Admiral Crosby. If David Maxwell didnt lie
about seeing him go back upstairs.
6. The chambermaid. (She would have a key.)
7. Any one of a hundred other employees or
guests whom I dont know.
The last entry was discouraging, because to hunt
for a criminal among a bunch of strangers was like
hunting for a needle in a haystack. Connies
tenacious mind refused to consider, however, that
No. 7 might defeat her. It was much more interesting
to assume that she would discover her attacker
among the people she already knew.
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while to know.
You and Miss Whitney have been acquainted for
some time, I take it, she said when the Admiral had
given the order.
Heavens, yes! Since we were youngsters,
practically. He chuckled to himself. She was a
headstrong girl and shes a headstrong old woman,
he muttered. Hard to get along with. Always has
been. But interesting.
I think so too, Connie replied, although she
definitely doesnt like me.
The Admiral looked surprised. What makes you
say that?
Connie sighed. You should have heard her the
night before last! She called me brash because I
walked into her room when I saw the door ajar.
After all, I had knocked, and I was only trying to
return her bag.
Oh, fiddlesticks, Admiral Crosby said. She
was just upset to come home to all that commotion.
Next time she sees you shes apt to be as nice as
pie.
I certainly hope so, Connie replied, but I doubt
it.
The next time she saw Miss Whitney, as a matter
of fact, was on the trip back to the pier. She and
David Maxwell, chatting companionably, were
being pushed along in another rolling chair, and the
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Change of Heart
CHAPTER
10
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CHAPTER
11
Slightly Warmer
to do.
Miss Emily shook her head. Youth, youth!
Always busy. She sighed elaborately. Abigail and
I were saying just last night how much we envied
you your great vitality.
Connie felt vaguely embarrassed. You have
plenty of vitality, she replied. Walking to
Hackneys and back every day is no short hike.
Miss Sloane giggled and ducked her head shyly.
I enjoy it, she said.
An idea occurred to Connie and she changed the
subject abruptly. Miss Sloane, Im going to ask you
a question which I hope youll keep confidential.
Have you, by chance, any notion what Admiral
Crosby might have to do with Paul Schorr?
Miss Sloane looked genuinely puzzled. Paul
Schorr? You mean the bellhop who walks Abigails
dog?
Thats right. Connie nodded. Ive seen them
together a couple of times, and it seems rather an
odd combination. Im frankly curious.
Miss Emilys eyes shifted from Connies to the
sugar cube she was unwrapping for her coffee. She
shook her head as though she were trying to think.
It does seem odd, she admitted, but I wouldnt
have the slightest idea. Then she looked up with a
startled expression in her pale eyes. You dont
think that it might have something to do with the
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CHAPTER
12
Philadelphia.
Arent these petit pois perfectly delicious, Miss
Blair? A touch of mint, dont you think?
Yes, indeed.
Everybodys so excited, Miss Blair, wondering
about the winners. Ill bet you know, dont you, but
youre not saying. Ill just bet.
Oh, now, youre taking a lot for granted.
Connie smiled.
Conversation eddied and flowed around her,
carrying her with its stream sometimes, but more
often leaving her in a little pool of her own creation,
a pool in which a good many fishing lines were
tangled, but perhaps not hopelessly.
Perhaps. It was a word in which Connie had set
great store in the past and would again. It was a
good word, with hope in it; not a discouraging word
like quit.
She ate the elaborate luncheon automatically,
anxious for the moment when she would be released
from the duties attendant to her job and be able to
hurry back to the Barkley-Sheridan.
That moment was long in coming. Coffee was
served after dessert, and then the toastmaster arose
and introduced, in turn, three speakers. The food
editor talked for twenty minutes, and the president
of Standard Fixture made a brief address before the
actual business of awarding the prizes began.
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to do.
The elevator which Connie boarded seemed to
crawl upward, but finally she emerged in the
familiar sixth-floor hall. Immediately she glanced
toward the fire doors and breathed more easily. Luck
was with her at least thus far. The padlock had not
yet been replaced.
The unhappy thought occurred to her that it might
yet be done this afternoon and she would find
herself locked in the empty wing, but this was a
chance she would just have to take. She started
toward the door of her own room, planning to drop
her hat and coat, when Miss Whitneys door
suddenly opened and Miss Whitney herself, dressed
in a flowing satin negligee, stepped into the hall.
Oh, dear, the older woman said at once. I
heard the elevator and I hoped you were Paul. She
raised a fragile, ringed hand to her forehead. I have
an abominable headache, she admitted, and Id
been planning to take a couple of aspirin and try to
go to sleep, but Frosti hasnt been walked and Paul
is an hour overdue again.
Ill walk Frosti, Connie offered once more,
although she didnt relish the prospect of again
battling the elements. Another thought had prompted
the suggestion, besides the normal desire to be of
help. Frosti might serve as protection on her
projected search.
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spring.
No, indeed! Detection in either case would be too
problematic. Shed want a less obvious hideaway
than those which immediately presented themselves
in these forlorn, empty rooms.
Frosti nuzzled her hand, urging her to hurry, but
Connie merely patted the dogs head absently. Just
a minute, fellow, she murmured. Let me think.
Small, hard objects. In these deserted rooms, a
place of concealment upon which a hotel employee
would not stumble. Her eyes swept the walls.
Behind a picture? She lifted the corner of a print
hanging over the night table, but decided there
wouldnt be enough space between the frame and
the wall for even a small bag of jewels.
Of course the thief might have divided his loot,
but this seemed unlikely. Collecting it for a getaway,
if that ever became necessary, would be too difficult
a task.
Connie refused to consider the probability that
her guess was completely wrongthat the gems
might not be here at all. Not until she had considered
every angle did she intend to give up, for had she
not seen physical evidence of a marauder? And what
possible business could a person have over here that
was not nefarious?
Meanwhile, the afternoon light was waning by
the moment. The sky was heavy and gray, hanging
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the head.
She never saw the intruder. She crumpled in a
heap, clutching her handbag to her stomach, and the
last thing she remembered was Frostis startled
snarl.
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CHAPTER
13
Yes.
The doctor left the bedside and came back with a
parti-colored green and black capsule and a glass of
water. Take this, he said. It will help.
Connie put the pellet in her mouth and swallowed
obligingly, but it was absurd what the effort cost her.
She felt very weak. Closing her eyes she lay still for
several minutes, then opened them again to find the
doctor still beside her. Will there have to be
stitches? she asked.
There are stitches, Dr. Moore said gently. Six
of them. You never felt them, did you?
Connie didnt try to shake her head. She was
afraid it would come off. No, she murmured. Im
glad.
Im glad, too. You had a pretty nasty knock.
What hit you?
I dont know, but it felt like a chair leg, Connie
said, then closed her eyes again. She was very tired.
When she awakened the second time she felt
better. Her head no longer throbbed, and the ache
could now be borne. The doctor was still in the
room, but he had his topcoat on now, and his hat
was in his hand. Connie smiled at him and he smiled
back with kindly eyes.
Feeling better?
Much, Connie told him.
Just stay quiet. Youll be all right. Ill leave my
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into words.
One was uppermost, but it could wait until a less
interesting but more important problem was solved.
Miss Green, Connie said after a few minutes,
will you get Mr. Henry Bronson on the phone for
me, please. Its about my job. Somebody will have
to take over.
Miss Green demurred at first, but decided that
refusal would excite her patient more than
compliance and called the number Connie gave her.
Hank was shocked by Connies report. Dont
you worry about a thing, he told her. But I want to
see you. Ill be right over.
He arrived within fifteen minutes, coming straight
from the business dinner at which Connie also
should have been present. We all missed you, of
course, he explained as she gave him a rather limp
hand, but we just thought you were delayed.
The human-interest stories Connie began
conscientiously.
Forget them, Hank advised her. The boss is
delighted with the publicity created by the contest. A
few more newspaper blurbs will be merely gilding
the lily. You just lie here and rest.
Thats just what shes going to do, said Miss
Green firmly. No visitors, now, until tomorrow.
Then she quirked her neat eyebrows and smiled.
And, Mr. Bronson, your three minutes are up!
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strap.
This it?
Yes. Connies heart began to pump faster. Did
she dare to hope? Aloud she said, with outward
calmness, May I have it, please?
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14
Strategy
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15
this one does too. See? She twirled the gold handle
on the hidden thread and held itseparate from the
stick nowin one hand, while into her lap tumbled
a tissue-wrapped package a trifle larger than her
thumb. This should be the falcon, she said.
Why, Emily Sloane! cried Miss Whitney in
dismayed accusation. When I thought you were my
friend!
Miss Sloanes voice changed from a whine to a
snarl. Friend! she said as though she hated the
word. Do you think rich women like you can make
friends overnight? Do you think the people who
hang around you do it because they love you? Why,
you utter fool!
Suddenly, to Connies shocked amazement, she
was like a woman possessed. All right, so the jigs
up now, she shouted, straining forward as Mr.
Jones grabbed her arm, but let me tell you, if it
hadnt been for this girl here, youd never have
caught me. For years Ive been working this hotel
racket, taking in enough in the winters to be able to
travel like a lady in the summers, and there hasnt
been a house dick or anybody else whos even
suspected me!
Connie didnt wonder. Until she had started to
shriek in this unexpected frenzy, Miss Emily had
looked like anything but the criminal type. In her
mincing manner and plaintive voice she had a
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perfect disguise.
But why, Miss Whitney was asking, why
would you want to steal?
Ill tell you. I like to steal, Miss Sloane
admitted almost proudly. A woman who looks like
me doesnt get much of a chance at excitement,
unless she makes some of it for herself.
For the first time Connie realized that they were
dealing with a woman who was a borderline case, if
not actually mentally deranged. She had been
pilfering not only for profit, but also because it gave
her a thrill.
David looked as shocked as she felt. This should
teach you not to take up with strangers, Aunt
Abigail! he broke in. Youre not as independent as
you fancy you are. No wealthy woman is these days.
You need a little more protection than you think!
Fiddlesticks! retorted Miss Whitney, but her
vibrant voice was a trifle shaky. She looked at David
with affection overriding pretended annoyance.
Youll have me wrapped in cotton batting if you
get half a chance.
It was Connies turn to be surprised. She sat with
the golden falcon lying forgotten in the palm of her
hand while she stared, openmouthed, from Miss
Whitney to David. Aunt Abigail? she asked aloud.
David turned toward her and laughed. Ive been
practicing a little plain and fancy deception, he
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admitted freely.
Meanwhile, Mr. Jones led Miss Emily Sloane out
of the room. There are some other questions the
Atlantic City police and Mr. Beebe and I will want
to ask you privately, he said in a curt and icy voice.
Connie wondered whether there had been other
guests in this same hotel on whom Miss Sloane had
practiced her iniquitous technique. Well, she would
ingratiate herself with wealthy vacationists no
longer. To be suspected of thievery was one thing,
but to be caught red-handed with the goods was
another. She would have ample time to repent of her
sins in some womans prison where the
accommodations were less elegant than the BarkleySheridans.
Taking a leaf from Mr. Joness book, there are
some questions Id very much like to ask, admitted
Connie, glancing from one to another of the persons
remaining in the room.
Fire away, said David Maxwell equably. The
Admiral bowed, Miss Whitney nodded, and Phoebe
Miller replied, I think its your turn!
Paul, standing in the background, was about to
slip away, but Connie asked him to wait. Some of
them involve you, she told the bellhop with a smile.
But of course it was Davids relationship to Miss
Abigail that she first wanted to probe. Connie
looked at the young man sternly and said, Now
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