Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Forty-Two
I didn’t want Mud Cat to overhear, so I waited until we were on
the road again to reveal my plan to Flo.
“Isn’t it odd,” I began, “that a Chinese laundry should be so
apparently devoid of Chinese persons?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Flo.
“I hadn’t, either,” I said. “But this morning, as I was dressing,
I came across something I’d forgotten.”
“What?”
“You remember that shirt of Mr. Conrad’s that got stained with
bluing?”
“Yes.”
“You remember how beautifully starched and pressed it was?”
Flo nodded.
“Do you remember that it had a bit of pasteboard inside the
collar?”
“No.”
“Well, it did. Look in my handbag, Flo.”
Flo withdrew the pasteboard ring which had come from the collar of
the laundered shirt.
“It looks very ordinary to me,” she said.
“Look at what’s written on it.”
“It has some tiny writing on it, but I can’t read it. Is it
Chinese?”
“I think so,” I said, “most of it is, anyway. But if you look
closely, at the beginning of every string of Chinese lettering, there’s one
letter in English.”
Flo scrutinized the pasteboard ring.
“Nerts!”
“‘Nerts!’ is right,” I said.
“We should take this to the police,” said Flo.
“I don’t think they’ll take a pasteboard collar ring very
seriously,” I said.
“But—”
“I have a better idea,” I said. “Let’s watch the laundry until
Ralph and that Sheba of his go out, and then we’ll slip in and take a gander at
the place.”
“They arrest folks for breaking and entering buildings,” Florence
said firmly. “Your lovely idea does not appeal to me.”
“Oh, we’ll take care not to be caught, Flo. You must do it! I’m
certain we’ll discover something sensational if we can just get inside that
place! Think of whoever wrote that desperate message. Think of poor Mr.
Harwood, and that fellow, Merriweather, not to mention Jack. We ought to trace
down every possible clue.”
“Well,” Florence wavered. “I’ll do it, but I don’t like it. That
place gives me the heebie-jeebies. Remember that sword?”
“Oh, it had a blunt edge,” I said. “We’ll be in no danger if we wait
until Ralph and Violet go out. I pretty sure neither he nor that girl can so
much as boil a pot of water without burning it, so I expect they’ll have to
leave to eat sooner or later.”
“I’m weak minded to agree,” Florence sighed. “But I suppose I’ll
have to say yes.”
Bouncing Betsy was a familiar sight now in White Falls, and no one
paid us any attention when I parked her directly opposite the laundry. We
called at Old Mansion where we chatted with Emma and Mrs. Fairchild until dusk.
Then we returned to the automobile to take up our vigil.
An hour elapsed. Florence squirmed uncomfortably in the front
seat, complaining that our wait was to be a hopeless one.
“Maybe they won’t even leave the laundry for supper,” she said.
“Maybe they’ll just cook up a pot of oatmeal on the boiler in the back room.”
“Flo, you never were cut out for a detective,” I said. “We may
have to wait here half the night, but we’ll finally get in.”
Florence sighed and slumped down in the seat again. She scarcely
glanced toward the shop as the minutes dragged by.
“There, they’ve turned off the light. They’ll be coming out now.”
Flo perked up.
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