Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Thirty-Nine
Mrs. Fairchild went from room to room of Old Mansion, examining
the paintings. In the parlor, she found one which she declared was an original,
but all the others were cheap imitations.
“I hired the Conrads to protect my portraits, and this is the way
they betrayed my trust!”
“I don’t wonder you are indignant,” I said. “How valuable were the
paintings?”
“At a conservative estimate, thirty thousand dollars. Where are
the Conrads now?”
“They should be somewhere in the house,” I said.
As she spoke, the kitchen door slammed. A few seconds later Emma
Brown came into the room.
“I’m very glad to see you, Jane,” she said. “I was just talking
with Clarence Emerson outside the house. He tells me there no longer is any
need for me to remain here.”
I presented Emma to Mrs. Fairchild, and then asked, “Emma, what
has become of Mr. and Mrs. Conrad?”
“They should be in their room. I’ll run up and see.”
“And please call Mr. Emerson, the detective,” Mrs. Fairchild
requested.
Within a minute or two, Emma came back down the stairway, followed
by Glen Conrad and his wife. The couple had no inkling of what was in store for
them. They entered the parlor and stopped short.
“Mrs. Fairchild!” said Earnestine Conrad. “You ought to have
written us you were coming!”
“Such information would have been a convenience to you, I’m sure.”
“We been doing the best we could here,” Glen Conrad insisted.
“Whatever they tell you,” he paused to look from me to Emma, and back to me
again, “it ain’t true!”
“It is unnecessary for anyone to tell me anything, Mr. Conrad. I
have a very good pair of eyes. What have you done with my beautiful paintings?”
“Your paintings—” stammered Mrs. Conrad. “Of course, they’re here.
I dust ’em every day like you tell me to do.”
“Don’t try to pretend,” Mrs. Fairchild said. “You have sold my
original portraits and substituted these cheap, gaudy imitations!”
“That ain’t so,” Glen said sullenly.
“Then what has become of my paintings?”
“We don’t know anything about it,” Mr. Conrad insisted. “These are
the same ones you left here when you went away.”
Mrs. Fairchild was losing all patience.
“Very well,” she said, “we will see how far that attitude gets you
with the police.”
“The police!” Mrs. Conrad protested. “Surely you won’t have us
arrested?”
Before Mrs. Fairchild could answer, Clarence Emerson, summoned by
Emma, came into the room. I explained the situation to him. Mr. Emerson took a
paper from his pocket.
“This will add another charge to your growing list, Conrad,” he
said. “You were slated for arrest anyway. I turned the case over to the police
this morning, and they sent out this warrant. I’ll have to take you both to the
jug.”
“Don’t arrest us,” pleaded Mrs. Conrad. “We’ve been cooperating
every way we can.”
“It’s out of my hands now.” The detective shrugged. “You’ll have
to come along with me unless you prefer to have the police haul you away in the
patrol wagon.”
“No! No!” Mrs. Conrad protested. “We’ll go now, but it ain’t fair!
We didn’t mean to get into trouble. We only wanted to make a little money.”
“So, you did sell the paintings,” the detective said.
“No, we didn’t!” Mr. Conrad snapped. “Come on, let’s get started
if we have to go.”
Emma, Mrs. Fairchild, and I stepped out on the porch as Clarence
Emerson led Mr. and Mrs. Conrad to the car. We were not the only spectators.
Next door, Ralph leaned indolently against the laundry building and watched as
the Conrads were escorted to the detective’s car.
As Glen was getting into Mr. Emerson’s automobile, he turned and
saw Ralph. An expression of rage came over his face. For a second I thought he
might say something to the man, but he closed his mouth again and got into the
car. Ralph smiled and disappeared into his laundry. The car drove away.
“Perhaps I was too harsh upon the Conrads,” Mrs. Fairchild said.
She was looking a bit shocked by it all.
“No, you weren’t,” I said. “As a matter of record, Mr. and Mrs.
Conrad are involved in far more serious a matter than the theft of paintings.
Since the police have been notified, I may as well take you to room seven and
tell you the entire story.”
“The door is locked,” Emma said, “but I know where Mr. Conrad keeps his second master key. I’ll get it now.”
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