Tish Marches On by Mary Roberts Rinehart Read Free Book Online Page A

took her into our sitting room to rest, and seen in the light she was extremely pretty. But I saw her inspecting us with a rather startled expression.
    “Not in any trouble yourselves, are you?” she inquired.
    Aggie sneezed, but Tish was her usual calm self.
    “Certainly not. Why?” she asked.
    “I just wondered,” she said evasively. “The—the hair is unusual. That’s all. Not that it’s any of my business, of course.”
    She then told us her story, maintaining that the power in the lift had been deliberately shut off to keep her a prisoner. She had, she said, had a quarrel with the Carlisle man who lived on the floor above and he had shut her up in the lift and left her there.
    “He’s an unspeakable brute,” she said furiously, and then began to cry.
    It was some time before she was quiet. Then she explained. She was a newspaperwoman from New York named Bettina Pell, and she had come over to report the Coronation.
    “From the woman’s point of view,” she said. “You know, clothes and jewels. Especially the crown jewels. Then tonight I got a hot tip that they were being moved to Buckingham Palace, and if it had not been for that bunch of thugs on the floor above I’d have had the scoop of the world. If those bandits think they were smart—”
    “Bandits!” said Tish. “Actual bandits?”
    “I’ll tell the world!” she said. “They’ll steal, rob, and probably murder to get what they’re after. They’ll—oh, what’s the use,” she finished drearily. “I’m going home to bed. Not that it’s much of a home. I’m sleeping in a bathtub at the moment. And thanks for the lift, which isn’t a bad pun at this hour of the night.”
    It was when she was leaving that I saw her glance at that wretched newspaper picture of us, and I thought she looked startled. But she went away without comment, and Tish voiced our general feeling about her.
    “It is very sad,” she said, “that one so young should consort with any gang. But I believe such men often have a fatal attraction for the other sex. To have locked her in that elevator was sheer brutality.”
    She was thoughtful, saying little after that; and it was not until three A.M. that Aggie roused me from a sound sleep to report that she was not in her room. What is more, only her bathrobe and slippers were missing, and when it became apparent that our dear Tish was somewhere in the cold London night, unclothed and possibly in danger, our state of mind was quite dreadful.
    It was almost dawn when at last we heard a commotion in the bathroom, and discovered her climbing in the window from the fire escape. She closed the window, shivered slightly, and then confronted us.
    “That girl was right,” she said grimly. “Those men above are bandits. I have no doubt whatever that they intend to secure the crown jewels; if indeed they have not already done so.”
    She said nothing more until we had made her a cup of tea. Iron woman as she is, she had passed through a dreadful ordeal, and it was some time before she had quite recovered.
    “There can be no doubt whatever,” she then explained. “The place is littered with cases containing machine guns, and the ammunition is in round tins in a closet. I had to sit on it. Not only that,” she added: “the raid is to be made at the Coronation itself. And the Master Mind is in America!”
    Well, it was a long story, although a terrible one. She had been unable to sleep, and had gone up the fire escape to inspect the rooms above by looking through a window. The gang being out, she had climbed in, to make the discoveries I have mentioned. But here misfortune overtook her. They came back before she could escape, and she had been forced to find refuge in a closet!
    It was due to this that she heard the cable message, however. The one the others called Jim Carlisle read it aloud to the rest.
    “Listen to this, gang,” he said. “It’s from New York. From the boss.”
    And then he read the most bloodcurdling