The Yellow Warning

Connies suggestion of taking photographs of fur coats modeled in front of their living and breathing counterparts at

the Philadelphia Zoo sounded, to the executives of Reid and

Renshaw, like a very good idea. But who could have

foreseen an escaped gorilla . . . and the theft of an expensive

mink coat?

Connie certainly didnt . . . but since the coat at the time of its loss was in her care she feels responsible, and is

determined either to find the coat or make good the loss. But

when innocent Henry Colt, last seen holding the coat, is

jailed as a suspect, Connie wastes no time in setting a trap

for the real thief a trap that backfires, placing her in mortal danger! How Connies deductions and expert sleuthing solve the mystery of the missing mink is sure to keep all of

her readers gasping.

The CONNIE BLAIR Mystery Stories

The Clue in Blue

The Riddle in Red

Puzzle in Purple

The Secret of Black Cat Gulch

The Green Island Mystery

The Ghost Wore White

The Yellow Warning

The Gray Menace

The Brown Satchel Mystery

Peril in Pink

The Silver Secret

The Mystery of the Ruby Queens

A CONNIE BLAIR MYSTERY

The Yellow Warning

By

BETSY ALLEN

Grosset & Dunlap

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

1951 BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

1. Fabian Furs! 1

2. The Unlucky Number 16

3. Outside the Gorilla Cage 30

4. The Missing Mink 48

5. Is Connie Responsible? 60

6. Where Is Henry Colt? 72

7. The Investigation 85

8. Return to the Zoo 96

9. Search for a Clue 108

10. Night Shift 121

11. Cold Comfort 134

12. The Chase 145

13. Still at Large 157

14. One for the Money 168

1

CHAPTER 1

Fabian Furs!

Connie Blair stood in front of the gleaming triple

mirror and gently, almost tenderly, stroked the soft

fur of the muskrat coat. Its beautiful, she breathed.

Its really quite lovely on you, the salesclerk agreed. Its dyed the new starlight shade. Across the room you can scarcely tell it from mink.

Connie turned, letting the back of the coat swing

out luxuriously. Her blond hair was cut just short of

the collar, and looked especially bright against the

fur. Her skin was creamy, her eyes were bright, and

her legs were as slim and perfect as the model

parading before a customer across the softly lighted

salon.

Miss Marie, the salesclerk, leaned closer. Do you recognize the lady over there?

Connie glanced at the reflection in the mirror. It

2

wasntit couldnt beshe named a famous actress opening in a new play in Philadelphia, speaking the

name a little breathlessly because it seemed strange

and exciting to be seeing a celebrity at such short

range.

The clerk nodded. Shes considering the mink I was talking about. Its the prize of the whole Fabian collection, and, believe me, it costs the earth.

Connie smiled. Whats that? Fifteen thousand dollars. Miss Marie breathed

the sum respectfully.

Connie pursed her lips in a silent whistle, not of

envy but of genuine interest. Once again she thanked

her lucky stars that she was in the advertising

business. Every week, every day even, her job with

Reid and Renshaw brought her into contact with

new and fascinating facts.

Mr. Gerald Fabian, correctly and conservatively

attired in a dark-blue pin-striped suit, stepped

elegantly across the amethyst-colored carpet to

speak to the important customer. The model turned

and pirouetted, then slipped out of the unlined

garment to allow Mr. Fabian to place it on the

shoulders of the actress, who stood and considered

the effect critically in the glass.

She was not, Connie thought shrewdly, as

beautiful as the model, but she graced the coat

better. In an instant, with a shrug of her shoulder, an

3

adjustment of the collar, she made it her own. Mr.

Fabian stood looking on in admiration, the model

faded into the background, and for a moment the

luxurious shop was turned into a stage, across which

the actress strode with a lithe, purely theatrical flair.

Then she slipped out of the coat with a nod of

approval. Ill think about it overnight and let you know, Connie heard her say as she gathered up her sable stole and draped it over the arm of her simple

black suit. I could have it within a week? Were moving on to New York, you know.

Ill have it lined at once, if you will trust me to choose the proper thing? Mr. Fabian apparently considered the coat as good as sold. He escorted the

actress to the door, shaded by a striped marquee, and

turned back cheerfully, lookingConnie thoughtnot unlike a self-satisfied cat who has swallowed a

tasty canary.

Now, then, Miss Blair, I believe? Of Reid and Renshaw?

Connie greeted Mr. Fabian respectfully. Our new art director, Mr. Windham Jones, asked me to

stop in and look at the collection of coats you are

planning to advertise. Ah, yes. I wish we could do something really

spectacular, Mr. Fabian said thoughtfully. Not just the usual shots in front of the Hotel Barclay or the

Warwick. Something different, with a little more

4

verve. Connie nodded, accustomed to the fact that every

client of Reid and Renshaw wanted something

different. But she had been with the agency long enough, now, to know that there werent very many really new advertising ideas.

Youve seen the coats I want to have photographed? Mr. Fabian was continuing.

Yes. Miss Marie just showed them to me. Mr. Fabian touched the let-out muskrat, which

had been returned to its hanger. This was not among them?

Oh, no. Connie blushed, a trifle embarrassed. I was just trying that onfor fun.

There was something so ingenuous about the

manner in which she made the confession that Mr.

Fabians aquiline face softened in a smile. He slipped the coat from the hanger again, and the

lining, of yellow changeable taffeta, rustled

pleasantly. Is it becoming? Let me see. But Connie drew back, rather alarmed. II

wasnt considering buying it, she said quickly. I couldnt afford a fur coatat least not one like this.

She was thinking of her new raise, received as

she assumed many of the stylists duties previously performed by Georgia Cameron, who had married

and moved to Bermuda, from where she wrote long

5

and enthusiastic letters about her domestic life. In

the back of her mind Connie had always cherished

the thought that sometime shed like to own a fur coat like Georgias or a jacket such as her Aunt Bet wore, but it would be purely a luxury, and she could

manage to wait.

Mr. Fabian was saying mildly, This coat happens to be a sample. Do slip it onjust as a favor.

So once more Connie put her arms into the

sleeves and drew the rolled collar about her throat. It

was so lovely and soft!

Gerald Fabian regarded the effect with approval.

You do credit to the Fabian label, Miss Blair. Then he glanced at the ticket inside the coat sleeve,

and made an astonishing offer. If youd like it, you may have this coat at cost.

The figure he named was so ridiculously low that

Connie gasped in surprise. With some revision in

her budgeting, she might even manage . . . But why, she asked frankly, are you doing this for me?

Because you are with Reid and Renshaw, replied Mr. Fabian, equally frank, and because I like to see an attractive girl wearing a becoming

coat. Think it over, he persuaded her. You dont have to make up your mind right now.

Connie, however, had already arrived at a

6

decision. Id love to have it, she said quickly, if you really mean it. And Ill try my best to think up a really good angle for the photographs of your new

collection, Mr. Fabian. Along with Mr. Jones, of

course. Its the only way I can say thank you She broke off, a trifle at a loss, but her brown eyes

expressed the sincere appreciation she felt.

Mr. Fabian patted her shoulder with a fatherly

gesture. Youve said thank you, and very prettily, my dear. He chatted for a few moments more about the advertising campaign, then walked away to

attend to other business while Connie gave Miss

Marie her address and arranged to have the coat

sent.

You really got a bargain, Miss Blair, the salesgirl whispered when they were alone. Thats a very special lining, among other things. As Mr.

Fabian said, its a sample. Youll seldom see such a lovely taffeta lining in a muskrat coat.

Connie was fully aware of her good fortune. She

came out into Walnut Street and turned toward the

office, walking against the brisk October wind with

the feeling that she was treading on air. She could

scarcely wait to show the coat to her Aunt Bet, with

whom she shared an apartment. As a department

store stylist, Elizabeth Easton would be as excited

over Connies luck as she was herself. A coat with a Fabian label was really something to own!

7

Meanwhile, however, she had promised Gerald

Fabian to come up with a really good idea, and

somehow Connie felt no confidence that she could

depend on the help of Windham Jones in unearthing

one. The new art director was a rather pallid man,

with a cockscomb of graying hair and a frown of

perpetual worriment between his eyes. Connie

wished with all her heart that the account executive

on Fabian Furs had not been called out of town just

at this crucial moment, leaving the responsibility

entirely in Mr. Joness hands. He was probably able enough in a routine sort of way, but he was new and

he was also a little nervous. Or perhaps she was

maligning him unduly. Maybe he was just awfully

anxious to make good.

A pretty young woman in a tweed suit and

squirrel jacket paused, just ahead of Connie, to look

at a window display of clothes for tots. Connie

narrowed her eyes, thinking that they might

photograph coats against shopwindow backgrounds,

but she abandoned the idea as too confusing; the

detail would detract from the furs.

In the next store there was a collection of

wonderful nursery wallpapers. Children at a circus,

children at a zoo. She seemed to be pursued by

fashions for small fry, just when she was involved

with furs! Then she stopped abruptly, smiling at a

fantastic leopard behind the bars of his miniature

8

cage. There was a simple background for youjust the animal and vertical lines!

Immediately Connies creative mind translated the thought into an idea. Why not do a zoo series? It

had been done before, but not recently, not in

Philadelphia. That beautiful leopard jacket in front

of a stalking real-live animal, otter against otter,

raccoon against raccoon . . .

She burst into the office enthusiastically. Mr. Jones, I think I have a gimmick! Ive just been looking at the Fabian furs and I think we could do a

series of zoo shots. She elaborated on the notion. Its not new, but at least it would be different from the usual mink-in-a-theater-lobby, raccoon-at-a-

horse-or-dog-show deal. Mr. Jones sat back in his chair and pressed his

thumbs together, looking at her thoughtfully.

Twenty years Connies senior, he had lost the first fine flush of zeal. A job was a job to him, no more,

no less. It was no longer the exciting and stimulating

game it seemed to the girl across the desk.

At least this was the manner in which his reaction

impressed Connie. She waited impatiently while he

probed the pros and cons of the suggestion. It might appeal to Mr. Fabian as a trifleinelegant, perhaps.

The very contrast would make the furs seem more luxurious, Connie insisted.

9

Perhaps, perhaps. She felt a trifle deflated. The way Mr. Jones kept

repeating the word perhaps was absurdly irritating. Connie was definite in all her reactions

and she liked other people to be definite too. Yes and no were words she understood, but perhaps and maybe were such wishy-washy adverbs, getting nowhere at all.

We havent much time, she reminded the art director. Mr. Fabian wants to get started as soon as possible. The first of the ads is scheduled for

Yes, I know, Mr. Jones interrupted. You leave it to me. Ill think it over. That will be all, Miss Blair.

As she walked to the door Connie wondered if

her eyes had expressed astonishment at such a curt

dismissal. Reid and Renshaw had always been such

an informal place to work. Even Mr. George

Renshaw wouldnt speak to her quite so briskly. She felt decidedly chagrined. But by the time she

reached the apartment that evening the excitement of

being the owner of a new fur coat had dissipated her

resentment. She could scarcely wait to tell Aunt Bet!

Elizabeth Easton, the tip of her short nose pink

with cold, came into the lamplit living room with

her arms full of packages and her eyes full of

sparkle. What a dinner were going to have! she announced. Crabmeat au gratin and avocado salad

10

and French fried potatoes. Mm, and am I ever hungry! Connie took the

grocery bags and started for the diminutive kitchen.

Housekeeping with Aunt Bet was always an

adventure, never a chore. She couldnt think of a girl her own ageexcept, of course, her twin sister, Kitwho was quite as much fun, nor an apartment that was as gay and hospitable.

Above the crackle of brown paper she called,

Guess what? Couldnt possibly, Aunt Bet shouted from the

bedroom. I know you too well even to try. Im getting along in the world. Just bought a fur

coat. What! Aunt Bets shriek was full of surprise

and interest. She appeared in the kitchen doorway

with her hat still in her hand. I knew you were impulsive but this is really something! Tell me

more. Connie laughed. With a Fabian label, no less. Aha, light dawns. You have their account. Youre too smart, Aunt Bet. Mr. Fabian made

me a perfectly wonderful offer on a let-out muskrat

and I couldnt resist it. But I still cant quite believe its mine. Connie told her aunt all the circumstances and was delighted when her aunt

heartily approved the purchase.

A good coat is an investment, she said. Youll

11

enjoy it thoroughlyand especially since its such a windfall. Wont you feel smart!

And warm, added Connie practically. Its soft and cozy as can be. I hope somebody asks me to a

football game next week end and buys me a big

yellow chrysanthemum to match the lining. Oh, I

forgot to tell you, the lining . . . Companionable as a couple of schoolgirls, the

pair chatted across the dinner table, which was set in

a bay window from which they could look out over

the city. The lights of tall office buildings winked

like stars, bringing Connie the same sort of thrill

some people get from great open spaces or from

mountains. Philadelphia, day or night, still spelled

excitement and adventure to her.

This evening she was especially contented. The

winter promised to be busy, and her new

responsibilities at the agency were very much to her

liking. She rather missed Ken Cooper, the young

layout man who had been one of her firmest friends

at Reid and Renshaw, but times were bound to

change. Ken had taken a job with another agency

right after Georgia Cameron had left for Bermuda.

Too bad, because he might have stepped into the art

directors shoes. . . . Thinking of the art director led Connie to tell her

aunt the idea she had proposed for the Fabian

photographs.

12

Not bad, her aunt agreed. Remember Joe Ryan? Hes a keeper at the zoo now.

Joe Ryan? Connie repeated the name, trying to place it in her memory.

The rather stout fellow with the nice grin who worked with the crew of painters

Oh, yes!redecorating the apartment. He thought you were wonderful. How could I forget?

Elizabeth Easton chuckled. I almost had, she admitted, but I met him on the street last Saturday and he told me all about his new job. Likes it much

better than painting. I think I would too, Connie said. It would be

fun to work with animals and birds and things. Aunt Bet wrinkled her nose. You can have it. A

day at the zoo is enough for me. Maybe Mr. Jones feels the way you do, Connie

mused. Perhaps thats why he wasnt very enthusiastic about the idea.

Or maybe he just got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Her aunt yawned lazily. People do.

Connie stirred her coffee and chuckled to herself.

Aunt Bet, as usual, had made a shrewd guess. She

remembered now that Mrs. Jones, a short, bedecked

matron with tinted hair, had come into the office at

noon to see her husband, and had left rather

abruptly, after a conversation behind closed doors.

13

Domestic troubles could be harrying the new art

director. By tomorrow he might be in a better frame

of mind.

Consequently, Connie approached the office

hopefully the next morning. She was determined to

be tactful but persuasive. Unless Mr. Jones came up

with a better idea for Fabian, she felt they should at

least make the proposal. Time was getting so very

short!

The mornings mail and accumulated detail busied her for an hour; then Connie walked down

the corridor to the art directors office. On her way she met Mr. Renshaw, the handsomer of the two

partners, and he smiled down at her with the easy

companionability that made the switchboard

operator tag him smooth. Good luck on the Fabian account, he said in his

deep, deliberate voice. I like Windhams idea very much.

Windhams idea? As he turned into the doorway of his own office, Connie looked after him in mild

surprise. Well, maybe Mr. Jones had come through

with a stunner. Already, in her own mind, she was

prepared to abandon the zoo proposition. In the

advertising game it was important to keep a flexible

point of view.

Then the new art directors brisk, rather high-pitched voice drifted distinctly into the corridor.

14

Mr. Fabian? Windham Jones speaking. We have a proposal to make concerning the photographs for

your new collection. Ive been thinking it might be rather striking to shoot the pictures out at the

Philadelphia Zoo. While Connie stopped in astonishment, just a step

away from the office door, Mr. Jones paused, then

chuckled at something Mr. Fabian apparently said

on the other end of the wire. A moment later he

went on, speaking rapidly and with complete

authority. I have in mind a sequence of indoor and outdoor shots, which I shall outline to you in detail

in a letter. But for the moment, picture a beautiful

girl in a leopard jacket photographed against the

perpendicular bars of the snow leopards cage in the new Carnivora House, and a model in Alaska seal

feeding the sea lions. Does it appeal to you? There was another silence. Then Mr. Jones said,

Fine, fine. Well schedule the shots for tomorrow morning, then. No use delaying. Ill have Miss Blair make the arrangements with the zoo at once. Righto!

Good-bye. As the receiver clicked into its cradle, Connie

moved into the doorway. She hoped she didnt look as incensed as she felt. Swiping her idea and

presenting it as his own. Well, of all the nerve!

Oh, hello, Miss Blair, Mr. Jones said, without any apparent concern that he might have been

15

overheard. Mr. Fabian is willing to go along with the zoo idea. Map out a detailed list of shots, will

you, and phone the publicity director and tell him

wed like to come out tomorrow morning. Back at her own desk a few minutes later Connie

did as she was told, although her eyes still

smoldered with indignation. If the client had been

anyone other than Gerald Fabian she wouldnt have minded being left out of the picture, but she had

been so anxious to do something special in return for

the favor the furrier had done her. . . .

16

CHAPTER 2

The Unlucky Number

Thirteen. Unlucky number. Miss Marie, looking haggard in the early-morning light streaming

through Fabians plate-glass show windows, shook her head superstitiously.

Pad in hand, Connie had just finished checking

the furs hung on the portable rack against Mr.

Fabians list. Its always been a lucky number for me,

Connie reassured her. On our thirteenth birthday my twin sister and I had our first real dates, and day

before yesterdaythe thirteenthMr. Fabian made me the happy owner of a new fur coat. She was feeling high-spirited and optimistic, in spite of the

fact that she had been up with the birds and had

breakfasted by seven-thirty in order to arrive at the

fur shop early.

Everything was arranged. Connie and the stock

17

boy from Fabians were to ride, together with the coats, in the truck. Mr. Jones was to pick up the four

models and follow in another car, while the

photographer, Gregory Rome, would join them at

the north entrance to the zoo.

The morning was clear and brisk. The wind of the

past few days had died, to Connies relief, because a stiff breeze could do unfortunate things to the hair-

dos some models affected. It would be a good idea

to get the outside photographs finished first, just in

case the weather should change before noon.

She must mention this to Mr. Jones, Connie noted

on her pad. So many things to think aboutthere was no time for resentment this morning. Anyway,

she had practically forgiven the art director his

behavior. He was new in his job, anxious to make a

good impression. There were a dozen and one

excuses for his conduct, and Connie had searched

them all out.

A truck the color of a blue jays wing pulled up in front of the door. A lanky youth climbed from

behind the wheel, sauntered over, and rapped lazily

on the pane to attract Miss Maries attention. She unlocked the door and let him in. Hello,

Henry. This is Miss Blair, of Reid and Renshaw.

Shes in charge of this expedition. Isnt that right? Connie smiled. Mr. Jones is in charge, but Im

assisting. The plan is that Ill ride out with you to

18

the zoo. The zoo? Henrys Adams apple bobbed.

Ymean were doin this job in the zoo? His astonishment seemed almost alarm, so that

Connie laughed spontaneously. Thats right. Any objection?

Well, no. But Henry sounded a trifle dubious. Just so the animals dont take a nip at one of the

coats, eh, Henry? Miss Marie was trying to conquer her weariness by being jocular.

Theyre behind bars, aint they? Oh, sure, sure. Whatll they think of next? Henry asked the

world at large. Takin pictures of fur coats in a zoo.

Connie laughed, then glanced at her wrist watch.

Wed better get started, she suggested. Were due at the gate at nine-thirty. Theres something about the early light being softerphotographers talk I never quite understand.

Miss Marie again unlocked the door, and Henry

wheeled the rack of furs, cloaked discreetly in a

striped dust jacket, to the rear of the truck. It was

something of a feat to hoist the heavy rack single-

handed into the body of the vehicle, but Henry

accomplished it with a certain pride. Connie,

meanwhile, thanked Miss Marie for her assistance

and climbed into the seat next to the driver.

19

Its a lovely day today she was humming to herself when the young man came around to the

other side and slid behind the wheel.

Whats lovely about it? Henry asked gloomily. Everything. The suns shining. Were going to

spend a whole morning outdoors. In a zoo. Dont you like zoos? Henry shrugged.

What s your last name, Henry? Colt. Henry Colt. Do you want me to call you Henry or Mr. Colt?

Connie asked.

Henrys eyes, green flecked like a startled animals, turned to meet hers. Call me Henry. Everybody does.

After a moments silence Connie tried again. Have you worked for Fabians long?

Bout a year. Do you like ityour job, I mean? Its O.K. In fact, I like it fine. Henry was not, Connie decided, an avid

conversationalist. She considered giving up the

attempt to be friendly, but it did seem as though they

should have some common meeting ground, if only

she could find it.

The opportunity came in the next moment, when

the lad swerved unexpectedly to avoid being side-

20

swiped by another car. These punk drivers! he complained bitterly. They dont watch where theyre goin half the time.

Henry, Connie noticed, handled the light truck

with pride and dexterity. Youre an unusually good driver, Henry, she commented sincerely.

The boy positively beamed. Thank you kindly, he said. I aim to be a road driver someday, or maybe a reefer.

Road driverreefer? Both terms were unfamiliar to Connie. Theyre the guys who haul freight in big trucks. Reefers are refrigerator trucks.

They travel fast and mostly at night. Ive always thought it would be kind of an interesting life.

Connie couldnt agree with him, but she didnt say so. I should think this job would be interesting enoughbut sort of scary, sometimesbeing responsible for thousands and thousands of dollars worth of furs. Why, the collection we have back

there right now must be worth a small fortune! You mean am I frightened of hijackers? Henry

shook his head. Naw! I got a Babaco. This double-talk in which Henry seemed to

indulge Connie found confusing. Whats a Babaco? she asked.

Its a kind of super burglar alarm, Henry explained. Its hidden away inside the hood with electrical connections leading to the doors at the

21

back and the ones right here. He leaned across Connie and snapped a catch. I usually keep em locked, like this. Then if a stranger tampers with the

truck, the alarm begins to shriek and roar. You can

hear it five miles away on a clear day, he bragged. Really? Connie was impressed. I suppose any

ordinary thief would run the minute it starts. You bet! But suppose a really determined hijacker pulls a

gun and forces you to shut it off. O.K. O.K. So Im willing. I can do it all right,

but its a slow job. I gotta press buttons on the dashboard and turn keys in special locks. By the

time Im through tinkerin theres bound to be help on the way.

But what would prevent a hijacker from driving the truck off in the meantime? Connie asked.

Babacos attached to the engines starter. As long as the siren blows, the engine wont go. Henry spoke proudly. Pretty nifty, what?

I should say so. Her bright hair glinted in the sunshine as Connie nodded her head. No wonder youre not scared to be driving around with a cargo of valuable furs.

They had turned into the parkway and were

approaching the vast bulk of the art museum, built

high on a rock foundation. Before it fountains

played, and on the spreading steps a couple of

22

pigeons walked sedately side by side. Connie sat for

a while in silence, no longer feeling ill at ease with

Henry, because she had found a subject in which

they were both interested. Every person in the world

is different, she mused. It isnt wise to give up too easily. There was something to be learned from

everyone, even a young man who seemed a little

dull witted and taciturn.

You go out the West River Drive, dont you? Henry asked as they made the circle.

Thats right. Connie turned and looked at Henry in frank surprise. Havent you ever been to the zoo?

Not me. Henry shook his head vigorously. Oh, you must go out and spend a day

sometime! Connie cried. Its a wonderful place! Its the oldest zoo in the United States, you know, and one of the most famous. Theres a new Bird House and a new Carnivora House that are perfectly

marvelous and A what? A Carnivora House. Thats where they keep the

big catslions and tigers and cheetahs and so forth.

You can have it, sister. For my money Ill go to a show instead.

Connie laughed. Dont you like animals? I adore them.

23

Maybe you wouldnt adore em so much if they werent on the other side of good strong iron bars.

But thats just the point. Theyre in cages, and youre just as safe as you are she hesitatedas you are with your Babaco right here in this truck.

Ill take Babaco instead of a baboon any day in the week. Henry drove onto the bridge over the Schuylkill River and refused to be disturbed by

Connies amused chuckle. The north entrance, you said?

Yes. I think you turn left up the river a way. Connie leaned forward and began to watch the road.

Here, she said after a few minutes. Theres a parking area on Thirty-fourth Street, right by the

gate. A high spiked fence surrounded the zoo, and from

a pen directly in front of the cobblestoned parking

strip a dromedary stared haughtily at the blue

delivery truck. Connie and her driver were the first

to arrive, so they pulled in close to the gate and

awaited i he others. There were surprisingly few cars

on hand, Connie thought, until she became aware

that the zoo was not yet open to the public.

Ten oclock, moaned a passing child to his mother. Thats a heck of an hour to open. Practically afternoon.

Henry grinned. Hes young yet. Hell learn. I wonder why that youngster isnt in school?

24

Connie asked idly. It isnt a holiday or anything, is it?

Not that I know of, Henry replied. Unless theres a Teachers Institute.

Ill bet thats it, Connie remarked as a bus discharged a sizable group of children. Well, I guess well have a little competition. Wouldnt it be just our luck to hit this particular day! But she wasnt especially disturbed, even though the presence of a crowd might give Mr. Rome a little

difficulty. She loved to watch the bright, eager faces

of the youngsters, and enjoyed the wonder with

which they eyed the curious creatures who lived in

the zoo.

By the time Mr. Jones drove up with the models

there was quite a throng around the gate. He pulled

in next to the Fabian truck and called across to

Connie, Sorry to be late, but one of the models didnt show up. We finally got a message shes ill. Maybe youll have to pinch hit.

Me? Connies hands flew instinctively to her hair, which she had not bothered to set last night.

Although she had done some modeling at

Campions, the department store where her aunt worked and where she had been employed briefly as

a model for college clothes (and incidentally solved

a strange mystery by discovering The Clue in Blue),

Connie felt that today she looked far from

25

glamorous enough to be photographed in one of the

beautiful furs from Mr. Fabians salon. Mr. Jones managed a smile. Youll do, he said,

which was the closest thing to a compliment he had

ever paid her.

Almost immediately Gregory Rome, driving a

yellow convertible with a black top, turned in from

the street. He honked and waved at Connie, found a

spot to park, and started to unload his camera

equipment from the luggage compartment.

Connie, meanwhile, was introduced by Mr. Jones

to the three models, Griselda Wood, a tall brunette

with a willowy figure, Donna Jean Johnson, a

redhead with remarkable ivory skin, and Carmen

Lovelace, a near-blonde with a sharp-featured,

photogenic face and a catlike manner of walking.

Connie greeted them politely, trying to fix the names

in her memory so that she could introduce them in

turn to the publicity director, who had promised to

meet them at the gate and attend them on their

expedition.

Andrew Macraethere was a forthright name for you! Next to the fancy, patently assumed surnames

of the models, it sounded comfortingly solid and

Scotch. Mr. Macrae had been very courteous over

the phone, both hospitablein behalf of the zooand understanding. Connie hoped he was as nice as

he sounded, because with the complication of the

26

unexpected hordes of school children and the

absence of one of the models this promised to be

quite a day.

Finally their little caravan was organized. Henry,

pushing his four-wheeled cart noisily over the

cobblestones, led the way, with Connie walking

along at his side. The three models straggled behind

them, looking very bored, and the photographer and

Mr. Jones, who between them barely managed to

carry all the photographic equipment, brought up the

rear.

The throng of children, impatiently waiting for

the gate to open, curbed their excitement for a few

minutes to stare at the strange procession. Connie

heard one schoolgirl whisper to another, Isnt she pretty? and was surprised to find them looking directly at her, rather than at one of the fashion

models just behind.

Mr. Macrae is expecting us, Connie told the ticket seller at the cashiers window. She gave Reid and Renshaws name.

Oh, yes. Mr. Macrae told me to telephone when you arrived. Hes in his office now, but it wont take him five minutes to get here. You can wait right

inside. With a certain amount of confusion the awkward

cart was jockeyed through the gates. The girls

followed; then Gregory Rome and Windham Jones

27

pushed through, draped with straps and satchels and

tripods, and already breathing hard.

Well do the outdoor shots right away, Mr. Rome said as they rested. The indoor stuff can wait, if necessary, until this afternoon.

From a distance, along the macadam path, Connie

could see a young man approaching with an easy

stride. She was aware, almost at once, that he was

broad of shoulder and rather tanned for this time of

year. He had crisp light-brown hair, dark eyes, and a

generous grin. Although the day was cool, he wore

no topcoatonly a sports jacket over a chamois vest.

Miss Blair? He came to her directly, hand outstretched.

Yes. Connie liked him at once. Mr. Macrae, this is Mr. Jones, our art director. She was prepared to continue the introductions, but Mr. Jones took the

matter out of her hands.

How do you do, he said brusquely, giving Mr. Macraes hand a quick shake. He introduced Gregory Rome but ignored the models, as though

they were so many pieces of furniture, to be admired

but not addressed.

Very good of you to let us come out here, he mentioned in passing, without any particular

warmth. Now, lets see, Connie. Whats our first shot?

28

Connie didnt have to glance at her list. The otter, I think, she said.

Andrew Macrae smiled at her. Right. I hope youre prepared for quite a walk. The otter pool is in the southwest section. He pointed a descriptive finger. Suppose you and I lead the way.

Connie didnt need to be invited twice. She noticed that Griselda and Donna Jean and Carmen

had abandoned their expressions of bored

indifference the moment Mr. Macrae had come upon

the scene. All right. Ready, Henry? She turned for just a moment to the delivery truck driver, whose

nod of assent contained a certain reluctance. Then

she started off.

And at that very moment a clock, in the distance,

struck ten. School children poured through the

entrance gate and surrounded them like a swarm of

honeybees. For the moment, until llamas or giraffes

should prove more entertaining, Connie and her

retinue were the feature attraction, and the

youngsters danced and pranced beside them, asking

questions and peeping under the concealing dust

cover to exclaim over the fur coats.

Henry barked at the mischief-makers. Let go there, he ordered ominously. Get along. This aint no parade.

Andrew Macrae grinned at the kids, and assured

Henry, Theyre quite harmless.

29

Thats all well and good, Henry retorted with a conscientious frown, but I gotta turn up at the shop with thirteen coatssame as I started out withand in a mob like this anything can happen, and

sometimes does!

30

CHAPTER 3

Outside the Gorilla Cage

The strange little procession rattled along winding

paths, past two-humped camels, vicunas, alpacas,

guanacos. The sight of a baby llama, promenading

with his mother, made Connie stop and exclaim for

a moment, distracting the bulk of the school

children, who remained with their noses pressed

against the wire fencing while the Reid and

Renshaw group continued toward the otter pool.

Sometimes I feel sorry for animals in captivity, Connie mentioned to the young publicity man

sauntering along at her side.

He nodded. I know how you feel, but youre really wasting your sympathy. Wild animals in

freedom arent really free, you see. They follow a restricted routine, punctuated by terror. Each has

enemies, including man, from which it must

constantly flee. Wild animals are often hungry and

31

diseased. The lucky ones, I think, land in zoos. It was a completely new idea to Connie. She

looked at Andrew Macrae doubtfully. You really mean that?

He grinned at her. I do. The strongest psychological need of most animals is for a home. In

nature, animals range over a large territory only to

seek food. Here its provided, and space becomes, consequently, unimportant.

Well! Come out, sometime, when youre bent on

pleasure rather than business, and Ill take you on an escorted tour, Mr. Macrae offered when he realized that Connie was really interested.

Ill take you up on that, she promised as they passed the Reptile House and turned toward the

enclosure where penguins were moving about with

the solemnity of ambassadors at a dinner party.

The models behind them stopped gossiping

among themselves and seemed interested for the

first time. My golly! exclaimed Griselda, in a voice which ill became her aloof manner. Would you look at that. If they dont look like a bunch of sugar daddies in white ties and tails!

The remark was so spontaneous that even Henry

laughed. It was easy to see what interested Griselda

Wood. Connie could visualize her, a few years from

now, mincing contentedly along on spike heels,

32

wearing a mink coat as handsome as the one under

the denim dust cover.

It had always astonished Connie that to some

women mink was synonymous with success. They

would fight for it, slave for it, even commit a crime

for it. Griselda Wood, featherbrained but single-

minded, might be one of those.

Shaking off such an unexpected, accidental

thought, Connie walked on. Just past the Kangaroo

House, Mr. Macrae cut to the left. Stick with us, he called over his shoulder to the girls, whose steps

were beginning to lag. Were almost there. The otter pool was bathed in autumn sunlight, to

the satisfaction of Gregory Rome. He set up his

tripod and busied himself among his camera

equipment while the rest of the group stood around

and chatted, with the exception of Henry, who

seemed vaguely unhappy and withdrawn.

Although Mr. Jones had not lost the worried

expression between his eyes, he seemed, to Connie,

a great deal more human this morning. Maybe its the fresh air, she decided. Poor man, he probably

just needs to relax. After all, she could remember

with considerable exactitude her feelings when she

had first taken a position with Reid and Renshaw. It

was possible that, no matter how high up in the

advertising hierarchy a person went, he might still

have butterflies in his tummy when he faced a

33

brand-new job.

Donna Jean, who was to wear the otter greatcoat,

recombed her hair and checked her make-up in a

vanity mirror held by Carmen Lovelace, who looked

a trifle indifferent to the whole routine. Henry took

from the rack the coat Connie indicated and held it

while the model slipped into it. The shot called for a

pair of binoculars slung over her shoulder and a

blue-green scarf knotted around her throat. She was

to look casual, sporting, but elegant withal.

Gregory Romes eyes widened in approval when he saw her. Were doing this in black and white and also in color, Mr. Jones reminded him, in case Mr. Fabian decides to take some slick magazine

space. The photographer nodded understandingly,

although Connie could see that the remark sounded

like a kind of double-talk to Henry. Andrew Macrae,

however, was both comprehending and interested.

When Mr. Jones said, Hadnt she better remove a little of that lipstick, Greg? he nodded approvingly. Connie smiled, equally aware that the rouge would

photograph too dark. She went forward and adjusted

the fall of the fur to catch more interesting high

lights. Then the whole company stood back as the

photographer jockeyed his tripod into position and

Donna Jean held her pose.

Chin dropped a little . . . no, too much . . . little

34

higher . . . higher . . . there! Now the right hand, on

the binoculars. The fingers are too stiff. Relax.

Shake your hand and try again. Thats better. Now dampen your lips. Look interested. My gosh,

wouldnt that otter shake his head! All right, well try again.

It was a long, grueling hour. When an otter would

obligingly take a position of interest, the model and

the camera would move to a new spot. Connie,

accustomed to the hazards of the game, was patient

but a little concerned. Water mammals, she could

see, would prove a gamble at best. Shed be glad when they moved inside, to pose the models against

the more restricting confines of a cage.

Finally, however, Gregory pronounced himself

satisfied, and the group moved on to an adjacent

pool, where seals and sea lions played.

Whats the difference between the two? Connie asked Mr. Macrae. They all look alike to me.

The most noticeable difference is that sea lions have small external ears and seals havent. Look carefully. Youll see.

The publicity man seemed especially interested in

the matara-dyed Alaska seal jacket Carmen

Lovelace was modeling. These fur seals, he told her, are caught off the Pribilof Islands. Theyve been under the protection of our Fish and Wildlife

Service, you know, for many years.

35

Carmen obviously didnt know, nor did she very much care, though because it was a young and rather

handsome man speaking she assumed a show of

curiosity. You dont say! she murmured, looking up at Andrew Macrae. Well, imagine that.

Connie noted, with restrained amusement, that

this ended Mr. Macraes attempt to be informative. He came back to stand by her side and admire

Carmens pantherlike grace from a distance. Sometimes people are more interesting than animals, he muttered after a few minutes, as though to himself.

But Connie was thinking precisely the opposite.

She was laughing at the antics of the sea lions,

natural clowns, who were doing all manner of tricks,

versatile as circus performers and almost as anxious

for applause.

Everything contrived to make this shot an easy

one to stage. As though they were camera-wise, two

seals conveniently backed up on their flippers and

rubbed noses just as Carmen got into position.

Gregory clicked his shutter and the scene was

captured. That, he told his audience, should be a wow.

Youre sure those were seals, not sea lions? Mr. Jones asked fussily. We ought to be authentic about this.

We can always paint out their ears, if necessary.

36

Got to give the retouching boys a little work. Connie glanced at her watch, then suggested,

We still have time for the raccoon before lunch. Right, agreed the art director, and once more

the group moved on. This time, Connie walked with

the other girls, and the men went ahead.

Gee, isnt he cute? whispered Donna Jean to Griselda, then turned to include Connie in the

question.

Who? Connie asked impishly. Mr. Jones? Dont be silly, Griselda cut in. Windy Jones is

the spittin image of a henpecked husband. Macrae is Donna Jeans boy.

Henpecked husband, Connie thought, amused.

She rather suspected that Griselda, in her slapdash

way, had hit the nail on the head.

Is the Macrae lad single? Carmen wanted to know.

He hasnt discussed his private life with me, Connie told her bluntly. We just met this morning, you know. What she didnt confess was that she strongly suspected that Mr. Macrae was unmarried,

because there was a certain expression in his eyes

that led her to believe that he found her attractive.

An unwarranted prick of jealousy made Connie

sound abrupt, and the conversation halted, the three

models steering clear of an unsympathetic point of

view.

37

Kate Travis was to have worn the raccoon, Mr. Jones, Connie told the art director a few minutes later. It will fit Carmen, however. She waited for his decision before asking Henry to get the coat.

You try it on, Windham Jones suggested. Rather reluctantly, Connie put her arms into the

sleeves and walked a few paces back and forth.

No, her superior decreed. Its not your type. Carmen, fortunately, looked seductively boyish in

the rather bulky coat, but it was difficult to get a

good picture because the animals were indisposed to

co-operate. It took the help of the keeper to engineer

them into a photographic position, and even then

Gregory was dubious as to the results.

I think wed better break for lunch now, Mr. Jones said. Is there any place on the grounds where we can get something to eat?

We only have refreshment stands for the public, but Ive made arrangements to take you to the employees luncheonette, if you like, Mr. Macrae said.

It didnt, apparently, appeal to the models, but Connie was intrigued by the idea of eating lunch

along with the keepers and guards and other workers

in the zoo. She had a dozen and one questions she

wanted to ask Mr. Macrae, and she was delighted

when she found herself seated next to him at the

long counter, while Mr. Jones sat between Donna

38

Jean and Griselda Wood.

Most of the employees greeted the publicity

director in a friendly fashion, some even stopping to

chat. Got a story for you, Andy, one keeper announced. Theres an old fellow tossing tracts against sin into the snakes terrarium. Been there a couple of hours or more.

Mr. Macrae laughed. Hope he handed a couple to you, he kidded.

Me? The keeper pretended to be incensed. I got no need for tracts. The missus takes me to

church reglar as clockwork, as you know right well.

Connie ate her sandwich and sipped her coffee in

silence as she listened to the interchange. The talk

about zoo activities was as different from the

advertising chitchat to which she was accustomed as

chocolate is from vanilla. She found it interesting,

even stimulating, in much the same way Griselda

seemed to enjoy discussing expensive furs.

Right now the models on either side of the art

director were still talking about mink and sable,

pondering the probable prices of the garments they

had been wearing and deciding, much as children

play make-believe games, which they would prefer

to own.

Make mine sable, Donna Jean said in her penetrating nasal tone. Everybody and her great-

39

aunt wears mink. Its still my fur, Griselda said firmly. Theres

nothing gives a girl such a feeling of being wrapped

up in luxury as mink. Goodness, Connie thought, as she saw the

covetous expression in Griseldas eyes, it must be dreadful to be so materialistic, to want something

very expensive so much. She knew, without needing

to ask, that Griselda would despise her own new

muskrat, which was almost as soft and warm as the

valuable mink hanging on the rack.

The rack! Connie swung around on her stool and

glanced out the window, to where Henry Colt stood

patiently lounging against a tree, one foot idly

prodding a caster. She finished her sandwich

hurriedly and slipped down. Excuse me. Ill trade places with Henry. He must be hungry too.

Henry abandoned his charge without much show

of reluctance. Just tell any kids to keep hands off, he told Connie. Thats all you have to do. He started off, then turned back with a perplexed

expression in his watery blue eyes. Say, he began, his Adams apple jumping, are we aimin to spend a week out here? The way I figure it, weve only got three pitures, and we got thirteen coats.

Connies laugh was hearty and sympathetic. We brought three styles along in some of the furs, she reassured him. Just in case the composition wasnt

40

right for a certain length. Henry scratched his head, unable to comprehend

this explanation. In any event, the main point was

clear. He stated it. We finish up this afternoon? Thats right. Connie added, Unless theres

some unexpected difficulty. We have to skip the

beaver and put that in with the group shot. Beavers,

Mr. Macrae says, are nocturnal creatures, a small

point of which Mr. Jones and I were quite unaware. Henry shook his head and loped off. Most of this

was just so much Greek to him, his manner stated.

Connie stood by the rack of coats and planned the

group shot in her mind. She thought the girls might

be feeding some of the peacocks that wandered,

unrestricted, about the grounds. Were peacocks ever

fed by hand? Well, at any rate, they could be

admiring them. And the blue peafowl seemed to

delight in showing off before visitors. It should be a

natural and an easy photograph to get.

This out of the way, they went on to the indoor

shots. Henry trundled his cart along a little

reluctantly, and Connie thought he cringed when the

lion roared, but she couldnt be sure. They stopped before a cage of leopards. Cats,

Andy Macrae called them. He had chosen a pair of

particularly handsome spotted leopards which

padded endlessly back and forth behind the bars.

The coat to be photographed was a trim, three-

41

quarter length model which was to have been worn

by the absent Kate. Griselda tried it on but it was too

small for her. On neither Donna Jean nor Carmen

was it especially becoming, so Connie finally

slipped into it and posed for the shot. Her hair was

almost as tawny as the pelts, and her skin tones were

just deep enough to complement the color

combination. Gregory Rome nodded his head in

approval.

Weve got something here, he said. He worked quite a while to get the lights just

right, so that the bars of the cage would form the

proper pattern and the prowling beasts would be in

focus as well as the girl in the foreground. Henry,

standing back against the wall by the coat rack,

fidgeted and shifted from one foot to the other

impatiently until the photographer snapped, Cant you stand still?

Connie had noticed that, as the day progressed,

Mr. Rome became increasingly edgy. She supposed

that this was an especially grueling assignment,

because fashion photographs always called for a

kind of perfection, and she tried to be as helpful and

as co-operative as possible.

She could not forestall, however, a disagreement

between the photographer and the art director which

occurred a little later in the afternoon. Only one shot

remained to be takenthe picture featuring the prize

42

of the entire Fabian collection, the natural royal

pastel mink coat worth fifteen thousand dollars that

Connie had admired in the shop. Whether or not it

had been ordered by the actress who had tried it on

she didnt know, but in any event it had been hurriedly lined and Mr. Fabian wanted to use it in

his new advertising campaign.

There were no mink in the zoo, and even if there

had been, Mr. Rome pooh-poohed the notion that

they could be photographed effectively. Nor did he

like Mr. Joness suggestion that the marvelous mink coat be photographed against the background of

birds of brilliant plumage.

That hasnt any punch, he said firmly. Nine people out of ten would miss the point.

Have you a better idea? Mr. Jones asked a bit testily.

How about this? Connie proposed. Do a contrast shot. Picture a beautiful girlGriselda, in this caseagainst the ugliest animal we can find.

The gorilla, said Mr. Macrae. All right. The gorilla. Thats a good idea. Gregory Rome said, Not bad, but Mr. Jones

shook his head. I dont like it. Why not? the photographer wanted to know. A big animal like that would dwarf the

importance of the coat. Not if we could manage to get a picture in which

43

the gorilla seems to be looking at the minkadmiring it, Connie said.

Mr. Rome whistled. Thats a large order! But we could try. Yes, we could try, Mr. Jones finally agreed,

when Andrew Macrae added his support to Connies suggestion. So the entire party left the Carnivora

House and went across to the building in which the

monkeys were kept. This was an older type building,

neither so large nor so impressive as the double-

winged Carnivora House. The gorilla they chose to

photograph was a four-hundred-pound beast lodged

in a cage near the rear door, and he was sufficiently

hideous to make Griselda shudder in repulsion.

You mean I got to stand alongside of that? Not in the cage. Right here by the guard rail,

Gregory Rome told the girl in a weary attempt at

humor. Then he adjusted the tripod on his camera

and started to set up his lights.

A keeper appeared from the kitchen behind the

gorillas cage and Connie immediately recognized Joe Ryan. She went up and introduced herself, and

the stout fellows mouth spread in a wide grin. Sure I remember you. Hows your aunt? Shes

one fine lady. Aunt Bets in the pink, Connie assured him.

How do you like working in a zoo? Joe made a circle with thumb and finger. Its

44

better than painting ceilings any day in the week. You must have a pretty responsible job, for

having been here onlyhow long is it now? Going on two years, Joe said. I got a real

break when one of the keepers here in the Monkey

House took sick. I was in snakes before that and I

like this a heap better. Mr. Macrae came up to the pair. Joes done a

swell job, he told Connie. It isnt every young keeper whod be trusted with a job in this particular house. Primates can be unpredictable.

But theyre interesting, Joe said. And sometimes theyre mighty comical. He gestured toward the chimpanzees at the other end of the

house. Those kids do everything but talk, he assured Connie.

Andrew Macrae laughed. Joe loves them, he murmured. Thats why hes good with them.

All right, Mr. Rome called. Lets get the model placed, Miss Blair.

Connie turned back to station Griselda

strategically while the photographer readjusted his

lights, which were so hot that Connie decided to

withhold the mink coat until the very last minute.

The keeper, meanwhile, had retired to the narrow

passage behind the gorillas cage, and was trying to rouse the great beast, who was sleeping in a corner,

as Mr. Macrae said he frequently did after being fed.

45

Joe prodded him gently with the end of a broom but

he only grunted and edged away, refusing to be

disturbed.

Come on, fellow, get up on your feet there, Joe urged.

The gorilla merely rolled over, out of reach of I

he broomstick, and lay curled in a ball like a

gigantic dormouse.

Thats just dandy, commented Mr. Rome. Well get a shot thatll knock em cold at this rate.

Wait a minute. Ill get him awake. Joe unlocked the cage door and leaned inside, fruitlessly

trying to attract the gorillas attention. Henry Colt, meanwhile, waited just behind the

model, with the royal mink coat draped tenderly

over his arm. Connie thought he seemed pale and

unhappy, as though he would prefer to be anywhere

except inside this Monkey House, but she didnt waste much sympathy on him because he, like the

rest of them, had a job to do.

Ill get a stalk of celery. Hes crazy about celery, Joe called to the group in front of the cage. Ive never seen him yet when hes been too full to eat a little more.

He banged the cage door shut and went into the

kitchen directly behind it just as a troupe of school

children came, shouting and laughing, through the

door at the other end of the building. At the sight of

46

the camera and the group of adults they were

undismayed, but they abandoned their original

intention of looking at the animals and swarmed

around Mr. Rome and the Reid and Renshaw group

in spite of Andrew Macraes warning to stay clear of the light cords. It seemed to Connie that there must

be half a hundred of them, they created such

confusion. Henry hovered solicitously between

Griselda and his rack of coats, and while Mr. Jones

was trying to help the publicity director marshal the

youngsters into some kind of order, the gorilla, quite

unexpectedly, stretched and got to all fours.

Never mind, Mr. Ryan, hes awake now! Connie called to the keeper, who appeared in the

kitchen doorway with the celery just at that moment,

but her voice was lost in the din.

At that instant the brute turned and seemed to

look at her directly, baring his fangs and beating his

chest with his partially clenched fists. A shudder ran

through her body, instinctive and impossible to

quell, and she noticed that the photographers lights threw the gorillas shadow, many times greater than life size, upon the rear wall.

What a picture that would make! she cried, half to Mr. Rome, half to herself. All right, Henry. Slip the coat over Griseldas shoulders now.

Gregory was adjusting his camera, and Joe Ryan

had retired once more into the kitchen, when, with I

47

lumbering speed that seemed completely incredible,

the gorilla ran to the back of the cage, lifted the

latch, and walked coolly out the door!

48

CHAPTER 4

The Missing Mink

The shocked silence of disbelief lasted for no more

than a second. Then pandemonium broke loose as

the crowd of onlookers in the Monkey House

realized that the huge gorilla was at large.

Walking erect, with his long arms outstretched,

the six-foot beast padded toward the kitchen in

pursuit of his keeper as the screams of children and

the piercing yells of the terrified models mingled

with Andrew Macraes shout of warning to unsuspecting Joe Ryan. Connie herself was so

utterly flabbergasted that she stood completely still.

Then, recovering her presence of mind, she did

the sensible thing. The children had to be hurried out

of the building, away from possible harm. She

clapped her hands and issued orders like a school-

teacher or a major general. Quick now! This way! Afterward, Connie had no very clear picture in

49

her mind of the few minutes immediately following

the gorillas escape. She was conscious that another keepernot Joecame to her assistance with the children, who were inclined to rush the door in a

pell-mell horde, clawing and scratching their way to

freedom. Andy Macrae was there too, marshaling

the crowd into some kind of order. She was

conscious of the grave danger, and she had a vivid

mental image of the lawless strength of the gorillas four-foot arms, but she had no sense of personal

fear. Like Andy and the keeper, she worked calmly.

Then, over the loud-speaker system, came a

mans steady voice: Visitors, attention. This is an emergency. Listen

carefully, please. All visitors go to the nearest

building promptly. I repeat. All visitors go to the

nearest building promptly. Thank you. Connie turned the last of the children toward the

Kangaroo House. Go over there, she told them, and wait inside.

Good work, miss, said a keeper at her elbow approvingly. Then, as she was about to turn back to

the building which had just been evacuated, he took

her arm. Youd better stay clear too. Connie looked around for Andy Macrae,

suddenly aware of her obligation to Reid and

Renshaw and to Mr. Fabian. She wanted to make

sure that Henry had managed to wheel the rack of

50

coats to safety before she abandoned her job.

Just a minute. Please! Ive got to see Connie tried to shake off the keepers restraining hand, but the man kept a kindly but firm grip on her arm. She

tried to explain her responsibility for the fur coats,

but in the noise and confusion she couldnt make him understand.

Im sorry, miss, but I cant let you go back in there. Its as much as my job would be worth.

At that moment a new din arose from the interior

of the building, a rattling and banging which

mingled with the wild chattering of the monkeys and

the resonant shouting of the gibbons. It came, quite

obviously, from the kitchen at the rear of the house.

The keeper dropped Connies arm and hurried up the steps just as the publicity director reappeared

with Joe Ryan, who was clutching his left sleeve.

Joe, are you hurt? Connie asked before she noticed a trickle of blood staining the blue of his

work shirt.

The keeper looked more startled than frightened,

although he seemed a little white around the mouth.

He bit me, he said as though he were surprised. He bit me when I tried to get him to go back to his cage.

Its just a surface wound, Andy Macrae said consolingly, whether truthfully or not Connie

couldnt be sure. But you ought to get to a doctor,

51

Joe, in any event, for an anti-tetanus shot. He signaled to a workman with a rake. See that Mr. Ryan gets to the administration building, please.

Cant I? Connie started, wanting to be helpful, but she stopped abruptly as she once more

remembered the fur coats. Donna Jeans red head had disappeared inside the Kangaroo House along

with the crowd of children, but not another person in

the Reid and Renshaw group had she seen. It was

more than probable that the rest, she realized

belatedly, had made their escape through the rear

door, and that Henry and his rack of furs was among

them. So as Andrew Macrae turned back to the steps

she ran along the path which skirted the building,

and, ignoring the call of another keeper, arrived at

the back door.

The gorilla was on a real tear now, clearly

enough. He was having a rip-snorting time in the

kitchen, apparently banging pans and feed buckets

together and hurling any movable utensil at the

locked door. A keeper was running along the path

from the service building carrying a basket filled

with avocados and peanuts, but by now the other

two models, Henry, and Mr. Jones had evidently

been ushered into one of the other houses, because

only a few zoo employees were abroad.

Once more came the calm masculine voice over

the loud-speaker system: All visitors go to the

52

nearest building promptly. This is an emergency. Connie realized that probably relatively few of the

guests realized that a gorilla was at large. She also

realized that her chances of getting back inside the

Monkey House were nil. Right now her best bet was

to find the rest of her crowd.

It was a tossup as to whether Mr. Jones and the

rest had been ushered to the Carnivora House or to

the Kangaroo House, where the children had been

sent. From the spot in which Connie stood either

seemed equally convenient.

Youd better get going, young lady, said the fellow with the avocados as he passed her.

Connie nodded absently. If only she had thought

to ask Mr. Macrae. She glanced back toward the

Monkey House as she started reluctantly along the

macadam path, and as though in answer to an

unspoken prayer, Andrew Macrae appeared at the

rear door to let the man with the basketful of food

inside.

Wait a minute! he called to her. She waited willingly.

Theyre going to try to lure Congo back to his cage with his favorite foods, the young publicity man explained as he approached her. The only trouble is, hes just been fed, so he probably isnt hungry.

If that doesnt work, then what? Connie wanted

53

to know.

Andy Macrae shrugged. Then we bring out one or another of our secret weapons. He grinned as he said it but he didnt explain further. Come along to one of the other buildings, he urged, before we get arrested for loitering.

Oh, Mr. Macrae! Connie started. Call me Andy. Everybody does. Andy, thenI just want to make sure Henry got

the rack of furs out safely. Do you know where he

went? Well try the Kangaroo House first. That seems

to be the most obvious. Then Mr. Macrae stopped short. Say! I think the racks still inside there. Wait a minute.

He turned and sprinted back to the building,

where two keepers were bringing a ladder to rest

against the kitchen window sill, inside which Congo

was still raising a frightful racket, apparently un-

attracted as yet by the delicacies brought to tempt

him away from his rough play. Connie saw him rap

on the door and signal someone inside, then slip

through as it was opened. A couple of minutes later

he reappeared, trundling the rack of fur coats over

the doorsill and lifting it down the steps with the

help of a member of the zoo staff.

Well! Connie ejaculated. Henry must have deserted.

54

She came over and helped Andy wheel the rather

awkward vehicle along the sloping walk.

He probably was scared green and ran without thinking.

Connie nodded. Better lose Henry than the coats, I guess.

Andy started to walk faster. I have strict orders to get you inside somewhere and not to let you out

until the excitement is over, he told her. It seems youve been creating quite a stir, wandering around here unescorted when an emergency order has been

issued. All right, Connie agreed as she quickened her

pace. But Im not a bit scared. You would be, if Congo should manage to get

free of that kitchen! You saw what he did to Joe

Ryan, just on impulse. And Joes a guy he usually likes.

Without another mans help, it was impossible to lift the laden coat rack up the steps to the Kangaroo

House, so Connie and Andy each gathered up an

armful of the garments and, half smothered in fur,

staggered up the steps. The keeper opened the

locked door in some astonishment, and the mob of

children inside reacted as though the pair were

characters in a comic television show. They

crowded around, pushing and pawing at the furs in

spite of the keepers strict orders to stay back.

55

Better let us dump these in your kitchen, Andy suggested, unless you think one of the kangaroos might get loose, just to add to the sport.

Connie thankfully relinquished her burden,

although she shuddered to think what Mr. Fabian

would say if he could see his expensive garments

being flung casually across a wooden counter on

which animals meals were served up. Will you see if Henrys in the crowd outside?

she asked Andy. I saw Donna Jean coming in here, but the rest of the crowd must have gone out the

back way. It turned out that Donna Jean and Carmen were

both there, but Henry and Mr. Jones must have been

sent to the Carnivora or the Antelope House,

according to the keepers guess. I didnt notice which way they went, Carmen

confessed. I just picked up my heels and ran. At a time like that its every man for himself,

Donna Jean added, still pale with fright. What you were doing, Miss Blair, hanging around outside She shook her head.

Somebody had to think about the coats, Connie said a trifle sharply.

Coats phooey, retorted Donna Jean. If you ask me, between a mink and a gorilla, there just isnt any choice.

Andy Macrae chuckled. Youve got something

56

there. Speaking of the gorilla, Id better check on how theyre doing. Stay here. Ill be right back.

There was nowhere to stay but here, Connie

realized, as she looked from one end of the building

to the other, where guards barred both locked doors.

She stood with the two models in the doorway to the

kitchen, waiting a trifle anxiously.

But Andys face, when he returned, expressed confidence that all would soon be well. They pushed a baby alligator through the kitchen window

just a minute ago, he told them. Congo hates alligators. Hes terrified of just two things, alligators and garter snakes. If one doesnt drive him back to his cage in a panic, the other one will.

Donna Jean and Carmen both looked at him in

astonishment. Are you kidding? they asked him simultaneously.

Andy shook his head, although Connie thought

that the twinkle in his eyes was very misleading. I never make a joke about anybody bigger than I am, he assured them with a mischievous grin.

By standing on a chair, Connie could see through

a high window the forecourt of the Carnivora House

and a corner of the near wing of the Monkey House,

but by now the orders of the management had been

so carefully observed that there was little human

activity to watch. After about five minutes a keeper

came from the telephone and told Andy, in a low

57

voice, that everything was under control and that the

all clear was about to be sounded. Andy relayed this message to the three girls and

suggested that they each carry out an armful of coats

before the crowd started to pour from the various

houses into the zoo grounds.

Youre sure its all right? Donna Jean asked doubtfully.

The keeper nodded. It took the garter snake to do it, but I understand Congos cringing in the corner of his cage right this minute, scared pretty

near to death. He sounded so sympathetic that Connie grinned.

Im going to cringe in the back seat of Mr. Joness car, Carmen announced, and the next time the agency has an assignment at the zoo, they can

Oh, now! Connie interjected with a smile meant to be encouraging. Youre not going to cry havoc when the dangers past. It wont take us more than half an hour to finish up.

Carmen looked at her aghast. If you think youre going to get any one of us back into that Monkey

House youre crazy. Youre speaking for Griselda too? You bet your sweet life Im speaking for

Griselda. Shes probably halfway to Jersey City by now, or I miss my bet.

58

Connie sighed. Well, she said with a grin at Andy, I guess that means I model the mink. By the way, where is the mink? She started sorting through the coats on the counter, draping one after

another over the arms of either Carmen, Donna Jean,

or Andy Macrae. An anxious expression creased her

forehead and her heart seemed to drop with a heavy

thud into her stomach.

Why, she said, unable to keep a startled quaver from her voice, it isnt here.

Dont worry. Griselda probably has it, Andy said. Are the rest all accounted for?

Connie began to count rapidly. Yes, all but that one.

Lets get them back on the rack, the publicity director proposed. Then we can look up Griseldaor shell probably look us up. There goes the all clear now.

Indeed, just as they started down the steps, the

doors of the other animal houses began to open and

the visitors cooped up in them poured out into the

fresh air, clutching their coats around them and

looking, for the most part, puzzled at the unknown

emergency that had caused their fifteen-minute confinement behind locked doors. The afternoon

crowd included almost as many adults as children,

and in the sudden sunlight Connie began to search

for a familiar face.

59

Was that Henry? The sun was in her eyes; she

couldnt be sure. Then she saw Griselda, coming toward her from the direction of the Antelope

House, a suede pocketbook dangling from one hand

but her arms otherwise empty.

Griselda! Connie cried as soon as the girl was within hearing distance. Havent you got the mink coat?

The model shook her head emphatically.

Well, I hope Mr. Jones or Henry Colt has it, Connie called back a little frantically. Otherwise itsits gone!

60

CHAPTER 5

Is Connie Responsible?

Gone? Griselda stopped dead in her tracks, and a large

woman waddling along behind her had to swerve

sharply to avoid running her down. Laughing

nervously, she asked, But how could it be gone? Whod care about a fur coat when theres a gorilla on the rampage? Even a mink. Her too-perfect features seemed to Connie to be sharpened by

anxiety, but at least she wasnt halfway to Jersey City, as Carmen had predicted.

Connie shook her head. I dont know, she admitted as her searching glance again raked the

crowd surging along the narrow walk. For a split

second she sawor thought she sawHenry Colts head and shoulders behind a huddle of school

children. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from

the sun, and would have beckoned, but then his face,

61

Hooded suddenly with alarm, disappeared as a tree

cut him off from her view.

Hurrying around the corner of a refreshment

stand came Windham Jones. Miss Blair! he called at once. Well, that was certainly a rat race! I never saw a crowd scatter so fast.

Connie nodded automatically, scarcely conscious

of what the art director was saying because she was

filled with awareness that he, too, was empty-armed.

The mink coat, she said a trifle hoarsely. You dont have it, Mr. Jones? Be calm, she tried to tell herself. It cant have disappeared. There must be some way to account for it. Perhaps its still in the Monkey House. But such reassurance was absurd.

Andrew Macrae would have seen it, if it had been

lying on the guard rail or on the floor. The ugly

thought that it must have been stolen in the tumult

following Congos escape kept pursuing Connie like a relentless demon. Stolen . . . fifteen thousand

dollars worth of mink! Why should I have it? Mr. Jones was asking.

He turned to the model. Griselda, you? Griselda shook her head. Dont look at me, Mr.

Jones. The last thing I remember was Miss Blair

asking Henry to bring it over. Then I saw that big

ape open the door and I cut and ran. She tossed her head. Furthermore, Id do it again the same way.

You never had the coat on at all? Oh, why cant

62

I remember? Connie asked herself. Why cant I remember what happened in those few seconds of

utter confusion? But willing didnt aid in recollection. She couldnt visualize the whereabouts of the coat at the time of Congos break, no matter how hard she tried.

Henry! Mr. Jones cried suddenly, turning to Andrew Macrae and Connie for confirmation.

Henry had the coat in his hands. I can see him! He was just about to put it around Miss Woods shoulders. Henry must have it! Where is that kid,

anyway? II think I just saw hima minute ago, in the

crowd. Then he disappeared. Mr. Jones snapped his fingers. I saw him too,

come to think of it. He had the coat over his arm.

But where is he now? You dont suppose? Suppose what? asked Griselda, who had to

have everything diagramed for her. Connie knew

exactly what Windham Jones was supposing. But

Henry had seemed like such an honest, though

taciturn, lad.

It could be a great temptation, Mr. Jones said as though he had hit on the answer. Weve got to act fast. Find Henry and well undoubtedly find the coat!

Connie looked at Andy Macrae, who was

frowning. In any event, he replied, wed better

63

phone to have all exits covered. The time has been

so short! The coat must still be on the grounds

somewhere. That much is sure. He sprinted up the steps of the Kangaroo House

to telephone while Connie and Mr. Jones waited, a

little apart from the three models, who were

comparing notes on their reactions to the gorillas escape. Of the three only Griselda Wood seemed

greatly disturbed by the loss of the mink. Donna

Jean and Carmen, having no responsibility in the

matter, had no special interest. They only reacted

strongly to experience that touched their lives

directly. This was somebody elses worry, not theirs. But can you imagine, Donna Jean was saying,

what youd have done if that gorilla had walked right on out of the kitchen?

Carmen had an answer. Id have died. Connie heard the dialogue as from a great

distance. Let me take one more look in the Monkey House, she murmured to Mr. Jones. It was impossible for her to believe that Henry Colt could

be a thief. She wanted to check on every possibility

before she let herself be persuaded that Mr. Joness assumption might be right.

Joe Ryan had not returned to his post but the head

keeper and his one remaining assistant were

standing just inside the doorway, talking together,

when Connie walked in.

64

Shafts of sunlight streamed in from the high

windows, and aside from half a dozen visitors the

aisle between the cages was completely empty. Even

the scattered camera equipment had been gathered

up and taken outside. Connie flung a distressed look

in the direction of Congo, who was once more

slumbering contentedly in a corner of his cage, quite

unaware that the disturbance he had created was

accompanied by an unpleasant aftermath. Neither

the gorilla nor the keepers offered the slightest clue

as to where the mink coat might be found.

Still, Connie questioned the men thoroughly.

Both professed to have been so concerned with their

particular problem of getting Congo back to his

quarters that they hadnt given the cameraman, the models, or any of their equipment a second thought.

Ask Mr. Macrae, they suggested. He wheeled the rack out of here, didnt he? Maybe he knows about the coat.

But Connie was two jumps ahead of them on that

score. When she went once more into the outdoors

Andy had come back from the telephone and was

assuring Mr. Jones that the special officers on duty

had been notified to check all exits. No visitor or

employee who seemed in the least suspicious would

be allowed through the gates.

Of course the thief could have shinnied up a tree and dropped over the fence. An agile boy could even

65

have climbed over, Andy admitted. We have kids who get in free of charge that way all the time.

But wouldnt he be bound to be seen? Connie asked.

Most likely, Andy admitted. But theres always an outside chance.

The three models, now, were sitting on the steps

of the Kangaroo House, looking discouraged and a

little disheveled. Gregory Rome was crouched in the

shade of a spreading tree, reloading his camera.

Oh, quit worrying, he called across to them. The coatll turn up.

But time proved him wrong. An hour passedan hour during which Connie and Andy Macrae both

roamed through the grounds in search of Henry Colt

while Mr. Jones guarded the remaining furs. The sun

hung like an orange above the Pachyderm House,

threatening to drop out of sight behind the trees at

any minute. Griselda yawned and complained that

she had to get home and dress for a date, while

Donna Jean and Carmen promised Mr. Jones hed have a fancy bill for overtime; so finally the art

director persuaded Gregory Rome to drive the girls

back to town.

Connie passed the foursome as they rounded a

corner by the bear pen.

No luck? Mr. Rome called. No luck, Connie replied, a trifle wearily. She

66

wished she could walk out of this particular situation

with as little responsibility as they. To face Mr.

Gerald Fabian with the news that the precious mink

had been stolen was something she couldnt bring herself to contemplate.

Andy Macrae caught up with her as she turned

back past the grove reserved for pony rides, deciding

it was time to give up and tell Mr. Jones they might

as well break the news to Reid and Renshaw, who in

turn could decide how best to handle the situation

from the angle of the Fabian account. Buck up, he advised her, with a comforting smile. I can tell by the way youre walking that youre telling yourself this is all your fault.

It is, mostly. Nothing of the sort, Andy said. You did the

only thing a decent, courageous person would do

under the circumstances. You got the children out of

the place before you thought about the coats. Connie shook her head, but she didnt answer. After all, Mr. Jones is as culpable as you. The furs, Connie insisted, were really my

responsibility. And Henry Colts, Andy insisted. By the way,

do you remember exactly what Henry was wearing?

Well have to give some kind of description to the police.

Thecity police, you mean?

67

Andy nodded. I gave our special officers a fairly good idea of his appearance, but I may not have

been accurate about the clothes. Connie thought for a minute, then said with some

reluctance, He had on a brown and tan hounds-tooth tweed sports jacket with patches of leather on

the elbows, a tan shirt, a brown sweater, and gray

flannel slacks with a three-cornered tear on the right

knee. Andy whistled. Gosh, youve got some

memoryor should I say you have a remarkable gift for accurate observation?

Only when it doesnt count, Connie said ruefully. Ask me what happened immediately after Congo walked out of his cage and I draw a blank.

Mr. Jones had deserted his station behind the

Kangaroo House. The keeper told Andrew and

Connie that they would find him at the

administration building, to which he and one of the

officers had taken the fur coats. When they arrived

he was in the directors office, looking rather pale and pinched, and trying fruitlessly to reach Reid and

Renshaw by telephone.

The lines been busy for ten minutes, he told Connie. That switchboard operators talking to her boy friend again!

What are you going to tell them? Connie asked. What can I tell them, but the facts?

68

Are you going to accuse Henry Colt? Miss Blair, be reasonable. Henry has already

accused himself. An innocent person doesnt run off, youll have to admit.

Connies eyes were troubled. But he seemed so sincere, she murmured, and he said he liked his job.

Then why didnt he stick to it? I dont know. Mr. Jones dialed again. Ah, at last, he said over

his shoulder. Mr. George Renshaw, please. There was a short wait, then he said, George, this is Windham Jones. Im afraid I have rather bad news for you. There was a bit of excitement out here at

the zoo. A gorilla got out of his cage and during the

uproar one of the Fabian coats for which Miss Blair

was responsible disappeared. For which Miss Blair was responsible . . . It

sounded so accusing. Did he have to say that?

Connie wondered. Couldnt he have put it a little more gently? But of course he was right.

No, Im afraid its more serious than that, Mr. Jones was continuing. Now hold your hat, Georgeit was the mink. The fancy wild mink job that was the prize of the collection. There was another pause, then Mr. Jones said, Worth a good deal more than that, Im afraid.

Connie waited silently, her hands like ice.

69

Do you happen to know the retail price of the missing coat? asked the art director, turning away from the phone.

Fifteen thousand dollars, Connie said just above a whisper. She caught Andy Macraes eye and bit her lip in consternation. For a day which had

started out so auspiciously it had certainly done an

about-face.

Fifteen grand, Mr. Jones repeated, speaking into the mouthpiece. Then, after a minute, he said,

O.K., Ill see what I can do. Will you call Fabian, or shall I?

He slammed the receiver into its cradle with a

heartfelt sig