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} + .toc dt.sct { text-align:right; clear:both; font-variant:small-caps; margin-left:1em; } + .toc dt.jl { text-align:left; clear:both; font-variant:normal; } + .toc dt.scc { text-align:center; clear:both; font-variant:small-caps; } + .toc dt span.lj { text-align:left; display:block; float:left; } + .toc dt.jr { font-style:normal; } + dt .large {font-weight:bold; } + div.bcat dl dd { margin-left:4em; max-width:21em; } + div.bcat dl dt { text-indent:-2em; margin-left:2em; } + +.clear { clear:both; } +.htab { margin-left:8em; } + /* MAXWIDTH FOR JUVENILE BOOKS */ + p, blockquote, li, dd, dt, div.bcat { text-align:justify; margin-right:auto; margin-left:auto; } + p, li, dd, dt, div.bcat { max-width:25em; } + blockquote { max-width:23em; } + + div.verse { max-width:25em; margin-right:auto; margin-left:auto; } + div.bq { margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; max-width:23em; } + hr { max-width:20em; } + + div.pg { text-align: center; } + h3.pg { margin-top:0em; + margin-bottom:0em; + margin-left:auto; + margin-right:auto; + max-width: 80%; + font-size: 110%; } + p.pg { max-width: 80%; } + hr.full { max-width: 80%; + width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div class="pg"> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Crimson Thread, by Roy J. Snell</h1> +<p class="pg">This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a +href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></p> +<p class="pg">Title: The Crimson Thread</p> +<p class="pg"> An Adventure Story for Girls</p> +<p class="pg">Author: Roy J. Snell</p> +<p class="pg">Release Date: January 24, 2013 [eBook #41909]</p> +<p class="pg">Language: English</p> +<p class="pg">Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> +<p class="pg">***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON THREAD***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<div id="cover" class="img"> +<img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="The Crimson Thread" width="500" height="764" /> +</div> +<div class="box"> +<p class="center"><span class="large"><b><i><span class="u">Adventure Stories for Girls</span></i></b></span></p> +<h1>The +<br />Crimson Thread</h1> +<p class="tbcenter"><b><i>By</i> +<br /><span class="large">ROY J. SNELL</span></b></p> +<div class="img" id="logo"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="Author’s Logo" width="200" height="91" /></div> +<p class="tbcenter"><span class="large">The Reilly & Lee Co. +<br />Chicago</span></p> +<p class="tbcenter"><span class="small"><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="small"><i>Copyright, 1925</i> +<br />by +<br />The Reilly & Lee Co.</span> +<br /><span class="small"><i>All Rights Reserved</i></span></p> +</div> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<dl class="toc"> +<dt class="jr"><span class="jl"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></span> <span class="small">PAGE</span></dt> +<dt><a href="#c1">I Two Hours Before Midnight</a> 7</dt> +<dt><a href="#c2">II Crimson with a Strand of Purple</a> 23</dt> +<dt><a href="#c3">III A New Mystery</a> 36</dt> +<dt><a href="#c4">IV The Picture Girl</a> 52</dt> +<dt><a href="#c5">V “Come and Find Me”</a> 67</dt> +<dt><a href="#c6">VI The Iron Ring</a> 80</dt> +<dt><a href="#c7">VII Cordie’s Mad Flight</a> 93</dt> +<dt><a href="#c8">VIII The Diamond-Set Iron Ring</a> 109</dt> +<dt><a href="#c9">IX Her Double</a> 136</dt> +<dt><a href="#c10">X Cordie’s Strange Ride</a> 153</dt> +<dt><a href="#c11">XI As Seen from the Stairway</a> 167</dt> +<dt><a href="#c12">XII Silver Gray Treasure</a> 175</dt> +<dt><a href="#c13">XIII Lucile’s Dream</a> 181</dt> +<dt><a href="#c14">XIV The Newspaper Picture</a> 187</dt> +<dt><a href="#c15">XV “With Contents, If Any”</a> 192</dt> +<dt><a href="#c16">XVI A Great Day</a> 205</dt> +<dt><a href="#c17">XVII An Icy Plunge</a> 215</dt> +<dt><a href="#c18">XVIII The Mystery Lady’s New Role</a> 229</dt> +<dt><a href="#c19">XIX Meg Wields a Belaying Pin</a> 234</dt> +<dt><a href="#c20">XX The Great Moment</a> 246</dt> +<dt><a href="#c21">XXI The Man in Gray</a> 254</dt> +<dt><a href="#c22">XXII The Finish</a> 263</dt> +<dt><a href="#c23">XXIII Meg’s Secret</a> 271</dt> +<dt><a href="#c24">XXIV Three Questions</a> 277</dt> +<dt><a href="#c25">XXV What the Brown Bag Held</a> 294</dt> +</dl> +<div class="pb" id="Page_7">[7]</div> +<h1 title="">THE CRIMSON THREAD</h1> +<h2 id="c1"><br />CHAPTER I +<br />TWO HOURS BEFORE MIDNIGHT</h2> +<p>Starting back with a suppressed exclamation +of surprise on her lips, Lucile Tucker stared +in mystification and amazement. What was this +ghost-like apparition that had appeared at the +entrance to the long dark passage-way? A young +woman’s face, a face of beauty and refinement, +surrounded by a perfect circle of white. In the +almost complete darkness of the place, that was +all Lucile could see. And such a place for such +a face—the far corner of the third floor of one +of the largest department stores in the world. +At that very moment, from somewhere out of +the darkness, came the slow, deep, chiming notes +of a great clock telling off the hour of ten. Two +hours before midnight! And she, Lucile, was +for a moment alone; or at least up to this moment +she had thought herself alone.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_8">[8]</div> +<p>What was she to make of the face? True, it +was on the level with the top of the wrapper’s +desk. That, at least, was encouraging.</p> +<p>“That white is a fox skin, the collar to some +dark garment that blends completely with the +shadows,” Lucile told herself reassuringly.</p> +<p>At that moment a startling question sent her +shrinking farther into the shadows. “If she’s +a real person and not a spectre, what is she doing +here? Here, of all places, at the hour of +ten!”</p> +<p>That was puzzling. What had this lady been +doing in that narrow passage? She could not +be a member of the working force of the store. +No sales person would come to work in such a +superb garment as this person wore. Although +Lucile had been employed in the book department +for but ten days, she had seen all those who +worked here and was certain enough that no such +remarkably beautiful face could have escaped her +notice.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_9">[9]</div> +<p>“She—why she might be anything,” Lucile +told herself. “A—thief—a shoplifter. Perhaps +she stole that very cape—or whatever it +is she wears. Perhaps—”</p> +<p>Suddenly her heart gave a leap. Footsteps +were approaching. The next instant she saw a +second face appear in the narrow line of light +which the street lights cast through the window.</p> +<p>“Laurie Seymour,” she breathed.</p> +<p>Laurie was the new man in the department. +He had been working at the boys’ and girls’ books +for only three days, yet Lucile liked him, liked +him tremendously. He was so friendly, even-tempered +and different. And he seemed a trifle +mysterious.</p> +<p>“Mysterious,” she mused, “perhaps here’s the +mystery answered.”</p> +<p>It certainly did seem so, for after the apparition +in white had whispered a word or two, Laurie +looked at her strangely for a second, drew from +his pocket a slip of paper and handing it to +her, quickly vanished into the shadows. The +next instant the apparition vanished, too. Again +Lucile found herself alone in the far corner of +the mammoth store, surrounded by darkness.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_10">[10]</div> +<p>Perhaps you have been wondering what Lucile +and Laurie were doing in the great store +at this hour. Since the doors are closed at six +o’clock, you have no doubt thought of the entire +place as being shrouded in darkness and utterly +deserted. These were the days of the great rush +of sales that comes before Christmas. That evening +eight thousand books had been trucked into +the department to be stowed away on or under +tables and shelves. Twenty sales persons had +been given “pass outs”; which meant that they +might pass <i>in</i> at seven o’clock and work until +ten. They had worked like beavers; making +ready for the rush that would come on the +morrow.</p> +<p>Now the great bulk of the work had been done. +More than half of the workers had chirped a +cheery “Good-night” and had found their way +down a marble stairway to the ground floor and +the street. Lucile had been sent by “Rennie,” +the head sales-lady of juveniles, to this dark section +for an armful of books. Here in this dark +corner a part of Laurie’s true character had, +uninvited, come to her.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_11">[11]</div> +<p>“He gave her his pass-out,” she said to herself. +“With that she can leave the building +with her stolen goods.”</p> +<p>For a second, as she thought of this, she contemplated +following the mystery woman and +bringing her back.</p> +<p>“But that,” she told herself, “would be dangerous. +That passage is a hundred feet long +and only four feet wide; then it turns sharply +and goes two hundred feet farther. She may +carry a knife; such women do. In that place +she could murder me and no one would know +until morning.</p> +<p>“Of course,” she reflected, “there’s the other +end of the passage where it comes out at the +offices. She must leave the passage there if she +does not come back this way. I might call the +watchmen. They could catch her. It’s a perfect +trap; she’s like a mouse in a boot. But +then—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_12">[12]</div> +<p>She paused in her mad rush of thought. What +proof had she that this beautiful creature was +a thief? What indeed? And what right had +she to spy upon her and upon Laurie? Truth +was, she had none at all. She was a sales person, +not a detective. Her job was that of putting +books on shelves and tables and selling them; +her immediate task that of taking an armful of +books to Rennie. Her simple and sole duty lay +just there. Then, too, in the short time she had +known Laurie Seymour, she had come to like +him.</p> +<p>“He might be innocent of any real wrong,” +she reasoned. “If I go blundering into things +I may be serving a friend badly indeed.”</p> +<p>“But,” she was brought up short by a sudden +thought, “if he gave her his pass-out, how’s +he to leave the building?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_13">[13]</div> +<p>How indeed? In a great store such as this, +where hundreds of thousands of dollars worth +of rare jewels and much silver and gold are kept +and where princely furs and priceless old paintings +are on display, it is necessary to maintain +a constant vigil against thieves. “Pass-outs” +are given to all employees who enter or leave the +store after closing hours. It was true enough +that without his pass-out, Laurie could not get +by the eagle-eyed guard who kept constant vigil +at the only door where the employees were permitted +to pass out to the street.</p> +<p>“But the books,” she murmured, starting up, +“Rennie will be waiting.”</p> +<p>Rennie, whose real name was Miss Renton, appeared +to be in no hurry. Having become interested +in writing down lists of books that were +to be ordered in the morning, she had so far +forgotten the girl as to exclaim as she came up:</p> +<p>“Why, Lucile! I thought you had gone! +Now, dearie, just put those books down right +there. We can take care of them before the +rush begins in the morning. Run along now +and get your coat. You must go home. It’s +past ten, less than two hours till midnight!”</p> +<p>“Yes, but—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_14">[14]</div> +<p>Lucile checked herself just in time. She had +been about to say that she was afraid to go for +her coat. And indeed she was, for was it not +hanging on the wall in that narrow passage at the +door of which the mystery lady had appeared?</p> +<p>“But it wouldn’t do to tell,” she thought, “I—I’ve +got to go alone.”</p> +<p>Go she did, but with much fear and trembling.</p> +<p>She might have spared herself all this trembling, +for there was no one in the dark passage.</p> +<p>But what was this? The row of coat hooks +were all empty save one, her own, and on that +hook—what could it mean?—on that hook +hung not her own too frankly thin and threadbare +coat, but a magnificent thing of midnight +blue and white. It was the cape with the white +fox collar worn by the mystery woman.</p> +<p>Even as her hand touched the fox skin she +knew it was far more costly than she had +thought.</p> +<p>“It’s over my coat,” she breathed. “I’ve only +to leave it.”</p> +<p>This, she found, was not true. <i>Her coat had +vanished.</i> The cape had been left in its stead +and, as if to further perplex and alarm her, the +midnight blue unfolded, revealing a superb lining +of Siberian squirrel.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_15">[15]</div> +<p>“Oh!” Lucile exclaimed as her trembling fingers +dropped to her side and she fled the place.</p> +<p>One consoling thought flashed across her mind. +Rennie had not yet left for the night. Rennie, +the tall and slim, with a thread of gray in her +black hair, who had been in the department for +no one knew how long—Rennie would know +what to do. The instant she was told all that +had happened she would say what the very next +step must be.</p> +<p>“The instant she is told,” Lucile whispered to +herself. Then suddenly she realized that she did +not wish to tell all she had seen.</p> +<p>“Not just yet, at any rate,” she told herself. +“I’m not supposed to have seen it. I want time +to think. I’ll tell Rennie only what I am supposed +to know—that my coat has been taken +and this cape left in its stead.”</p> +<p>Rennie showed little surprise on hearing the +story. “Someone has probably taken the wrong +coat,” she said.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_16">[16]</div> +<p>“But that’s not possible!” Lucile laughed at +the very thought.</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“I’ll show you,” and she dashed back for the +cape.</p> +<p>As Rennie saw the magnificent creation, she +gasped with astonishment; then began to murmur +something about fairy princesses looking +after poor girls and leaving them gorgeous garments.</p> +<p>“You can’t go home without a wrap,” she +told Lucile. “They say there’s a regular blizzard +outside. You’ll simply have to wear it +home.”</p> +<p>Taking the garment from Lucile’s hands, she +placed it upon her shoulders with a touch that +was half caress. Then, having fastened it under +Lucile’s chin, she stood back to exclaim:</p> +<p>“Why, dearie, you look charming!”</p> +<p>“But—but how am I to get out of the building +with it? No one will believe that a mere +sales girl owns a cape like this. It’s new. Probably +it’s been stolen.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_17">[17]</div> +<p>“Stolen!” exclaimed Rennie. “What nonsense!</p> +<p>“Besides,” she added in a quieter tone, “it’s +not quite new. The strings that hold it together +at the throat are worn a little smooth and there’s +the least bit of a soil at the bottom. You wait +ten minutes for me and we’ll go out together. I +know the watchman. I’ll take you out under my +wing.”</p> +<p>Greatly relieved by these words and intent on +making the most of her wait by having a good +general look at the room, Lucile sauntered away +to the left where she was soon lost from sight +behind tables, stacks of books, and massive pillars.</p> +<p>Since she had worked here but ten days, the +charm of the place had not yet worn off. The +books, row on row of them, fascinated her. Here +was a wealth of learning that no one could hope +to appropriate in a lifetime. To the right of +her was poetry, thousands of volumes; to the +left, books on travel, thousands more; and before +her new fiction, tens of thousands. Who +would not envy her? It was a great place for +one who loved books.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_18">[18]</div> +<p>With a feeling of sorrow she thought of the +time when she must leave all this wealth; when +she must say goodbye to the wonderful friends +she had already formed here. In two short +weeks she would be going back to the University. +Since she was dependent upon her own resources +for her support—and since for one who specialized +in English there was quite as much to +be learned about books by selling as by reading +them—her head professor had quite readily +granted her a month’s leave of absence that she +might come down here to assist in meeting the +Christmas rush.</p> +<p>“Ah yes,” she breathed, “it will be of the past +in two more weeks. But in two weeks much +may happen. Think of what happened to-night! +Think—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_19">[19]</div> +<p>She was brought up short by a sound. Had +it been a footstep? She could not make sure +for the floor was heavily carpeted. Instantly she +became conscious of the darkness that surrounded +her like a shroud. Before her loomed +the dim outlines of the elevator cages. Distorted +by the uncertain light, these seemed the cells of +some gloomy prison. Far off to the right was +a great rotunda. From the rail that surrounded +this, when the lights were on, one might gaze +upward to dizzy heights and downward to dizzier +depths. Now she thought of that awe inspiring +vault as if it were some deep and mysterious +cave.</p> +<p>“Oh—ooo!” Lucile gasped. “This place gets +spookier every moment. I’ll go back to—”</p> +<p>Even as she spoke she caught a sound to her +right. Impelled by sheer curiosity, she took a +dozen steps in that direction.</p> +<p>Suddenly she started back. Against the wall +a light had flashed on for a second and in that +second she had caught sight of a face—the face +of Laurie Seymour.</p> +<p>Again the light came on. This time the flash +was a little longer. She saw his face clearly. +On his finely cut features there was such a smile +as suggests anticipation of amusing adventure.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_20">[20]</div> +<p>In one hand he held the flashlight. Under +his arm was a bundle of corrugated paper such +as is used in wrapping books for mailing. He +was standing by a square opening in the wall. +Lucile knew in a vague sort of way where that +opening led. Books that had been wrapped were +dropped in there. A circular spiral chute, some +three feet in diameter, wormed its way like an +auger hole down from this point to the sub-basement +where was located the shipping room.</p> +<p>Even as she thought this through she saw +Laurie swing his feet across the opening. Then, +just as the light flashed out, she again saw that +amused grin. The next second there came the +sound of some heavy object gliding downward.</p> +<p>“He—he went down the chute!” she gasped. +“He’ll be killed!”</p> +<p>How long she stood there, petrified with surprise +and dread, she could not have told. It +could not have been many seconds but it seemed +an hour. At last the end came, a sickening thud +sounding faint and far away.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_21">[21]</div> +<p>Without uttering a sound, but with heart beating +wildly and feet flying at almost superhuman +speed, the girl raced across the room and down +a flight of broad marble stairs.</p> +<p>“I must find him. He is hurt. Perhaps he +is killed!” she kept repeating to herself.</p> +<p>Down one flight; down two; three; four, she +sped.</p> +<p>And then, in the darkness of this vast shipping +room, she paused to listen.</p> +<p>Not a sound. She may as well have been +alone in the catacombs of Egypt or the Mammoth +Cave.</p> +<p>“Must be this way,” she breathed.</p> +<p>Truth was, she had lost her sense of direction. +She was not sure which way to go. She took +a dozen steps forward. Finding herself confronted +by a dark bulk, she started walking round +it. Having paused to think, she found fear gripping +at her heart. When she tried to retrace +her steps she discovered that the stairs had apparently +vanished. She was lost.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_22">[22]</div> +<p>“Lost!” she whispered. “Lost in the subbasement +of this great building at night!” Even +as she thought this there came to her, faint and +far distant, yet very distinct, the even tread of +footsteps.</p> +<p>“It’s not Laurie. He doesn’t walk like that. +It—it’s—” her heart stood still, “it’s a watchman! +And here I am dressed in this magnificent +garment which does not belong to me. Somehow +I must get back to the third floor and to Rennie! +But how? How!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_23">[23]</div> +<h2 id="c2"><br />CHAPTER II +<br />CRIMSON WITH A STRAND OF PURPLE</h2> +<p>Panic, an unbelievable terror ten times +stronger than her will, seized Lucile and bore +her fleetly down a dark, unknown aisle. The +very thought of being discovered by a watchman +unknown to her, mingled with the sensation +of the fear of darkness, had driven her +well-nigh frantic.</p> +<p>“The cape,” she whispered to herself. “I +must not be found with the cape!”</p> +<p>Had she but possessed the power to reason +quietly, she might have known that the watchman, +searching for an explanation of her strange +conduct, would, upon her suggesting it, take her +back to the third floor and Rennie. Not being +in full possession of these powers, she abandoned +herself to panic. Snatching the cape from her +shoulders she thrust it under her arm and +plunged on into the darkness.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_24">[24]</div> +<p>In the deeper shadows she saw dim forms +looming up before her. Some seemed giants +ready to reach out and grasp her; some wild +creatures poised to fall upon her from the dark.</p> +<p>Now she tripped and went sprawling. As she +sprang to her feet she caught the gleam of a +light. Thinking it the watchman’s flashlight, she +was away like the wind.</p> +<p>At last pausing for breath, she listened. At +first she heard only the beating of her own heart. +Then, faint and far away, came the mellow +chimes of the great clock announcing the arrival +of half past ten.</p> +<p>“Half past ten!” she whispered in consternation. +“Rennie will leave. The place will be in +darkness and I shall be lost! What shall I do?”</p> +<p>Again she caught a faint gleam of light. +Watching it for a moment, and seeing that it +was steady and constant, she dared to creep +toward it.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_25">[25]</div> +<p>Drawing nearer, she saw that it came drifting +down an elevator shaft from some place a long +way above.</p> +<p>“The elevator is there. The door is open!” +she said to herself in surprise. “And there is +no one in it.”</p> +<p>Just then, as she strained her ears to listen, +she caught again that heavy, even tread of the +watchman.</p> +<p>Our nerves are strange masters. A great general +is thrown into panic at sight of a cat; a +woman of national fame goes into convulsions +at sight of rippling water on the sea. As for +Lucile, at that moment nothing could have so +overthrown her whole mental balance as that +steady tramp-tramp of the watchman.</p> +<p>This time it drove her to the most curious +action. As a wild animal, driven, winded, cornered, +will sometimes dash into the very trap +that has been set for him, so this girl, leaping +forward, entered the elevator cage.</p> +<p>Had there been more time, it may have been +that her scattered wits returning would have told +her that here, where the dim light set out her +whole form in profile, was the most dangerous +spot of all.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_26">[26]</div> +<p>Before she had time to think of this the elevator +gave a sudden lurch and started upward.</p> +<p>Nothing could have been more startling. Lucile +had never seen an elevator ascend without +an operator at the levers and she naturally believed +it could not be done; yet here she was in +the cage, going up.</p> +<p>It was as if some phantom hand were in control. +Darkness and silence rendered it more +spectral. The ever increasing speed shot terror +to her very heart. Sudden as had been the start, +so sudden was the stop.</p> +<p>Thrown to the floor and all but knocked unconscious, +she slowly struggled to her feet. +What did it mean? What was to be the end +of this terrible adventure?</p> +<p>As she looked before her she saw that the car +had stopped about three feet above some floor. +The doors to that floor were shut. The catches, +however, were within her reach. Should she attempt +to open them and make a leap for it?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_27">[27]</div> +<p>Had she but known it, those doors were supposed +to open only when the cage was level with +the floor. But the infinite power that tempers +the wind to the shorn lamb sometimes tampers +with man-made doors. As if by magic, the doors +swung back at her touch and with a leap she +was out and away.</p> +<p>Then, gripping her madly beating heart, she +paused to consider. She was free from the elevator, +but where was she? Her situation +seemed more desperate than before. She had +not counted the floors that sped by her. She +did not know whether she was on the sixth or +the tenth floor.</p> +<p>Reason was beginning to come into its own. +With a steadier stride she took a turn about the +place. Putting out a hand, she touched first this +object, then that.</p> +<p>“Furniture,” she said at last. “Now on what +floor is furniture sold?”</p> +<p>She did not know.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_28">[28]</div> +<p>Coming at last to a great overstuffed davenport, +she sat down upon it. Feeling its drowsy +comfort after her hot race, she was half tempted +to stretch herself out upon it, to spread the splendid +cape over her, and thus to spend the night.</p> +<p>“It won’t do,” she decided resolutely. “Every +extra moment I spend here makes it worse.”</p> +<p>At that she rose and looked about her. Over +to the right was a broad stretch of pale light.</p> +<p>“It’s the moonlight falling through the great +skylight of the rotunda,” she breathed.</p> +<p>Instantly she began making her way in that +direction. Arrived at the railing, she looked +down. She was high up. The very thought of +the dizzy depth below made her feel faint; yet, +fighting against this faintness, she persisted in +looking down until she had established the fact +that she was on the sixth floor. There remained +then but to descend three flights of stairs to find +the blessed third floor and, perhaps, Rennie.</p> +<p>She was not long in descending. Then, such +a silent cry of joy as escaped her lips as she +saw Rennie’s light still dimly burning in the far +corner.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_29">[29]</div> +<p>Slipping on the cape, the better to hide the dust +and dirt she had collected from many falls, she +at last tiptoed up close to the desk where Rennie +was working.</p> +<p>“Hello, dearie,” said Rennie, smiling up at +her through her thick glasses. “Ready to go? +In just one moment.”</p> +<p>Lucile caught her breath in astonishment. +Then the truth burst upon her. The whole wild +adventure through which she had been driven at +lightning speed had consumed but half an hour. +So intent upon her work had dear old Rennie +been that she had not noted the passing of time.</p> +<p>Some three minutes later, arm in arm, they +were making their way down the dark and +gloomy marble stairs; and a moment later, having +safely passed the guard, they were out on the +deserted street.</p> +<p>The instant they passed through the door they +were caught in a great whirl of wind and snow +that carried them half the way to State Street +before they could check their mad gait. For +Rennie, who was to take the surface line, this +was well enough; but for Lucile it meant an +additional half block of beating her way back +to her station on the “L.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_30">[30]</div> +<p>With a screamed “Good-night” that was +caught up and carried away by the storm, she +tore herself away and, bending low, leaped full +into the teeth of the gale.</p> +<p>A royal battle ensued. The wind, seeming to +redouble its fury at sight of a fresh victim, +roared at her, tore at her, then turning and twisting, +appeared to shake her as some low born +parent shakes his child. Snow cut her face. The +blue cape, wrapping about her more than once, +tripped her for a near fall.</p> +<p>“But it’s warm! Oh, so warm!” she breathed. +Then, even in the midst of all this, she asked +herself the meaning of all this strange mystery +of the night, and, of a sudden, the sight of Laurie +stepping into that tortuous chute flashed back +upon the screen of her memory.</p> +<p>Stopping stock still to grasp a post of the elevated’s +steel frame, she steadied herself and tried +to think. Should she turn back? Should she +make one more attempt to rescue Laurie from +whatever plight he may have gotten himself into?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_31">[31]</div> +<p>For a moment, swaying like a dead leaf on a +tree, she clung there.</p> +<p>“No! No!” she said at last, “I wouldn’t +go back there to-night! Not for worlds!” She +made one desperate leap across the street and +was the next moment beating her way up the +steel stairway to the elevated.</p> +<p>Once aboard the well heated train, with the +fur lined cape adding its cozy warmth to her +chilled and weary body, she relaxed for the first +time to think in a quiet way of the night’s affair.</p> +<p>A careful review of events convinced her that +she had behaved in quite a wild and insane +manner at times, but that on the whole the outcome +was quite satisfactory. Certainly she could +not have been expected to return home without +a wrap on a night such as this. Surely she had +had nothing whatever to do with Laurie’s giving +away his pass-out, nor of his flinging himself so +recklessly down the parcel chute. He was almost +a stranger to her. Why, then, should she concern +herself with the outcome of an affair which +he had clearly entered into of his own free will?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_32">[32]</div> +<p>On this last point she could not feel quite comfortable, +but since the elevated train was hurling +her homeward and since she could not, had +she used her utmost will-power, have driven herself +back into that great darkened store, and +since there was no likelihood of her being admitted +without a pass, she concluded that she +must still be moving in the path of destiny.</p> +<p>In strange contrast to the wild whirling storm +outside, she found her room a cozy nook of comfort. +After throwing off her street clothes and +going through a series of wild gymnastics that +came very near to flying, she drew on her dream +robe, threw a dressing gown across her shoulders +then sank into a great overstuffed chair. There, +curled up like a squirrel in a nest of leaves, she +gave herself over to cozy comfort and to +thoughts.</p> +<p>She had arrived at a very comforting one—which +was that since she had worked until +ten this night she need not report for duty until +twelve the next day—when a spot of color +caught her eye. A tiny flash of crimson shone +out from a background of midnight blue. The +midnight blue was the rare cape which she had +hung against the wall.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_33">[33]</div> +<p>“Wonder what that touch of scarlet means?” +she whispered drowsily. Immediately she +thought of Hawthorne’s “Scarlet Letter.” She +shuddered at the thought. She had dreamed bad +dreams for weeks after reading that book.</p> +<p>Gathering up her robe, she sprang lightly from +the chair to put out a hand and take up the folds +of the cape.</p> +<p>“A thread,” she mused, “a crimson thread!”</p> +<p>That the thread had not been accidentally +caught up by the garment she saw at once. With +a needle it had been passed twice through the +cloth, then tied in a loose knot. It was at the +place on the cape that rested over one’s heart.</p> +<p>“Now why would one wear such a curious +ornament?” she asked herself while a puzzled +look came on her face.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_34">[34]</div> +<p>“The Scarlet Letter, a crimson thread across +one’s heart. How similar! How very strange!” +she mused. Again she shuddered. Was this +some ominous omen?</p> +<p>With deft fingers she untied the knot, and +drawing the thread free, carried it to her great +chair where, intent upon examining the thread +in detail, she again curled herself into a position +of perfect comfort.</p> +<p>“Huh!” she exclaimed after a time. “Strange +sort of thread! Looks like ordinary silk thread +at first. About size 40 I’d say, but if you examine +it closely you discover a strand of purple +running through it, a very fine strand, but unmistakable, +running from end to end. How very, +very unusual.”</p> +<p>“Anyway,” she said slowly after another moment’s +thought, “the whole affair is dark, hidden, +mysterious. And,” she exclaimed, suddenly +leaping from her chair and clasping her hands +in ecstasy, “how I do adore a mystery. I’ll solve +it, too! See if I don’t! And I must! I must! +This cape is not mine. I cannot keep it. It is +my duty to see that it is returned to the owner, +whoever she is and whatever her motive for entering +our store at that unearthly hour and for +leaving her wrap instead of mine.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_35">[35]</div> +<p>Drawing a needle from the cushion on her +chifforobe, she threaded it with the crimson bit +with its purple strand, then, after selecting the +spot from which it had been taken, she drew it +through the wonderful cloth twice and knotted +it as it had been before.</p> +<p>“There,” she breathed, “that’s done. Now +for bed.”</p> +<p>Two thoughts passed across her dreamy mind +before she fell asleep: “I may sleep until ten. +How perfectly gorgeous! The first person I +shall look for when I enter the store will be +Laurie Seymour. I wonder if I shall see him? +How exciting. I wonder—”</p> +<p>In the midst of this last wonder she fell asleep.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_36">[36]</div> +<h2 id="c3"><br />CHAPTER III +<br />A NEW MYSTERY</h2> +<p>It was a very satisfactory reflection that Lucile’s +mirror returned to her next morning at +ten. After fifteen minutes of such gymnastics +as even a girl can perform in her own room with +the shades down, followed by five minutes of a +cold shower, she stood there pink and glowing +as a child. The glow of health and joy remained +on her cheeks even after her drab working dress +had been drawn on. It was heightened by the +half hiding of them in that matchless white fox +collar. Almost instantly, however, a look of perplexity +overspread her face as her eyes caught +the reflection of a tiny spot of crimson against +the darker color of the gorgeous cape which +had so mysteriously come into her possession.</p> +<p>“The crimson thread,” she whispered. “I do +wonder what it could mean.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_37">[37]</div> +<p>The elevated train whirled her swiftly to her +place of toil.</p> +<p>To her vast relief, the first familiar figure +to catch her eyes as she passed between the tables +of books in her own corner at the store was that +of Laurie Seymour.</p> +<p>Could it be that as he smiled and nodded to +her she caught in his eye a look of witching +mockery? One thing she did see plainly enough—there +were slight bruises and two freshly plastered +cuts on his right hand.</p> +<p>“Got them when he went down the chute,” +she told herself.</p> +<p>As she paused before him she threw back the +broad front of the mysterious cape and said:</p> +<p>“You should know something about this, I am +sure.”</p> +<p>“Beg pardon?” He started and Lucile +thought she saw a sudden flush on his cheek.</p> +<p>“You should know something about this,” she +repeated.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_38">[38]</div> +<p>“Why, no, begging your pardon again,” he +answered easily. “Having had no sisters and +having never ventured into matrimony, I know +almost nothing about women’s garments. I +should say, though, that it was a fine cape, a +corking fine one. You should be proud of it, +really you should.”</p> +<p>This was all said in such a serious tone, and +yet with such a concealed touch of mockery in +it, that Lucile abruptly turned away. Plainly +there was nothing to be learned from him concerning +the mystery, at least not at the present +moment.</p> +<p>As she turned, her eyes chanced to fall upon +a stack of books that stood by the end of the +table.</p> +<p>“Well, well!” she exclaimed. “There were +two hundred books in that stack last night! Now +they are at least a third gone!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Laurie smiled, and in his smile there +was a look of personal interest. “Yes, they are +going very well indeed. We shall need to be +ordering more soon. You see, it’s the critics. +They say it is a good book, an especially good +book for young folks. I can’t say as to that. It +sells, I can assure you of that, and is going to +sell more and more.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_39">[39]</div> +<p>As Lucile made her way to the cloak room, +she was reminded of a rumor that had passed +through the department on the previous day. +The rumor had it that Jefrey Farnsworth, the +author of this remarkable book “Blue Flames,” +(of which she and Laurie had just been speaking, +and which was proving to be a best seller +in its line and threatening to outsell the latest +popular novel) had disappeared shortly after the +publication of his book.</p> +<p>The rumor went on further to dilate upon the +subject to the extent that this promising young +man (for he was a young man—no rumor +about that) had received a letter the very day +he had vanished. There was no mystery about +the letter. Having been found on his table, it +had proven to be but a letter from his publishers +saying that his book would undoubtedly be a +great success and that, should he be willing to +arrange a lecture to be given before women’s +clubs regarding his work and his books, they +had no doubt but that he would greatly profit +by it and that in the end his sales would be +doubled. Women’s clubs all over the land would +welcome him with open hands and sizable checks. +The letter had said all this and some few other +things. And upon that day, perhaps the most +eventful day of his life, Farnsworth had vanished +as completely as he might had he grown +wings and flown to the moon.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_40">[40]</div> +<p>“Only a rumor,” Lucile said to herself, “but +if it’s true, it’s mystery number two.”</p> +<p>Instantly there flashed through her mind the +puzzling look of unusual interest that she had +noticed on Laurie’s face as he spoke of the huge +sales of the book.</p> +<p>With this recollection came a strong suggestion +which she instantly put from her mind.</p> +<p>After hanging the mysterious cape in a secluded +corner, she hunted out her sales-book and +plunged into her work. Even a sales-book of +soiled red leather may be entrusted with a mystery. +This she was to learn soon enough.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_41">[41]</div> +<p>Such an afternoon as it proved to be! She +had need enough for that robust strength of hers. +Saturday afternoon it was—two weeks before +Christmas. As the clock struck the noon hour +the great office buildings poured forth people +like a molten stream. Bosses, bookkeepers, stenographers, +sales-managers, office boys, every type +of man, woman and overgrown child flooded the +great stores. Mingling with these were the thousands +upon thousands of school children, teachers, +and parents, all free for an afternoon of +pleasure.</p> +<p>A doubtful sort of pleasure, this. Jostling +elbow to elbow, trampling and being trampled +upon, snatching here, snatching there, taking up +goods and tossing them down in the wrong place, +they fought their way about. The toy department, +candy department, children’s book department—these +were the spots where the great +waves of humanity broke most fiercely. Crowded +between a fat woman with a muff and a slim +man with a grouch, Lucile wrote a sale for a +tired looking little lady with two small children. +In the meantime an important appearing woman +in tight fitting kid gloves was insisting that +Lucile had promised to “wait upon” her next. +As a matter of fact Lucile had not seen her +until that very moment, and had actually promised +to sell a large book to a small person who +was in a hurry to catch a train.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_42">[42]</div> +<p>“Catch a train!” Lucile exclaimed to the +checking girl. “There must be a train leaving +every two minutes. They’re all catching trains.”</p> +<p>So, crowded, pushed and jostled about, answering +a hundred reasonable questions and two hundred +unreasonable ones every hour; smiling +when a smile would come, wondering in a vague +sort of way what it was all about, catching the +chance remark of a customer about “Christmas +spirit,” Lucile fought her way through the long +day.</p> +<p>Then at last, a half hour before closing time, +there came the lull. Blessed lull! Almost as +abruptly as it had come, the flood ebbed away. +Here and there a little group of people moved +slowly away; and here someone argued over a +long forgotten book or hurried in to snatch up +a book and demand instant attention. But in +the main the flood-tide had spent itself.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_43">[43]</div> +<p>Creeping back into a dark corner and seating +herself upon the floor, Lucile added up her +sales and then returned to assist in straightening +up the tables which had taken on the appearance +of a chip yard.</p> +<p>“People have a wonderful respect for books,” +she murmured to Laurie.</p> +<p>“Yes, a lot of respect for the one they buy,” +smiled Laurie. “They’ll wreck a half dozen +of them to find a spotless copy for their own +purchasing.”</p> +<p>“Yes, they do that, but just think what a +shock to dear Rollo or Algernon if he should +receive a book with a slightly torn jacket-cover +for a Christmas present!”</p> +<p>“That <i>would</i> be a shock to his nervous system,” +laughed Laurie.</p> +<p>For a time they worked on in silence. Lucile +put all the Century classics in order and filled +the gaps left by the frenzied purchasers. Laurie, +working by her side, held up a book.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_44">[44]</div> +<p>“There,” he said, “is a title for you.”</p> +<p>She read the title: “The Hope for Happiness.”</p> +<p>“Why should one hope for it when they may +really have it?” Laurie exclaimed.</p> +<p>“May one have happiness?” Lucile asked.</p> +<p>“Surely one may! Why if one—”</p> +<p>Lucile turned to find a customer at her elbow.</p> +<p>“Will you sell me this?”</p> +<p>The customer, a lady, thrust a copy of Pinocchio +into her hand.</p> +<p>“Cash?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I’ll take it with me, please.”</p> +<p>There was a sweet mellowness in the voice.</p> +<p>Without glancing up, Lucile set her nimble +fingers to writing the sale. As she wrote, almost +automatically, she chanced to glance at the customer’s +hands.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_45">[45]</div> +<p>One’s hands may be as distinctive and tell as +much of character as one’s face. It was so with +these hands. Lucile had never seen such fingers. +Long, slim, tapering, yet hard and muscular, they +were such fingers as might belong to a musician +or a pickpocket. Lucile felt she would always +remember those hands as easily as she might +recall the face of some other person. As if to +make doubly sure that she might not forget, on +the forefinger of the right hand was a ring of +cunning and marvelous design; a dragon +wrought in gold, with eyes of diamonds and a +tongue of ten tiny rubies. No American craftsmanship, +this, but Oriental, Indian or Japanese.</p> +<p>Without lifting her eyes, Lucile received the +money, carried her book to the wrapper and delivered +the package to the purchaser. Then she +returned to her task of putting things to rights.</p> +<p>Scarcely a moment had elapsed when, on glancing +toward her cash book which lay open on a +pile of books, she started in surprise.</p> +<p>There could be no mistaking it. From it there +came a flash of crimson. Imagine her surprise +when she found that the top page of her book +had been twice pierced by a needle and that a +crimson thread had been drawn through and +knotted there in exactly the same manner as had +that other bit of thread on the blue cape.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_46">[46]</div> +<p>It required but a glance to assure her that +through this thread there ran the single strand +of purple. The next instant she was dashing +down the aisle, hoping against hope that she +might catch a glimpse of the mystery woman +with the extraordinary fingers and the strange +ring.</p> +<p>In this she failed. The woman had vanished.</p> +<p>“And to think,” she exclaimed in exasperation, +“to think that I did not look at her face! Such +a foolish way as we do get into—paying no +attention to our customers! If I had but looked +at her face I would have known. Then I would +have demanded the truth. I would have—” +she paused to reflect, “well, perhaps I shouldn’t +have said so much to her, but I would have known +her better. And now she is gone!”</p> +<p>But there was yet work to be done. Drawing +herself together with an effort, she hurried +back to her table where the disorderly pile of +books lay waiting to be rearranged.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_47">[47]</div> +<p>“Speaking of happiness,” said Laurie, for all +the world as if their conversation had not been +interrupted, “I don’t see much use of writing +a book on the hope for happiness when one may +be happy right here and now. Oh, I know there +are those who sing:</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">“‘This world’s a wilderness of woe.</p> +<p class="t0">This world is not my home.’</p> +</div> +<p>“But that’s religion, of a sort; mighty poor +sort, too, I’d say. Idea being that this world’s +all wrong and that if you enjoy any of it, if the +scent of spring blossoms, the songs of birds, the +laugh of children at play, the lazy drift of fleecy +clouds against the azure sky, if these things make +you happy, then you’re all wrong. I guess they’d +say: ‘Life here is to be endured. Happiness +only comes after death.’ Huh! I don’t think +much of that.”</p> +<p>“How can one secure happiness?” Lucile +asked the question almost wistfully. She was +over-tired and not a little perplexed.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_48">[48]</div> +<p>“There’s a lot of things that go with making +people happy,” said Laurie as his nimble +fingers flew from book to book. “I’m quite sure +that happiness does not come from long hours +in a ball-room nor from smoking cigarettes, nor +any one of the many things that put dark rings +about the eyes of our young new rich or near +rich, and that set their eyelids twitching.</p> +<p>“Happiness,” he mused, throwing back his +head and laughing softly. “Why, it’s as easy +to be happy as it is to tell the truth. Have +friends and be true to them. Find a place you +love to be and be there. Keep your body and +mind fit. Sleep eight hours; eat slowly; take +two hours for quiet thinking every day. Have +a crowd you love, a crowd you feel that you belong +to and fit in with. Of course they’ll not +be perfect. None of us are. But loveable they +are, all the same.</p> +<p>“For instance, take the crowd here,” he said, +lowering his voice. “You and I are transients +here. Christmas eve comes and out we go. But +look at Donnie and Rennie, Bob, Bettie, and dear +old Morrison over there in the corner. They’re +the regular ones, been here for years, all of them.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_49">[49]</div> +<p>“See here,” he continued earnestly, “I’ll bet +that when you came in here you had the popular +magazine notion of the people who work in +department stores; slang of the worst kind, paint +an inch thick, lip stick, sordid jealousy, envy, no +love, no fellowship. But look! What would +happen if Rennie, the dear mother and straw-boss +of us all, should slip before a car and be +seriously injured to-night? What would happen? +Not a soul of us all, even us transients, +but would dig down and give our last penny to +buy the things that would help her bear it. That’s +what I mean, a gang that you belong to, that you +suffer with, endure things with and enjoy life +with! That’s the big secret of happiness.”</p> +<p>As Lucile listened to this short lecture on happiness, +she worked. At last her task was done. +Then with a hurried: “Thanks awfully. Goodnight,” +she rushed for the cloak-room preparatory +to donning the fur-lined cape. She half +expected to find it gone, but it was not, and after +throwing it across her shoulders she dashed +down the stairs to join the homeward rushing +throng.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_50">[50]</div> +<p>As she snuggled down beneath the covers that +night, she found her mind dwelling with unusually +intense interest upon the events of the past +two days. Like pictures on a screen, strange, +unanswerable questions passed through her +mind. Who was the mystery woman of the night +shadows in the book department? Why had +Laurie given her his pass-out? Why had she +left her gorgeously beautiful cape behind for a +shop girl to wear home? How had the unusual +crimson thread come to be drawn into the cloth +of the cape? Had the mystery woman put it +there? Had she drawn that thread through +the page of Lucile’s cash book? It seemed that +she must have. But why? Why? Why? This +last word kept ringing in her ears. Why had +Laurie given up his pass-out? Where had he +slept that night? How did it happen that an +elevator in a department store at night ran of +its own accord with no one to work the lever? +Surely here were problems enough to keep one +small brain busy.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_51">[51]</div> +<p>Then again, there was the problem of the +missing author of that wonderfully successful +book. What did Laurie know about that? Why +had he talked so strangely about it?</p> +<p>When she had allowed all these problems to +pass in review before her mind’s eye, she came +to but one conclusion—that she would believe +Laurie a sincere and trustworthy person until he +had been proven otherwise. Her faith had been +shaken a bit by the revelation of the night before.</p> +<p>“Life,” she whispered sleepily to herself, “is +certainly strange. Surely one who can talk so +wonderfully about happiness can’t be bad. And +yet it’s all very mysterious.”</p> +<p>Right there she concluded that mysteries of +the right sort added much to the happiness of +us all, and with that she fell asleep.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_52">[52]</div> +<h2 id="c4"><br />CHAPTER IV +<br />THE PICTURE GIRL</h2> +<p>Little dreaming of the stirring events that +awaited her, and without the slightest anticipation +of the new mystery and unusual responsibilities +that were crowding in upon her that day, +Lucile took her Monday morning train with the +quiet composure of one who, having enjoyed a +perfect Sunday of rest, looks forward with +enthusiasm to a day of interesting service.</p> +<p>The supreme moment of that day arrived in +a rather unusual place at a time when the clock’s +hands were nearing the hour of 1:00. Before +that, however, there came hours of the usual toil +which many would call drudgery. From eight-thirty +until ten there were few customers. Every +moment was taken up. Two truckloads of books +had come down from the apparently inexhaustable +storerooms above. These must be placed on +the tables. Tables must be dusted; cash-books +filled with blanks for the day; books out of place +must be returned to the proper section.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_53">[53]</div> +<p>As Lucile came and went in the performance +of her allotted tasks, she was more and more +impressed with what Laurie had said about this +group of loyal friends, this company of sales-people +who were so much like a very large +family.</p> +<p>“They are all my friends, almost my kinsfolk,” +she told herself with a little gulp of joy +that was very near to tears.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_54">[54]</div> +<p>And so they were. Even outside her little +corner they greeted her with a comradely smile. +There was the pleasing lady who sold new +fiction, and the tumbled haired lady who sold +travel books and had sold books in stores from +coast to coast. In the first alcove was the +worried lady who handled standard sets; in the +second was the dignified one who murmured in +low, church-like tones of prayer books and +rosaries; while in the farthest, deepest alcove +of all was dear old Morrison, the young-old man +with premature gray hair and a stoop. But his +lustrous eyes were lighted with an earnestness +such as one seldom looks into, and he had an +air of poise and refinement and a smile of +perfect fellowship. He sold fine bindings, and +knew them well. Besides that, he could tell you +the name and publishers of every book for +serious minded people published since the days +of Ben Franklin.</p> +<p>Working among such people as these, and in +spite of all her strenuous hours of labor, Lucile +dreaded the coming of Christmas Eve when she +must bid them all farewell and return to her +studies. Never before had she been so tempted +to relinquish her cherished hope of university +training and to settle down to work among a +host of interesting and loyal friends.</p> +<p>So the forenoon wore away, and with the +passing of each hour the great and startling +event of that day came sixty minutes nearer.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_55">[55]</div> +<p>The noon hour at last arrived. Having hastily +eaten her paper-bag lunch, Lucile hurried from +the store. There was yet three-quarters of an +hour to spend. She would spend the time sauntering +through a place of great enchantment, the +Art Museum.</p> +<p>Five minutes of battling with wind and intense +cold, and she was there. Racing up the stone +steps, she paused an instant for breath. Then +she entered and hurried up the broad marble +stairway. At last she came to a place where +a great circular leather cushioned seat in the +center of a room offered opportunity for perfect +repose. There she sank down, to hide her eyes +with her hands until the frost and the glare of +snow had left them, then to open them slowly +and to squint away contentedly toward the wall +which lay before her.</p> +<p>Before her, and a little to the left, was a +painting from Ireland, the work of a great +master. It was a simple thing in a way, a boy +clad in humble garb shoveling snow, and a girl +with a shawl thrown over her shoulders, coming +down the well cleaned path. Very simple people +these, but happy and kind. There were sparrows +perched along the path. A very humble theme, +but such masses of wonderful color! Had she +not seen it, Lucile would not have believed that +artists could have achieved such perfection.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_56">[56]</div> +<p>To the left was an equally lovely picture; +dawn on the heather, the sun rising from the +dripping dewy green and a girl reaper going to +her toil with the song of a lark on her lips and +joy in her eye.</p> +<p>These were the pictures that brought rest and +joy to Lucile’s half hour of leisure and helped +prepare her for events that cast no shadow +before them.</p> +<p>She had descended the marble stairs and was +about to leave the building when a picture +arrested her attention; a living picture of a girl. +And such a girl as she was! A supple grace to +her waist and shoulders, a proper curve at the +ankles, and a face—such a face! Cheeks aglow +with the color the frosty out-of-doors had given +them. Cheeks offset by dark, deep-set eyes, +made darker still by eyelashes that were like +hemlocks in a snow covered valley, and a smooth +oval forehead backed by a wealth of short, wavy +hair. This was the picture; only faintly sketched, +for behind all this beauty there was a certain +strength of character, a force of will that seemed +a slumbering fire gleaming from her eyes. In +the background were people and marble pillars. +The girl had just entered the Museum and, +uncertain of her way, stood irresolute.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_57">[57]</div> +<p>“She’s from the country,” Lucile whispered +to herself. “Her clothes show that. But how +startling, how unusual, how—how striking +she is!</p> +<p>“She’s like the pictures I’ve been seeing, they +were unusual and priceless. She is the same. +And yet,” a feeling of fear and sadness swept +over her, “those priceless pictures are carefully +guarded night and day. I wonder if she is? She +seems alone. It’s not to be wondered at, their +guarding those pictures. Who would not like +one for his room? Who would not love to open +his eyes each morning upon the girl in the +‘Song of the Lark’? But they’d wish to +possess that girl, too. A father, a mother, sister, +brother, would be proud to possess her, to look +at her every morning, a—anyone would. And +yet, she’s not—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_58">[58]</div> +<p>Her meditations were cut short by sight of +a figure standing not ten feet from her; a tall, +slim, young man whose features might have been +carved from marble, and in whose eyes Lucile +had surprised a steely glance such as she had +once caught in the beady eye of a down-swooping +hawk.</p> +<p>And then, as if enacting her part in a play, +the girl of this living picture suddenly wavered +where she stood. Her face went white, then +with a little, wavering cry, she crumpled in a +heap on the marble floor.</p> +<p>Lucile could have sworn the girl was alone +and uncertain of her next move. She understood +what had happened. Having traveled far +in the intense cold, the girl had been overcome +by the heavy warmth of the museum and had +fainted. The thing that happened next puzzled +Lucile beyond belief.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_59">[59]</div> +<p>After ten seconds of motionless panic, a half +score of people sprang to her assistance. But +the young man, he of the marble features and +steely eye, was first up.</p> +<p>“It’s all right,” he was saying in a quiet, even +tone, “she’s my sister. I’ll take care of her. We +have a car outside.”</p> +<p>Lifting the unconscious girl in his arms, he +started for the door.</p> +<p>“It’s not all right! It’s not all right!” Lucile +fairly shrieked the words.</p> +<p>To her vast astonishment, the next moment +she was gripping a burly guard by the arm and +saying in a voice hoarse with emotion:</p> +<p>“It’s not all right! He’s not her brother. +He—he’s stealing her! Stop them!”</p> +<p>To her further astonishment, the guard +believed her. With three strides he reached the +door and blocked it.</p> +<p>“Here! Here!” he said in the tone of one +who is accustomed to be obeyed. “It won’t do. +You can’t take her out like that.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_60">[60]</div> +<p>“Oh, all right,” there was a note of forced +indifference in the young man’s voice, but there +was murder in his cold, hard eyes. “All right, +if you know so much. Fetch some water and +get her out of it. She’ll tell you I’m her brother. +But be quick about it. You’re a beef-head for +ordering a gentleman about.”</p> +<p>Lucile’s heart went to the bottom of her +shoes. What was this? Had her emotions led +her astray? Was he indeed the girl’s brother? +It would seem so, else why would he consent so +readily to the delay, which must mean proof one +way or another? She was soon to see. Tremblingly, +she awaited the outcome. Dropping +upon the marble floor, she pillowed the girl’s head +in her lap and brushing away the hair from the +face, caressed the cold forehead with a soft +hand.</p> +<p>When the water had been brought Lucile +dampened her handkerchief and laid it icy cold +on the other’s forehead. Almost instantly the +eyes opened and the girl, having dragged herself +to a sitting position, stared about the museum.</p> +<p>“Wha—where am I?” she asked. “What +has happened?”</p> +<p>“You’re in the Art Museum. You fainted.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_61">[61]</div> +<p>“Faint—fainted!” There was terror in her +eyes.</p> +<p>“It was the cold. It’s nothing, really nothing.” +Lucile put a steadying arm about her. “You’ll +be quite all right in a moment.”</p> +<p>“Now where is that brother of hers?” grumbled +the guard. “He’s nowhere to be seen! He’s +gone!”</p> +<p>“Gone?” echoed Lucile.</p> +<p>“Brother?” said the girl in astonishment. “I +have no brother. I am alone.”</p> +<p>Such a wave of feeling swept over Lucile as +made her sick and faint. She had been right, +dreadfully right. She had saved this girl, this +wonderful creature, from—she dared not think +from what.</p> +<p>For a moment, rocked by her emotions, she +sat there in silence. At last, with a supreme +effort, she dragged herself to her feet.</p> +<p>“You look the worst of the two,” said the +guard, giving her a keen glance.</p> +<p>“I’m all right,” she protested stoutly.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_62">[62]</div> +<p>To the girl, whom she had assisted to her +feet, she said, “You may come with me if you +wish. Our store’s only two blocks away. There’s +a rest room. You’ll be all right there until you +sort of get your bearings. Perhaps I can help +you.”</p> +<p>“I’d—I’d be glad to,” said the other, clinging +to her impulsively.</p> +<p>So they left the museum together. Though +she kept a sharp watch to right and left, Lucile +caught no sign of the volunteer brother, but she +shivered once or twice at the very thought of +him.</p> +<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p> +<p>It was a very much perplexed Lucile who +curled up in her big chair that night for a few +moments of quiet thought before retiring.</p> +<p>A new mystery had been added to her already +well filled list of strange doings. “First,” she +said to herself, telling them off like beads on a +rosary, “there comes the beautiful mystery +woman and the cape she left behind; then Laurie +Seymour and the vanishing author; then the +crimson thread; and now this girl.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_63">[63]</div> +<p>As she whispered this last she nodded toward +the bed. There, lying wrapped in slumber, was +the beautiful girl she had saved in the museum.</p> +<p>“She’s even more beautiful in sleep than +when awake,” Lucile murmured. “And such a +strange creature! She hasn’t told me a thing.”</p> +<p>The last statement was entirely true. Any +notion Lucile had of the girl, any guess at her +hidden secrets, was based on observation and +conjecture alone. Not one word regarding them +had escaped the strange girl’s lips.</p> +<p>Having accompanied Lucile to the store, she +had lain upon a couch in the “quiet room” for +three hours. Whenever Lucile had stolen a +moment from work to look in upon her, the girl +had appeared to be day-dreaming. Far from +being worried about events of the past or the +immediate future, she had appeared to be enjoying +the recalling of an interesting adventure +or anticipating one.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_64">[64]</div> +<p>At five she had risen from the cot and, having +brushed her hair and arranged her clothing, had +insisted upon helping her new-found friend to +put her tables to rights. She had accepted +Lucile’s invitation to pass the night with her +with the nonchalance of one who is offered this +courtesy from a long-time friend.</p> +<p>Innocent of one scrap of baggage, in the same +manner she had accepted Lucile’s offer of a +dream robe.</p> +<p>In only one respect had she showed her independence. +Having produced a dollar bill from +somewhere on her person, she had insisted on +paying for her own frugal lunch.</p> +<p>“Her clothes are the strangest of all,” Lucile +whispered to herself. “When a girl comes upon +a run of hard luck, she’s likely to try to keep up +an appearance even though she is shabby underneath. +But look at her; a countrified suit of +shiny blue serge, two years behind the times, +and her undergarments are new and of the finest +silk, up to the minute, too. How is one to explain +that?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_65">[65]</div> +<p>She was not disturbed in the least about the +girl’s morals. She was as sweet and clean as +a fresh blooming rose. Lucile would have sworn +to that. With the lights turned out, and with +the tingling winter air entering the open window, +before retiring the girl had joined Lucile in the +nightly “setting up” exercises and had appeared +to enjoy them, too.</p> +<p>The strange girl’s skin was like the finest satin. +Her lines were perfect, her muscles superb. +Through lack of knowledge of the exercises, +she often blundered. But she could whirl more +quickly, leap higher and swing about more gracefully +than Lucile, who had never failed to throw +her whole heart into her gym work.</p> +<p>“All that,” Lucile murmured as she drew off +her bathrobe preparatory to slipping beneath the +covers, “all that, and she has not told me one +word about herself. For a country girl she +certainly has her full supply of reserve. +To-morrow I am to try to get work for her as a +wrapper. No doubt I can do it. And then?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_66">[66]</div> +<p>She thought about the future for a moment. +She was alone this year. If you have read our +book, “The Cruise of the O’Moo,” you will +remember that while living in the yacht in dry +dock she had two companions—Florence and +Marion. Florence had gone home. Marion was +in Alaska. Now Lucile was alone. She would +welcome a friend and, unless she had misread +her character, this girl had the qualities of a +steadfast and loyal pal.</p> +<p>“But her past?” Lucile whispered as she +placed her slippers beneath the bed and drew +back the covers. “Ah well, we shall see.”</p> +<p>Once during the night she was wakened by +the girl, who was evidently talking in her sleep.</p> +<p>“Don’t let them. Don’t! Don’t!” she all but +screamed as she threw out her arms for protection +from some dream foe.</p> +<p>Putting her arms about her, Lucile held her +tight until the dream had passed and she fell +back once more into peaceful slumber.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_67">[67]</div> +<h2 id="c5"><br />CHAPTER V +<br />“COME AND FIND ME”</h2> +<p>“I’ll pull some wires.” The kindly face of +Morrison, the man of fine bindings, gleamed as +he said these words to Lucile next morning. +“That’s the way things are done these days. +I haven’t much notion how they were done in +the past. But now, if I want anything, I pull +some wires. For instance, your young friend +whom you found in the Art Museum and whose +name is Cordelia but whom you choose to call +Cordie for short, wants work in this store. You +ask me to pull wires and I pull ’em. I pull one +and Miss So and So comes bowing out of her +box of an office and I whisper what I want. ‘I’ll +pull some wires,’ says she, putting on her best +smile. ‘I’ll put in a wedge, a very thin wedge.’</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_68">[68]</div> +<p>“She puts in her thin wedge. She pulls some +wires and Mr. So and So up on the eleventh +floor bobs bowing out of his box and inclines +his ear to listen.</p> +<p>“‘Ah! Yes, I see, I see,’ he murmurs. ‘I shall +pull some wires.’</p> +<p>“He pulls some wires. A slip of paper +appears. It is signed. It is given to your friend. +She goes here, she bobs there, and presently here +she is. She has accepted ‘the iron ring,’ wrapping +packages with very gay company all about +her, having a good time and getting pay for it. +But let me assure you it could not be done +without wires pulled and thin wedges inserted. +No, it could not be done. Nothing these days +is done without wires and wedges. Wires and +wedges, wedges and wires, my dear.”</p> +<p>With this very lucid explanation of the way +the world is run these days, the benevolent +Morrison bowed himself away.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_69">[69]</div> +<p>True to his prediction, two hours later the +mysteriously silent Cordelia was installed in an +obscure corner of the book section, working at +the wrapping counter. She had accepted “the +iron ring,” said ring being an affair of solid +iron into which, in a semi-circular bump on its +edge, had been set a sharp bit of steel. The +theory is that the steel edge cuts the stout cord +with which the bundles are tied. Truth was that +more often the sharp edge cut the girls’ fingers +than did the steel the string. So, in time having +learned wisdom, Cordie discarded this doubtful +bit of jewelry and used a knife. However, she +worked on steadily and quite skillfully. Before +night it had become evident to all that the girl +was proving a credit to her young protector, and +that, take it all in all, wires had not been pulled +nor wedges inserted in vain.</p> +<p>Two matters of interest came to Lucile’s +attention that day. A rumor was confirmed and +a discovery made that in the end was to take +someone somewhere.</p> +<p>First in regard to the discovery. Someone +had left a morning paper on Lucile’s table of +books. She snatched it up and was about to +consign it to the waste box when a headline +caught her eye:</p> +<p class="center">“COME AND FIND ME”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_70">[70]</div> +<p>Beneath this was a second headline:</p> +<p class="center">“Two Hundred Dollars for a Handshake.”</p> +<p>There was not time to read what followed. +Hastily tearing the corner from the page, she +thrust this scrap into her pocket to be read later.</p> +<p>“The rumor’s confirmed,” said Laurie a +moment later as he thrust a clipping from a publisher’s +weekly in her hand.</p> +<p>There were but a few lines. Lucile read them +in a moment. It had to do with the disappearance +of the promising young writer, Jefrey +Farnsworth, author of “Blue Flames.”</p> +<p>“There can be no doubt,” the article went on +to say, “that the young man has utterly disappeared. +Being a single man with few intimates, +and a man who lived a rather secluded life, he +has either slipped away without being noticed +or has met with some grave mishap. His publishers +are greatly disturbed over his disappearance. +Without doubting his willingness to assist +in the task of being made famous, they had +booked him for talks before no less than twenty +women’s clubs.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_71">[71]</div> +<p>“As the popularity of his book, ‘Blue Flames,’ +had grown by leaps and bounds, every woman +in the country was ready to be told by him just +what her son or daughter should or should not +read. There was not the least doubt but that +here was the first genuine best seller in the line +since the first days of Treasure Island and +Huckleberry Finn. Yes, the world was ready to +hear him speak. But Farnsworth was not +ready—at least he has vanished.”</p> +<p>“Twenty women’s clubs,” exclaimed Laurie, +doing a feint in pantomime. “Think of +speaking to twenty women’s clubs! Thousands +and thousands of kid-gloved, well fed, contented +women! Oh! Wow! Twenty clubs, then twenty +more and twenty after that! To drink tea with +’em and to have them grip your hand and tell +you how they enjoyed the rot you fed to them! +Oh! Ow! Ow!”</p> +<p>“Women’s clubs are all right,” protested +Lucile, her face lighting with anger. “Their +work is constructive. They do a great deal of +good.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_72">[72]</div> +<p>“Beg a thousand pardons,” said Laurie, coloring +in his turn. “I didn’t mean to say they +weren’t. They’re all right, and the ladies too, +Lord bless ’em. But how does that go to prove +that a poor, innocent young writer, who happens +to have struck gold with his pen but who never +made a speech in his life, should be chained to +a platform and made to do tricks like a trained +bear before thousands of women? Women’s +clubs are all right, but they couldn’t club me to +death with their clubs.” He threw back his +shoulders to join Lucile in a laugh over his rather +bad pun, and there, for the time being the matter +ended.</p> +<p>Lucile was destined to recall the whole affair +from time to time. Hours later, she had an +opportunity to study his face unobserved. She +noted his high forehead, his even and rugged +features, his expressive hands, and when she +saw him selling away on that stock of “Blue +Flames” as if his life depended upon it, she was +led to wonder a great wonder. However, she +kept this wonder to herself.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_73">[73]</div> +<p>The noon hour had come before Lucile found +time to again look at the scrap of printing she +had torn from the discarded newspaper. In the +employees’ lunch room, over a glass of milk and +a sandwich, and with the wonderful Cordie +sitting opposite, she read the thing through.</p> +<p>“Come and find me. I am the Spirit of +Christmas,” it ran. “I offer gold, two hundred +in gold, for a shake of the hand, yet no one +is so kind as to give me the clasp of cheer. I am +the Spirit of Christmas. I am tall and slim, +and of course I am a woman—a young woman +whom some have been so kind as to call fair. +To-day I dress in the garb of a working woman. +Yesterday it was the coat of a sales-girl. At +another time it was in more gorgeous apparel. +But always my face and my hands are the same. +Ah yes, my hands! There is as much to be +learned from the hands as from the face. Character +and many secrets are written there.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_74">[74]</div> +<p>“Yesterday I walked the Boulevard, as I +promised I should, yet not one of the rushing +thousands paused to shake my hand and say: +‘You are the Spirit of Christmas.’ Had one +done so, tho’ he had been but a beggar in rags, +the two hundred of gold would have clinked into +his pocket. Yet not one paused. They all +passed on.</p> +<p>“I entered a little shop to purchase a tiny bit +of candy. The saleslady, a little black-eyed +creature, scowled at me and refused to sell so +little, even though I looked to be a shop-girl. +She did not shake my hand, and I was glad, +for had she done so and had she said: ‘You are +the Spirit of Christmas,’ the gold would have +clinked for her. I left my mark, which is my +sign, and passed on.</p> +<p>“Later I entered a busy shop, a great shop +where tired girls rushed here and there constantly. +I troubled a dear little girl who had a +wan smile and tender eyes, to show me many +things. I bought nothing in the end, but she was +kind and courteous for all that. I wished—Oh, +how I wished that she would grasp my hand +and whisper ever so softly: ‘You are the Spirit +of Christmas.’ But she said never a word, so +the gold did not clink for her. After leaving +my mark, which is also my sign, I passed on.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_75">[75]</div> +<p>“To-day I shall join the throngs that shop +among the windows of State Street. I shall +enter a store here and another there. I shall +pause here to examine goods and there to make +a purchase. At every place, as I pass on, I shall +leave my mark, which is also my sign. If you +chance to see me, if you know me, if you read +my secret in my face or in my hands, grasp +those hands and whisper: ‘You are the Spirit +of Christmas.’ Then gold will clink for you, two +hundred in gold.</p> +<p>“I am the Spirit of Christmas. Everywhere +I go I leave a crimson trail behind.”</p> +<p>This was the end. Lucile glanced up with a +dazed and puzzled look in her eyes.</p> +<p>“What in the world can it mean?” she asked, +holding the bit of paper before Cordie.</p> +<p>Cordie laughed. “That’s something the paper +is doing. I think it’s just to make people buy +the paper. No one has ever recognized her. +She’s clever.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_76">[76]</div> +<p>“I’d like to find her,” mused Lucile.</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t you, though? Who wouldn’t? +You’d get the gold if you did; but you never +will. She’s keen. Why, only two days ago she +was in this store for a half hour. Bought a +book, mind you, and you may have sold it to her. +Think of that! The day before that she was in +the store for six hours. Think of that! And no +one knew her. They’ll never get her, trust her +for that. But if they do, the gold will clink.” +The girl laughed a merry laugh, then hurried +away for a cream-puff.</p> +<p>Left to herself, Lucile had time for a few +moments of quiet thinking. She found her pulse +strangely quickened by the news story and her +companion’s interpretation. Somehow, almost as +if some strange power outside her were whispering +it to her, she felt forced to believe that she +could connect this new and interesting discovery +with some of the other mysteries which had come +to haunt her.</p> +<p>“But how?” she asked herself. “How?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_77">[77]</div> +<p>Cordie appeared to know a great deal about +this “Spirit of Christmas” lady and the gold +that would clink for a handshake. But after all, +she had revealed no facts that were not known +to hundreds of thousands who had followed the +matter closely. It had all been in the papers.</p> +<p>“No, it doesn’t tell me anything about Cordie,” +Lucile whispered, “except—” she paused suddenly. +Cordie had told of things that had +happened in the city four days back. Could she +have been in the city all this time? Probably had +been. And without baggage, or so much as a +dream-robe. How very strange!</p> +<p>But had she been without baggage? Might +she not owe a board bill? Might not her belongings +be in the hands of some landlady at the +present time?</p> +<p>“It’s a wonder she doesn’t tell me about herself,” +Lucile murmured. “It’s no use to ask her. +A person who is forced to reveal her past is +almost sure to tell anything but the truth. I must +wait her time. It’s true she has a little money; +but perhaps not enough to pay the bill.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_78">[78]</div> +<p>“I wonder,” she went on thoughtfully, “why +I don’t cut her adrift? Why should I be looking +after her? Haven’t I enough to do in looking +after myself?”</p> +<p>It was true that she had her own responsibilities, +but she knew right well that if need be she +would do a great deal more for the girl before +casting her off to become an easy prey to the +human hawks and vultures who haunt a great +city.</p> +<p>“But this lady of the Christmas Spirit,” she +murmured. “The good fates surely know I need +that gold. And if this strange little beauty, +Cordie, costs me something, which she promises +to do, I shall need it more than ever.”</p> +<p>Once more her eyes ran over the scrap of +paper. They came to a sudden pause.</p> +<p>“Behind me I leave a crimson trail,” she read.</p> +<p>For a moment her brow was wrinkled in +puzzled thought. Then she gave a sudden start.</p> +<p>“If it should be! If it meant just that!” she +exclaimed half aloud.</p> +<p>“But then, of course it couldn’t. A crimson +trail—a crimson trail——”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_79">[79]</div> +<p>“Here’s one for you,” exclaimed Cordie, setting +a delicious cream-puff before her. “There’s +just time for devouring them before we go back +to work. Work! Oh, boy! I say it’s work! But +it’s heaps of fun, anyway.</p> +<p>“Say!” she exclaimed suddenly, “Do you +know James?”</p> +<p>“Who is James?”</p> +<p>“The man who carries away the packages +from my desk.”</p> +<p>“A stooped old man.”</p> +<p>“Not a bit of it.”</p> +<p>“They always are.”</p> +<p>“He’s not. Take a look at him. He’s a sight +for tired eyes. He—he’s intriguing. I—I’m +working on him. He’s awful reserved, but I +think he likes me. He’s got a story. I’ll get it. +Leave that to me.”</p> +<p>“So even little Cordie loves mysteries and has +found one to study out,” thought Lucile with an +amused smile as she turned to go.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_80">[80]</div> +<h2 id="c6"><br />CHAPTER VI +<br />THE IRON RING</h2> +<p>Cordie’s description of James proved quite +true. An intriguing figure was this James; a +stalwart man of forty, a straight, square-shouldered +six-footer, with face as brown as a +coffee bean. He was unmistakably American, +yet he seemed oddly out of place as, with arms +piled high with bundles, he moved steadily +through the crowd. There was a certain directness, +and with all that a slight roll about his +walk, that suggested some sort of sea craft. He +was not unlike some port-to-port steamer, waiting +at dock for its load, then steaming away to +the port of discharge.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_81">[81]</div> +<p>“A silent man, and one who has been accustomed +to command, not to plod,” was Lucile’s +mental comment. “He’s not accustomed to +being called James, like a chauffeur or a butler. +You can see that by the twinkle in the corner +of his eye when someone calls him by that name. +I wonder what could have brought him to the +extremity of carrying bundles for twenty dollars +a week. I’m sure he doesn’t drink to excess. His +face would show it if he did. Oh well, that’s +Cordie’s little mystery. Let her fathom it when +the opportunity comes.”</p> +<p>Cordie’s opportunity came a little later, and +in a decidedly startling manner.</p> +<p>In the meantime this was another busy afternoon; +one of the busiest of the season.</p> +<p>“Only listen to them!” Lucile said to Cordie +as she waited for a parcel. “Most of them are +women trying to select books for boys and girls. +Not one in ten really knows what she wants or +what boys and girls read these days. Listen—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_82">[82]</div> +<p>Cordie listened as she worked, and this, from a +score of pairs of lips, is what she heard: “Have +you got the Alger books?” “Do you keep Peck’s +Bad Boy? That’s such a splendid story. Don’t +you think so?” “I want a—a book for a boy +fourteen years old. What can you recommend?” +“Have you the Elsie books? Those are <i>such</i> +sweet stories!” “I want a book for a boy twelve +years old. I don’t want anything trashy, though. +Which of these fifty-cent books would you recommend?” +“Is this a good book?”</p> +<p>“The answer,” whispered Lucile with a little +giggle, “the answer, if they say ‘Is this a good +book?’ is always ‘Yes.’ Always yes, whether +you think so or not. I’ll tell you why. Nine +times out of ten, when a woman customer says +‘Is this a good book?’ she has already made up +her mind that it is a good book. If you say ‘Yes’ +she’ll smile and buy it. If you say ‘No,’ she’ll +frown and buy it anyway. So why provoke a +frown, and Christmas only two weeks away?”</p> +<p>Only her untiring good nature and her native +sense of humor, kept Lucile on her feet and +going. There were times, however, when even +these deserted her. One of those unfortunate +moments arrived this very afternoon. A particularly +unpleasant customer had said to her: +“I want a book about a boy who was brought +up by the monks.” After suggesting everything +that seemed akin to this, she happened upon +“Tarzan.” “Oh yes!” exclaimed the customer, +“That’s it. Tarzan.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_83">[83]</div> +<p>A second customer wanted “Laddie.” When +the modern “Laddie” was produced, the customer +insisted that this was not the original +“Laddie,” but a cheap substitute; that the first +“Laddie” was written years ago by a person +who’s name she did not recall, but who had +written another book called something else. She +had insisted on Lucile’s asking everyone in the +section about it and, after leaving very warm +and unhappy, reappeared ten minutes later with +another clerk, still looking for the original +“Laddie.”</p> +<p>In the midst of all this Lucile came upon a +fidgeting customer whose fingers were constantly +plaiting stray locks of hair and whose lips were +saying: “I must make a train. I really must. +Do you think you could get them to hurry. Do +you? Do you really? That would be so nice +of you!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_84">[84]</div> +<p>After hurrying the sale through and getting +many a sharp look for stepping in ahead of her +turn, Lucile had the pleasure of seeing the customer +meet a friend an aisle over and pause for +a prolonged spell of gossip.</p> +<p>“Who could believe that they could be such +children?” she murmured. “No, we haven’t the +Broncho Buster Boys,” she turned to answer a +query. “That’s a fifty-cent series which we do +not carry.” The person who asked the question +was a rather pompous lady in kid gloves.</p> +<p>“Have you the Broncho Buster Boys?”</p> +<p>She caught the words spoken behind her back. +The customer, ignoring her decided negative, had +deliberately turned about and asked the same +question of a girl who had come on the floor that +morning and knew nothing about the stock.</p> +<p>“I told her,” Lucile said in as steady a tone +as she could command, “that we do not carry +them.”</p> +<p>Instantly the customer flew into a towering +rage. Her words, though quite proper on the lips +of a society lady, were the sort that cut to the +very soul.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_85">[85]</div> +<p>A sharp retort came to Lucile’s lips and she +said it.</p> +<p>She was in the midst of it when a hand touched +her shoulder and a steady voice said:</p> +<p>“Here! Here! What’s this?”</p> +<p>The words, while not said in an unkindly tone, +had a ring of authority to them. Wheeling about, +Lucile found herself facing a beautiful lady, one +of the most beautiful she had ever seen; black +hair, full cheeks of wonderful color, and eyes of +the deepest blue. Lucile took in all the beauty +of her for the first time at a glance, and at the +same moment cold terror struck to her heart. +This was Miss Bruce, the head of the section, the +one who could dismiss a salesgirl at a word. +And she had just heard Lucile break the most +rigid rule of the house! She had talked back to +a customer!</p> +<p>White faced, staring, endeavoring to speak but +uttering no sound, Lucile stood there as if frozen +to the spot.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_86">[86]</div> +<p>“There, there, dearie! I know how it is. +Don’t do it again, that’s all.” Lucile felt a +friendly pressure on her arm, then the great lady +of the section was gone.</p> +<p>In spite of her bravest efforts, tears rushed to +Lucile’s eyes. One splashed down on either +cheek before she could check them. Were they +tears of vexation or gratitude, or merely tired +tears? Who could say?</p> +<p>Through the tears Lucile dimly saw a face. It +was an electrifying vision, and dashing away +the tears, she became at once her own, keen, +better self.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, it is! It’s the Mystery Lady,” she +assured herself. “She’s—she’s talking to Cordie. +I must——”</p> +<p>As she started toward the wrapping stand +where stood the Mystery Lady, a voice at her +elbow said:</p> +<p>“Will you sell me this? Could you have them +hurry a little? I must make a train. I really +must.” It was the harried and hurried lady of +a half hour previous. She had found another +book and was making another train.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_87">[87]</div> +<p>With great reluctance and much pent-up +anger, Lucile waited upon her; and in the meantime, +as was her wont, the Mystery Lady, the +lady of the crimson thread, had vanished.</p> +<p>“Who—who was the tall lady you were +speaking to a moment ago?” she breathlessly +asked Cordie a moment later.</p> +<p>“How should I know? She asked me for a +string to tie a package. Lots of them ask for +string, or a piece of corrugated paper, or a card +to write a greeting on.”</p> +<p>“Was that all?”</p> +<p>“That was about all.”</p> +<p>“Look!” exclaimed Lucile. “Who put that +there?”</p> +<p>She was pointing to a loose end of wrapping +paper through which had been drawn and neatly +tied a bit of crimson thread with a single purple +strand.</p> +<p>“Search me,” smiled Cordie. “How should I +know?”</p> +<p>While Lucile was disengaging the thread and +thrusting it in her pocket, Cordie was searching +the top of her desk.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_88">[88]</div> +<p>“That’s funny,” she said at last. “It was +here a moment ago. Now it’s gone.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“My iron ring.”</p> +<p>“The one you cut cord with?”</p> +<p>“I’m supposed to use it for that,” Cordie +tossed her head. “The thing cuts my finger. All +the same, I ought to have it. You’re supposed to +turn such things in when they lay you off. But +if it’s gone, it’s gone.” Shrugging her shoulders, +she promptly forgot it. So did Lucile, but +the time came when she was reminded of the loss +in a most forceful manner.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” she whispered as she moved +away, “I do wonder what she does that for. This +is the third time. It’s the strangest thing I ever +heard of.” She fingered the crimson thread.</p> +<p>The melting away of great stocks of the year’s +most popular book for young people, “Blue +Flames,” was most amazing. A fresh truck load, +three or four hundred copies, had come down that +very morning. By mid-afternoon they were two-thirds +gone.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_89">[89]</div> +<p>For a time, as she watched, Lucile’s astonishment +grew; then it began to ebb. She was +learning the secret of it. Laurie Seymour hovered +over the pile constantly. Hardly a customer left +him without purchasing one or more copies. +Apparently well informed regarding the contents +of the book, he told still more regarding +the personality of the author and how he had +gone about the task of gathering the material. +All of the local color of the book was penned +with minute exactness; the characters were true +to life; their actions, while not pedantic, were +such as would lead girls and boys to higher +thinking and unselfish living. More than that, +the story contained precisely the elements which +young people of to-day demand. Action, adventure, +suspense, mystery—all were here in +proper and generous proportions. Thus he +would describe the book.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_90">[90]</div> +<p>“Yes,” he would assure the prospective purchaser, +“it’s this year’s publication; not six +weeks off the press and it sells for a dollar. How +is that possible? That it might have a large +sale the author cut his royalty to one-third, and +the publishers cut their profits accordingly. The +book compares favorably with many a book selling +for nearly twice the price.”</p> +<p>What customer could refuse such a book? +Few did. Even more important than this was +the fact that the other salespeople, especially +those who were new and had little knowledge +of the stock but who were zealous for quick +sales, listened to his lucid story of the book, and +having learned it by heart, joined in selling it. +There were times when clerks fluttered as +thickly about that pile of books as sparrows +around a crust of bread.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_91">[91]</div> +<p>“Who is Laurie Seymour; why is he so +greatly interested in that particular book, and +how does he come to know so much about it?” +Having put these questions to herself, Lucile +went about the task of asking others about him. +She asked Rennie and Donnie, the inseparable +two who had worked in that corner so long. +She searched out Tommie, the young man of +twenty who knew all about boys’ books. She +asked Morrison, of the fine bindings section, and +even Emmy, the veteran inspector. All shook +their heads. They had come down one morning, +and there he was selling books. That had +been two weeks previous. Someone had pulled +some wires and here he was. By-and-by the rush +would be over, then out he would go. That +was the way things were done at Christmas time. +It wasn’t worth while to care too much!</p> +<p>But Lucile did care. Her curiosity had been +aroused. She wanted to know more about +Laurie Seymour.</p> +<p>Her curiosity was given a trace of satisfaction +that very evening. At least she found out who +knew about Laurie. Yes, she found out, but +then——</p> +<p>She had come hurrying round a pillar when +she all but ran into Laurie. He had been talking +in low tones and laughing in notes quite +as low. To her great surprise she saw that +the person he was talking to was none other +than the perfectly beautiful Miss Bruce, the +head of the section.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_92">[92]</div> +<p>“And to think,” Lucile said to herself, “he +actually appeared to be joking her about something! +And he a sales-person! Ah well, our +chief is a star—would have been a star on any +stage, and a star has a right to be friendly with +any member of the cast.”</p> +<p>“Well,” she smiled to herself, “I know now +who could tell me all about Laurie Seymour; +but I’d never dare ask. Never! I’ll have to +find out some other way.”</p> +<p>One impression coming from this incident bore +down heavily upon her. Laurie Seymour was a +young man with a past broader than the four +walls of the juvenile book section. Just what +that past might have been, she could not guess.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” she told herself, “he is some +artist getting pictures from life; or an actor +gathering local color for a play, or—”</p> +<p>“Is your table in order?” It was Rennie who +broke in upon her meditations.</p> +<p>It wasn’t, so she hurried away to forget, for +the time being, Laurie Seymour and her perplexing +problems.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_93">[93]</div> +<h2 id="c7"><br />CHAPTER VII +<br />CORDIE’S MAD FLIGHT</h2> +<p>“Cordie, there’s something I should tell you.”</p> +<p>Cordie looked up from the book she was +reading, stared at Lucile for a moment, then +with a toss of her pretty head exclaimed: “If +you should, why don’t you?”</p> +<p>They were at the end of another day. Some +time had passed since the Mystery Lady had +last appeared in the store. Work had increased; +crowds of buyers had grown denser, more insistent +in their demands. Two perpendicular +lines had appeared between Lucile’s eyes. Cordie, +too, had felt the strain of it. Her nerves were +tense. She had been upon Lucile’s bed for a +half hour, trying to relax. It was no use.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you tell me?” she demanded impatiently.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid it may frighten you.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_94">[94]</div> +<p>“Frighten me?” the girl’s eyes went wide +with surprise.</p> +<p>“Yes, but I think I should tell you. It may +put you on your guard.”</p> +<p>Cordie sat bolt upright.</p> +<p>“Do you remember the time I found you—when +you fainted in the Art Museum?” Lucile +asked in a quiet voice.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t forget that. Wasn’t it terrible?”</p> +<p>“More terrible than you think, or at least +I believe it might have been.”</p> +<p>“Why?” Cordie stared.</p> +<p>“A few seconds after you fainted, a strange +young man picked you up in his arms. He +said you were his sister. He started to carry +you out and would have, too, if I hadn’t made +the guard stop him.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” breathed Cordie, wild eyed, incredulous. +“So that was what the guard meant +when he asked where my brother was? Oh, +how—how sort of romantic!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_95">[95]</div> +<p>“It may have been,” said Lucile in a very +sober tone. “He may have been romantic, but +he also may have been very bad. That’s why +I thought you ought to know. He may be +keeping a watch on you. Men who are fascinated +by a face often do. You ought not to +go alone upon the streets. You should not +have been alone that day. No girl from the +country, unacquainted with the ways of the +city, is safe alone upon its streets and within +its public buildings.”</p> +<p>“Why, I’m not—” Cordie halted in the +midst of the sentence and began again. “Did +you think—” then drawing her lips tight as +if to keep in a secret that was about to escape, +she lapsed into silence.</p> +<p>When she broke the silence a moment later +the look on her face was very serious. “I do +realize the danger,” she said slowly. “Truly +I do. I will be careful, very, very careful. It +was wonderful of you to save me from that—that +man. How can I ever thank you enough?”</p> +<p>Hopping down from the bed, she wound her +arm about Lucile and planted a kiss upon her +forehead.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_96">[96]</div> +<p>Just at that instant a question entered Lucile’s +mind. “I wonder when her appreciation will +reach down as deep as her pocketbook? That’s +a sordid thought. I ought not to think it,” she +told herself, “but I just can’t help it.”</p> +<p>Lucile was having to pay an increased rent +on her room because of the girl’s occupying it +with her. A pay day had come and gone, yet +her young charge had shown no desire to bear +her share of this burden.</p> +<p>“No! No! I mustn’t let myself wonder that,” +Lucile corrected herself stoutly. “She’ll pay +when she can. She’s probably saving up for +her rent which is in arrears somewhere else. +I do wonder, though, what she was about to +tell me when she said: ‘I’m not—’ and ‘Did +you think—’ I truly wish she’d tell me about +herself, but I can wait her time for revealing.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_97">[97]</div> +<p>Half of the following day had not passed +before Lucile repented having told Cordie of +her volunteer brother. “He’ll probably never +be seen again by any of us,” she told herself, +“and now look at the poor girl. She’s all unnerved; +grips her desk and stares in a frightened +manner every time a man looks at her. +And yet,” she reflected, “if anything happened +and I hadn’t told her I’d never forgiven myself. +Surely life is full of perplexing problems.”</p> +<p>Ere that day was done something was destined +to happen which would make this particular +problem many times more perplexing. Since +she knew nothing of this, Lucile went serenely +on selling books.</p> +<p>“Let me tell you something,” said Rennie, the +veteran book-seller, who had apparently made +an excuse for going to lunch with Lucile that +day. “You’re letting this work get on your +nerves. Look at those puckers between your +eyes. It’s no use. You mustn’t let it. You’ll +go to pieces and it’s not worth it. You’ve got +your life to live. You—”</p> +<p>“But Rennie—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_98">[98]</div> +<p>Rennie held up a finger for silence. “You’re +young; haven’t learned the gospel of repose. +You, perhaps, think of repose as the curling of +one’s self up in a soft-cushioned chair. That’s +not repose; it’s stagnation. Did you ever see a +tiny bird balancing himself on a twig over a +rushing waterfall and singing his little heart +away? That’s repose. You can have poise and +repose in the midst of the crowding throng. +The bird, only half conscious of the rushing +water beneath him, sings the more sweetly because +of it. We, too, may have our service +sweetened by the very rush of things if we +will.</p> +<p>“And it is service! You believe that, don’t +you?”</p> +<p>There was a new light in the veteran saleslady’s +eyes. Lucile, as she looked at her frail +body, thought to herself: “She’s more spirit +than body. She’s given half herself away in +service.”</p> +<p>“Why yes,” she replied slowly, “I suppose +selling juvenile books is a service in a way.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_99">[99]</div> +<p>“You suppose!” Rennie gripped her arm +until it hurt. “Don’t you know it is? It may +be made a great, a wonderful service. There +are books and books. You have read many of +them. You know them. You are young. You +have read. Some you have loved, some despised. +Which do you sell? Which?”</p> +<p>“Why, the ones I love, of course.”</p> +<p>“That’s just it. Being endowed by nature +with taste, good taste, and having had that +taste improved by education, you are able to +choose the best.</p> +<p>“Books are like water. Some are like foam, +the white caps of the sea; pure enough but +effervescent. They pass in a moment and are +lost forever. Others are like scum from a stagnant +pool; they are poison. Then there are +those blessed others which are like the cool, pure, +refreshing water that comes bubbling up from a +mountain spring. Reading has an untold and +lasting influence on a child. Do you believe +that? When you have put one of those better +books into the hand of a boy or girl, you have +conferred a lasting blessing upon someone. Do +you believe that?”</p> +<p>“Ye—yes.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_100">[100]</div> +<p>“Of course you do. Now, when you go back +to your work this afternoon, do it with the consciousness +that you are really being a benefactor +to your generation. Say to yourself: ‘See all +those people. Some of these are to go away +from here this afternoon richer because I have +been here to serve them, to advise them, to select +for them the thing they really need.’ Then +watch the little annoyances, the petty troubles +that tempt you to fret, ‘Fold their tents like +the Arabs and silently steal away.’</p> +<p>“Sales-people?” Rennie continued. “Why, +we are far more than that. We may, if we will, +take our place beside teachers, nurses, librarians, +and all those whose names will be written high +on the tablet of the future where will appear +all those who have truly benefited their race.</p> +<p>“Pardon me,” she smiled again, “I didn’t +mean to preach, but really I hope it may do +you good.”</p> +<p>“I—I’m sure it will.” There was a mist +in the girl’s eyes as she said this. She had +caught a vision of what real life work meant +to this frail woman. Once more she was +tempted to give up her education in favor of a +career as a vendor of juvenile books.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_101">[101]</div> +<p>At ten minutes before closing time Lucile, +having promised to meet Cordie at the northeast +door, hurried down the stairs to the first +floor. Then things began to happen with lightning-like +rapidity.</p> +<p>She had just started on her little journey +across the store to the northeast entrance when, +all in a flash, she caught sight of a hand, such +a hand as she had seen but once and would +never forget. The long, slim, muscular fingers +and the ring of the dragon’s head were there. +She could not be mistaken. Somewhere in that +jostling throng was the Mystery Lady. And—yes, +Lucile was sure of it, there she was off +there to the right. She could not mistake that +face. With a bound she was after her.</p> +<p>“Not so fast there! Not so fast!” exclaimed +a floor man. “There isn’t any fire. +What made you think there was?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_102">[102]</div> +<p>Wedged in between a tall lady from the city +and a very broad-shouldered, bear-skin coated +man from the country, Lucile could but heed the +floorman’s admonition.</p> +<p>“She’s making for the door,” she whispered +breathlessly. “I’ll follow her out. Can’t fail +to catch her in the street. I’ll get her before she +has gone a block. And then—”</p> +<p>Ah yes, and then—well, she’d decide what +was to be done when the time came. She’d +trust to inspiration.</p> +<p>She did not catch up with her in the first +block, nor the second or third, either. The +sidewalks were rivers of people; the cross streets +filled with automobiles. Considering the fact +that this was an obstacle race of an exceedingly +unusual type, the Mystery Lady made wonderful +progress. As for Lucile, she was not to be +outdone; indeed, she gained a little here, and a +little there. She dodged through an open space +on the sidewalk and sprinted down a stretch of +street where no autos were parked or traveling.</p> +<p>“I—I’ll get her in the next block,” she +panted. “Suppose there’ll be a scene, but who +cares? Here goes!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_103">[103]</div> +<p>A policeman’s whistle, releasing the flood of +autos on the cross street, had just blown. With +a leap she sprang away before them. Grazed +by the wheel of a gray sedan, drawing an angry +hoot from a huge touring car, she crossed the +channel and was about to dash on when a hand +seized her firmly by the arm and gave her such +a turn as fairly set her whirling.</p> +<p>“Here you!” exclaimed a gruff voice. +“What you tryin’ to do? Tryin’ to commit +suicide? Autos has their right as well as them +that walks. Give ’em their turn, can’t you?”</p> +<p>What was there to do? She could not tell this +policeman of her cause for speed. She could +but stand there panting until he chose to release +her. And as she stood there, with time to +think, a startling question came to her mind: +“Cordie! What of Cordie? I promised to +meet her at the northeast entrance! Closing +time has now passed.”</p> +<p>For a moment her head whirled, but as the +grip on her arm relaxed she murmured:</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_104">[104]</div> +<p>“Well, whatever is to happen has happened +back there. I’ll get madamoiselle of mysteries +yet!”</p> +<p>At that she crept slowly away until she was +lost from sight of the officer; then again raced +on at breakneck speed.</p> +<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p> +<p>She was right. Something indeed had happened +by the door of the northeast entrance. +Cordie had been prompt in keeping her appointment; +especially so since her nerves, disturbed +by Lucile’s revelation of the night before, +were on edge.</p> +<p>Surprised at not finding Lucile waiting for +her, she had moved back into a secluded +alcove to watch the passing throng crowd +through the doors.</p> +<p>Crowds always amused her. Some of the +people were short and some tall; some young, +some old; but all were interesting. Each had +his story to tell if only he could be induced to +tell it. This is why the flow of a river of people +is so interesting.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_105">[105]</div> +<p>Just when it was that her attention was +drawn from the moving throng to a single stationary +individual, the girl could not tell. The +instant she saw the man she felt he had been +watching her; felt too that she had recognized +in him her volunteer brother of the Art Museum.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she whispered as cold dread gripped +her heart, “there is the hawk-like eye, the marble +face. It is he. Oh! How shall I escape?”</p> +<p>Losing her power to reason, she dashed away +from the door and into the crowd that was +now thronging toward the exits.</p> +<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p> +<p>Lucile found it rather difficult to again locate +the Mystery Lady. When at last she succeeded +it was to get a good square look at her, the +first she had been afforded.</p> +<p>“How strangely she is dressed!” she murmured. +“Like some countrywoman come to the +city for shopping.”</p> +<p>For a second she was inclined to doubt her +judgment. It could not be the lady—yet, yes, +there was her profile. There could be no mistake; +so, again she dashed along after her.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_106">[106]</div> +<p>Although she maintained a pace that appeared +to be a leisurely one, the Mystery Lady was +hard enough to overtake. Turning to the right, +she crossed two streets to at last come out upon +the Boulevard. Swinging to the left, she joined +the home-going throng.</p> +<p>Lucile, gaining moment by moment, was all +but upon her when she turned quickly to enter +a broad, open door.</p> +<p>“Now I have you!” Lucile murmured.</p> +<p>She passed through the broad door just in +time to see the mysterious one push back a +heavy curtain and disappear.</p> +<p>Lucile was about to follow, when a guard, +touching her on the shoulder, demanded:</p> +<p>“Got a pass?”</p> +<p>“Why—why no,” Lucile stood there nonplussed.</p> +<p>“This is Opera Hall. You can’t go back of +that curtain without a pass.”</p> +<p>“But—but that lady gave you no pass.”</p> +<p>The guard made no reply. He merely shrugged +and smiled.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_107">[107]</div> +<p>Dropping back a step or two, Lucile stood staring +at the curtain. Her head was whirling. +What a strangely privileged woman this one +must be. She entered and left a great department +store at two hours before midnight, and +no one said to her “No.” She steps into a +vestibule of a great musical hall and passes behind +the curtain without a pass. What would +she do next?</p> +<p>Suspended from one brass post to another, a +heavy silk rope hung before the curtain. There +were gaps in the curtain. Through one of these +gaps, as Lucile stood staring at it, a hand was +thrust. It was the hand of the mysterious lady. +And upon it, beside the dragon’s head ring, was +another. And this ring one more unusual and +startling than the other. It was the iron ring of +a bundle wrapper!</p> +<p>“Cordie’s ring,” Lucile whispered, “and, as +I live, a diamond has been set in it. A magnificent +diamond, worth hundreds of dollars! How +strange! How weird! A diamond set in iron!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_108">[108]</div> +<p>Even as she thought this, the hand disappeared. +Instantly the heavy purple curtain began to sway. +Expecting anything, the girl stood there breathless. +A needle flashed twice through the cloth +of the curtain, then in its place there appeared +a tiny spot of crimson.</p> +<p>“The crimson thread!” Lucile whispered. +“And I may not pass beyond the curtain!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_109">[109]</div> +<h2 id="c8"><br />CHAPTER VIII +<br />THE DIAMOND-SET IRON RING</h2> +<p>When Cordie fled from the man of the hawk-like +eye and the marble features she dashed +directly into the moving throng of shoppers. In +this, however, she found scant relief. No matter +which way she might turn she felt sure that the +man pursued her and would overtake her if she +did not flee faster and faster.</p> +<p>Putting her utmost strength into this flight, +she dashed past counters strewn with goods, +round a bank of elevators, through narrow +aisles jammed with shoppers, across a narrow +court and again into the throng. At last, in utter +desperation, she fled down a stairway; then +another and another. Little dreaming that she +had been descending into the very depths of +the earth, she came up at last with a little suppressed +scream to a place where from out a long +row of small iron doors fire gleamed red as a +noonday sun.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_110">[110]</div> +<p>Where was she? Surely she had not dreamed +there could be such a place as this in a great +department store.</p> +<p>After wavering unsteadily for a moment, she +turned, stumbled, righted herself, and would +have gone racing back up the stair had not a +heavy hand fallen upon her shoulder and a +gruff, kindly voice said:</p> +<p>“Beg pardon, Miss Cordelia, are you in +trouble?”</p> +<p>Surprised at hearing herself called by her +own name, she turned about to find herself staring +into the face of James, the bundle man.</p> +<p>For a few seconds she wavered between pause +and flight. There was, however, such a light +of kindness in the man’s eyes as could not be +questioned. So, stepping back from the stairs, +she said:</p> +<p>“Yes, I am in trouble. The—the man; I +think he was following me.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_111">[111]</div> +<p>“He’d do well not to follow you too far this +way, if he meant you any harm.” The bundle +man shook his powerful frame, then glanced +at the fires.</p> +<p>“Wha—what are they?” Cordie stammered. +“Where are we?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you know?” he looked incredulous. +“Them’s the boilers that heat the buildin’. I +suppose you never wondered before how this +huge building got heated? Well, that’s how. +Them’s the boilers that does it.</p> +<p>“Sometimes I come down here to sit after +hours,” he half apologized. “The boys down +here that tends to the stokers let me come. I +like it. It’s the nearest thing to the sea that +one finds about the buildin’. You see, it’s sort +of like a ship’s hold where the stokers work.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you belong to the sea.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Miss. I’ll tell you about it; but that +will do for another time. You’ll be going home. +If it’s all right, I’ll see you safely on your way, +or if you want I’ll see you safely home. You +need have no fear of me. I’m old enough to +be your father, an’ I took a sort of interest in +you from the first. I’d be glad to help you—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_112">[112]</div> +<p>He broke short off to stare at the door through +which Cordie had entered. Framed by the outer +darkness, a face had appeared there. However +well shaven and massaged it might be, it was +not a pleasing face to look upon and hawk-like +eyes were set in a countenance as expressionless +as marble.</p> +<p>“That’s him!” whispered James, staring as +if his eyes would pop out of his head. “That’s +the very man.”</p> +<p>The next instant the man disappeared. There +was reason enough for this too, for with every +muscle of his face drawn in lines of hate, the +stalwart James had leaped square at the door.</p> +<p>And what of Lucile?</p> +<p>After gazing for a moment in astonishment +at the purple curtain with the touch of crimson +shining out from it, (beyond which the Mystery +Lady had disappeared,) she stepped close enough +to make sure that same purple strand ran +through the thread. Then she turned and +walked out of the building.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_113">[113]</div> +<p>She found herself more mystified than ever. +When would all this maze of mysteries be +solved? Why had the Mystery Lady done +that? Why the crimson thread? Why the iron +ring? That was the fourth time the crimson +thread had appeared, and this time there could +be no doubt but that it had been she who had +held the needle.</p> +<p>Strangely enough, at this moment there +flashed through her mind one sentence in that +clipping relating to the lady who called herself +the Spirit of Christmas.</p> +<p>“I am the Spirit of Christmas,” she whispered +it as she recalled it. “I am the Spirit of Christmas. +Wherever I go I leave my mark which +is also my sign.” She wondered vaguely what +she could have meant by that.</p> +<p>This lady of the Christmas Spirit had the +whole city on tip-toes. Everyone was looking +for her; everyone hoping to come downtown +some fine morning to meet her and to claim her +bag of gold. Shoppers gazed into faces of fellow +shoppers to wonder: “Are you the Spirit +of Christmas? Shall I grasp your hand?” News +boys, staring up at lady customers who slipped +them pennies for papers, wondered: “Are you +the Christmas Lady?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_114">[114]</div> +<p>Every day the paper told how she had been +dressed on the previous day, where she had been +and what she had done. One day, in the guise of +a farmer’s wife, she had visited the stockyards +and had spent hours wandering through great +buildings or on board-walks above the cattle. +The next day found her again among the throngs +of shoppers. Here she had purchased a handkerchief +and there a newspaper. She described the +clerk and the newsboy. The clerk and the boy +read it and groaned. For them the great moment +had come and was gone forever.</p> +<p>“Who will discover her? When will it be? +Who will get the gold?” These were the questions +that were on every tongue.</p> +<p>There could be no doubt but the paper was +reaping a golden harvest from it, for did not +everyone in the city buy a paper that they +might read of her latest exploits and to discover +where she was to be on that day, and to +dream that this day he might be the lucky one; +this day he might hear the gold coin jingle?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_115">[115]</div> +<p>Lucile thought all this through as she hurried +back toward the store. At the same time she +chided herself for being so foolish as to miss her +appointment with Cordie for such a wild goose +chase. She hoped against hope that she would +find Cordie still waiting.</p> +<p>She found the door closed. As she pressed her +face against the glass she saw but one person +near the entrance—the night watchman. Cordie +was not there.</p> +<p>“Gone,” Lucile murmured. “I only hope +nothing has happened to her.”</p> +<p>At that she turned about and raced away to +catch an on-coming elevated train.</p> +<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p> +<p>As James disappeared through the door of the +furnace room of the department store, Cordie +sank down in a chair. The chair was black and +greasy, but she had no thought for that. Indeed, +so excited and frightened was she that for a +time she was unable to think clearly about anything.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_116">[116]</div> +<p>When at last the full meaning of the situation +had forced its way into her consciousness, she +leaped to her feet, exclaiming:</p> +<p>“Stop him! Stop him! He’ll be killed!”</p> +<p>“I bet you he won’t,” a burly furnace tender +smiled quietly. “He’s a hard boiled egg, that +boy; muscles like steel and quick as a cat. If +anybody does him in you’ll have to give him +credit. Y’ought t’ see him box. There ain’t a +man among us that can touch him.”</p> +<p>Somewhat reassured by this glowing description +of her companion, the girl settled back +again in her seat. She knew that she was safe +enough here with these rough but kindly men.</p> +<p>As she sat there thinking, there came to her +mind a question. Why did James go into such +a fit of anger at sight of the stranger at the +door?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_117">[117]</div> +<p>“Surely,” she told herself, “it could not have +been because the man had been following me. +That wouldn’t be natural. James scarcely knows +me. Why should he suddenly become such a +violent champion of my cause? And besides, +he had no way of knowing that that was the man +who was following me. He did not wait to ask +a single question; just whispered: ‘That’s him!’ +and rushed right at him.”</p> +<p>“No he didn’t do it because of me,” she concluded +after a few moments of thought. “He’s +seen that man before. I wonder when and +where. I wonder what he’s done to James?”</p> +<p>Then came another, more startling question. +What would James do to the man if he caught +him?</p> +<p>Instantly her keen imagination was at work. +Quickening her sense of hearing, it set her +listening to sounds which she told herself were +the dull thud of fist-blows, the sickening rush of +a blade as it sped through the air, a low groan +of pain, and then sharper, more distinct, the +pop-pop of an automatic.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_118">[118]</div> +<p>In vain she told herself that with the hiss of +steam, the dull thud-thud of revolving grates and +the general noises of the boiler-room, it was +quite impossible for her to distinguish sounds +ten yards away, and that in all probability the +two men were hundreds of feet away from her, +on some other floor. The illusion still persisted. +So certain did she become that a battle was being +fought just outside the door that she found +herself gripping the arms of her chair to keep +from crying out.</p> +<p>The nickel-plated clock against the wall had +ticked away a full half hour. The suspense had +grown unbearable when of a sudden, with +face grimy, hair tousled, and clothing all awry, +James appeared at the door.</p> +<p>“You—you,” Cordie started up.</p> +<p>“Yes, miss,” James grinned. “I know I +look as if I’d come in from a long and stormy +voyage. My deck needs swabbin’ down and my +sails a furlin’, but I’ll be shipshape and ready +to take another cruise before the clock can +strike eight bells.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</div> +<p>This talk sounded so quaint to the girl that +she quite forgot the recent danger James had +been in, and sat staring at him as he thrust his +head into a huge basin of water and proceeded +to scrub it with a course brush, much as one +might some huge vegetable.</p> +<p>By the aid of a comb and whisk broom, he +succeeded in making himself presentable.</p> +<p>“Now,” he smiled a broad smile, “your Uncle +James, once a seaman and now a land fighter, is +ready to pilot you home. What’s the port?”</p> +<p>“Sixty-first and Drexel,” said Cordie.</p> +<p>“All right. Port ’er bow. We’re off.”</p> +<p>Concerning his recent combat—if there had +been a combat—James said not a word. Cordie +wondered at this, but eager as she was to know +the outcome of the battle, if there had been one, +she dreaded quite as much to hear the whole +truth. Visions of an inanimate form, lying +bruised and bleeding in some dark corner of the +stair, set her shuddering. So in the end she +asked no question.</p> +<p>Their passage to the upper floor and out of +the building was uneventful. The watchman at +the door recognized them and allowed them to +pass.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_120">[120]</div> +<p>Previous to this time James had seemed quiet +and uncommunicative, but now as they rattled +along on the L train he told her many a wild tale +of the sea journeys he had made. In his deep +mellow drawl he talked of the whale ship <i>Addler</i> +in northern seas; of Eskimo and polar bear and +the gleaming northern lights; and then he talked +of the Cutter <i>Corwin</i> among the palm shadowed +South Sea Islands.</p> +<p>It was with a real feeling of regret that +Cordie, hearing her own station announced, +realized that their visit was at an end.</p> +<p>Five minutes later, brimming over with excitement, +she burst into Lucile’s room.</p> +<p>“Wait!” exclaimed Lucile as she read in +Cordie’s eyes the story of some thrilling experience. +“You’ve had an adventure. So have +I. Let’s not spoil ’em in the telling. Let’s set +the stage for a story. You haven’t had a bite to +eat, have you?”</p> +<p>“No—o,” Cordie admitted, “not a single +bite. I’d forgotten.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div> +<p>“Neither have I. You’ll find a loaf of bread +and a slice of cream pimento cheese in the upper +dresser drawer. There are some vanilla wafers, +too. You make the sandwiches and I’ll have the +cocoa piping hot in a minute. No, I’ll tell you, +let’s dress for it first.”</p> +<p>Fifteen minutes later they sat in their bright +colored dressing gowns, sipping the delicious hot +beverage and hungrily devouring sandwiches.</p> +<p>“Now,” said Lucile after the last sandwich +had vanished and fresh cups had been poured, +“now’s the time for spinning yarns. You tell +yours first.”</p> +<p>With many a gesture and dramatic pause, +Cordie told of her startling discovery, her wild +dash through the throng, her descent into the +depths of the earth, and of the strange doings +down there beneath the surface of the city’s +streets.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</div> +<p>“Yes,” said Lucile, sipping her chocolate +thoughtfully as Cordie’s narrative ended, “that +surely was the young man who attempted to +carry you away when you fainted in the Art +Museum. Dear little girl, you must be careful, +very careful indeed. You must never be left +alone; never! Never! Even if the Mystery +Woman beckons or the Lady of the Christmas +Spirit clinks her gold in my very ears, I will +not desert you again.”</p> +<p>It was a very warm and friendly hand that +Lucile felt tucked into her own, and a suspiciously +husky voice that said:</p> +<p>“Thank you, my dear big sister.</p> +<p>“But,” Cordie exclaimed suddenly, “I must +not tell them. It would never do. They +wouldn’t let me——”</p> +<p>Suddenly checking her speech as if about to +unwittingly reveal a secret, she changed the subject +abruptly. “Please tell me of your adventure,” +she said.</p> +<p>“My adventure?” smiled Lucile. “Compared +with yours, it was no adventure at all—merely +an episode. However, since it throws +some light on a mystery and reveals the whereabouts +of a bit of stolen property, I must tell +you about it.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div> +<p>Then, while Cordie leaned back among the +cushions, her eyes half closed as if she were +day dreaming, Lucile told of her experience with +the Mystery Lady.</p> +<p>“My iron ring!” exclaimed Cordie, sitting +bolt upright as Lucile came to that part of the +story. “My iron ring! The old mischief! I +might have known! I——”</p> +<p>Again Cordie checked herself.</p> +<p>“Might have known what?” asked Lucile.</p> +<p>“Might have known that someone had stolen +it, I suppose,” finished Cordie lamely. “Anyway, +someone did, didn’t they? And isn’t it +funny that she should have a diamond set in +it? Wouldn’t it be a joke to come upon her +wearing it? Wouldn’t it, though? I’d march +right up and say, ‘Lay-d-e-e give me the ring! +You stole it. My precious, my onliest, only iron +ring!’” She threw back her head and laughed.</p> +<p>Lucile joined her in the laugh, and with this +forgot for a time that Cordie had said something +very unusual about the ring and the lady who +had taken it. At last Cordie broke the silence:</p> +<p>“James is a very unusual person.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</div> +<p>“Yes, he must be.”</p> +<p>“Do you suppose he caught that man—the +one who had been following me?”</p> +<p>“I hope so, but perhaps not. You say he was +all mussed up when he came back?”</p> +<p>“Uh-huh.”</p> +<p>“But not bruised, nor bloody, nor anything +like that?”</p> +<p>“No, I guess not—no, not a bit.”</p> +<p>“Then probably he didn’t. When I got +through my wild race about the place the other +night I was good and mussed up, and I hadn’t +been in a fight either. It wouldn’t be easy to +catch anyone in that labyrinth.”</p> +<p>Again there was silence for a little while.</p> +<p>“Lucile,” whispered Cordie, bending forward +eagerly, her face alight with some strange idea. +“James is so mysterious. Do you suppose he +could be a pirate in hiding?”</p> +<p>“A pirate! Why child, there aren’t any +pirates.”</p> +<p>“Not any at all?”</p> +<p>“You don’t read about any, do you?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</div> +<p>“You don’t read about lots of things. You +never read about my wrapping bundles, did you? +But I am, just the same. Everything doesn’t get +in the papers. I think it would be wonderful +if he turned out to be a real pirate. You’d think +he was one if you heard some of the stories he +told me to-night about the sea.”</p> +<p>“All right,” laughed her companion, “if you +can make him out a pirate, a nice friendly sort +of pirate who is kind to ladies and all that, +you’re welcome. But for my part, I’d give a +lot more to know what that self appointed +brother of yours has done to James. It must +have been something rather terrible.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” agreed Cordie, “it surely must.”</p> +<p>“Listen!” exclaimed Lucile. “There go the +chimes! Ten o’clock, and you work in the +morning!”</p> +<p>Leaping from her chair, she began cleaning +up the remnants of their little feast. Ten +minutes later the room was darkened for the +night.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</div> +<p>Though the room was dark, and though Lucile +was tired enough for sleep, her eyes did not close +at once. She was thinking and her thoughts +were not of the most cheerful sort.</p> +<p>The outlook, she was forced to admit, was +gloomy enough. She had hoped to save enough +money from her pay at the store to start her +in the new term at school. This hope was fast +dwindling away. Her own expenses had been +greater than she had thought they would be. +Added to this was the increase in her room +rent due to the presence of Cordie. Her dream +that Cordie was saving money had been blighted +only the night before, for on that night Cordie +had brought home the gorgeous dressing gown +she had worn as they sat over the cocoa cups.</p> +<p>“And it must have cost her every penny she +possessed,” groaned Lucile. “How extravagant! +How—how——”</p> +<p>She wanted to say ungrateful, but could not +quite do it. The girl appeared so impractical, +so lovable, so irresponsible, that she could not +find the heart to blame her.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div> +<p>Quickly she switched her thoughts to a more +cheering subject—Laurie Seymour. He had +proven such a jolly fellow-worker—so cheerful, +so kind and helpful, so ever ready to bear the +heavy burdens—that Lucile had all but forgotten +the fact that he had given his pass-out to +the Mystery Lady on that night when she had in +such a surprising manner come into the possession +of the valuable fur lined cape. Equally +strange was the fact that she had come to think +of the Mystery Lady in a new way. She found +that she could no longer think of the lady as +a thief.</p> +<p>“And yet,” she mused, “what could have +been her reason for haunting our store at that +hour of the night? Why should she have left the +cape?”</p> +<p>The cape. Ah yes, there was vexation enough +in that! Too precious to be worn to work, it +had hung for days in Lucile’s closet while she +had gone to work all too scantily clad in a +sweater and broad scarf. She wished that she +might have her own coat. Poor as it might be, +it was at least her own and it was comfortable.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_128">[128]</div> +<p>Next morning, having arrived at the door of +the store a full fifteen minutes before the opening +hour, the two girls were enjoying a few +moments of window shopping before the gorgeous +windows of State street. Suddenly, above +the rattle of distant elevated trains and the +honk of auto horns, Lucile caught clear and distinct +the calling neigh of a horse.</p> +<p>Wheeling quickly about, she stared around +her. True enough, there were still many horses +on the streets of the city, but where before, +in the din and rattle of the streets, had she +caught that one clear call of a horse?</p> +<p>What she saw caused her to start and stare. +Cordie was no longer at her side. Instead she +was in imminent danger of being run down by a +cab as she dashed madly across the street toward +the spot where, like a statue in blue, a +young policeman sat rigidly erect on his police +horse.</p> +<p>The thing the girl did, once she had safely +crossed the street, was even more surprising. +Without the least glance at the young policeman, +she threw both arms about the horse’s neck and +hid her face in his mane.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</div> +<p>Far from objecting to this unusual procedure, +the horse appeared to rather enjoy it. As for +the stern young minion of the law, he was so +overcome by surprise that he did not alter his +statue-like pose by so much as a movement of +a finger.</p> +<p>Lucile flew across the street.</p> +<p>“Cordie! Cordie! What in the world are +you doing?” she fairly screamed.</p> +<p>Paying not the least attention to this, Cordie +repeated over and over: “Dick, you old darling. +Dear old Dick. You knew me, Dick, you +did! You did!”</p> +<p>This lasted for a full moment. Then, appearing +to come to herself, the girl dropped her +hands and stepped back upon the sidewalk.</p> +<p>One glance at the stern young officer, and a +quite different emotion swept over her. Her +face turned crimson as she stammered:</p> +<p>“Oh, what have I done? I—I beg—beg +your pardon.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</div> +<p>“It’s all right,” grinned the young man, coming +to life with a broad smile. “Friend of +yours, I take it?”</p> +<p>“Yes—Oh yes,—a very, very good friend.”</p> +<p>“My name’s Patrick O’Hara,” there was a +comradely tone now in the young officer’s voice. +“He’s a friend of mine too, and a mighty good +one. Shake.” Solemnly drawing off his gauntlet, +he swung half way out of his saddle to +grasp the girl’s hand.</p> +<p>“Thanks. Thanks awfully. Is this—this +where you always stay? I—I’d like to see +Dick real often.”</p> +<p>“This is my beat; from here to the next cross +street and back again. I’m here every morning +from seven to one. We—we—Dick, I mean, +will be glad to see you.” The way he smiled as +he looked at Cordie’s deep colored, dimpled +cheeks, her frank blue eyes, her crinkly hair, +said plainer than words: “Dick won’t be the +only one who will be glad to see you.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</div> +<p>“Lucile,” implored Cordie, “I wish you’d do +me a favor. I haven’t a lump of sugar for poor +old Dick. I can’t leave him this way. I—I +never have. Won’t you please talk to this—this +policeman until I can go to the restaurant on the +corner and get some?”</p> +<p>“It’s all right, Miss—Miss——”</p> +<p>“Cordie,” prompted the girl.</p> +<p>“It’s all right, Cordie,” Patrick O’Hara grinned, +“I’ll not run away. Duty calls me, though. +I must ride up a block and back again. I—I’ll +make it snappy. Be back before you are.”</p> +<p>Touching Dick with his spurless heel and patting +him gently on the neck, he went trotting +away.</p> +<p>Five minutes later, the lump of sugar ceremony +having been performed to the complete +satisfaction of both Dick and Cordie, the girls +hurried away to the scenes of their daily labors.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</div> +<p>This little drama made a profound impression +upon Lucile. For one thing, it convinced her +that in spite of her expensive and stylish lingerie, +Cordie was indeed a little country girl. “For,” +Lucille told herself, “that horse, Dick, came +from the country. All horses do. He’s been a +pet of Cordie’s back there on the farm. His +owner, perhaps her own father, has sold him to +some city dealer. And because he is such a +thorobred and such a fine up-standing beauty, he +has been made a police horse. I don’t blame +her for loving him. Anyone would. But it +shows what a splendid, affectionate girl she is.</p> +<p>“I’m sort of glad,” she told herself a moment +later, “that she’s gotten acquainted with that +young officer, Patrick O’Hara. He seems such +a nice sort of boy, and then you can never tell +how soon you’re going to need a policeman as a +friend; at least it seems so from what happened +last night.”</p> +<p>She might have shuddered a little had she +known how prophetic these thoughts were. As +it was, she merely smiled as she recalled once +more how her impetuous little companion had +raced across the streets to throw her arms about +the neck of a horse ridden by a strange policeman.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_133">[133]</div> +<p>“I wonder,” she said finally, “I do wonder +why Cordie does not confide in me? Oh well,” +she sighed, “I can only wait. The time will +come.”</p> +<p>Had she but known it, Cordie had reasons +enough; the strangest sort of reasons, too.</p> +<p>It was in the forenoon of that same day that +a rather surprising thing happened, a thing that +doubled the mystery surrounding the attractive +young salesman, Laurie.</p> +<p>Lucile was delivering a book to a customer. +Laurie was waiting at the desk for change and at +the same time whispering to Cordie, when of +a sudden his eyes appeared ready to start from +his head as he muttered:</p> +<p>“There’s Sam!”</p> +<p>The next instant, leaving wrapped package, +change and customer, he disappeared as if the +floor had dropped from beneath him.</p> +<p>“Where’s Laurie?” Cordie asked a moment +later. “His customer’s waiting for her change.”</p> +<p>Though Lucile didn’t know where he was, she +was quite sure he would not return, at least he +would not until a certain short, broad-shouldered +man, who carried a large brief case and stood +talking to Rennie, had left the section. She felt +very sure that Laurie wished to escape meeting +this man.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_134">[134]</div> +<p>“That man must be Sam,” Lucile thought to +herself as she volunteered to complete Laurie’s +sale. “Now I wonder what makes him so much +afraid of that man!</p> +<p>“He looks like a detective,” she thought to +herself as she got a better look at him. “No, he +smiles too much for that. Must be a salesman +trying to get Rennie to buy more books.”</p> +<p>The conversation she overheard tended to +confirm this last.</p> +<p>“Make it a thousand,” he said with a smile.</p> +<p>“I won’t do it!” Rennie threw her hands up +in mock horror.</p> +<p>“Oh! All right,” Sam smiled. “Anything +you say.”</p> +<p>Having been called away by a rush of customers, +Lucile had quite forgotten both Laurie +and Sam when she came suddenly upon the large +brief case which Sam had carried. It was +lying on her table.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_135">[135]</div> +<p>“Whose is that?” a voice said over her +shoulder. “That’s Sam’s, confound him! He’s +always leaving things about. Now he’ll have to +come back for it and I’ll—”</p> +<p>“Who’s Sam?” Lucile asked.</p> +<p>She turned about to receive the answer. The +answer did not come. For a second time that +day Laurie had vanished.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_136">[136]</div> +<h2 id="c9"><br />CHAPTER IX +<br />HER DOUBLE</h2> +<p>“Two more shopping days before Christmas,” +Lucile read these words in the paper on the +following morning as she stepped into the elevator +which was to take her to a day of strenuous +labor. She read them and sighed. Then, +of a sudden, she started and stared. The cause +of this sudden change was the elevator girl.</p> +<p>“Why, Florence!” she exclaimed half incredulous. +“You here?”</p> +<p>“Sure. Why not?” smiled the big, athletic +looking girl who handled the elevator with skill.</p> +<p>“Well, I didn’t know—”</p> +<p>“Didn’t know I needed the money badly +enough,” laughed Florence. “Well, I do. +Seems that one is always running out of cash, +especially when it comes near to Christmas. I +was getting short, so I came down here and +they gave me this job. Thought I could stand +the rush I guess,” she smiled as she put one arm +about her former chum in a bear-like embrace.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_137">[137]</div> +<p>If you have read our other books, “The +Cruise of the O’Moo” and “The Secret Mark,” +you will remember that these two girls had been +the best of chums. But a great University +is a place of many changes. Their paths had +crossed and then they had gone in diverging +ways. Now they were more than pleased to +find that, for a time, they were employed in the +same store.</p> +<p>“Speaking of Christmas,” said Florence, +“since I haven’t any grand Christmas surprises +coming from other people, I’ve decided to buy +myself a surprise.”</p> +<p>“How can you do that?” asked Lucile, a look +of incredulity on her face.</p> +<p>“Why, you see——”</p> +<p>“Here’s my floor. See you later.” Lucile +sprang from the elevator and was away.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</div> +<p>“It’s nice to meet old friends,” the elevator +girl thought to herself as she went speeding up +the shaft, “especially when the holiday season +is near. I must try to see more of Lucile.”</p> +<p>Running an elevator in a department store is +a dull task. Little enough adventure in that, +you might say, except when your cable begins +to slip with a full load on board. But Florence +was destined to come under the spell of mystery +and to experience thrilling adventure before +her short service as an elevator girl came to +an end.</p> +<p>Mystery came leaping at her right out of the +morning. She left her car in the basement and +went for a drink. She was gone but a second. +When she came back the elevator door was +closed and the cage cables in motion.</p> +<p>“Gone!” she whispered. “I never heard of +such a thing. Who could have taken it?</p> +<p>“Might have been the engineer taking it for +a testing trip,” she thought after a few seconds +of deliberation. “But no, that doesn’t +seem probable. He’d not be down this early. +But who could it be? And why did they do it?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div> +<p>If the disappearance of her car had been +startling, the thing she witnessed three minutes +later was many times more so.</p> +<p>With fast beating heart she saw the shadow +of the car move down from fifth floor to fourth, +from fourth to third, then saw the car itself +cover the remaining distance to the basement.</p> +<p>Her knees trembled with excitement and fear +as she watched the cage in its final drop. The +excitement was born of curiosity; the fear was +that this should mean the last of her position. +She had never been discharged and this gave +her an unwonted dread of it.</p> +<p>The car came to a stop at the bottom. Three +passengers got off and one got on, and the car +shot upward again. And Florence did nothing +but stand there and stare in astonishment!</p> +<p>Had she seen a ghost, a ghost of herself? +What had happened? Her head was in a +whirl. The girl at the lever was herself. +Broad shoulders, large hands, round cheeks, +blue eyes, brown hair, even to freckles that +yielded not to winters indoors. It was her own +self, to the life.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_140">[140]</div> +<p>“And yet,” she reasoned, “here I am down +here. What shall I do?”</p> +<p>As she faced the situation more calmly, she +realized that the girl driving her car must be +her double, her perfect double. She remembered +reading somewhere that everyone in the +world had a double. And here was hers. But +why had her double made up her hair in her +exact fashion, donned an elevator girl’s uniform +and taken her elevator from her?</p> +<p>“That is what I must find out,” she told +herself.</p> +<p>“There’s no use making a scene by jumping +in and demanding my cage,” she reasoned, after +a moment’s reflection. “I’ll just get on as a +passenger and ride up with her.”</p> +<p>There was something of a thrill in this affair. +She was beginning to enjoy it.</p> +<p>“It’s—why, it’s fairly mysterious,” she +breathed.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</div> +<p>In spite of all, she found herself anticipating +the next move in the little drama. Driving an +elevator was frightfully dull business. Going up +and down, up and down; answering innumerable +questions all day long about the location +of silks, shoes, baby rattle, nutmeg graters, boxing +gloves, garters and fly-swatters—this was +a dull task that tended to put one to sleep. +And often enough, after her noon luncheon, she +actually had to fight off sleep. But here, at +last, was a touch of mystery, romance and adventure.</p> +<p>“My double,” she breathed. “I’ll find out +who she is and why she did this, or die in the +attempt.”</p> +<p>Again the cage moved downward.</p> +<p>This time, as the last customer moved out +of the door, she stepped in. Moving to the back +of the car, she stood breathlessly waiting for the +next move of her mysterious double.</p> +<p>The move did not come at once; in fact she +had to wait there in the back of the car a surprisingly +long time. The girl at the lever—her +double—had poise, this was easy enough +seen, and she had operated an elevator before, +too. She brought the cage to its position at +each floor with an exactness and precision that +could but be admired.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_142">[142]</div> +<p>The cage filled at the first floor. It began to +empty at the third. By the time they had +reached the eleventh, only two passengers, beside +Florence, remained in the back of the car. Only +employees went beyond the eleventh; the floors +above were stock rooms.</p> +<p>The girl at the lever threw back a fleeting +glance. Florence thought she was about to +speak, but she did not.</p> +<p>The car went to the thirteenth landing. There +two people got off and three got on. Florence +remained. The car dropped from floor to floor +until they were again in the basement. Once +more the mysterious double gave Florence a +fleeting glance. She did not speak. Florence +did not move from her place in the corner. +The car rose again. To Florence the situation +was growing tense, unbearable.</p> +<p>Again the car emptied. At the eleventh floor +Florence found herself in the car alone with +her double. This gave her a strange, frightened +feeling, but she resolutely held her place.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div> +<p>“Say!” exclaimed the girl, turning about as +the car moved slowly upward. “Let me run your +car, will you? Take my place, won’t you? You +won’t have a thing to do. It—it’ll be a lark.” +As she said all this in a whisper there was a +tense eagerness on her face that Florence could +not miss.</p> +<p>“But—but your car?” she managed to +whisper back.</p> +<p>“Haven’t any. Don’t go on until to-morrow. +Here’s my locker key. Get—get my coat and +furs and hat out and wear them. Stay in the +store—Book Section and Rest Room. All you +have to do.</p> +<p>“Only,” she added as an afterthought, “if +someone speaks to you, tells you something, you +say, ‘Oh! All right.’ Just like that. And if +they ask you what you said, you repeat. That’s +all you’ll have to do.”</p> +<p>“Oh, but I can’t—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_144">[144]</div> +<p>“It isn’t anything bad,” the other girl put in +hastily. There was a sort of desperate eagerness +about the tense lines of her face. They +were nearing the thirteenth floor. “Not a thing +that’s bad—nor—nor anything you wouldn’t +gladly do yourself. I—I’ll explain some time. +On—only do it, will you?”</p> +<p>They had reached the thirteenth floor. She +pressed the key in Florence’s reluctant hand.</p> +<p>A tall man, with an arm load of socks in +bundles, got on the car. He looked at Florence. +He looked at her double. Then he stared at +both of them. After that his large mouth spread +apart in a broad grin as he chuckled:</p> +<p>“Pretty good. Eh?”</p> +<p>Three minutes later Florence found herself in +a kind of daze, standing at the tenth floor landing, +staring down at her steadily dropping car.</p> +<p>“Oh, well,” she whispered, shaking herself +out of her daze, “sort of a lark, I suppose. No +harm in it. Might as well have a half day off.” +With that she turned and walked toward the +locker room.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_145">[145]</div> +<p>The coat and hat she took from the mysterious +one’s locker were very plain and somewhat worn, +not as good as her own. But the fur throw was +a thing to marvel at; a crossed fox, the real +thing, no dyed imitation, and so richly marked +with gray that it might easily be taken for a +silver gray.</p> +<p>“Some strange little combination,” she +breathed as she threw the fur about her neck +and started once more for the elevator.</p> +<p>As a proof of the fact that she was carrying +out her share of the compact, she waited for +her own elevator. The strange girl shot her a +quick smile as she entered and another as she +got off on the third floor where was the rest +room and book section.</p> +<p>“Seems terribly queer to be walking around +in another girl’s clothes,” she whispered to herself +as she drifted aimlessly past rows of people +resting in leather cushioned chairs. “Especially +when that other girl is someone you’ve +spoken to but once in your life. I wonder—I +do wonder why I did it?”</p> +<p>She meditated on this question until she had +reached the book section.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</div> +<p>“It was the look in her eyes; an eager, +haunted look. She’s all right, I’d swear to that, +and she’s in some sort of trouble that’s not all +her own fault. Trouble,” she mused. “Part of +our reason for being here in the world is that +we may help others out of trouble. I—I guess +I’m glad I did it.”</p> +<p>Of this last she could not be sure. She had +sometimes been mistaken, had bestowed confidence +and assistance on persons who were unworthy. +Should this girl prove to be such a +person, then she might be helping her to get +away with some unlawful act. And she might +lose her position, too.</p> +<p>“Oh well,” she sighed at last, “it’s done. I’ll +lose my memory of it here among the books.” +To one who is possessed of a real love for +books, it is a simple task to forget all else in +a room where there are thousands of them. So +completely did Florence forget that she soon +lost all consciousness of the role she was playing, +and when a rough looking man with a seafaring +roll to his walk came marching toward +her she could do nothing but stare at him. And +when he said, “Howdy Meg,” she only stared +the harder.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_147">[147]</div> +<p>“The train leaves at eleven thirty,” he said, +twisting his well worn cap in his nervous fingers.</p> +<p>“The—the—” she hesitated. Then of a +sudden the words of the girl came back to her.</p> +<p>“Oh! All right,” she said in as steady a +tone as she could command.</p> +<p>“What say?” asked the man.</p> +<p>“I said ‘Oh, all right.’”</p> +<p>“Right it is, then,” he said and, turning about, +disappeared behind a pile of books.</p> +<p>With her head in a whirl, the girl stood and +stared after him.</p> +<p>“The train leaves at eleven thirty,” she whispered. +It was a few minutes past ten now. +Should she go and tell the girl? She had not +been instructed in this regard. What sort of +an affair was this she was getting into, anyway? +Was this girl hiding from her people, attempting +to run away? The man had looked rough +enough, but he had looked honest, too.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_148">[148]</div> +<p>She had wandered about the place in uncertainty +for another half hour. Then a kindly +faced women, in a sort of uniform and a strange +hat with gold lettered “Seaman’s Rest” on its +band, accosted her.</p> +<p>“Why, Meg!” she exclaimed. “You still +here? The train leaves at eleven-thirty.”</p> +<p>There it was again. This time she did not +forget.</p> +<p>“Oh! All right!” she exclaimed and turning +hurried away as if to make a train.</p> +<p>An hour later, still very much puzzled and not +a little worried, she returned to the locker room, +took off the borrowed clothes, gave the wonderful +fox fur a loving pat, deposited it with the +coat and hat, then locked the door.</p> +<p>After that she went to her own locker, put on +her wraps preparatory to going to lunch, then +walked over to the elevator.</p> +<p>A moment’s wait brought her car to her. +The other girl was still operating skillfully. +Florence pressed the locker key into the girl’s +hand and stepped to the back of the car. Five +minutes later she found herself in the crisp air +of a midwinter day.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_149">[149]</div> +<p>“And to think,” she whispered to herself, +“that I’d do that for a total stranger.”</p> +<p>As she ate her lunch a resolve, one of the +strongest she had ever made, formed itself in +her mind. She would become acquainted with +her mysterious double and would learn her +secret.</p> +<p>“The train leaves at eleven-thirty,” she mused. +“Well, wherever it might have been going, it’s +gone.” She glanced at the clock which read +twelve-fifteen.</p> +<p>And then, of a sudden, all thought of the +other girl and her affairs was blotted out by a +resolve she had made that very morning. This +was Friday. Day after to-morrow was Christmas. +She wanted a surprise on Christmas. +She had started to tell Lucile about it that morning, +but while just in the middle of the story the +elevator had reached the Book Department and +Lucile had hurried away. Soon after came the +strange experience of meeting her double and +Florence had quite forgotten all about it until +this very minute.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_150">[150]</div> +<p>“Have to provide my own surprise,” she said +to herself, while thinking it through. “But +how am I to surprise myself?”</p> +<p>This had taken a great deal of thinking, but +in the end she hit upon the very thing. Her +old travelling bag had gone completely to pieces +on her last trip. Her father had sent her +fifteen dollars for the purchase of a new one. +She had the money still. She would buy a +travelling bag with a surprise in it.</p> +<p>Only a few days before, a friend had told her +how this might be done. Every great hotel has +in its store room a great deal of baggage which +no one claims; such as hat boxes, trunks, bags +and bundles. Someone leaves his baggage as +security for a bill. He does not return. Someone +leaves his trunk in storage. He too disappears. +Someone dies. In time all this baggage +is sold at an auctioneer’s place to the highest +bidders. They have all been sealed when +placed in the store room, and here they are, +trunks, bundles and bags, all to be sold with +“contents if any.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_151">[151]</div> +<p>“With contents if any.” Florence had read +that sentence over many times as she finished +scanning the notice of an auction that was to be +held that very afternoon and night.</p> +<p>“With contents if any,” that was where her +surprise was to come in. She would pick out a +good bag that had a woman’s name on it, or +one that at least looked as if a woman had +owned it, and she would bid it in. Then the bag +would be hers, and the “contents if any.” She +thrilled at the thought. Her friend had told +of diamond rings, of gold watches, of a string +of pearls, of silks and satins and silver jewel +boxes that had come from these mysterious +sealed bags and trunks.</p> +<p>“Of course,” Florence assured herself, “there +won’t be anything like that in my bag, but anyway +there’ll be a surprise. What fun it will +be, on my birthday, to turn the key to the bag +and to peep inside.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_152">[152]</div> +<p>“I know the afternoon is going to drag terribly. +I do wish I could go now,” she sighed, +“but I can’t. I do hope they don’t sell all the +nice bags before I get there.”</p> +<p>With this she rose from the table, paid her +check and went back to her elevator, still wondering +about her mysterious double and still +dreaming of her birthday surprise.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_153">[153]</div> +<h2 id="c10"><br />CHAPTER X +<br />CORDIE’S STRANGE RIDE</h2> +<p>Twice a day, after Cordie had discovered him, +the police horse, Dick, had a lump of sugar—one +in the morning and another at noon. And +Mounted Officer Patrick O’Hara, very young, +quite handsome and somewhat dashing, received +a smile with each lump of sugar. It would have +been hard to tell which enjoyed his portion the +most, Dick or Patrick O’Hara.</p> +<p>Apparently nothing could have pleased Cordie +more than this discovery of an old friend. Yes, +there was one other thing that would have +pleased her much more. She found herself +longing for it more and more. Every time she +saw the horse she secretly yearned for this +privilege.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_154">[154]</div> +<p>And then, quite surprisingly, the opportunity +came. It was noon. Having come out from +the store to give Dick his daily portion, she was +surprised to find him standing alone, head down, +and patiently waiting. A glance down the street +told her there had been an auto collision in the +middle of the block; not a serious one probably, +as the cars did not seem badly smashed, but +of course Patrick O’Hara had gone over there +to take down the numbers. Since traffic had +been jammed, he had dismounted and walked.</p> +<p>“Wha—what a chance,” Cordie breathed, +her heart skipping a beat. “Do I dare?”</p> +<p>She looked up at the splendid saddle with its +broad circle of brass and other trappings. She +studied Dick’s smooth, sleek sides.</p> +<p>“I know I shouldn’t,” she whispered, “but +I do so want to. Dick, do you suppose he’d +care?”</p> +<p>The temptation was growing stronger. Glancing +down the street, she caught a glimpse of +Patrick O’Hara’s cap above the crowd. His +back was turned. The temptation was no longer +to be resisted. With a touch and a spring, light +as air, Cordie leaped into the saddle.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_155">[155]</div> +<p>“Just for old times,” she whispered.</p> +<p>She had meant to hover there for an instant, +then to leap right down again. But alas for +the best laid plans. Old Dick had apparently +remembered things about the past which she +had quite forgotten, and with a wild snort his +head went up, his four feet came together, and +with a leap that completely cleared him from the +autos that blocked his way, he went tearing +down the street.</p> +<p>For a second the girl’s head was in a whirl. +So unexpected was this mad dash that she was +all but thrown from the saddle. Apparently an +experienced rider, she regained her balance, +clung to the pommel of the saddle for an instant, +then gripping the reins, she screamed:</p> +<p>“Whoa, Dick! Whoa! Whoa!”</p> +<p>Had her scream been “Go Dick! Go!” it +would not have had a different effect. He +simply redoubled his speed.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_156">[156]</div> +<p>Then it was that the State Street throng of +shoppers viewed a performance that was not on +the program and one they would not soon forget—a +hatless, coatless girl, hair flying, cheeks +aflame, dashing madly down the street astride +a sturdy police horse.</p> +<p>Some laughed, some cheered, others gasped +in astonishment and fright. A corner policeman +leaped for the reins, but missed. Panic spread +through the cross streets. It was a bad morning +for jay-walkers. Having failed to see the on-coming +charger, they would leap boldly before +a slow-moving auto to give one startled look +upward, then to register the blankest surprise +and shy suddenly backward. Had it not been +such a serious business, Cordie would have +laughed at the expressions on their faces; but +this was no laughing matter. To all appearances +she had stolen a policeman’s horse, and +that in broad daylight.</p> +<p>Suddenly a second police horse swung out into +the street.</p> +<p>“Stop! Stop! I arrest you!” shouted the +rider.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_157">[157]</div> +<p>“That’s easy said,” the girl murmured in an +agony of fear lest Dick should trample someone +under his feet. “It’s easy said. I wish you +would.”</p> +<p>Evidently Dick did not agree with these sentiments, +for the instant he sensed this rival his +head went higher, a great snort escaped his +nostrils and he was away with a fresh burst of +speed which left the surprised officer three +lengths behind.</p> +<p>“Oh! Oh! What shall I do!” groaned the +girl.</p> +<p>The more she tugged at the reins the faster +flew Dick’s splendid limbs. He had the bit between +his teeth.</p> +<p>Suddenly, as if aggravated by the crowds that +threatened to block his way, he whirled to a +side street and went dashing toward the Boulevard.</p> +<p>“The Boulevard! Oh, the Boulevard! We +will be killed!”</p> +<p>Before them lay the Boulevard where autos, +thick as bees in clover, raced forward at twenty +miles an hour. What chance could there be of +escape?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_158">[158]</div> +<p>Trust a horse. While pedestrians stared and +screamed in terror, while policemen vainly blew +whistles and auto drivers set brakes screaming, +Dick, without slackening his pace, raced ahead +of a yellow limousine, grazed a black sedan, +sent a flivver to the curb, and with one magnificent +leap cleared the sidewalk and the low +chain at its edge, landing squarely upon the soft, +yielding turf of the park.</p> +<p>“Ah, that’s better,” he all but seemed to say. +Then, heading south along the narrow park +that extended straight away for a mile, he continued +his mad career.</p> +<p>Cordie, risking one backward look, gasped in +consternation and fear.</p> +<p>“Dick, Dick, you old villain! You’ve got me +in for life! Never, never again!”</p> +<p>Three policemen, each mounted on his steed, +came dashing after her in mad pursuit.</p> +<p>A straight, broad course lay before them; a +pretty enough course to tempt anyone. Seeming +to gain new strength from the very touch of +it, Dick gripped his bit and fairly flew.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_159">[159]</div> +<p>And Cordie, in spite of her predicament, regardless +of impending arrest, was actually getting +a thrill out of it. For one thing, there were +now no pedestrians to be run down. The park +was deserted. For another thing, ahead of Dick +lay a clear stretch of turf which she hoped +would satisfy his lust for speed.</p> +<p>Finding herself in a more cheerful frame of +mind, Cordie took to studying her pursuers. +That they were of different ages she guessed +more by the way they rode than by a clear +view of their faces; Dick had left them too far +behind for that. The foremost rider was a man +of thirty-five or so, a stern minion of the law, +and he was plainly angry. It had been he who +had informed her on State Street that she was +arrested. He had an unusually long nose—she +remembered that. He rode a poor mount very +badly indeed. The punishment he was getting, +as he jounced up and down in the saddle, he +would doubtless attempt to pass on to her and +to Dick. She ardently wished that he might +never catch up, but realized at the same time +that it could not well be avoided. The race +must come to a close.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_160">[160]</div> +<p>The other policemen were different. One was +heavy and well past middle age; the other young, +perhaps no older than Patrick O’Hara. They +rode with the easy grace of an aged and a +young cowboy. She had seen some like that in +the movies not so long ago. She fancied she +saw a smile on the younger man’s face. Perhaps +he was enjoying the race. She sincerely +hoped he might be, and the older man, too. As +for the one of the long nose—not a chance.</p> +<p>All things have an end. Dick’s race did. +Having come close to an iron fence, beyond +which towered a brick structure, he appeared +to assume that he had reached the goal. Dropping +to a slow trot, he circled gracefully to the +right, and as he came to a standstill he threw +his head high as much as to say:</p> +<p>“We won, didn’t we; and by a handsome +margin!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_161">[161]</div> +<p>“Yes, you old goose,” the girl breathed. +“And now, instead of a blue ribbon for you and +a purse for me, we get an invite to some dirty +old police court.”</p> +<p>There was no time for further thought. The +foremost policeman, he of the long nose, rode +up and snatching at the reins, snarled:</p> +<p>“Suppose you call that smart, you—you +flapper!”</p> +<p>Staring angrily at the girl, he gave Dick’s +rein such a yank as threw the magnificent horse +on his haunches.</p> +<p>Instantly Cordie’s eyes flashed fire. They +might take her to jail and welcome; but abuse +Dick he might not!</p> +<p>Dick, however, proved quite equal to caring +for himself. With a snort he leaped to one side, +and jerking his rein from the policeman’s grasp, +went dashing away.</p> +<p>So sudden was this turn that Cordie, caught +unawares, was thrown crashing to the ground. +The officer wheeled and rode after the horse.</p> +<p>It was the older man, the one with gray about +his temples, who, quickly dismounting, helped +the girl to her feet.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_162">[162]</div> +<p>“Are you hurt?” he asked in a tone that had +a fatherly touch in it.</p> +<p>That did the trick for Cordie. All her anger +was gone. She was not injured, but tears came +trickling out from beneath her eyelids as she +half sobbed:</p> +<p>“I—I’m sorry. Truly I am. I didn’t, didn’t +mean to. Truly—truly I didn’t! I—I used +to ride him in races, on—on the farm. And +I thought—thought it would be fun to just +sit—sit a minute in his saddle. I tried it and +I guess—guess he thought it was to be another +race. Anyway, he—he bolted with me and I +couldn’t stop him. Truly, truly I couldn’t!”</p> +<p>“That’s all right, Miss,” said the elderly one, +putting a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “It +may not be so bad, after all.”</p> +<p>The younger policeman had also dismounted +and now stood smiling at them and appearing to +wish he might take the place of his older friend.</p> +<p>“That is Pat O’Hara’s horse,” he said at last. +“He’s the smartest mount on the force. And +I’ll tell you one thing, if we wait for Hogan to +catch him we’ll be here until to-morrow +morning.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_163">[163]</div> +<p>Hogan, the irate policeman, was certainly having +his troubles catching Dick. With the skill +and mischief of a trained performer, Dick was +playing tag with him in a masterly fashion. He +would stand with head down as if asleep until +his pursuer was all but upon him; then with a +snort he would dash away. No amount of coaxing, +cajoling or cursing could bring him any +nearer to capture.</p> +<p>This little play went on for several minutes. +Then, at a time when Dick had circled quite +close to her, Cordie suddenly put two fingers to +her lips and let out a shrill whistle. Instantly +the splendid horse pricked up his ears and came +trotting toward her.</p> +<p>“Good old Dick,” she whispered, patting him +on the neck and not so much as putting out a +hand for his rein.</p> +<p>“Well I’ll be—” mumbled the younger +policeman.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_164">[164]</div> +<p>“There’s lots like ’em, both horses and girls,” +the old man smiled, “and I’ll swear there’s not +more bad in the girl than the horse.”</p> +<p>“No, now Hogan,” he held up a warning +hand to the one who came riding up. “You +leave this to me. Where’s O’Hara’s stand?”</p> +<p>“State and Madison,” volunteered the younger +man.</p> +<p>“Good, we’re off. You men can ride back +to your posts. I’ll tend to this matter myself.”</p> +<p>The younger man grinned. Hogan growled; +then they rode away.</p> +<p>“You better mount and ride back,” suggested +the older man to Cordie.</p> +<p>Seeing her hesitate, he reached for her rein, +“I’ll steady him a bit, but he’s had his race. +Guess he’ll be satisfied. But,” he said suddenly, +“you’re not dressed for this. You must be +half frozen.”</p> +<p>Unstrapping a great coat from Patrick +O’Hara’s saddle, he helped her into it and together +they rode away.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_165">[165]</div> +<p>And so it happened that on this day, only a +few days before Christmas, the throngs along +State Street viewed a second unusual sight. +Though quite different from the first, it was no +less mystifying. Who ever heard of a gray +haired policeman and a bobbed haired girl in a +policeman’s great coat, riding police horses and +parading up the city’s most congested street in +broad daylight?</p> +<p>“What a fool I’ve been,” the girl whispered +to herself as she hid her face from a camera. +“It will all be in the papers. And then what?”</p> +<p>They found young Patrick O’Hara nervously +pacing his beat on foot. His face lit up with +a broad grin as he saw them approaching.</p> +<p>“I sort of figured,” he drawled, “that whoever +took Dick would bring him back. Can’t +anybody do a good job of riding him except me.”</p> +<p>“If you think that,” exclaimed Tim Reilly, +the elderly policeman, “you just take any horse +on the force, give this girl and Dick a three-length +start, and see if you’d catch ’em. You +would—not! Not in a thousand moons!”</p> +<p>Patrick O’Hara grinned as he helped the +girl down.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_166">[166]</div> +<p>“Now you beat it,” said Tim in as stern a +voice as he could command. “I suspect you work +around here somewhere close. You’ve overdone +your noon hour, and this the rush season. +You’ll be in for it now.”</p> +<p>Cordie threw him one uncertain glance to discover +whether or not he was in earnest. The +next moment she went racing across the street.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_167">[167]</div> +<h2 id="c11"><br />CHAPTER XI +<br />AS SEEN FROM THE STAIRWAY</h2> +<p>“Where in the world have you been?” Lucile +exclaimed, pouncing upon Cordie as soon as she +came in sight. “Rennie’s been worrying her +poor old head off about you, and Miss Mones, +who’s in charge of the checking girls, is +furious.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” Cordie drawled, “I was out to lunch. +Then I took a spin down the park on my favorite +steed. It’s a won-der-ful day outside.”</p> +<p>“You’ll have a lot of time to spend outside,” +scolded Lucile, “if you don’t get right back to +your stand.”</p> +<p>A moment later, having somehow made her +peace with Miss Mones, Cordie was back at her +task, rustling paper and snipping cord.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_168">[168]</div> +<p>Late that afternoon Lucile was sent to the +twelfth floor storeroom to look up a special +order. She enjoyed these trips to the upper +realms. This vast storeroom was like a new +world to her. As she walked down long, narrow, +silent aisles, on either side of which were +wired in compartments piled high with every +conceivable form of merchandise: rugs, piano +lamps, dolls, dishes, couches, clothes-pins, and +who knows what others, she could not help feeling +that she was in the store house of the world, +that she was queen of this little ward and that +there remained only for her to say the word +and a house would be handsomely furnished, a +beautiful bride outfitted with a trousseau, or a +Christmas tree decorated for a score of happy +children. Yes, these aisles held a charm and +fascination all their own. She liked the silence +of the place, too. After the hours of listening +to the constant babble of voices, the murmur of +shoppers, the call of clerks, the answers of floormen, +this place seemed the heart of silent woods +at night.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_169">[169]</div> +<p>Captivated by such thoughts as these, and +having located the missing books and started +them on their journey down the elevator, she +decided to walk down the nine flights to her +own floor.</p> +<p>Here, too, as she skipped lightly down from +floor to floor, she caught little intimate glimpses +of the various lives that were being lived in this +little world of which she was for a time a part. +Here a score of printing presses and box making +machines were cutting, shaping and printing +containers for all manner of holiday goods. The +constant rush of wheels, the press and thump +of things, the wrinkles on the brows of operators, +all told at what a feverish heat the work was +being pushed forward.</p> +<p>One floor lower down the same feverish pace +was being set. Here nimble fingers dipped and +packed chocolate bon-bons, while from the right +and left of them came the rattle and thump of +drums polishing jelly beans and moulding gum +drops at the rate of ten thousand a minute.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_170">[170]</div> +<p>Ah yes, there was the Christmas rush for +you. But one floor lower down there was quiet +and composure such as one might hope to find +in a meadow where a single artist, with easel +set, sketches a landscape. It was not unlike that +either, for the two-score of persons engaged +here were sketching, too. The sketches they +made with pen and ink and water-colors were +not unattractive. Drawings of house interiors +they were; here the heavily furnished office of +some money king, and there the light and airy +boudoir of one of society’s queens; here the +modest compartment of a young architect who, +though of only average means, enjoyed having +things done right, and there the many roomed +mansion of a steel magnate. These sketches +were made and then shown to the prospective +customer. The customer offered suggestions, +made slight changes, then nodded, wrote a check, +and a sale amounting to thousands of dollars was +completed.</p> +<p>“That must be fascinating work,” Lucile +whispered to herself as an artistic looking young +woman showed a finished sketch to a customer. +“I think I’d like that. I believe——”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_171">[171]</div> +<p>With a sudden shock her thoughts were cut +short. Two persons had entered the glassed-in +compartment—a woman of thirty and a girl +in her late teens. And of all persons!</p> +<p>“The Mystery Lady and Cordie! It can’t be,” +she breathed, “and yet it is!”</p> +<p>It was, too. None other. What was stranger +still, they appeared to have business here. At +sight of them one of the artists arose and lifting +a drawing which had been standing face to +the wall, held it out for their inspection.</p> +<p>Cordie clasped her hands in very evident +ecstasy of delight, and, if Lucile read her lips +aright, she exclaimed:</p> +<p>“How perfectly wonderful!”</p> +<p>The expression on the Mystery Lady’s face +said plainer than words, “I hoped you’d +like it.”</p> +<p>The sketch, Lucile could see plainly enough +from where she stood, was a girl’s room. There +was a bed with draperies, a study table of +slender-legged mahogany, a dresser, one great +comfortable chair surprisingly like Lucile’s own, +some simpler chairs of exquisite design. These +furnishings, and such others as only a girl +would love, were done in the gay tints that appeal +to the springtime of youth.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_172">[172]</div> +<p>“Cordie?” Lucile stared incredulously. “A +simple country girl, what can she know about +such things? That room—why those furnishings +would cost hundreds of dollars. It’s absurd, +impossible; and yet there they are—she and the +Mystery Lady.”</p> +<p>The Mystery Lady! At thought of her, +Lucile was seized with an almost uncontrollable +desire to rush down there and demand the meaning +of that lady’s many strange doings. But +something held her back. So Cordie was acquainted +with the Mystery Lady! Here was +something strange. Indeed, Lucile was beginning +to wonder a great deal about Cordie.</p> +<p>“She has her secrets, little Cordie!” exclaimed +Lucile. “Who would have thought it?”</p> +<p>Perhaps it is not strange that Lucile did not +feel warranted in breaking in upon those secrets. +So there she stood, irresolute, until the two of +them had left the room and lost themselves in +the throngs that crowded every aisle of this +great mart of trade.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</div> +<p>“Now,” Lucile sighed, “I shan’t ever feel +quite the same about Cordie. I suppose, though, +she has a right to her secrets. What could she +possibly know about interior decorating and furnishing? +Perhaps more than I would guess. +But a country girl? What does she know about +the Mystery Lady? Little, or much? Have +they known each other long? I—I’ll ask her. +No—n-o-o, I guess I won’t. I wasn’t supposed +to see. It was too much like spying. No,” this +decisively, “I’ll just have to let things work +themselves out. And if they don’t work out to +something like a revelation, then I’ll know they +haven’t, that’s all. More than half the mysteries +of the world are never unravelled at all.”</p> +<p>After this bit of reasoning, she hastened on +down the remaining flights of stairs to her work.</p> +<p>“Where’s Cordie?” she asked of Laurie.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</div> +<p>“Out on a shopping pass. Swell looking dame +came in and called for her.” There was a +knowing grin on Laurie’s face as he said this, +but Lucile, who had turned to her work, did +not notice it.</p> +<p>Cordie returned a few moments later, but not +one word did she let fall regarding her shopping +mission.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_175">[175]</div> +<h2 id="c12"><br />CHAPTER XII +<br />SILVER GRAY TREASURE</h2> +<p>“What do you think!” exclaimed Cordie. “It +was such a strange thing to happen. I just have +to tell some one, or I’ll burst. I daren’t tell +Lucile. I am afraid she’d scold me.”</p> +<p>James, the mysterious seaman who carried +bundles in the book department, looked at her +and smiled.</p> +<p>“I’ve heard a lot of stories in my life, and +them that wasn’t to be repeated, wasn’t. If +you’ve got a yarn to file away in the pigeon +holes of somebody’s brain, why file it with me.”</p> +<p>She had come upon James while on the way +from the cloak room. She would have to wait +a full half hour before Lucile would have finished +her work, and she felt that she just must +tell some one of her thrilling adventure with +Dick and the policeman.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_176">[176]</div> +<p>Seated on the edge of a table, feet dangling +and fingers beating time to the music of her +story, she told James of this thrilling adventure.</p> +<p>“You came out well enough at that,” he +chuckled when she had finished. “Lots better’n +I did the last time I mixed into things.”</p> +<p>Cordie wondered if this remark had reference +to his chase after the hawk-eyed young man +who had followed her to the furnace room that +night. But asking no questions, she just waited.</p> +<p>“Funny trip, that last sea voyage I took,” +James mused at last, his eyes half closed. “It +wouldn’t have been half bad if it hadn’t been +for one vile crook.</p> +<p>“You see,” he went on, “sometimes of a +summer I run up to Nome. I’ve always had a +few hundred dollars, that is up until now. I’d +go up there in the north and sort of wander +round on gasoline schooners and river boats, +buyin’ up skins; red, white, cross fox, and +maybe a silver gray or two. Minks and martin +too, and ermine and Siberian squirrel.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_177">[177]</div> +<p>“Always had a love for real furs; you know +what I mean, the genuine stuff that stands up +straight and fluffy and can’t be got anywhere +far south of the Arctic Circle—things like the +fox skin that’s on that cape your pal Lucile +wears sometimes. When I see all these pretty +girls wearin’ rabbit skin coats, it makes me +feel sort of bad. Why, even the Eskimos do +better than that! They dress their women in +fawn skin; mighty pretty they are, too, sometimes.</p> +<p>“Well, last summer I went up to Nome, +that’s in Alaska, you know, and from there I +took a sort of pirate schooner that ranges up +and down the coast of Alaska and into Russian +waters.”</p> +<p>“Pirate,” breathed Cordie, but James didn’t +hear her.</p> +<p>“We touched at a point or two,” he went +on, “then went over into Russian waters for +walrus hunting—ivory and skins.</p> +<p>“We ran into a big herd and filled the boat +up, then touched at East Cape, Siberia.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</div> +<p>“There wasn’t any real Russians there, so +we went up to the native village. Old Nepassok, +the chief, seemed to take a liking to me. He +took me into his storeroom and showed me all +his treasure—walrus and mastodon ivory, +whale bone, red and white fox skins by the hundred, +and some mink and beaver. Then at last +he pulled out an oily cotton bag from somewhere +far back in the corner and drew out of it—what +do you think? The most perfect brace of +silver fox skins I have ever seen! Black +beauties, they were, with maybe a white hair for +every square inch. Just enough for contrast. +Know who wears skins like that? Only the very +wealthiest people.</p> +<p>“And there I was looking at them, worth a +king’s ransom, and maybe I could buy them.”</p> +<p>“Could you?” breathed Cordie.</p> +<p>“I could, and did. It took me four hours. +The chief was a hard nut to crack. He left me +just enough to get back to Chicago, but what +did I care? I had a fortune, one you could +carry in two fair sized overcoat pockets, but a +fortune all the same.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_179">[179]</div> +<p>“I got to Chicago with them,” he leaned forward +impressively, “and then a barber—a +dark faced, hawk-eyed barber—done me out of +them. Of course he was a crook, just playing +barber. Probably learned the trade in jail. +Anyway he done me for my fortune. Cut my +hair, he did, and somehow got the fox skins out +of my bag. When I got to my hotel all I had +in my bag was a few clothes and a ten dollar +gold piece. I raced back to the barber shop but +he was gone; drawed his pay and skipped, that +quick.</p> +<p>“That,” he finished, allowing his shoulders +to drop into a slouch, “is why I’m carrying +books here. I have to, or starve. Just what +comes after Christmas I can’t guess. It’s not +so easy to pick up a job after the holidays.</p> +<p>“But do you know—” he sat up straight +and there was a gleam in his eye, “do you know +when I saw that barber fellow last?”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“Down below the sub-basement of this store, +in the boiler room at night.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</div> +<p>“Not—not the one who was following me?”</p> +<p>“The same. And I nearly got him, but not +quite.”</p> +<p>“You—you didn’t get him?”</p> +<p>Cordie hardly knew whether to be sorry or +glad. She hated violence; also she had no love +for that man.</p> +<p>“I did not get him,” breathed James, “but +next time I will, and what I’ll say and do for +him will be for both you and me. G’night!” +He rose abruptly and, shoulders square, gait +steady and strong, he walked away.</p> +<p>“What are you dreaming about?” Lucile +asked as she came upon Cordie five minutes +later.</p> +<p>“Nothing much, I guess. Thinking through +a story I just heard, that’s all.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_181">[181]</div> +<h2 id="c13"><br />CHAPTER XIII +<br />LUCILE’S DREAM</h2> +<p>That evening on the L train Lucile read a +copy of the morning paper, one which she had +carefully saved for a very definite reason. It +was the paper which was exploiting the Lady +of the Christmas Spirit. Lucile always got a +thrill out of reading about the latest doings of +that adventurous person who had managed to +be everywhere, to mingle with great throngs, +and yet to be recognized by no one.</p> +<p>“Well, I declare!” she whispered to herself +as a fresh thrill ran through her being. +“She was to be in our store this very afternoon; +in the art room of the furniture store. That’s +the very room in which I saw Cordie and the +Mystery Lady. This Lady of the Christmas +Spirit may have been in the room at that exact +moment. How very, very exciting!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_182">[182]</div> +<p>Closing her eyes, she tried to see that room +again; to call back pictures of ladies who had +entered the room while she had been looking +down upon it.</p> +<p>“No,” she thought at last, “there isn’t one +that fits; one was tall and ugly, one short, stout +and middle aged, and two were quite gray. Not +one fits the description of this Christmas Spirit +person; unless, unless—” her heart skipped a +beat. She had thought of the Mystery Lady.</p> +<p>“But of course it couldn’t be,” she reasoned +at last. “It doesn’t say she was to be there +at that very moment. I was not standing on +the stair more than ten minutes. There are +six such periods in an hour and nine and a +half working hours in a store day. Fine chance! +One chance in fifty. And yet, stranger things +have happened. What if it were she! +What——”</p> +<p>Her dreamings were broken short off by +the sudden crumpling of paper at her side. +Cordie had been glancing over the evening +paper. Now the paper had entirely disappeared, +and Cordie’s face was crimson to the roots of +her hair.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_183">[183]</div> +<p>“Why Cordie, what’s happened?” exclaimed +Lucile.</p> +<p>“Noth—nothing’s happened,” said Cordie, +looking suddenly out of the window.</p> +<p>That was all Lucile could get out of her. +One thing seemed strange, however. At the +stand by the foot of the elevated station Cordie +bought two copies of the same paper she had +been reading on the train. These she folded up +into a solid bundle and packed tightly under +her arm.</p> +<p>“I wonder why she did that?” Lucile thought +to herself.</p> +<p>As often happens in bachelor ladies’ apartments, +this night there was nothing to be +found in their larder save sugar, milk and +cocoa.</p> +<p>“You get the cocoa to a boil,” said Lucile, +“and I’ll run over to the delicatessen for something +hot. I’m really hungry to-night.” She +was down the stairs and away.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_184">[184]</div> +<p>Somewhat to her annoyance, she found the +delicatessen packed with students waiting their +turn to be supplied with eatables. The term had +ended, and those who were too far from home +to take the holidays away from the University +were boarding themselves.</p> +<p>After sinking rather wearily into a corner +seat, Lucile found her mind slipping back over +the days that had just flown.</p> +<p>“To-morrow,” she told herself soberly, “is +the day before Christmas. It is my last day at +the store. And then? Oh, bother the ‘and +then’! There’s always a future, and always it +comes out somehow.”</p> +<p>That she might not be depressed by thoughts +of the low state of her finances, she filled her +mind with day dreams. In these dreams she +saw herself insisting that Cordie reveal to her +the secret hiding place of the Mystery Lady. +Having searched this lady out, she demanded +the return of her well worn, but comfortable, +coat. In the dream still she saw the lady throw +up her hands to exclaim:</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_185">[185]</div> +<p>“That frayed thing? I gave it to the rag +man!”</p> +<p>Then in a rage she, Lucile, stamps her foot +and says: “How could you! Of course now +I shall keep your cape of fox skin and Siberian +squirrel.”</p> +<p>“Ah,” she whispered, “that was a beautiful +dream!”</p> +<p>Glancing up, she saw there were still six +customers ahead of her and she must wait for +her turn.</p> +<p>“Time for another,” she whispered.</p> +<p>This time it was the Lady of the Christmas +Spirit. She saw her among the throngs at the +store. Feeling sure that this must be the very +person, that she might steal a look at her hands, +she followed her from department to department. +Upstairs and downstairs they went. +More than once she caught the lady throwing +back a mocking glance at her.</p> +<p>Then, of a sudden, at the ribbon counter she +caught sight of her hands.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_186">[186]</div> +<p>“Such hands!” she whispered. “There +never were others like them. It is the Lady of +the Christmas Spirit.”</p> +<p>Putting out her own hand, she grasped one +of the marvelous ones as she whispered: “You +are the Lady of the Christmas Spirit.”</p> +<p>At once there came a mighty jingle of gold. +A perfect shower of gold went sparkling and +tinkling to the floor.</p> +<p>“Oh! Oh!—Oh! It will all be lost!” she +cried, leaping forward.</p> +<p>She leaped almost into the delicatessen keeper’s +arms. To her surprise she saw that the store +was empty. Her day-dream had ended in a +real dream; she had fallen asleep.</p> +<p>Hastily collecting her scattered senses, she +selected a steaming pot of beans and a generous +cylinder of brown bread, then drawing her scarf +about her, dashed out into the night.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_187">[187]</div> +<h2 id="c14"><br />CHAPTER XIV +<br />THE NEWSPAPER PICTURE</h2> +<p>Lucile may have been dreaming, but Cordie +was wide awake and thinking hard. The instant +Lucile had closed the door behind her she had +spread one of the papers she had bought out +before her and, having opened it at page 3, sat +down to look at a picture reproduced there.</p> +<p>For a full two minutes she sat staring at it.</p> +<p>“Well anyway, it’s not such a bad picture,” +she chuckled at last.</p> +<p>After the chuckle her face took on a sober +look.</p> +<p>Then suddenly she exclaimed: “Let’s see +what they say about it!”</p> +<p>“Well of all things! Nothing but a line of +question marks! Well, at least the reporters +know nothing about it.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_188">[188]</div> +<p>For a moment she stared at the long line of +interrogation points, then her face dimpled with +a smile.</p> +<p>“Just think,” she murmured. “They never +whispered one word! Not one of them all! +Not Patrick O’Hara, nor the old one they called +Tim, nor the young one, nor even Hogan, who +was so angry at me. And I’ll bet the reporters +begged and tempted them in every way they +could think of. What wonderful good sports +policemen must be. I—I’d like to hug every +one of them!”</p> +<p>Then she went skipping across the floor and +back again, then paused and stared again at the +picture.</p> +<p>Truth was, all unknown to her, and certainly +very much against her wishes, Cordie’s picture +had gotten into the paper. This was the picture +she was still staring at: Crowds thronging +State Street, a gray-haired mounted policeman, +and by his side, also riding a police horse, a +bobbed haired young girl in a policeman’s great +coat.</p> +<p>“What if they see it!” she murmured.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_189">[189]</div> +<p>“They wouldn’t let me stay. They will see it +too—of course they will.”</p> +<p>“But then, what does it matter?” she exclaimed +a moment later. “To-morrow’s the day +before Christmas. What will I care after +that?”</p> +<p>Hearing steps on the stairs, she hastily tore +a page out of each of the two papers, folded +them carefully and thrust them into a drawer. +Then she threw the remaining part of the paper +into the waste basket.</p> +<p class="tb">“To-morrow is the day before Christmas,” +whispered Lucile as two hours later she sat +staring rather moodily at the figures in the +worn carpet. “A great Christmas, I suppose, +for some people. Doesn’t look like it would be +much for me. With term bills and room rent +staring me in the face, and only a few dollars +for paying them, it certainly doesn’t look good. +And here I am with this little pet of mine sleeping +on me and eating on me, and apparently +no honest way of getting rid of her.” She shook +her finger at the bed where Cordie was sleeping.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_190">[190]</div> +<p>“If only you were an angora cat,” she chided, +still looking at the dreaming girl, “I might sell +you. Even a canary would be better—he’d +make no extra room rent and he’d eat very +little.”</p> +<p>“And yet,” she mused, “am I sorry? I +should say I’m not! It’s a long, long life, and +somehow we’ll struggle through.”</p> +<p>“Christmas,” she mused again. “It will be +a great Christmas for some people, be a wonderful +one for Jefrey Farnsworth—that is, it +will be if he’s still alive. I wonder when they’ll +find him, and where? They say we’ve sold two +thousand of his books this season. Think of it!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_191">[191]</div> +<p>After that she sat wondering in a vague and +dreamy way about many things. Printed pages +relating to the Lady of the Christmas Spirit +floated before her mind’s vision to be followed +by a picture of Cordie and the Mystery Lady in +the art room of the furnishings department. +Cordie’s iron ring, set with a diamond, glimmered +on the strange, long, muscular fingers of +a hand. Laurie sold the last copy of “Blue +Flames.” Jefrey Farnsworth, in the manner she +had always pictured him, tall, dark, with deep-set +eyes and a stern face wrinkled by much +mental labor, stood before an audience of women +and made a speech. Yellow gold glittered, then +spread out like a molten stream. With a start +she shook herself into wakefulness. Once more +she had fallen asleep.</p> +<p>“Christmas,” she whispered as she crept into +bed. “To-morrow is the day before——”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_192">[192]</div> +<h2 id="c15"><br />CHAPTER XV +<br />“WITH CONTENTS, IF ANY”</h2> +<p>In the meantime Florence had come upon an +adventure. The place she entered a half hour +after quitting time was a great barn-like room +where dark shadows lurked in every corner but +one. The huge stacks of bags and trunks that +loomed up indistinctly in those dark corners +made the place seem the baggage room of some +terminal railway depot.</p> +<p>As she joined the throng in the one light +corner of the room she was treated to another +little thrill. Such a motley throng as it was. +Jewish second-hand dealers, short ones, tall ones, +long-bearded ones; men of all races. And there +were two or three women, and not a few vagabonds +of the street, who had come in for no +other purpose than to get out of the cold. Such +were those who crowded round the high stand +where, with gavel in hand, the auctioneer cried +the sale:</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_193">[193]</div> +<p>“How much am I bid? Ten dollars! Thank +you. Ten I have. Who’ll make it eleven! +’Leven, ’leven, ’leven. Who’ll make it twelve?”</p> +<p>There was not an attractive face in the group +that surrounded the block. Florence was +tempted to run away; but recalling the surprise +she had promised herself, she stayed.</p> +<p>Presently her eyes fell upon a face that attracted +her, the kindly, gentle face of a woman +in her thirties. She was seated at a desk, +writing.</p> +<p>“She’s the clerk of the sale,” Florence +thought. “They’re selling trunks now. She +may be able to tell me when they will sell bags.”</p> +<p>She moved over close to the desk and timidly +put her question.</p> +<p>“Do you really want one of those bags?” +the woman asked, surprise showing in her +tone.</p> +<p>“Yes. Why not?” the girl asked.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_194">[194]</div> +<p>“No reason at all, I guess,” said the clerk. +Then, after looking at Florence for a moment, +a comradely smile spread over her face.</p> +<p>“Come up close,” she beckoned. “He’ll be +selling bags in fifteen minutes or so,” she whispered. +“Sit down here and wait. Why do +you want one of those bags so badly?”</p> +<p>“I—I need one,” said Florence.</p> +<p>“That’s not all the reason.”</p> +<p>“No—not—not all,” Florence hesitated, +then told her frankly of the surprise she had +planned for herself.</p> +<p>The woman’s face became almost motherly +as she finished.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you what to do,” she whispered. +“There are just five bags to be sold in the next +lot. You won’t want the first one. She—the +woman who owned it, died.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” Florence whispered.</p> +<p>“You won’t get the second nor the third. +That long bearded Jew, and the slim, dark man +standing by the post, will run them high if they +have to. They know something about them.”</p> +<p>“How—how—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_195">[195]</div> +<p>“How did they find out? I don’t know, but +they did. The last two bags are quite good +ones, good as you would purchase new for fifteen +or twenty dollars, and I shouldn’t wonder,” +she winked an eye ever so slightly, “I shouldn’t +wonder a bit if there’d be a real surprise in +one of them for you. There now, dearie,” she +smiled, “run over and look at them, over there +beside the green trunk. And don’t whisper a +word of what I have told you.</p> +<p>“The one nearest the block will be sold first, +and the others just as they come,” she added +as the girl rose to go.</p> +<p>Making her way around the outskirts of the +crowd, Florence walked over to the place of +the green trunk. The bags were all good, and +most of them nearly new. Any one of them, +she concluded, would see her safely through +college, and that was all that mattered. Then, +lest she attract too much attention, she slunk +away into a dark corner.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_196">[196]</div> +<p>Her heart skipped a beat when the first bag +was put up. Her hopes fell when she saw it +sell for thirty-two dollars. Her little roll of +fifteen dollars seemed to grow exceedingly small +as she clutched it in her right hand. Was her +dream of a surprise for Christmas morning only +a dream? It would seem so, for the second and +third bags also sold for a high figure. But, recalling +the little lady’s advice, she kept up her +courage.</p> +<p>“How much am I bid?” said the auctioneer +as the fourth bag was handed him. Florence +caught her breath. She tried to say “Ten dollars,” +but her tongue stuck to the roof of her +mouth. A round faced man relieved her of +the task. The bag went to eleven dollars, then +twelve. Then it came to a halt, giving time +for Florence to regain her voice.</p> +<p>“Twelve and a half,” her voice seemed piping +and thin in that great place. But the auctioneer +got it.</p> +<p>“Thank you. Twelve and a half, a half, a +half.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_197">[197]</div> +<p>“Thirteen! Thank you. Thirteen I have. +Now the half,” he nodded to Florence and she +nodded back, “And a half, I have it. And a +half. Now fourteen. Thirteen and a half. +Now make it fourteen.”</p> +<p>“Fourteen,” someone shouted. Again the +girl’s heart sank. What was the use?</p> +<p>“And a half?” The auctioneer nodded at +her and she nodded back.</p> +<p>“Now fifteen. Now fifteen. Now fifteen,” +he shouted hoarsely. “Who’ll make it fifteen? +Fifteen once. Fifteen twice!” Florence crushed +her money into a solid mass, “Fifteen three +times, and SOLD to the young lady in blue!” +His gavel came down with a bang.</p> +<p>Scarcely believing her senses, the girl groped +her way forward to receive the bag, then hurried +over to the desk.</p> +<p>“You got it?” smiled the clerk. “Here’s +hoping it’s a beautiful, wonderful surprise!” +she whispered as she pressed a lonely half dollar +into the palm of her hand.</p> +<p>Curiosity regarding the price that would be +bid for the last bag of the lot held Florence +to the spot for the space of three minutes. And +that was a bit of curiosity which she was +destined to regret.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_198">[198]</div> +<p>As she stood there listening to the bids she +could not help but notice a dark man, with +burning, hawk-like eyes hurry into the place, +glance frantically about, race back to the place +where the five bags had been, then stand stock +still. His dark eyes roved about the place +until they came to rest on one spot and that +spot was the one occupied by the bag which +Florence held in her hand. From that time +until she left the room, although he pretended +to be looking at everything else, she was sure +his eyes did not leave that bag for a space of +more than five seconds at any one time. The +cold glitter of his eyes made her feel strangely +weak at the knees.</p> +<p>She had not gone twenty rods from the place +when she heard footsteps behind her. Looking +back, she saw that same small dark man coming +behind her.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_199">[199]</div> +<p>“Just happened to come out then,” she tried +to reassure herself. But it was no use. Something +within her told her that she was being +followed, followed on the deserted city streets +at night.</p> +<p>At once a mad procession of questions began +racing through her mind. Who was this man? +Was it the bag he wanted? Why? What did +he know about the bag? What did it really +contain? To none of these questions could she +form an adequate answer. Only one thing stood +out clearly in her mind—the bag was hers. She +had come by it in an honest manner. The +hotel had a right to give it to the auctioneer +to sell. She had a right to purchase it. She +had paid for it. She had the bill of sale. It +was rightfully hers.</p> +<p>But even as these thoughts crystallized in her +mind she realized that she was desperately +afraid. The man with his burning black eyes +was enough to inspire fear, and added to that +it was night.</p> +<p>“What am I to do?” she asked herself. “The +elevated station is only two blocks ahead, but +he will board the train I take. He will follow +me after I get off and there are five desolate +blocks to travel to my room.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_200">[200]</div> +<p>Suddenly a solution came to her. Just before +her was the entrance to the LaSalle Street +Railway Station. Why not walk in there and +leave the bag at the checking room? She could +return for it in the morning and carry it to +the store where she could check it again and +leave it until closing time.</p> +<p>No sooner thought than done. Five minutes +later, looking neither to right nor left, she +walked demurely out of the station. She did +not know what had become of her pursuer, and +she did not care. The bag was safe. He could +not get it, and aside from that, what did he +care for her, an elevator girl going home from +work? Very evidently he cared nothing at all, +for she did not see him again that night.</p> +<p>“Fooled him,” she smiled to herself as she +settled herself comfortably in a seat where she +might watch the winter whitened city speed +past her. “That’s the last I’ll ever see of +him.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_201">[201]</div> +<p>In coming to this conclusion she overlooked +one trifling detail. Since the night was cold, +she had worn beneath her coat her elevator +girl’s uniform. The auction room was warm. +While there she had unbuttoned her coat, displaying +plainly the uniform and the monogrammed +buttons on it. The greatest of stores +employ few enough elevator girls. To visit each +bank of elevators and to get a look at each girl +is but the work of an hour or two at most. +The man would have no trouble in locating her +if he cared to do so. Since she had not thought +of this she rode home humming in a carefree +manner and, after a meal of sandwiches, cocoa +and pie, followed by an hour of reading, she +went to bed to dream of mysterious treasures +taken by the truck load from the depths of a +heavy, dark brown travelling bag.</p> +<p>She awoke in the morning with a pleasing +sense of mystery and anticipation lurking about +in the shadowy corners of her brain.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_202">[202]</div> +<p>Leaping from bed, she went through a series +of wild calesthenics which set every ounce of +blood in her veins racing away with new life.</p> +<p>An hour later, with a little suppressed feeling +of excitement tugging at her heart and +with fingers that trembled slightly, she passed +her check over the counter at the depot. She +had some slight feeling that it had all been a +dream. But no, there it was, her mysterious +bag, as big and handsome as ever. It was quite +light, but she felt sure it was not empty. What +could it contain? She was tempted to draw +the key from her pocket then and there and +have a peek. But no—to-morrow was Christmas. +She could wait. So, seizing the bag, +she hurried away to her work.</p> +<p>Once the bag was checked at the store and +she back at her lever in the cage that went up +and down, up and down all day, she found herself +thinking of that other girl, the mysterious +double of hers. Where was she to-day? Had +she really gone to work, or had she vanished? +What manner of plot had she been mixed up +in? What train had gone at eleven-thirty? +Whose train? Was that girl supposed to go? +If so, why did she not wish to go? Where +did she live? Who was she anyway?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_203">[203]</div> +<p>While the elevator went up and down, up +and down, these questions, and a score of others, +kept revolving themselves in her mind. At last +she found herself forming a firm resolve that +should she happen upon her mysterious double +again she most certainly would keep in touch +with her until she found out more about her.</p> +<p>She saw her mysterious double shortly after +she had gone to work, but under conditions +which gave her no opportunity to either study +or question her. The girl, dressed in her uniform +and apparently ready to go to work, was +standing before the bank of elevators on the +thirteenth floor. She had been talking in low +and excited tones to a tall, square shouldered +man who, in spite of the fact that he was on +a floor of this great store where only employees +are allowed, had in his bearing and walk +something that spoke strongly of boats and +the sea.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_204">[204]</div> +<p>“He’s been a captain or a mate or something,” +Florence said to herself as she sent her +cage speeding downward. “I wonder if that +girl belongs to the sea.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_205">[205]</div> +<h2 id="c16"><br />CHAPTER XVI +<br />A GREAT DAY</h2> +<p>“The day before Christmas! Oh joy! Joy! +Joy!”</p> +<p>Lucile leaped out of bed. Throwing off her +dream-robe, she went whirling about the room +for all the world as if she were playing roll +the hoop and she were the hoop.</p> +<p>The day before Christmas! Who cared if +room rent was due to-night? Who cared if +the school term loomed ahead with little enough +cash in her stocking to smooth its way? Who +cared about anything? It was the day before +Christmas.</p> +<p>This day work would be light. Tommie had +said that. Donnie had said it. Rennie and all +the others of the sales group who stayed from +year to year had said it. What was more, for +this one day, if never again, Lucile had resolved +to wear the magnificent cape of midnight blue +and fox-skin. And at night, when the day was +done, the week ended, the season closed, there +was to be a wonderful party. A party! Oh +joy! A party!</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_206">[206]</div> +<p>Laurie, the mysterious Laurie Seymour, had +invited them, just they of his corner—Donnie +and Rennie, Tommie, Cordie and herself.</p> +<p>A grand party it was to be, a supper at +Henrici’s and after that Laurie was to take +them to a symphony concert! And to this party +she would wear the midnight blue cape. For +one night, one reckless, joyous night, she would +travel in the height of style. And then?</p> +<p>“Oh, bother the ‘and then’! It’s the day +before Christmas!” She went through another +series of wild whirls that landed her beneath +the shower.</p> +<p>When at last she was fully dressed for this +last day of work in the book department, Lucile +drew on the cape. Then, having told Cordie +that she would wait for her outside, she went +skipping down the stairs.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_207">[207]</div> +<p>It was one of those crisp, snappy, frosty +mornings of winter that invite you to inhale +deeply of its clear, liquid-like air.</p> +<p>After taking three deep breaths Lucile buried +her radiant face in the warm depths of the fox +skin.</p> +<p>“How gorgeous,” she murmured. “Oh, that +I might own it forever!”</p> +<p>Even as she said this all the unanswered questions +that grouped themselves about the cape—its +owner, and the girl’s associates at the store—came +trooping back to puzzle her. Who was +the Mystery Lady? Why had she left the cape +that night? Why did she not return for it +later? How had it happened that she was in +the store that night at two hours before midnight? +Who was Laurie Seymour? Why had +he given the Mystery Lady his pass-out? How +had he spent that night? What had happened +to the vanished author of “Blue Flames”? +Who was Cordie? Was she really the poor, innocent +little country girl she had thought her? +What was to come of her, once the season had +closed? Who was the “Spirit of Christmas”? +Had she ever seen her? Who would get the +two hundred in gold? What had she meant +by the crimson trail she left behind? Who was +Sam? Why was Laurie so much afraid to meet +him? Above all, what were the secrets of the +crimson thread and the diamond set iron ring?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_208">[208]</div> +<p>Surely here were problems enough to put +wrinkles in any brow. But it was the day before +Christmas, so, as Cordie came dancing +down to a place beside her, Lucile gripped her +arm and led away in a sort of hop-skip-and-jump +that brought them up breathless at the +station.</p> +<p>There was just time to grab a paper before +the train came rattling in. Having secured a +seat, Lucile hid herself behind her paper. A +moment later she was glad for the paper’s protection. +Had it not been for the paper she felt +that half the people on the train might have +read her thoughts.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_209">[209]</div> +<p>The thing she saw in the Spirit of Christmas +column, which daily told of the doings of the +lady by that name, was such a startling revelation +that she barely escaped a shriek as her +eyes fell on it.</p> +<p>“You have been wondering,” she read in the +column devoted to the lady of the “Christmas +Spirit,” “what I have been meaning by the +crimson trail which I have left behind. Perhaps +some of you have guessed the secret. If +this is true, you have made little use of that +knowledge. None of you have found me. Not +one of the hundreds of thousands who have +passed me has paused to grip my hand and to +whisper: ‘You are the Spirit of Christmas.’</p> +<p>“Now I will give you some fresh revelations. +It is the day before Christmas. At midnight +to-night Christmas comes. As the clock strikes +that magic hour my wanderings cease. If no +one has claimed my gold by then, no one will.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_210">[210]</div> +<p>“I have told you always that hands ofttimes +express more than a face. This is true of +my hands. They are strange hands. Stranger +still are the rings I wear upon them. For days +now I have worn an iron ring set with a diamond. +Had someone noticed this, read the +secret and whispered: ‘You are the Spirit of +Christmas,’ not only should my gold have clinked +for him, but the diamond should have been his +as well.”</p> +<p>Lucile caught her breath as she read this. +Here indeed was revelation. Could it be—There +was more. She read on.</p> +<p>“As for the crimson trail I have left behind. +That is very simple. I marvel that people +can be so blind. I have left it everywhere. +It is unusual, very unusual, yet I have left it +everywhere, in hundreds of places, in newsboys’ +papers, in shopgirls’ books, in curtains, shades, +and even in people’s garments, yet not one has +read the sign. The sign is this: a bit of crimson +thread drawn twice through and tied. +There is a purple strand in the thread. It is +unusual, yet no one has understood; no one has +said ‘You are the Spirit of Christmas’.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_211">[211]</div> +<p>“The crimson thread,” Lucile breathed. +“Why, then—then the Mystery Lady and the +Spirit of Christmas Lady are one, and I have +seen her many times. I saw her at two hours +before midnight. I sold her a book. Twice I +saw her talking to Cordie. I followed her upon +the street. Had I but known it I might have +whispered to her: ‘You are the Spirit of +Christmas.’ Then the gold would have been +mine. Two hundred in gold!” she breathed. +“Two hundred in gold! And now it is +gone!</p> +<p>“But is it? Is it quite gone yet? There is +yet this day, the day before Christmas.”</p> +<p>Again her eyes sought the printed page. +And this is what she read:</p> +<p>“Today I shall not appear before sunset. +Early in the evening, and again between the +hours of ten and midnight, I shall be somewhere +on the Boulevard. I shall attend the +Symphony Concert in Opera Hall.”</p> +<p>“The concert,” Lucile murmured with great +joy. “We, too, are going there to-night. We +shall be on the Boulevard. There is yet a +chance. And the beauty of it all is I shall +know her the instant I see her. Oh! You +glorious bag of gold, please, please do wait +for me!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_212">[212]</div> +<p>As the car rattled on downtown, her blood +cooled and she realized that there was a very +slight hope. With these broad hints thrown out +to them, all those who had been following the +doings of this mysterious lady would be eagerly +on the alert. There may have been some, perhaps +many, who had found the crimson thread +and had marvelled at it. Perhaps, like her, they +had seen the Mystery Lady’s face and would +recognize her if they saw her on the Boulevard. +There may have been many who had seen and +marvelled at the diamond set iron ring.</p> +<p>“Ah well,” Lucile whispered to herself, +“there is yet hope. ‘Hope springs eternal—’”</p> +<p>At the downtown station she dismissed the +subject for matters of more immediate importance, +the last great day of sales before +Christmas.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_213">[213]</div> +<p>Trade until noon was brisk; mostly business +men rushing in for “cash and carry.” At noon +she arranged to have lunch with her old chum, +the elevator girl and, because it was the day +before Christmas, instead of the crowded employees’ +lunch room, they chose as their meeting +place the tea room which was patronized +for the most part by customers. Here, in a +secluded corner, they might talk over old times +and relate, with bated breath, the events of the +immediate past and the future.</p> +<p>Enough there was to tell, too. Lucile’s +Mystery Lady, who had turned so suddenly into +the one of the Christmas Spirit, her Laurie +Seymour, her hoped for $200 in gold, her James, +the bundle carrier and last but not least, Cordie. +And for Florence there was her mystifying +double and the bewitching bag that contained +her Christmas surprise. Did ever two girls +have more to tell in one short noon hour?</p> +<p>As Florence finished her story; as she spoke +of seeing her double talking with the broad +shouldered man of the seaman-like bearing, +Lucile suddenly leaned forward to exclaim:</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_214">[214]</div> +<p>“Florence, that man must have been our +bundle carrier, James. He has told Cordie of +his trips upon the sea. There could scarcely be +two such men in one store.”</p> +<p>“It might be true,” smiled Florence, “but +don’t forget there are two such persons as I +am in this store. You never can tell. I’d as +soon believe he was the same man. Wouldn’t +it be thrilling if he should turn out to be a +friend of my double’s and we should get all +mixed up in some sort of affair just because +I look exactly like her. Oh, Lucile!” she +whispered excitedly, “the day isn’t done yet!” +And indeed it was not.</p> +<p>“And this man who followed you after you +had bought the bag,” said Lucile thoughtfully. +“He sounds an awful lot like the one who tried +to carry Cordie away. Do you suppose——”</p> +<p>“Now you’re dreaming,” laughed Florence +as she reached for her check, then hurried away +to her work.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_215">[215]</div> +<h2 id="c17"><br />CHAPTER XVII +<br />AN ICY PLUNGE</h2> +<p>Florence’s opportunity for following her surprising +double came sooner than she expected; +that very evening, in fact. She had quit work +at the regular time, had donned hat and coat, +had gone to the checking room to retrieve her +Christmas bag. She was just leaving by a side +door when, ahead of her in the throng, she +caught a glimpse of that splendid cross fox +which her double had insisted on her wearing +the day before.</p> +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Here’s where I +solve a mystery.”</p> +<p>Without a thought of what it might lead to, +she followed the girl to a surface car and +boarded it just behind her. At Grand Avenue +the girl got off and Florence followed her +again, boarded an eastbound car and, almost +before she knew it, found herself following the +girl through a blinding swirl of snow that swept +in from the lake.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_216">[216]</div> +<p>The street the girl had taken was covered +with untrodden snow. It led to the Municipal +Pier, the great city pier that like some great +black pointing finger of destiny reached a full +half mile out into the white ice-bound lake.</p> +<p>“Where—where can she be going?” Florence +asked herself.</p> +<p>“Boo! How cold!” she shivered.</p> +<p>The next moment she shivered again, but +this time it was from fear. Having chanced to +look about, she was startled to see a man all +but upon her heels. And that man—no, there +could be no mistake about it—that man was +the one of the night before, he of the burning +black eyes.</p> +<p>Not knowing what else to do, the girl redoubled +her speed. A half formed hope was +in her mind, a hope that she might catch up +with the other girl. Two were better than +one, even if both were girls.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_217">[217]</div> +<p>Hardly had this hope come when it vanished. +In the shadows of the three-story brick +structure that formed the base of the pier, her +double suddenly disappeared and left her, a lone +girl on a wind-swept, deserted street that led +to an empty pier. And here was a dark-faced, +villainous looking man at her heels.</p> +<p>She could see but one chance now; that she +might find her way out upon the pier and +there, amid its labyrinth of board walks, freight +rooms and deserted lunch rooms, lose herself +from her pursuer. She resolved to try it. +The next moment she dashed into the shadows +of that great black building.</p> +<p>The pier, upon which she had placed hopes +of escape, was used in summer as a recreation +center. On warm days its board walks and its +wind-swept pavilions were thronged. Now it +was still as a tomb.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_218">[218]</div> +<p>Florence had once been here with the throng, +but had taken little notice of things then. The +very silence of the place was confusing. She +fancied that she heard her own heart beat. +Which way should she turn? Above, two stories +up, she remembered was a broad board walk +a half mile long. She might race up the stairs +to this; but after all it offered no place of +hiding. To her right was a hallway which led +to a long narrow loading place for trucks. At +this place, in summer, ships docked; here their +hundreds of tons of fruit, grain, flour, manufactured +articles, and a hundred other commodities, +were unloaded. She had a vague notion +that just back of this loading place, beyond +the fast closed doors, was a labyrinth of +freight rooms.</p> +<p>“If only one of those doors were open,” she +breathed. “Perhaps one is unlocked. It’s my +best chance.”</p> +<p>All this thinking consumed less than a moment +of time. The next instant she went racing over +the cement floor. She was across it and out +upon the landing in a moment. This she knew +was a perilous position. There was a night +watchman about somewhere. Here she was in +plain view. What would the watchman do if +he found her? Her pursuer was not far behind.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_219">[219]</div> +<p>With a trembling hand, she gripped the latch +of a door. It lifted, but the door did not open.</p> +<p>“Locked,” she whispered in a tone of despair.</p> +<p>“Try another,” was her next thought. She +was away like a shot.</p> +<p>Again the latch lifted; again the door refused +to budge. She thought she saw a dark +figure pass from pillar to pillar in the place +she had just left. She could not see him, but +she caught the thud-thud of his feet on the +cement platform.</p> +<p>Fighting her way against the wind, racing +fast, breathing hard, she battled onward. And +all the time something within her was whispering: +“It’s no use, no use, no use.” Yet, setting +her teeth hard, she raced on.</p> +<p>The man was gaining, she was sure of that. +Yes, now as she looked back she saw him, only +some fifty yards behind her.</p> +<p>This drove her to frantic effort. But to no +avail. He continued to gain; a yard, two yards, +five, ten, twenty.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_220">[220]</div> +<p>“It’s no use,” she panted sobbingly.</p> +<p>And then—she could not believe her eyes—before +her, to the right, was an open door.</p> +<p>Like a flash she was inside. Grasping the +door she attempted to shut it, but the snow +blocked it.</p> +<p>One glance about her showed great dark +bulks on every hand.</p> +<p>“Freight,” she breathed, “piles of freight. +Here—here is a chance yet.”</p> +<p>The next instant she was tip-toeing her way +softly in and out among the innumerable piles +of boxes, bags and crates that extended on +and on into the impenetrable darkness.</p> +<p>She ran along as softly as she could, yet each +time as she paused she fancied that she caught +the stealthy footsteps of that horrible man.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_221">[221]</div> +<p>“What does he want? Is it the bag that he +wants? Whose bag was it? Was it his? If +so, why did he let it get away from him?” +These questions kept racing through her brain. +Then came another question even more disturbing. +Perhaps this man had been unfortunate, +had been sick or had lost all his property. +It might be that he had returned just +in time to miss the opportunity of redeeming +this lost possession which contained something +he prized, perhaps of great value.</p> +<p>“In that case he is more to be pitied than +feared,” she thought.</p> +<p>For an instant she contemplated going back +to him; yet she dared not.</p> +<p>So, in the end, she continued tip-toeing about. +Round a great pile of sacks, filled with sugar +or beans, past boxes of tin cans and in and out +among massive pieces of machinery, she wandered, +all the time wondering in a vague sort +of way what was to be the end of it all.</p> +<p>The end to her stay in the store-room came +with lightning-like rapidity. She had just tiptoed +around a huge steel drum of some sort +when all of a sudden there burst upon her ear +a deafening roar that shattered the stillness of +the place.</p> +<p>The next instant a great black dog leaped +at her.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_222">[222]</div> +<p>He was not three feet from her when, with +an agility that surprised her, she leaped from +box top to box top until she found herself ten +feet above the floor.</p> +<p>But the dog, who appeared to be an utterly +savage beast, could climb too. She could hear +him scrambling and scratching his way up, +growling as he came. Her head was in a +whirl. What was to be done? Suddenly she +realized that just before her, beyond the boxes, +was a window. Dragging her bag after her, +she succeeded in reaching the window. She +found it locked. In her desperation she dropped +her bag and began kicking at the sash. +With a sudden snap the fastenings gave way. +She was caught so unawares that she plunged +straight out of the window.</p> +<p>With a bump that knocked all the wind from +her lungs and most of her senses from her +head, she landed on something hard. Without +being able to help herself, she rolled over once, +then fell again. This time, to her surprise and +consternation, she did not bump; she splashed. +She sank. She rose. With all her nerves alert, +she swam strongly in the stinging lake water. +She had fallen from the narrow pier ledge and +had landed in the lake.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_223">[223]</div> +<p>A white cake of ice loomed up before her. +She swam to it and climbed upon it. What was +to be done? The thermometer was near zero. +She was soaked to the skin, and far from anyone +she knew.</p> +<p>“Got—got to get to shore somehow,” she +shivered. “I’ll freeze here, sure. Freeze in no +time.”</p> +<p>She looked back at the place from which she +had come. The window was still open. The +dog had stopped barking. She wondered in a +vague sort of way what had become of her +pursuer.</p> +<p>“And—and my bag,” she chattered. “It—it’s +in there.” She was coming almost to hate +that bag.</p> +<p>“Can’t get up there anyway,” was her final +comment. It was true; between the water line +and the surface of the pier landing was a sheer +wall of cement, eight feet high and smooth as +glass.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_224">[224]</div> +<p>Her gaze swept a broad circle. Off to her +right was a solid mass of ice which appeared +to reach to shore.</p> +<p>“One swim and then I can walk to land,” she +shuddered.</p> +<p>Two steps forward, a sudden plunge, and +again she was in the freezing water.</p> +<p>Once on the ice she dashed away at top speed. +It was a race, a race for her life. Already her +clothing was freezing stiff.</p> +<p>Here she leaped a chasm of black water; there +she tripped over a hole and fell flat; here dodged +a stretch of honeycomb ice and raced across a +broad level stretch.</p> +<p>Almost before she knew it she was alongside +a row of steamships tied up in a channel close +to shore. Then, to her surprise, she caught the +gleam of a light in a cabin on the upper deck +of the smallest boat tied there.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_225">[225]</div> +<p>“There’s a rope cable hanging over the side,” +she told herself. “I—I could climb it. There +must be someone up there, and—and a fire. A +fire! Oh, a fire and warmth! I must do it, or +I’ll freeze.</p> +<p>“Of course they are strangers—a man, +two men, maybe a family, but sea folks are +kind people, I’m told. They know what it +means to be wet and cold. I—I’ll risk it.”</p> +<p>The next moment, hand over hand, she was +making her way up the cable.</p> +<p>Once on deck, she raced along the side +until she came to a stair. Up this she sprang, +then down the side again until she was at the +door of the room where the light still gleamed +into the night.</p> +<p>Without a moment’s hesitation she banged +on the door.</p> +<p>“Who—who’s there?” came in a distinctly +feminine voice. Florence’s heart gave a great +throb of joy.</p> +<p>“It’s me. Only me,” she answered. “You +don’t know me, but let me in. I fell in the lake. +I—I’m free—freezing!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_226">[226]</div> +<p>At once the door flew open and she was +dragged inside. Then the door slammed shut.</p> +<p>For a fraction of a moment the two girls +stood staring at one another, then as in one +voice, they burst out:</p> +<p>“It’s you!”</p> +<p>“It’s you!”</p> +<p>The girl in the ship’s cabin was none other +than Florence’s double.</p> +<p>There was no time for explaining. The girl +began tugging away at her double’s frozen +garments. Ten minutes later, with her clothing +on a line behind the glowing stove, Florence sat +wrapped in a blanket by the fire, sipping a +cup of cocoa.</p> +<p>For a time she sat looking at the girl who +was so marvelously like herself in appearance. +Then she said quietly:</p> +<p>“Would you mind telling me about yourself?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit. Guess I ought to. You did me +a good turn. My name’s Meg.”</p> +<p>“I guessed that much.”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_227">[227]</div> +<p>“That’s what the man and the woman called +me.”</p> +<p>“The man and the woman?” For a moment +the girl’s face was puzzled. Then, “Oh yes, +I——”</p> +<p>She paused for a moment as if about to tell +something about the strange man and woman +who had told Florence that the train left at +eleven-thirty. If this had been her intention she +thought better of it, for presently she said:</p> +<p>“My mother and father are dead. Since I +was ten years old I’ve lived with my uncle, +mostly on ships.”</p> +<p>“How—how thrilling!”</p> +<p>“Well, maybe, but you don’t learn much on +ships. There’s an old saying: ‘You can’t go +to school if you live on a canal boat.’ Ships +are about as bad. I’ve got through eighth +grade, though, and I want to go some more. +That day I took your place and you wore +my clothes I——”</p> +<p>“Who—who’s that?” Florence had heard +the movement of feet outside.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_228">[228]</div> +<p>“No friend of mine; not this time of night. +Must be yours.”</p> +<p>“It might be the man!”</p> +<p>“What man? Your friend?”</p> +<p>“No. Not my friend; an awful man who +wanted the bag.”</p> +<p>“What bag?”</p> +<p>“A bag I bought at an auction. My—my +Christmas surprise. There—there he is,” she +whispered tensely as there came a knock at the +door.</p> +<p>“Come in,” said Meg.</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t!” Florence struggled to her feet. +“Don’t let him in!”</p> +<p>“Why not?” Meg had risen. In her hand +was an affair resembling a policeman’s club, +only it was made of iron—a heavy belaying +pin. “Why not?” she repeated. “If I don’t +fancy him, he’ll let himself out fast enough.” +At the same time there came a rattle at the door +knob. Florence sank back into her chair.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_229">[229]</div> +<h2 id="c18"><br />CHAPTER XVIII +<br />THE MYSTERY LADY’S NEW ROLE</h2> +<p>Such a party as it was; that one which was +being enjoyed by Lucile and her friends of the +juvenile book corner. Such crisp brown cream +biscuits! Such breast of turkey with cranberry +sauce and dressing! Such pudding! Even +in the days of her childhood at home Lucile had +never seen a more sumptuous feast. All this, +in the midst of the gayest of Christmas spirit, +made the occasion one long to be remembered +by any person whose mind was not too much occupied +by bewitching thoughts of other important +things.</p> +<p>As for Lucile, her mind was indeed engaged +with dreams that were far from the realm of +food and drink. She was thinking of that meeting +she had so long dreamed of and which she +still had the courage to hope might come to +pass, her own meeting with the Mystery Lady +of the Christmas Spirit.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_230">[230]</div> +<p>“I shan’t fail to recognize her,” she assured +herself, “though she be dressed like an Eskimo +or a South Sea Island maiden.”</p> +<p>At last the time came for strolling down the +Boulevard toward the music hall. Lucile stared +at the passing throngs until Laurie teasingly +asked her whether she hoped to see in one of +them the face of a long lost brother.</p> +<p>At last she found herself in the opera chair +of the great hall. Now, at least, she was in the +same room as the Mystery Lady, or soon must +be, for if the Mystery Lady had not entered she +soon would. In ten minutes the first note would +be struck. There was a thrill in that.</p> +<p>It was to be a truly wonderful program, such +a one as the girl had perhaps never listened +to before. And she loved music, fairly adored +it. As she thought how her interest this night +must be divided between the fine music and +the Mystery Lady, she found herself almost +wishing that the Mystery Lady had not brought +into her life so much that was unusual, perplexing +and mysterious.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_231">[231]</div> +<p>“Perhaps I shall be able to locate her before +the music begins,” she thought to herself. +“Then, during a recess, I’ll glide up to her and +whisper, ‘You are the Spirit of Christmas.’”</p> +<p>Though she scanned the sea of faces near and +far, not one of them all, save those of her own +little group, was familiar to her.</p> +<p>It was with a little sigh of resignation that +she at last settled back in her seat and allowed +her program to flutter to her lap.</p> +<p>The time for the first number had arrived. +The musicians had taken their places. The +rows of violinists and cornetists, the standing +bass viol player, the conductor with his baton, +all were there. Like soldiers at attention, they +waited for the soloist.</p> +<p>Mademoiselle Patricia Diurno, the country’s +most talented young pianist, was to lead that +night in the rendition of three master concertos.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_232">[232]</div> +<p>There was an expectant lull, then mighty applause. +She was coming. At a door to the +right she appeared. Down a narrow way between +rows of musicians she passed, a tall, +slim, gracefully beautiful lady.</p> +<p>In the center of the stage she paused to bow +in recognition of the applause, then again, and +yet again. Then, turning with such grace as +only a trained musician knows, she moved to +her place and with a slight nod to the leader, +placed her hands upon the keys, then sent +them racing over the keys, bringing forth such +glorious music as only might be learned +beside a rushing brook in the depths of the +forest.</p> +<p>Lucile gripped her seat until her fingers +ached. She strove to remain seated while her +face went white and then was flushed with +color.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_233">[233]</div> +<p>“It is she,” she whispered to herself. “It +cannot be, yet it is! The same eyes, the same +nose, the same hair. I cannot be mistaken. It +is she! Patricia Diurno, the celebrated, the +most wonderful virtuoso, is the Mystery Lady +and the Spirit of Christmas! And I? How +am I to remain in this seat for two mortal +hours while before me sits a woman pouring +forth bewitching music, a woman who for a +handclasp has the power to make me rich, yes, +rich? Two hundred in gold. How—how +can I?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_234">[234]</div> +<h2 id="c19"><br />CHAPTER XIX +<br />MEG WIELDS A BELAYING PIN</h2> +<p>Florence started back at sight of the one +who opened the door in response to Meg’s +“Come in.” It was indeed the small man of +the burning, hawk-like eyes. His disposition +appeared to have been changed by his battle +with the storm. It was plain from the first that +he was now a man not to be trifled with; at +least not by two girls in a lonely ship’s cabin +at an hour fast approaching midnight. He +twisted his face into an ugly grin. His smile +was more horrible than a snarl would have +been. His white teeth showed like an angry +dog’s.</p> +<p>“The bag!” he said in a tone that was a +command. It was evident that he was both +angry and desperate.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_235">[235]</div> +<p>“What bag?” said Meg, rising as her companion, +wrapping her blanket closer about her, +slunk further into the corner.</p> +<p>“My bag!” His tone was threatening. He +advanced a step.</p> +<p>Florence could see a deep red stealing up +beneath the natural tan of the daughter of the +sea as she too advanced a step. Meg showed +not the slightest fear.</p> +<p>“There’s no bag here.” Her hand was behind +her, gripping the belaying pin. “No bag +at all unless you call that thing a bag.” She +pointed to a canvas duffel bag that hung in +the corner. “That’s mine. You can’t have it. +You can’t have anything in this cabin. You +can’t even touch anything or anybody, so you +better get out.”</p> +<p>“So!” The man’s word was more like a hiss +than a real expression of the word. At the +same time his teeth were so uncovered that one +might count them.</p> +<p>“So!” He advanced another step.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_236">[236]</div> +<p>There came a faint click. Something bright +gleamed in his right hand. A scream came to +Florence’s lips, but she did not utter it; she +only sat and stared.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Meg in an even tone, while the +red mounted to the roots of her hair. “We +get your kind on the ships too. We get all +kinds.”</p> +<p>Then, like a tiger in the jungle, she leaped +forward. There followed a resounding thwack; +a heavy knife went jangling to the floor. The +stranger’s usually dark face turned a sickly +white as, gripping a bruised wrist, he backed +out of the room.</p> +<p>Stepping to the door Meg closed it, but did +not bother to lock it.</p> +<p>Stooping, she picked up the knife and examined +it carefully.</p> +<p>“That,” she said in a matter of fact tone, +“is a good knife, much better than the one I +use for slicing bacon. I shall keep it.</p> +<p>“See,” she said, holding it close to Florence, +“it has a six-inch blade that locks when you +open it. That’s what made it click.”</p> +<p>Florence shrank from the thing.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_237">[237]</div> +<p>“He had no right to carry it,” said Meg, +closing it and dropping it into a chest. “It’s +a concealed weapon, and they’re against the law. +So I’ll keep it. Now what about this bag?” +she asked suddenly.</p> +<p>“Why, you see,” smiled Florence, “to-morrow’s +Christmas. Since I didn’t expect a surprise +from anyone, I decided to buy myself one. +So I went down to an auction sale and bought +a bag with ‘contents if any.’ I meant to buy a +bag anyway, and the ‘contents if any’ was to +be my surprise.”</p> +<p>“What did you get?” Meg asked, leaning +forward eagerly.</p> +<p>“I didn’t look. I meant to keep the bag +until to-morrow. It wouldn’t be a Christmas +surprise if I opened it before hand. And now +it’s gone!”</p> +<p>“What—what did you expect to find?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_238">[238]</div> +<p>“It might have been anything—silk scarfs, +some splendid furs, jewelry, a watch—anything. +And then again,” her voice lost its enthusiasm, +“it might have contained a man’s +collar and a suit of pajamas. I couldn’t tell. +Maybe it was just nothing at all. It was awful +light.”</p> +<p>“All those things,” said Meg, her eyes shining, +“or any of them. What a pity! What +fun you would have had!”</p> +<p>For a moment she sat there in silence. Then +suddenly, “Where’s it gone?”</p> +<p>“I—I lost it on the pier.”</p> +<p>“Where?” Meg sat up all alert.</p> +<p>Florence told her as best she could.</p> +<p>“I’ll go get it.” Meg dragged her coat from +its hanger.</p> +<p>“No! No! Don’t!” Florence exclaimed, +springing up. “It’s dangerous.”</p> +<p>“What’s to be afraid of?” laughed Meg. +“Don’t everybody on the pier know me? Even +the watch-dog knows me? As for your late +friend and follower, I’ll just take my belaying +pin along. But I guess he’s far enough away +by now. Watch me. I’ll be back in half an +hour with that bag—you wait and see.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_239">[239]</div> +<p>With a rush that let in a great gust of cold +air and snow, she was out of the cabin and +away.</p> +<p>The greater part of what she had said to +Florence was true. She did know the dock as +well as any ship on which she had ever sailed. +She knew the watchman and his dog. But, +without her knowledge, there was one person in +authority by the pier that night who did not +know her and this the two girls were to learn +to their sorrow.</p> +<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p> +<p>Seeing a heavy dressing gown hanging in +the corner, Florence rose and, discarding her +blanket, put this robe on. Then, after feeling of +her slowly drying clothes and moving her skirt +closer to the stove, she walked to the door and +locked it.</p> +<p>“Meg may not be afraid of that man,” she +whispered to herself, “but I am.”</p> +<p>At once, as she began walking the floor of +the narrow cabin, her mind went to work on +the many unanswered questions stored away in +her mind. Like some scientist examining specimens, +she drew these questions one at a time +from their mental pigeon holes.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_240">[240]</div> +<p>Why did this evil looking man with the scar +above his eye want her bag so badly? Suddenly +it occurred to her that he might be a thief, or +a safe blower, and this bag might contain some +of his valuable loot. She remembered reading +of criminals who had locked their booty in trunks +or bags and stored them in some public place +until the police had gotten off their trail.</p> +<p>“In that case,” she told herself, “my surprise +will be a disappointment. No matter how +wonderful the contents may be, I will not keep +the least bit of it, but turn it over to the police.</p> +<p>“But then,” she thought again, “probably +Meg will not be able to get the bag. She may +not be able to get in. Probably the watchman +heard the dog and closed the door and window. +And again, she may find it and that terrible +man may take it from her.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_241">[241]</div> +<p>This last she doubted. Meg appeared abundantly +able to take care of herself. Florence +could not but admire her strength and bravery. +It had been magnificent, the way she had put +that villainous intruder to flight. She thought +of what the girl had said about being reared +on a steamship and wanting more education. +She found herself longing to help her. And +why not? She roomed alone. Hers was a large +bed, large enough for two, and she thought she +could get a scholarship for her in the academy +connected with the university. Anyway, it could +be managed somehow. There were elevators in +great hotels close to the school that must be run. +Perhaps she could find her a part time position +on one of these. She would talk to her about +it as soon as opportunity offered.</p> +<p>But who was she, after all? She had been +telling her story when that man broke in upon +them. Would she have told why she asked +Florence to wear her clothes for a half day and +play the role of Meg? If she had, what would +her reason have been?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_242">[242]</div> +<p>During the time that these problems had +passed in review in her memory she had been +walking the cabin floor. Now she came to a +sudden pause. Had she heard footsteps on the +deck below? She thought so. Yes, there it +was again, more plainly now. They were +mounting the stairs. Who could it be? Was +it that man? She shuddered. Springing to +the corner, she put out a hand for Meg’s belaying +pin. It was gone. The door was locked, +but the lock looked very weak. What was she +to do? It did not seem possible that Meg +could be back so soon. She had——</p> +<p>A hand tried the door. What should she +do? Should she let the person in?</p> +<p>Certainly she should, for in Meg’s unmistakable +voice she heard:</p> +<p>“Let me in.”</p> +<p>When Florence threw open the door she saw +at a glance that Meg had the bag and that +the seal was unbroken.</p> +<p>“Tell you what,” began Florence, “you go +home with me to-night. To-morrow is Christmas. +We don’t have to get up early. We’ll +have something hot to drink and some cakes, +and we’ll talk a little. Then, just as the clock +strikes twelve, we’ll break the seal to the bag. +Won’t that be romantic?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_243">[243]</div> +<p>“I should say!” said Meg with gleaming +eyes. “That would be spiffy! When do we +start?”</p> +<p>“At once,” said Florence, pulling her clothing +from the line.</p> +<p>They were not destined to get away so easily, +however. Unfortunately for them, there was a +person near the entrance to the pier that night +whom Meg did not know, had in fact never +seen.</p> +<p>The wharf to which the boats were tied lay +a distance of about a block south of the entrance +to the pier, and the particular boat on +which Meg had taken up quarters was tied +about two blocks from the end of the pier. In +order to reach the car line they were obliged +to battle their way against the storm, which +had increased in violence, until they were near +the entrance to the pier.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_244">[244]</div> +<p>They had covered these three blocks and had +paused to catch their breath and to watch for +the light of a street car boring its way through +the whirl of snow, when a gruff voice said:</p> +<p>“Where y’ think y’r goin’?”</p> +<p>“Why, we—” Florence hesitated.</p> +<p>“What you got in that bag?”</p> +<p>Florence turned to find herself looking into +the face of a young policeman.</p> +<p>She flashed a glance at Meg. That one +glance convinced her that Meg did not know +him.</p> +<p>“Where—where’s Tim?” Meg faltered.</p> +<p>“Tim who?”</p> +<p>“Tim McCarty. This is his beat.”</p> +<p>“’T’aint now. It’s mine. He’s been transferred. +What’s more,” he paused to lay a +gloved hand on the travelling bag, “since this +is my beat, part of my job’s findin’ out what +comes off them ships at night. What y’ got in +that bag?”</p> +<p>“I—I don’t know,” Florence said the words +impulsively, and regretted them the instant they +were said.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_245">[245]</div> +<p>“Don’t know—” he ceased speaking to stare +at her. “Say, sister, you’re good! Don’t know +what you’ve got in that bag! In that case all +I can do is take you to the station for questioning.</p> +<p>“No,” he said in a kindlier tone after a +moment’s thought, “maybe if you’ll unlock it +and let me see what’s inside I’ll let you go.”</p> +<p>Open it and let him see what was inside? +Florence’s head was in a whirl. Open it? +What if her fears proved true? What if it +contained stolen goods? Why, then she would +see the first light of Christmas morning behind +prison bars. Was ever anyone in such a +mess? Did ever a girl pay so dearly for her +own Christmas surprise?</p> +<p>But Meg was speaking: “Say, you see here,” +she said to the young policeman, her voice a +low drawl. Florence heard them indistinctly +against the roar of the storm. So there she +stood with her back to the wind, clinging tightly +to the handle of her bag and hoping against +hope that she would not be obliged to reveal +her secret there and then.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_246">[246]</div> +<h2 id="c20"><br />CHAPTER XX +<br />THE GREAT MOMENT</h2> +<p>The revelation that had come to Lucile as +she sat there listening to the first notes of a +great concerto, led by a famous virtuoso, was +so unusual, so altogether startling, that she felt +tempted to doubt her senses.</p> +<p>“Surely,” she whispered to herself, “I must +be mistaken. There is a resemblance, but she +is not that woman. Imagine a great virtuoso, +one of the famous musicians of our land, being +in a department store at two hours before midnight! +Fancy her going up and down streets, +in and out of the stores and shops dressed in +all manner of absurd costumes, playing the star +role in a newspaper stunt to increase circulation! +How impossible! How—how utterly absurd!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_247">[247]</div> +<p>She paused for reflection and as she paused, +as if to join her in quiet thought, the great +musician allowed her flying fingers to come to +rest on the keyboard while a violin soloist did +his part.</p> +<p>Then, quick as light, but not too swiftly for +Lucile’s keen eyes, she slipped something from +her finger, a something that sent off a brilliant +flash of light. This she placed on the piano beside +the keyboard.</p> +<p>To Lucile, resting as it did against the black +of the ebony piano, this thing stood out like +a circle of stars against the deep blackness of +night. She felt her lips forming the words:</p> +<p>“Don’t put it there! A hundred people will +see it!”</p> +<p>That dull gray circle with the flashing spot +of light was a ring; Cordie’s iron ring with its +diamond setting. There was no longer a single +vestige of doubt in the girl’s mind regarding the +identity of the Mystery Lady and the Spirit of +Christmas. They were one and the same, and +together they were Patricia Diurno, the celebrated +virtuoso.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_248">[248]</div> +<p>Somehow Lucile got through that two hours +without screaming or jumping from her seat +to hurl herself upon the platform, but she will +never quite know just how she did it. At times +she drove the whole affair from her mind to +think of other unsolved problems—of Laurie +and the lost author; of Cordie, and of Sam. At +other times she found herself completely absorbed +by the wonderful music which poured +forth.</p> +<p>The majesty of the music grew as the evening +passed. When at last the orchestra struck +out into that masterpiece, Tschaikowsky’s Concerto +in B minor, she forgot all else to lose +herself in the marvelous rise and fall of cadent +sound that resembled nothing so much as a +storm on a rockbound coast.</p> +<p>The piano, leading on, called now to the +violin to join in, then upon the cello, the bass +viols, the cornets, the saxophones, the trombones, +the trap-drums, until all together, in perfect +unison, they sent forth such a volume of sound +as shook the very walls.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_249">[249]</div> +<p>The great virtuoso, forgetful of all else, gave +herself completely to her music. Turning first +this way, then that, she beckoned the lagging +orchestra on until a climax had been reached.</p> +<p>Then, after a second of such silence as is +seldom experienced save after a mighty clap +of thunder, as if from somewhere away in a +distant forest there came the tinkle, tinkle of +the single instrument as her velvet tipped fingers +glided across the keys.</p> +<p>A single violin joined in, then another and +another, then all of them, until again the great +chorus swelled to the very dome of the vast +auditorium.</p> +<p>This was the music that, like the songs of +mermaids of old, charm men into forgetfulness; +that lifts them and carries them away from all +dull care, all sordid affairs of money and all +temptation to the mean, the low and the base.</p> +<p>It so charmed Lucile that for a full moment +after the last note had been struck and the last +echo of applause had died away, she sat there +listening to the reverberations of the matchless +music that still sounded in her soul.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_250">[250]</div> +<p>When she awoke from her revery it was with +a mighty start.</p> +<p>“Where is she?” she exclaimed, leaping +from her seat.</p> +<p>“Who?” said Laurie.</p> +<p>“Patricia Diurno! The Mystery Lady! Spirit +of Christmas! Where has she gone?”</p> +<p>Staring to right and left, she found her way +blocked. Then with the nimbleness of an +obstacle racer, she vaulted over four rows of +seats to dash away through the milling crowd +toward the platform.</p> +<p>“Where is she?” she demanded of an attendant.</p> +<p>“Who, Miss?”</p> +<p>“The—the Mystery Lady. No, No! Miss +Diurno, the virtuoso.”</p> +<p>“Most likely in the Green Room, Miss. Who—who—is +some of her folks dead?”</p> +<p>“No, no! But please show me where the +Green Room is, quick!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_251">[251]</div> +<p>Leading the way, he took her to the back +of the stage, through a low door, down a long +passage-way to a large room where a number +of people stood talking.</p> +<p>A glance about the place told her that Miss +Diurno was not there.</p> +<p>“Is this the Green Room?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Miss.”</p> +<p>“Then where is she?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, Miss. You might ask him.”</p> +<p>He nodded to a large man in an evening suit.</p> +<p>“Where—where is Miss Diurno?” she asked +timidly.</p> +<p>“Miss Diurno did not stay. She left at +once.”</p> +<p>“Gone!” Lucile murmured. “And my opportunity +gone with it.” Sinking weakly into +a chair, she buried her face in her hands.</p> +<p>This lasted but a moment; then she was up +and away like the wind. Miss Diurno, the +Mystery Woman, Spirit of Christmas, had gone +out on the Boulevard. She had promised, +through the news columns, to be about the Boulevard +until midnight. There was still a chance.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_252">[252]</div> +<p>Hurrying back to the now almost deserted +hall, she found Laurie and Cordie waiting for +her.</p> +<p>“Well now, what does this mean?” Laurie +laughingly demanded. “Did you recognize in +the hands of some violinist the Stradivarius that +was stolen from your grandfather fifty years +ago?”</p> +<p>“Not quite that,” Lucile smiled back. “I +did discover that someone has vanished, someone +I must find. Yes, yes, I surely must!” +She clenched her hands tight in her tense excitement. +“I want you two to promise to walk +the Boulevard with me until midnight, that is, +if I don’t find her sooner. Will you? Promise +me!”</p> +<p>“‘Oh promise me,’” Laurie hummed. “Some +contract! What say, Cordie? Are you in +on it?”</p> +<p>“It sounds awfully interesting and mysterious. +Let’s do.”</p> +<p>“All right, we’re with you till the clock +strikes for Christmas morning.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_253">[253]</div> +<p>Lucile led the way out of the hall. They +were soon out in the cool, crisp air of night. +There had been a storm but now the storm had +passed. The night was bright with stars.</p> +<p>To promenade the Boulevard at this hour on +such a night was not an unpleasant task. Out +from a midnight blue sky the golden moon +shone across a broad expanse of snow which +covered the park, while to the left of them, as +if extending their arms to welcome jolly old St. +Nicholas, the great buildings loomed toward the +starry heavens.</p> +<p>The street was gay with light and laughter, +for was not this the night of all nights, the +night before Christmas?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_254">[254]</div> +<h2 id="c21"><br />CHAPTER XXI +<br />THE MAN IN GRAY</h2> +<p>“I know of an odd old custom which might +prove interesting,” said Laurie as the three of +them walked arm in arm along the boulevard. +“I’ve forgotten to what little out of the way +corner of the world it belongs, but anyway, in +the villages of that land, sometime near to midnight, +on Christmas Eve, friends gather about +small tables in their taverns and over the festive +board talk of the year that is gone. The strange +part is this: Just to make it a clearing up +time of unsolved problems, each member of the +group may select one other member of that +group and may ask him three questions. Each +member is pledged to answer all three questions +frankly and truthfully.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Cordie. “I’d not like to +get caught in a crowd like that.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_255">[255]</div> +<p>“Too bad,” sighed Laurie. “I was about to +propose that a half hour before midnight we +get together to celebrate in just that way. I +think I can pick up a person or two whose +secrets would be of interest to some people I +know.”</p> +<p>“That would be wonderful,” exclaimed Lucile. +“But must we select one person, only one?”</p> +<p>“One, that’s all.”</p> +<p>“And ask him just three questions; no +more?”</p> +<p>“Not another one.”</p> +<p>“Eenie-meenie-minie-mo,” exclaimed Lucile, +pointing her finger first at Cordie, then at +Laurie,</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">“Catch a monkey by the toe,</p> +<p class="t0">If he hollers, let him go,</p> +<p class="t0">Eenie-meenie-minie-mo.</p> +</div> +<p>“Laurie, you’re my choice,” she laughed. “I’ll +ask three questions of you, though goodness +knows I’d like to ask them of Cordie.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_256">[256]</div> +<p>“Wait,” said Laurie holding up a warning +finger. “There may be someone there who is +more interesting to you than we are.”</p> +<p>“There’s only one such person in the world,” +exclaimed Lucile, “and—and I hope I may +meet her before that hour comes.”</p> +<p>She was a little surprised at the glances +Laurie and Cordie exchanged and greatly puzzled +by the fact that they did not ask her who +that person was.</p> +<p>Laurie and Cordie gave themselves over to +the gaiety of the night. The blazing light, the +splendid cars that went gliding down the Boulevard, +the magnificent furs worn by those who +chose to promenade the broad sidewalk, were +sights to catch any eye.</p> +<p>They did not hold Lucile’s attention. She +had eyes for but one sight, the glimpse of a +single face. What that glimpse would mean to +her! Room rent paid, term bills paid, a warm +coat, other needed clothing, a last minute present +which she had been too poor to purchase, +and a snug little sum in the bank. All these +it would mean, and more; two hundred in gold.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_257">[257]</div> +<p>But the face did not appear. For an hour +they walked the Boulevard, yet no sight of the +Mystery Lady, she of the Christmas Spirit, +came to them. One matter troubled Lucile more +and more. Often in her search she looked behind +her. More than once, four times in fact, +she had caught sight of a man who walked +always at exactly the same distance behind them. +A tall man, it was, with a long gray coat, a +high collar turned up and cap pulled low.</p> +<p>“It isn’t just because he happens to be +walking in our direction,” she told herself with +a little shiver. “Twice we have turned and +walked back and once we crossed the street. +But all the time he has been directly behind us. +I wonder what it could mean?”</p> +<p>At that moment there came the clatter of +hoofs and four mounted policemen, clad in +bright uniform, came riding down the Boulevard.</p> +<p>“It’s a big night,” exclaimed Laurie. +“There’s a special squad of them out.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_258">[258]</div> +<p>“Oh there—there he is!” exclaimed Cordie. +“There’s Dick! That’s Patrick O’Hara riding +him! Aren’t they splendid? And right beside +him is Tim, good old Tim. See! They recognized +me. They touched their hats!”</p> +<p>“Who’s Tim?” asked Lucile.</p> +<p>“Don’t you wish you knew?” taunted Cordie. +“If only you were going to ask your questions +of me you’d be sure to find out.”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry,” smiled Laurie. “I’ve just +decided that you shall be the person to answer +my three questions.”</p> +<p>“You horrid thing! I shan’t go! I’m off +your old party!” In mock anger, she sprang +away from her companions and went racing on +ahead of them.</p> +<p>Then strange and startling things began to +happen. A long, low-built blue roadster, which +had been creeping along the curb as if looking +for someone, came to a grinding stop. A man +leaped out. A second later a piercing scream +reached the ears of Laurie and Lucile.</p> +<p>“It’s Cordie!” exclaimed Lucile. “Some—something +terrible! C’mon!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_259">[259]</div> +<p>As she said this a gray streak shot past her. +Even in this wild moment of excitement, she +recognized the man who had been dogging their +footsteps and she wondered why she had not +recognized him sooner.</p> +<p>The next second they were in the midst of +things. With wildly beating heart Lucile stared +at the panorama that was enacted before her. +Powerless to aid, she saw Cordie, the innocent +country girl, the center of a battle, snatched +from hand to hand until it seemed the very +life must be torn from her.</p> +<p>First she caught a glimpse of her fighting +frantically but vainly in the grasp of a man. +Lucile recognized him instantly.</p> +<p>“The hawk-eyed man!” she whispered. “The +one who claimed to be her brother! Quick!” +she exclaimed, gripping Laurie’s arm until +her fingers cut into the very flesh. “Quick! +They’re taking her to the auto. They’ll carry +her away!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_260">[260]</div> +<p>Active as he was, Laurie was not the first +to leap at the hawk-eyed one. A man in gray, +the man who had been following them, sprang +squarely at the captor’s throat.</p> +<p>With a howl of rage and fear the villain +loosed one hand to strike out at his mysterious +assailant. All in vain; the rescuer came straight +on. Striking the captor squarely in the middle, +he bowled him over like a ten-pin. So sudden +was this attack that Cordie was also thrown to +the pavement.</p> +<p>Finding herself free and unharmed, she +sprang to her feet. She felt a hand at her elbow +and turned to look into the face of Laurie +Seymour.</p> +<p>“Ah!” she breathed, “I am safe!”</p> +<p>But even as she said this she saw Laurie +collapse like an empty sack, and the next instant +grasped from behind by two clutching hands, +she was again whirled toward the kidnapper’s +car.</p> +<p>Half blinded by terror, she caught a vision +of police blue that hovered above her.</p> +<p>“Pat! Patrick O’Hara!” she called.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_261">[261]</div> +<p>There came the angry crack of an automatic. +Then the figure in blue came hurtling off the +horse to fall at her feet. At the same instant +there was a second catapult-like blow of the +man in gray. Again she was snatched free.</p> +<p>“Jiggers! Beat it! Beat it!” she heard +in a hoarse whisper. The next instant the door +to the blue car slammed shut and its wheels +began to move.</p> +<p>For three seconds she wavered there, watching +the car move away. Then catching a glimpse of +Patrick O’Hara lying at her feet, wounded, perhaps +dead, a great courage came to her.</p> +<p>“They must not escape!” she screamed. +“They shall not!”</p> +<p>The next instant she leaped into the saddle +of the police horse, Dick. Just as the noble +animal dashed away she felt the solid impact +of someone mounting behind her.</p> +<p>One glance she cast behind her. “Oh!” she +breathed. It was the man in gray. To Dick she +whispered: “All right, Dick, old dear, Go! Go +fast! For the love of Patrick O’Hara and +Laurie Seymour; for the love of all that’s good +and true, go; go as you never went before!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_262">[262]</div> +<p>There was no need to talk to Dick. He was +away like the wind.</p> +<p>It was a moment of high suspense and swift +action; one of those moments when success or +failure hinges on the right move at the right +second.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_263">[263]</div> +<h2 id="c22"><br />CHAPTER XXII +<br />THE FINISH</h2> +<p>Dick was no ordinary horse. He was an +unusual horse who had very unusual masters. +The young policeman had spoken the truth when +he said that Pat O’Hara’s horse was the +smartest on the force. As Dick felt his young +mistress in the saddle and the man in gray behind +her, he realized that this was not to be a +race, but a fight. He seemed to sense that his +task was to keep in sight of that racing blue +automobile, and not for one instant to lose sight +of it.</p> +<p>Follow it he did, and that at the peril of +his own life and the lives of those who rode. +Now dashing past a low, closed car, now +crowding between two black sedans, now all +but run down by a great yellow car, he forged +straight ahead.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_264">[264]</div> +<p>He not only followed; he actually gained. +Leaning far forward in the saddle, Cordie kept +her eyes upon the fleeing car. Now they +were but three quarters of a block away, now +a half, now a quarter.</p> +<p>It was an exciting moment. Beads of perspiration +stood out upon the tip of Cordie’s +nose. The hand that held the reins trembled. +They were gaining, gaining, gaining. Through +narrow passages impossible to a car, old Dick +crowded forward like a fleet, sure-footed dog. +Now a yard he gained, now a rod, and now a +long stretch of open. They were gaining, gaining, +gaining! What were they to do once the +car was overtaken? That Cordie could not tell. +She only knew one thing clearly—the men +in the car must not escape and she was determined +to prevent their escape.</p> +<p>Then, as they neared a cross street, a man +stepped out on the running board and flashed +an automatic. Aiming deliberately, he fired. +The next instant, with the din of a hundred +sets of brakes screaming in their ears, Cordie, +the horse and the man in gray were piled all +in a heap in the middle of the street.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_265">[265]</div> +<p>In the midst of all this there came a crash. +What was that? Dared she hope it was the +villains’ car? At sound of it the man in gray +was up and away like mad.</p> +<p>“What’s this?” she heard an unfamiliar +voice saying. A man from the nearest car +behind them had come to the aid of the girl +and the horse.</p> +<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p> +<p>In the meantime, Lucile was passing through +experiences quite as strange.</p> +<p>Laurie Seymour had been knocked unconscious +by a blow on the head. Patrick O’Hara +had been shot from his horse. How serious +were the injuries of these, her friends?</p> +<p>To determine this, then to see what might +be done for their relief; this appeared to be her +duty, even though Cordie was in grave danger +still.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_266">[266]</div> +<p>Men pressed forward to assist her. They +carried the unconscious ones into the lobby of +a hotel. There they were stretched out upon +davenports and remedies applied by the house +physician.</p> +<p>Lucile was engaged in stopping the flow of +blood from Patrick O’Hara’s scalp wound. She +chanced to look up and there, at the edge of +the davenport, she caught sight of a familiar +face.</p> +<p>“Miss Diurno! The Mystery Lady! Spirit +of Christmas! Two Hundred in gold!” her +mind registered automatically, but her fingers +held rigidly to their task.</p> +<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p> +<p>As Cordie struggled to her feet, after being +plunged from the back of the fallen horse, she +saw the man in gray leap for the side of an +automobile that had crashed into the curb. A +thrill ran through her as she realized that this +was the blue racer. The next instant, after +fairly tearing the door from the hinges, the man +in gray dragged a man out of the blue car, +threw him to the pavement and held him rigidly +there.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_267">[267]</div> +<p>There came the clatter of horse’s hoofs, and +then down sprang good old Tim, the police +sergeant, and his fellow officer.</p> +<p>“He’s a bad one,” growled the one in gray. +“If you’ve got handcuffs, put ’em on him.”</p> +<p>Tim hesitated. How was an officer to know +who was in the right? This might be but a +Christmas Eve fight. He had not witnessed the +beginning of this affair.</p> +<p>A hand tugged at his sleeve. “If you please, +Tim,” came a girlish voice, “It’s me, the one +who stole Patrick O’Hara’s horse. If you’ll believe +me you better take his word for it. He’s +right.”</p> +<p>“Oh, he is, eh?” rumbled Tim. “Little +girl, what you say goes. I’d trust you any time. +On they go.”</p> +<p>The hawk-eyed man, for it was he that had +been captured (his accomplice had vanished) +made one more desperate effort to escape, but +failed. The handcuffs were snapped on and he +was led away by the younger officer.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_268">[268]</div> +<p>“Now,” said Tim in a sterner voice, “tell +me how Pat O’Hara’s horse comes to be lyin’ +there in the street?”</p> +<p>“He—he shot him,” Cordie gulped, pointing +away toward the hawk-eyed man.</p> +<p>“He did, did he? Then he should be hung.”</p> +<p>“Pat—Patrick O’Hara’s sho—shot too,” +Cordie was very near to tears. “If it hadn’t +been for him,” she nodded to the figure in gray, +“we—we wouldn’t have got him, though Dick +and I would have done our—our best, for he—he +shot our good good friend Pat O’Hara.” +At this, Cordie’s long pent up tears came flooding +forth as she hid her face on good old Tim’s +broad breast.</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” he soothed, patting her +on the shoulders. “It’s not as bad as you +think. Look! There’s old Dick getting to his +feet now.”</p> +<p>It was true. The man in gray had walked +over to where Dick lay, had coaxed the horse to +get up, and was now leading him limping to +the curb.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_269">[269]</div> +<p>“It’s only a flesh wound in the leg,” he explained. +“Give him a week or ten days and +he’ll be on the beat again. Dick, old boy,” he +said huskily, “and you too, dear little Cordie, I +want to thank you for what you’ve done for me. +I—I’ve had my revenge, if a man has a right +to revenge. And it might be they’ll find the +fox skins among his plunder.”</p> +<p>The eyes of the man in gray, just now brimming +with honest tears, were turned toward +Cordie. It was James, the seaman and bundle +carrier!</p> +<p>For a moment he gripped the girl’s hand, +then turning to Tim, said:</p> +<p>“You’ll look after her? See that she gets +safely back to her friends?”</p> +<p>“Oh sure! Sure!”</p> +<p>“Then I’ll be getting over to the police station. +They’ll be wanting someone to prefer charges.”</p> +<p>He was turning to go, but Cordie called him +back. Handing him a slip of paper on which +she had scribbled a number and an address, she +said:</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_270">[270]</div> +<p>“Call me on the phone at that number to-morrow, +or else at the Butler House before midnight. +I want to know whether you get those +wonderful silver fox skins back. I—might +have a customer for them if you do.”</p> +<p>“It would make a great little old Christmas +for me if I did,” he smiled. “But it’s going +to be all right anyway.”</p> +<p>Reading the address Cordie had given him, +James gave a great start. “Right on the Gold +Coast!” was his mental comment. “Out where +there is nothing but palaces and mansions!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_271">[271]</div> +<h2 id="c23"><br />CHAPTER XXIII +<br />MEG’S SECRET</h2> +<p>And what of Florence and Meg? They had +not fared so badly after all. Three minutes +after her first meeting with the young policeman, +Florence was thinking fine things about +Meg.</p> +<p>“This girl Meg certainly has a way about +her,” she thought. “She does things to people.”</p> +<p>She wondered what Meg had done to the +young policeman. “Surely,” she told herself, +“she didn’t use that iron belaying pin on him +the way she did on that terrible man who had +been following me. No, she didn’t do that, +though I suspect she still has it hidden up her +sleeve.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_272">[272]</div> +<p>One thing was sure, she had done something +to the young policeman. Florence hadn’t heard +what Meg had said, but she did know that one +moment he was frightening the very life out of +her by demanding that she unlock the bag and +show him the contents, which was quite as +much unknown to her as to him, and the next +he had let out a low chuckling laugh and had +told her she might run along. How was she to +account for that?</p> +<p>She didn’t bother much to account for it. +She was too much pleased at being able to go +on her way, and carrying with her the bag with +its secret securely sealed. She would know +about Meg later. Meg had promised to tell.</p> +<p>It was only after they had started on that +she noticed that the storm had blown itself +out and the stars were shining. They were soon +aboard a car bound for home.</p> +<p>An hour later, in the warmth of her room, +and with the bag at their feet, Florence and Meg +sat dreamily thinking their own thoughts.</p> +<p>Florence was not sure that she did not sleep a +little. After the wild experiences of the night, +followed by the battle with the storm, this would +not be surprising.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_273">[273]</div> +<p>She did not sleep long, however, and soon +they fell to talking in the way girls will when +the hour is approaching midnight and the +strenuous experiences of an exciting night are +all at an end.</p> +<p>At an end, did I say? Well, not quite. Perhaps +you might say not at all; for did not the +mysterious brown leather traveling bag, which +had been wondered about and fought over, rest +on the floor at their feet? And was not the +seal unbroken? Did it not still contain Florence’s +Christmas secret? And now it was just +twenty-five minutes until midnight, the witching +hour when secrets are revealed.</p> +<p>“There is just time for you to finish telling +me about yourself before the tower clock strikes +midnight,” said Florence, glancing at the small +clock on her desk.</p> +<p>“Oh!” laughed Meg with a little shrug of +her wonderful shoulders. “There really isn’t +much to tell. I’ve already told you that since +I was a slip of a child I’ve lived on ships with +my uncle. He’s a mate. We’ve been on a lot +of ships because he often drinks too much and +can’t hold his position. He’s a big gruff man, +but kind enough in his way.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_274">[274]</div> +<p>“That man who——”</p> +<p>“No, the man who told you about the train +was not my uncle. That was Tim, a sailor. My +uncle sent him.</p> +<p>“Well, you know,” she went on, “at first +I was just sort of a ship’s mascot and the +sailors’ plaything. They rode me on their backs +and carried me, screaming with delight, to the +top of the mast.</p> +<p>“That didn’t last long. They found I could +peel potatoes, so they put me to work. And +I’ve been at work ever since.”</p> +<p>She spread out her hands and Florence +saw that they were as seamed and hard as a +farmer’s wife’s.</p> +<p>“I don’t mind work,” Meg continued. “I +love it. But I like to learn things, too; like +to learn them out of books, with folks to tell me +what it means. I’ve gone to school all I could, +but it wasn’t much. I want to go some more.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_275">[275]</div> +<p>“Uncle has signed up for a sea voyage +through the Canal to England. He wanted me +to go along as cook. It’s a lumber ship; sure +to be a rough crew. I don’t mind ’em much.”</p> +<p>Something suddenly clattered on the floor. It +was Meg’s belaying pin.</p> +<p>“I—I guess you sort of get rough when +you go on the sea,” she apologized, smiling. +“That’s partly why I didn’t want to go. My +uncle would have made me go that day you +changed places with me, if he’d found me. He +likes to have me along because he can get a +better berth himself if he can bring along a +good cook. Good sea cooks are scarce.</p> +<p>“I’m not going now. His train’s gone and +he’s gone. He left that day.”</p> +<p>“So that was what the man and the woman +meant by the train leaving at eleven-thirty?” +asked Florence.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_276">[276]</div> +<p>“Yes. That woman was the matron of the +Seamen’s Home. She thought I ought to go. +She didn’t know everything. She didn’t understand. +I’m eighteen. My uncle hasn’t any +right to claim me now, and I owe him nothing. +Everything that’s been done for me I’ve paid for—paid +with hard labor.” Again she spread +her seamed hands out on her lap.</p> +<p>“But now,” she said after a moment’s silence, +“now I’m not sure that I know how I’m going +to school. It costs a lot, I suppose, and besides +I’ve got to live. They let me stay on that ship. +That’s something, but it’s a long way from any +school, and besides——”</p> +<p>“Wait,” Florence broke in. “Let me tell +you——”</p> +<p>But just then Meg held up a warning finger. +Loud and clear there rang out over the snow +the midnight chimes.</p> +<p>“Midnight,” whispered Florence, reaching out +a hand for the bewitching bag.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_277">[277]</div> +<h2 id="c24"><br />CHAPTER XXIV +<br />THREE QUESTIONS</h2> +<p>“He’s coming round all right.” It was the +house doctor of the hotel who spoke. Lucile +was still bending over Patrick O’Hara. “He’s +regaining consciousness. It’s only a scalp wound. +A narrow squeak. An inch to the right, and it +would have got him. He’d better go to the +hospital for a little extra petting and patching, +but he’s in no danger—not the least. And as +for your friend Laurie—he’s got a bump on +his head that’ll do to hang his hat on for a day +or two. But outside of perhaps a bit of a +headache, he’s O. K. Your friends are riding +under a lucky star, I’d say.”</p> +<p>“A lucky star,” thought Lucile. Again she +was free. Had the Lady of the Spirit of +Christmas vanished? No. For once fortune +was with her. As if fascinated by the scene, the +lady still stood there, looking down at Patrick +O’Hara.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_278">[278]</div> +<p>Twenty seconds later this lady felt a tug at +her arm as a girl in a low but excited whisper +said: “You are the Spirit of Christmas.”</p> +<p>“What?” the lady stared at her for a second, +then a smile lighted her face. “Oh yes, why +to be sure! So I am. In the excitement of the +moment I had quite forgotten. Surely I am. So +it is you who win? I am glad, so very, very +glad! I do believe you recognized me five +minutes ago, and that you’ve been working over +that brave young policeman ever since, when I +might easily have slipped away. What wonderful +unselfishness! Here is the gold!”</p> +<p>Lucile felt a hard lump of something pressed +into her hand and without looking down knew +that it was ten double eagles. A warm glow +crept over her.</p> +<p>“I did see you,” she said, after murmuring +her thanks, “but you see Patrick O’Hara was +wounded trying to rescue a friend of mine. So +how could I desert him for gold?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_279">[279]</div> +<p>“Yes, yes, how could you? Who was your +friend?”</p> +<p>“Cordie.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Cordie? Was she in danger?” the +lady exclaimed excitedly. “Where is she? I +must go to her at once!”</p> +<p>“Here! Here I am, Auntie!” cried an excited +and tremulous young voice. The next moment +little Cordie was enfolded in the arms of the +Mystery Lady, Spirit of Christmas. And this +lady was also Miss Diurno, the great virtuoso, +and Cordie had called her Auntie!</p> +<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p> +<p>At exactly a half hour before midnight on +this most exciting Christmas Eve, four people +sat at a round table in the Butler House. There +was a distinguished looking lady, a young man +with a bump on his head that made his hair +stand up in a circle, a young lady of college age, +and a girl in her teens. They were the Mystery +Lady, Laurie Seymour, Lucile and Cordie.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_280">[280]</div> +<p>Ice cream and cakes had been served; coffee +was on the way. Laurie had finished explaining +to Miss Diurno the ancient custom of some +long forgotten land, that of answering, truthfully, +three questions round.</p> +<p>“But Laurie, old dear,” she protested, “why +should I ask three questions of you? I already +know far too much about you for my own good +peace of mind; and as for Cordie, I fancy I +know more about her than she knows about +herself. I move we amend the custom a little. +How would it do to allow our friend Lucile to +ask all the questions—three around for each +of us?”</p> +<p>“Oh! That would be darling!” exclaimed +Lucile, fairly leaping from her chair. “You are +all so very, very mysterious. There are so +many, many things I’d like to know.”</p> +<p>“Agreed!” exclaimed Laurie.</p> +<p>“I don’t mind,” smiled Cordie.</p> +<p>“Good. That’s settled,” said Miss Diurno, +whose very greatness as a musician so affected +Lucile that she found it very difficult to be +her usual frank and friendly self. “Miss Lucile, +you may have ten minutes for thinking up +questions. Then, over our coffee, we will answer +them. But remember, only three questions, three +around.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_281">[281]</div> +<p>“Only three,” Lucile whispered to herself. +“And there is so much I want to know! So +much I just <i>must</i> know!”</p> +<p>As she sat there, with her head all in a whirl, +trying in vain to form the questions she wished +to ask, one conviction was borne in upon her. +She had been the center of a plot, a very +friendly plot, she was sure of that, and one +that had been entered into the truest of Christmas +spirit. Cordie had known Miss Diurno all +the time, in fact had only a short time ago +called her Auntie. Miss Diurno had called +Laurie by a familiar name—she had said “Old +dear.” She must have known him a long time. +Then surely, to be a friend to such an one, he +must be something rather great himself. And +Cordie? She could scarcely be the simple little +country girl she had thought her. Lucile’s +mind was in such a daze that when the great +pianist tapped her wrist watch and said: +“Time’s up. Who’s the first?” she had not +formed one question.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_282">[282]</div> +<p>“Age before beauty,” laughed Cordie.</p> +<p>“Well, that’s me?” smiled Miss Diurno. “I +am ready to be questioned.”</p> +<p>“Why—er—” stammered Lucile. “Why +did you, who are such a very great musician, +undertake the humble task of assisting in a +newspaper stunt?”</p> +<p>“Dear little girl,” said Miss Diurno, a very +mellow note of kindness creeping into her voice, +“there are no great people in the world, and +there are no truly humble tasks. All people +who are truly great are also very humble. Tasks +called humble by men may be truly great.</p> +<p>“But you have asked me a question. The +reason I accepted that newspaper task was this: +Marie Caruthers, my very best school chum +and lifetime friend, went in for newspaper work. +She was to have done the stunt, but just when +the time came she was taken to the hospital. So +I volunteered to take her place. And it was +fun, heaps of it! Just imagine having the whole +city looking for you and yet to be walking in +and out among the people every day and not +a single one of them recognizing you at all.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_283">[283]</div> +<p>“But there were times enough when I got +into plenty of trouble. That night in the department +store was a scream!”</p> +<p>“Not so much of a scream for me,” grumbled +Laurie. “I gave you my pass-out. Then after +knocking nearly all the skin off my hand going +down the bundle chute, I had to sleep in the +basement, with corrugated paper for mattress +and covers.”</p> +<p>“Poor old Laurie!” smiled Miss Diurno. +“But you deserved all you got. Think of the +role you have been playing! Think! Just +think!” laughed the pianist.</p> +<p>“You see,” she said, turning to Lucile to +explain her presence in the store that night, “I +had promised to be in the store six hours that +day. Then I allowed myself to become absorbed +in some new music, and the first thing +I knew it was getting late in the afternoon and +my six hours not yet begun. Of course there +was nothing for it but to remain in the store +after closing hours. I hid in that long narrow +place, wedged myself between book shelves and +stands, then stuck there until the clock struck +ten.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_284">[284]</div> +<p>“I hadn’t realized that it would be hard to +get out. When I did think of it I was terror-stricken. +To think of remaining in that great +vault of a store all night! Ugh! It gives me +the shivers to think of it, even now. I haven’t +the least notion what I would have done if I +hadn’t come upon good old Laurie. He gave +me his pass-out. You saw him do it. I knew +this at the time, and I think you were a great +little sport not to raise a big rumpus, especially +after I took your coat.”</p> +<p>“Why did you take my coat?” asked Lucile.</p> +<p>“I was afraid I couldn’t get out in that fur +cape. And besides, I wanted just such a coat +as yours for the next day’s stunt. So I traded +with you. That was fair enough, wasn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Traded? What do you mean?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_285">[285]</div> +<p>“Just what I said, just traded, and thanked +you for the opportunity. And now, my dear, +that makes three questions.”</p> +<p>“Three,” Lucile cried excitedly. “Why no, +I’ve only asked one.”</p> +<p>“Leave it to the crowd,” beamed the great +little lady.</p> +<p>“Three! Three!” agreed Laurie and Cordie +with one voice.</p> +<p>“Why—why then I shall be obliged to take +up someone else.”</p> +<p>“Heads I’m next, tails I’m not,” said Laurie, +tossing a coin in air. “Heads! I’m it. Do +your worst.”</p> +<p>“Who is Jefrey Farnsworth?” Lucile asked.</p> +<p>“See!” exclaimed Laurie. “See what I +get into right away! Well, since it is Christmas +Eve, I dare not tell a lie. I am forced to +inform you that the only gentleman at this +table was given that name at his birth.”</p> +<p>“You—you are Jefrey Farnsworth?”</p> +<p>“Quite right.”</p> +<p>“Be careful,” warned Cordie, “You’ve used +up two questions already.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_286">[286]</div> +<p>Lucile was silent for a moment, then with a +smile she said:</p> +<p>“Why did you take an assumed name, and +who was Sam, and did he have anything to do +with your selling books, and why were you +afraid of him?”</p> +<p>“That business of hanging your question on +a string is great stuff,” laughed Laurie. “I +recommend that you try it out on Cordie.”</p> +<p>Then in a more sober tone, he said:</p> +<p>“You see it was this way: My publishers +saw that my book was going to go across rather +big and, since I was to benefit financially in its +success, they thought it would be nice for me +to have a part in making it a still greater—um—um, +triumph. So they cooked up that idea +about my speaking to ladies’ clubs. I knew I +couldn’t do it, but I knew also that Sam would +make me do it if I stuck around. Everyone +does what Sam wants them to do; that is, they +do if they stay where he is.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_287">[287]</div> +<p>“So I said to myself, ‘If I must help sell +my books, I’ll do it in a straightforward way +right over the counter. I’ll get a job.’ I did. +And just so Sam couldn’t find me and drag me +away, I came to this city and took an assumed +name.</p> +<p>“Sam’s a sort of salesman for my publishers; +that is, he sells books when he isn’t +promoting authors. When I saw him in the +store that time I just naturally had to disappear.</p> +<p>“I think, though,” he added, “that even +Sam is satisfied. We sold two thousand copies +of ‘Blue Flames,’ you and Donnie and Rennie +and all the rest.</p> +<p>“As for my knowing the lady of the hour,” +he smiled, touching the arm of Miss Diurno, +“I’ve known her for some time. And on some +future lovely day in June, when my income has +come to be half as much as hers, we’re going +to move into a certain lovely little vine covered +cottage I know about and set up a nest all for +ourselves.”</p> +<p>“Good!” exclaimed Lucile. “Can’t I come +to see you?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_288">[288]</div> +<p>“My dear,” said the great musician, “you +may come and live with us, both you and Cordie, +live with us forever.”</p> +<p>“Cordie, your turn to be questioned,” said +Laurie.</p> +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Cordie, throwing her arms +about Lucile and hiding her face in the folds of +her dress. “I don’t want you to ask me questions. +I don’t! I don’t! I just want to confess +how mean I have been and what an unkind +trick I have played on you.”</p> +<p>“Why Cordie!” Lucile consoled her. +“You’ve not been mean to me at all. You—you’ve +been the dearest kind of a little pal!”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes I have! I let you think I was a poor +little girl from the country, when I wasn’t at +all. I allowed you to spend money on me and +pay all the room rent when I just knew you +thought you were going to have to live on milk +toast all next term of school. And I never even +offered to do my share at all.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_289">[289]</div> +<p>“But if you only knew,” she raced on, “how +good it seemed to have one friend who wasn’t +one bit selfish, who didn’t want a lot of things +for herself and who was willing to do things +for other people when she really needed just +plain ordinary things for herself. If you only +knew! If you only did!” Cordie’s voice rose +shrill and high. She seemed about to burst +into tears.</p> +<p>“There, there, dear little pal!” whispered +Lucile. “I think I understand. But tell me, +why did you take a job as wrapper when you +really wasn’t poor and didn’t need the money?”</p> +<p>“Money!” laughed Cordie, now quite herself +again. “I’ve never had to ask for any in +my whole life! My father owns a third of that +big store we worked in, and a lot besides.”</p> +<p>“But Dick?” said Lucile.</p> +<p>“I rode Dick on my father’s estate. It +nearly broke my heart when they sold him. My +father gave up his stables.”</p> +<p>“But you haven’t told me why you wanted +to work in the store.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_290">[290]</div> +<p>“Well, you see that day, the first day you +ever saw me, just for fun I had dressed up in +plain old fashioned clothes and had gone +downtown for a lark. Then I did that foolish +fainting stunt. I really, truly fainted. And +that man, that hawk-eyed man—” she shuddered, +“must have recognized me. He must +have known he could get a lot of money from +father if only he could carry me away. Anyway +he tried it and you—saved me!” She +paused to give Lucile another hug.</p> +<p>“You are coming to my house for Christmas +dinner, and I’ve kept track of everything in a +little book and I’m going to pay you every cent, +truly I am, and we’ll have the best time.</p> +<p>“But I was going to tell you,” she paused +in her mad ramble, “I was——”</p> +<p>“Listen!” Miss Diurno held up a hand for +silence, “Cordie, someone is paging your name. +Here! Over here!” she called to the bell boy.</p> +<p>“Telephone,” said the boy.</p> +<p>The three sat in silence until Cordie returned.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_291">[291]</div> +<p>“What do you think!” she exclaimed as she +came bounding toward them. “It was James, +my friend the bundle carrier at the phone. +They’ve worked fast. They raided the room of—of +the hawk-eyed man and they found James’ +silver fox skins. And Auntie, I’m going to +have father buy them as a present for you. +Won’t that be g-grand!”</p> +<p>“I should think it might,” smiled her aunt, +giving her arm an affectionate squeeze. “But, +my dear, you hadn’t finished telling Lucile.”</p> +<p>“Oh! That’s a short story now. When I saw +how good and kind you were,” Cordie said, +turning to Lucile, “when I saw the work there +was to do and everything, I was fascinated. I +just wanted to play I was just what you thought +me to be. So I called up my father and made +him let me do it. That was all there was +to it.</p> +<p>“But Auntie!” she exclaimed, turning to +Miss Diurno. “Why did you steal my badge +of serfdom?”</p> +<p>“Your what?”</p> +<p>“My badge of serfdom, the iron ring. In +olden days serfs wore iron collars; now it’s an +iron ring.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_292">[292]</div> +<p>“Oh, your iron ring!” laughed her aunt. +“I needed it for my stunt. But here it is; you +may have it and welcome, diamond and all.”</p> +<p>“I shall keep you ever and always,” murmured +the girl, pressing the ring to her lips. +“I shall cherish you in memory of a grand +and glorious adventure.”</p> +<p>“Of course you understood,” said Miss +Diurno, turning to Lucile, “that you are to keep +the fur lined cape.”</p> +<p>“No, I——”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, you must! It was the one extravagance +that I made the paper pay for. I +traded with you, and have lost yours, so there +is really no other way out. Besides,” her voice +softened, “I want you to accept it as a gift from +me, a little token of appreciation for your +many kindnesses to my little niece.”</p> +<p>Lucile’s head was in a whirl. She found +herself unable to think clearly of all her good +fortune. A great musician, an author, and a +very rich girl for her friends; a magnificent +cape of midnight blue and fox skin, and two +hundred dollars in gold! Merry Christmas! +What a Christmas it would be indeed!</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_293">[293]</div> +<p>“Listen,” whispered Miss Diurno. From +some distant room there came the slow, sweet +chimes of a clock.</p> +<p>“Striking midnight,” she whispered. Then +from far and near there came the clanging of +church bells.</p> +<p>“Christmas morning!” exclaimed Miss +Diurno, springing to her feet. “Merry, Merry +Christmas to all!”</p> +<p>“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” they +chorused in return.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_294">[294]</div> +<h2 id="c25"><br />CHAPTER XXV +<br />WHAT THE BROWN BAG HELD</h2> +<p>At the precise moment that the four companions +in the great city hotel rose to offer each +other their Christmas greetings, Florence and +Meg stood over the fascinating bag which had +cost Florence so much worry and trouble. As +Florence felt in her purse for the key she found +herself wondering for the hundredth time what +it might contain.</p> +<p>“Christmas, my Christmas secret,” she +whispered. Then, as she felt the key within +her grasp, she turned resolutely to the task. +Although she had looked forward to this hour +with pleasure, now it seemed to hold something +of a feeling of fear. She was opening +a bag which had belonged to another. What +might it not contain?</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_295">[295]</div> +<p>With trembling fingers she broke the seal +which had so long and faithfully hidden the +secret. Then, with a steadier hand, she inserted +the key.</p> +<p>For a full moment after that she stood there +in silence. She was saying to herself over and +over again: “There is nothing, nothing, nothing +in there that I shall care for. Nothing, +nothing, nothing.”</p> +<p>Thus fortified against disappointment, she at +last turned the key, pulled the flap and threw +the bag wide open.</p> +<p>The first look brought a glimpse of a bit of +negligee. Nothing so exciting in this.</p> +<p>“Well anyway,” sighed Florence, “it—wasn’t +a man’s bag. It could not have belonged +to that—that man.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Meg, “it couldn’t.”</p> +<p>One by one Florence removed the few articles +of clothing that had been packed in the bag. +These were of fine texture and well made. But +beneath these was something to bring an exclamation +to her lips.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_296">[296]</div> +<p>Putting out her hand, she lifted to view a +roll of silk cloth, of royal blue, and of such +thinness and fineness as she had seldom seen in +all her life.</p> +<p>“Yards and yards of it,” she breathed, throwing +it before her in bright, billowy waves.</p> +<p>“And look!” cried Meg. “Batik!”</p> +<p>It was true; beneath the silk was a bolt of +batik. This Meg took to the light and examined +it with great care.</p> +<p>“It’s genuine,” she whispered at last. “Not +the sham stuff that is made in American factories, +but the kind that dark faced women dye +with great skill and much labor, dipping again +and again in colors such as we know nothing of.”</p> +<p>Florence examined the cloth, then spread it +over the back of a chair. Then she sat down. +There was a puzzled look on her face.</p> +<p>“It’s very beautiful,” she mused. “One could +not hope to buy a more perfect present, sight +unseen, but I’m wondering why a man should +be willing to trace me down at infinite pains and +then follow me in the face of danger and in the +teeth of a storm for the sake of getting possession +of two rolls of cloth. That seems strange.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_297">[297]</div> +<p>“Does seem odd,” said Meg. “But wait! +Here’s something else.” She drew two long +pasteboard tubes from the bottom of the bag.</p> +<p>“What do you suppose?” whispered Florence. +Inserting one finger in the first tube she twisted +it about, then began drawing it out. A roll of +papers appeared.</p> +<p>“Papers,” she whispered. “Probably important +papers; deeds, stocks and bonds, perhaps.”</p> +<p>Imagine her surprise when, having drawn +the papers out and partly unrolled them, she +found them to be pictures.</p> +<p>“Pictures!” she exclaimed in disgust. “And +only printed pictures at that.”</p> +<p>“But such wonderful pictures!” exclaimed +Meg, holding one out to view.</p> +<p>It was indeed a wonderful picture, one of +those vague, misty things that came out of the +great war. This one was of a smoke clouded +cannon in the foreground, belching black smoke +and fire, and in the midst of the smoke, forming +herself out of it, a most beautiful black-haired +woman, her eyes burning, her hands +clawing, leaping straight at the enemy.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_298">[298]</div> +<p>“It <i>is</i> a wonderful picture,” said Florence +when they had gazed at it in silence for a time. +“But after all, it is only a print, and can’t be +worth much. I still don’t see——”</p> +<p>“Tell you what,” Meg broke in, “let’s unroll +them all and weight them down on the floor +with books so we can have a good look.”</p> +<p>“Good idea,” said Florence, beginning to +unroll one.</p> +<p>It was truly a remarkable collection of pictures +which at length carpeted the floor. War +pictures, all of them, and all displaying that +strong spiritual interpretation which was so +common in pictures of those times. A French +airplane falling in flames and beneath it an angel +waiting to bear away the soul of the brave +aviator; the American flag drifting in the +clouds and seen from afar by a French soldier +in the trenches; such were the themes.</p> +<p>“Don’t you think they’re grand?” said Meg.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_299">[299]</div> +<p>“Yes,” Florence responded, “but after all, +they are only prints of the work of some great +master. ‘Veny LeCarte’” she read at the bottom +of one. “I believe, yes, they’re all by the +same man.”</p> +<p>For some time they sat there in silence. +They were at last about to rise when there came +a light rap at their door.</p> +<p>“Let me in,” came from outside. “I saw +the light in the room as I was passing and +thought I’d come up to say ‘Good morning and +Merry Christmas.’” It was Lucile.</p> +<p>“Merry Christmas yourself,” exclaimed Florence, +throwing wide the door. “Come in.”</p> +<p>“This is Meg, Lucile; and Meg, that’s Lucile,” +she smiled.</p> +<p>“But Florence, where in the world did you +get those marvelous etchings?” exclaimed Lucile +after she shook hands with Meg. “And +why do you carpet your floor with them? I +nearly stepped on one.”</p> +<p>“Etch—etchings!” stammered Florence. +“They’re mine—at least I bought them.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_300">[300]</div> +<p>“Bought them! You? You bought them!” +Lucile stared incredulous. Then, bending over, +she read the name at the bottom of one. After +that her eyes roved from picture to picture.</p> +<p>“Veny LeCarte,” she murmured as if in a +dream. “And she says she bought them!” +She dropped weakly into a chair.</p> +<p>“Florence,” she said at last, “do you know +who Veny LeCarte was?”</p> +<p>“N-o.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll tell you. He was one of the most +famous artists of France. He made etchings +of the war. No one could surpass him. And +unlike his fellow artists, who allowed a hundred +copies to be made from each plate, he allowed +but twenty. Then the plates were destroyed. +He made these pictures. You have nearly all +of them. And then he went away to the war, +and was killed.</p> +<p>“Since that time his etchings have been +much prized and have brought fabulous prices. +Oh, Florence, tell me how you got them! +Surely, surely you didn’t buy them!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_301">[301]</div> +<p>“I did,” said Florence unsteadily, hardly +knowing whether to laugh or cry, “but I +bought them in a strange way. I’ll tell you +about it.” Then she told Lucile the whole +story.</p> +<p>“And those pictures,” she said at the end, +“are the reason that man dogged my footsteps. +It had not been his bag. He had not owned +the pictures, but some way he had learned that +the pictures were in this bag. He had meant +to buy the bag, but arrived too late.”</p> +<p>The hour was late. What did that matter? +To-morrow was Christmas. Florence set about +brewing some cocoa, and over the cups the girls +engaged in such a talk fest as they had not +enjoyed for months. Everything that had happened +to Lucile during those eventful weeks, +from the first night to the last, had to be told. +The wonderful cape, with its white fox collar, +must be displayed. The gold coins must be +jingled and jangled. Meg’s story must be told +all over again.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_302">[302]</div> +<p>After that, problems yet unsolved must be +discussed. Was the hawk-eyed man who had +attempted to gain possession of Florence’s bag +the same one who had attempted to kidnap +Cordie?</p> +<p>“That question,” said Lucile to Florence, +“can only be settled by you going down to +the police station and looking at him.”</p> +<p>“In that case, it will never be answered,” +said Florence, with a shudder.</p> +<p>Would a romance spring up between the rich +girl Cordie and the gallant young policeman, +Patrick O’Hara? Who could tell? So the +conversation rambled on until early morning. +At last Lucile hurried away and Meg and Florence +prepared for three winks.</p> +<p>As Florence, with Meg by her side, was +drifting off to sleep, she heard Meg say:</p> +<p>“To-morrow I must go back to the ship.”</p> +<p>“Indeed you’ll not,” she roused up to protest. +“You’ll stay right here to-morrow and +every day. And you’re going to school, too. +I need you to guard all my—my treasure.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_303">[303]</div> +<p>How the pictures came to be in the bag +which Florence had purchased at the sale, will +probably always remain a secret. Perhaps the +one who left the bag did not realize the value +of the etchings. Who knows what may have +been the reason? But they were truly valuable, +and Florence learned this for certain on the +following Monday. Later she sold them to +a dealer for a good round sum. This money +went far, not only to smooth the road to her +own education, but to enable her to give Meg +many a lift along the way.</p> +<h2 id="c26"><br /><span class="sc">The Roy J. Snell Books</span></h2> +<p>Mr. Snell is a versatile writer who knows how to +write stories that will please boys and girls. He has +traveled widely, visited many out-of-the-way corners +of the earth, and being a keen observer has found +material for many thrilling stories. His stories are full +of adventure and mystery, yet in the weaving of the +story there are little threads upon which are hung lessons +in loyalty, honesty, patriotism and right living.</p> +<p>Mr. Snell has created a wide audience among the +younger readers of America. Boy or girl, you are sure +to find a Snell book to your liking. His works cover +a wide and interesting scope.</p> +<p>Here are the titles of the Snell Books:</p> +<h3 id="c27"><i>Mystery Stories for Boys</i></h3> +<dl><dt>1. Triple Spies</dt> +<dt>2. Lost in the Air</dt> +<dt>3. Panther Eye</dt> +<dt>4. The Crimson Flash</dt> +<dt>5. White Fire</dt> +<dt>6. The Black Schooner</dt> +<dt>7. The Hidden Trail</dt> +<dt>8. The Firebug</dt> +<dt>9. The Red Lure</dt> +<dt>10. Forbidden Cargoes</dt> +<dt>11. Johnny Longbow</dt> +<dt>12. The Rope of Gold</dt> +<dt>13. The Arrow of Fire</dt> +<dt>14. The Gray Shadow</dt> +<dt>15. Riddle of the Storm</dt> +<dt>16. The Galloping Ghost</dt> +<dt>17. Whispers at Dawn; or, The Eye</dt> +<dt>18. Mystery Wings</dt> +<dt>19. Red Dynamite</dt> +<dt>20. The Seal of Secrecy</dt> +<dt>21. The Shadow Passes</dt> +<dt>22. Sign of the Green Arrow</dt></dl> +<h3 id="c28"><i>The Radio-Phone Boys’ Series</i></h3> +<dl><dt>1. Curlie Carson Listens In</dt> +<dt>2. On the Yukon Trail</dt> +<dt>3. The Desert Patrol</dt> +<dt>4. The Seagoing Tank</dt> +<dt>5. The Flying Sub</dt> +<dt>6. Dark Treasure</dt> +<dt>7. Whispering Isles</dt> +<dt>8. Invisible Wall</dt></dl> +<h3 id="c29"><i>Adventure Stories for Girls</i></h3> +<dl><dt>1. The Blue Envelope</dt> +<dt>2. The Cruise of the O’Moo</dt> +<dt>3. The Secret Mark</dt> +<dt>4. The Purple Flame</dt> +<dt>5. The Crimson Thread</dt> +<dt>6. The Silent Alarm</dt> +<dt>7. The Thirteenth Ring</dt> +<dt>8. Witches Cove</dt> +<dt>9. The Gypsy Shawl</dt> +<dt>10. Green Eyes</dt> +<dt>11. The Golden Circle</dt> +<dt>12. The Magic Curtain</dt> +<dt>13. Hour of Enchantment</dt> +<dt>14. The Phantom Violin</dt> +<dt>15. Gypsy Flight</dt> +<dt>16. The Crystal Ball</dt> +<dt>17. A Ticket to Adventure</dt> +<dt>18. The Third Warning</dt></dl> + +<p> </p> +<hr /> + +<h2><br />Transcriber’s Note</h2> +<ul><li>Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text—this +e-text is in the public domain in the country of publication.</li> +<li>Obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment; +non-standard spellings and dialect were left unchanged.</li> +<li>Promotional material was moved to the end of the book, and the +list of books in the three series was completed using other +sources.</li></ul> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class="pg"> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="pg">***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON THREAD***</p> +<p class="pg">******* This file should be named 41909-h.txt or 41909-h.zip *******</p> +<p class="pg">This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/1/9/0/41909">http://www.gutenberg.org/4/1/9/0/41909</a></p> +<p class="pg"> +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p class="pg"> +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.</p> + +<p class="pg">Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></p> + +<p class="pg">This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.</p> +</div> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/41909-h/images/cover.jpg b/41909-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..39bfc8b --- /dev/null +++ b/41909-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/41909-h/images/logo.jpg b/41909-h/images/logo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0e55429 --- /dev/null +++ b/41909-h/images/logo.jpg diff --git a/41909.txt b/41909.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6de171c --- /dev/null +++ b/41909.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6437 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Crimson Thread, by Roy J. Snell + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Crimson Thread + An Adventure Story for Girls + + +Author: Roy J. Snell + + + +Release Date: January 24, 2013 [eBook #41909] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON THREAD*** + + +E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Adventure Stories for Girls + +THE CRIMSON THREAD + +by + +ROY J. SNELL + + + + + + + +The Reilly & Lee Co. +Chicago + +Printed in the United States of America + +Copyright, 1925 +by +The Reilly & Lee Co. +All Rights Reserved + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I Two Hours Before Midnight 7 + II Crimson with a Strand of Purple 23 + III A New Mystery 36 + IV The Picture Girl 52 + V "Come and Find Me" 67 + VI The Iron Ring 80 + VII Cordie's Mad Flight 93 + VIII The Diamond-Set Iron Ring 109 + IX Her Double 136 + X Cordie's Strange Ride 153 + XI As Seen from the Stairway 167 + XII Silver Gray Treasure 175 + XIII Lucile's Dream 181 + XIV The Newspaper Picture 187 + XV "With Contents, If Any" 192 + XVI A Great Day 205 + XVII An Icy Plunge 215 + XVIII The Mystery Lady's New Role 229 + XIX Meg Wields a Belaying Pin 234 + XX The Great Moment 246 + XXI The Man in Gray 254 + XXII The Finish 263 + XXIII Meg's Secret 271 + XXIV Three Questions 277 + XXV What the Brown Bag Held 294 + + + + + THE CRIMSON THREAD + + + + + CHAPTER I + TWO HOURS BEFORE MIDNIGHT + + +Starting back with a suppressed exclamation of surprise on her lips, +Lucile Tucker stared in mystification and amazement. What was this +ghost-like apparition that had appeared at the entrance to the long dark +passage-way? A young woman's face, a face of beauty and refinement, +surrounded by a perfect circle of white. In the almost complete darkness +of the place, that was all Lucile could see. And such a place for such a +face--the far corner of the third floor of one of the largest department +stores in the world. At that very moment, from somewhere out of the +darkness, came the slow, deep, chiming notes of a great clock telling off +the hour of ten. Two hours before midnight! And she, Lucile, was for a +moment alone; or at least up to this moment she had thought herself +alone. + +What was she to make of the face? True, it was on the level with the top +of the wrapper's desk. That, at least, was encouraging. + +"That white is a fox skin, the collar to some dark garment that blends +completely with the shadows," Lucile told herself reassuringly. + +At that moment a startling question sent her shrinking farther into the +shadows. "If she's a real person and not a spectre, what is she doing +here? Here, of all places, at the hour of ten!" + +That was puzzling. What had this lady been doing in that narrow passage? +She could not be a member of the working force of the store. No sales +person would come to work in such a superb garment as this person wore. +Although Lucile had been employed in the book department for but ten +days, she had seen all those who worked here and was certain enough that +no such remarkably beautiful face could have escaped her notice. + +"She--why she might be anything," Lucile told herself. "A--thief--a +shoplifter. Perhaps she stole that very cape--or whatever it is she +wears. Perhaps--" + +Suddenly her heart gave a leap. Footsteps were approaching. The next +instant she saw a second face appear in the narrow line of light which +the street lights cast through the window. + +"Laurie Seymour," she breathed. + +Laurie was the new man in the department. He had been working at the +boys' and girls' books for only three days, yet Lucile liked him, liked +him tremendously. He was so friendly, even-tempered and different. And he +seemed a trifle mysterious. + +"Mysterious," she mused, "perhaps here's the mystery answered." + +It certainly did seem so, for after the apparition in white had whispered +a word or two, Laurie looked at her strangely for a second, drew from his +pocket a slip of paper and handing it to her, quickly vanished into the +shadows. The next instant the apparition vanished, too. Again Lucile +found herself alone in the far corner of the mammoth store, surrounded by +darkness. + +Perhaps you have been wondering what Lucile and Laurie were doing in the +great store at this hour. Since the doors are closed at six o'clock, you +have no doubt thought of the entire place as being shrouded in darkness +and utterly deserted. These were the days of the great rush of sales that +comes before Christmas. That evening eight thousand books had been +trucked into the department to be stowed away on or under tables and +shelves. Twenty sales persons had been given "pass outs"; which meant +that they might pass _in_ at seven o'clock and work until ten. They had +worked like beavers; making ready for the rush that would come on the +morrow. + +Now the great bulk of the work had been done. More than half of the +workers had chirped a cheery "Good-night" and had found their way down a +marble stairway to the ground floor and the street. Lucile had been sent +by "Rennie," the head sales-lady of juveniles, to this dark section for +an armful of books. Here in this dark corner a part of Laurie's true +character had, uninvited, come to her. + +"He gave her his pass-out," she said to herself. "With that she can leave +the building with her stolen goods." + +For a second, as she thought of this, she contemplated following the +mystery woman and bringing her back. + +"But that," she told herself, "would be dangerous. That passage is a +hundred feet long and only four feet wide; then it turns sharply and goes +two hundred feet farther. She may carry a knife; such women do. In that +place she could murder me and no one would know until morning. + +"Of course," she reflected, "there's the other end of the passage where +it comes out at the offices. She must leave the passage there if she does +not come back this way. I might call the watchmen. They could catch her. +It's a perfect trap; she's like a mouse in a boot. But then--" + +She paused in her mad rush of thought. What proof had she that this +beautiful creature was a thief? What indeed? And what right had she to +spy upon her and upon Laurie? Truth was, she had none at all. She was a +sales person, not a detective. Her job was that of putting books on +shelves and tables and selling them; her immediate task that of taking an +armful of books to Rennie. Her simple and sole duty lay just there. Then, +too, in the short time she had known Laurie Seymour, she had come to like +him. + +"He might be innocent of any real wrong," she reasoned. "If I go +blundering into things I may be serving a friend badly indeed." + +"But," she was brought up short by a sudden thought, "if he gave her his +pass-out, how's he to leave the building?" + +How indeed? In a great store such as this, where hundreds of thousands of +dollars worth of rare jewels and much silver and gold are kept and where +princely furs and priceless old paintings are on display, it is necessary +to maintain a constant vigil against thieves. "Pass-outs" are given to +all employees who enter or leave the store after closing hours. It was +true enough that without his pass-out, Laurie could not get by the +eagle-eyed guard who kept constant vigil at the only door where the +employees were permitted to pass out to the street. + +"But the books," she murmured, starting up, "Rennie will be waiting." + +Rennie, whose real name was Miss Renton, appeared to be in no hurry. +Having become interested in writing down lists of books that were to be +ordered in the morning, she had so far forgotten the girl as to exclaim +as she came up: + +"Why, Lucile! I thought you had gone! Now, dearie, just put those books +down right there. We can take care of them before the rush begins in the +morning. Run along now and get your coat. You must go home. It's past +ten, less than two hours till midnight!" + +"Yes, but--" + +Lucile checked herself just in time. She had been about to say that she +was afraid to go for her coat. And indeed she was, for was it not hanging +on the wall in that narrow passage at the door of which the mystery lady +had appeared? + +"But it wouldn't do to tell," she thought, "I--I've got to go alone." + +Go she did, but with much fear and trembling. + +She might have spared herself all this trembling, for there was no one in +the dark passage. + +But what was this? The row of coat hooks were all empty save one, her +own, and on that hook--what could it mean?--on that hook hung not her own +too frankly thin and threadbare coat, but a magnificent thing of midnight +blue and white. It was the cape with the white fox collar worn by the +mystery woman. + +Even as her hand touched the fox skin she knew it was far more costly +than she had thought. + +"It's over my coat," she breathed. "I've only to leave it." + +This, she found, was not true. _Her coat had vanished._ The cape had been +left in its stead and, as if to further perplex and alarm her, the +midnight blue unfolded, revealing a superb lining of Siberian squirrel. + +"Oh!" Lucile exclaimed as her trembling fingers dropped to her side and +she fled the place. + +One consoling thought flashed across her mind. Rennie had not yet left +for the night. Rennie, the tall and slim, with a thread of gray in her +black hair, who had been in the department for no one knew how +long--Rennie would know what to do. The instant she was told all that had +happened she would say what the very next step must be. + +"The instant she is told," Lucile whispered to herself. Then suddenly she +realized that she did not wish to tell all she had seen. + +"Not just yet, at any rate," she told herself. "I'm not supposed to have +seen it. I want time to think. I'll tell Rennie only what I am supposed +to know--that my coat has been taken and this cape left in its stead." + +Rennie showed little surprise on hearing the story. "Someone has probably +taken the wrong coat," she said. + +"But that's not possible!" Lucile laughed at the very thought. + +"Why?" + +"I'll show you," and she dashed back for the cape. + +As Rennie saw the magnificent creation, she gasped with astonishment; +then began to murmur something about fairy princesses looking after poor +girls and leaving them gorgeous garments. + +"You can't go home without a wrap," she told Lucile. "They say there's a +regular blizzard outside. You'll simply have to wear it home." + +Taking the garment from Lucile's hands, she placed it upon her shoulders +with a touch that was half caress. Then, having fastened it under +Lucile's chin, she stood back to exclaim: + +"Why, dearie, you look charming!" + +"But--but how am I to get out of the building with it? No one will +believe that a mere sales girl owns a cape like this. It's new. Probably +it's been stolen." + +"Stolen!" exclaimed Rennie. "What nonsense! + +"Besides," she added in a quieter tone, "it's not quite new. The strings +that hold it together at the throat are worn a little smooth and there's +the least bit of a soil at the bottom. You wait ten minutes for me and +we'll go out together. I know the watchman. I'll take you out under my +wing." + +Greatly relieved by these words and intent on making the most of her wait +by having a good general look at the room, Lucile sauntered away to the +left where she was soon lost from sight behind tables, stacks of books, +and massive pillars. + +Since she had worked here but ten days, the charm of the place had not +yet worn off. The books, row on row of them, fascinated her. Here was a +wealth of learning that no one could hope to appropriate in a lifetime. +To the right of her was poetry, thousands of volumes; to the left, books +on travel, thousands more; and before her new fiction, tens of thousands. +Who would not envy her? It was a great place for one who loved books. + +With a feeling of sorrow she thought of the time when she must leave all +this wealth; when she must say goodbye to the wonderful friends she had +already formed here. In two short weeks she would be going back to the +University. Since she was dependent upon her own resources for her +support--and since for one who specialized in English there was quite as +much to be learned about books by selling as by reading them--her head +professor had quite readily granted her a month's leave of absence that +she might come down here to assist in meeting the Christmas rush. + +"Ah yes," she breathed, "it will be of the past in two more weeks. But in +two weeks much may happen. Think of what happened to-night! Think--" + +She was brought up short by a sound. Had it been a footstep? She could +not make sure for the floor was heavily carpeted. Instantly she became +conscious of the darkness that surrounded her like a shroud. Before her +loomed the dim outlines of the elevator cages. Distorted by the uncertain +light, these seemed the cells of some gloomy prison. Far off to the right +was a great rotunda. From the rail that surrounded this, when the lights +were on, one might gaze upward to dizzy heights and downward to dizzier +depths. Now she thought of that awe inspiring vault as if it were some +deep and mysterious cave. + +"Oh--ooo!" Lucile gasped. "This place gets spookier every moment. I'll go +back to--" + +Even as she spoke she caught a sound to her right. Impelled by sheer +curiosity, she took a dozen steps in that direction. + +Suddenly she started back. Against the wall a light had flashed on for a +second and in that second she had caught sight of a face--the face of +Laurie Seymour. + +Again the light came on. This time the flash was a little longer. She saw +his face clearly. On his finely cut features there was such a smile as +suggests anticipation of amusing adventure. + +In one hand he held the flashlight. Under his arm was a bundle of +corrugated paper such as is used in wrapping books for mailing. He was +standing by a square opening in the wall. Lucile knew in a vague sort of +way where that opening led. Books that had been wrapped were dropped in +there. A circular spiral chute, some three feet in diameter, wormed its +way like an auger hole down from this point to the sub-basement where was +located the shipping room. + +Even as she thought this through she saw Laurie swing his feet across the +opening. Then, just as the light flashed out, she again saw that amused +grin. The next second there came the sound of some heavy object gliding +downward. + +"He--he went down the chute!" she gasped. "He'll be killed!" + +How long she stood there, petrified with surprise and dread, she could +not have told. It could not have been many seconds but it seemed an hour. +At last the end came, a sickening thud sounding faint and far away. + +Without uttering a sound, but with heart beating wildly and feet flying +at almost superhuman speed, the girl raced across the room and down a +flight of broad marble stairs. + +"I must find him. He is hurt. Perhaps he is killed!" she kept repeating +to herself. + +Down one flight; down two; three; four, she sped. + +And then, in the darkness of this vast shipping room, she paused to +listen. + +Not a sound. She may as well have been alone in the catacombs of Egypt or +the Mammoth Cave. + +"Must be this way," she breathed. + +Truth was, she had lost her sense of direction. She was not sure which +way to go. She took a dozen steps forward. Finding herself confronted by +a dark bulk, she started walking round it. Having paused to think, she +found fear gripping at her heart. When she tried to retrace her steps she +discovered that the stairs had apparently vanished. She was lost. + +"Lost!" she whispered. "Lost in the subbasement of this great building at +night!" Even as she thought this there came to her, faint and far +distant, yet very distinct, the even tread of footsteps. + +"It's not Laurie. He doesn't walk like that. It--it's--" her heart stood +still, "it's a watchman! And here I am dressed in this magnificent +garment which does not belong to me. Somehow I must get back to the third +floor and to Rennie! But how? How!" + + + + + CHAPTER II + CRIMSON WITH A STRAND OF PURPLE + + +Panic, an unbelievable terror ten times stronger than her will, seized +Lucile and bore her fleetly down a dark, unknown aisle. The very thought +of being discovered by a watchman unknown to her, mingled with the +sensation of the fear of darkness, had driven her well-nigh frantic. + +"The cape," she whispered to herself. "I must not be found with the +cape!" + +Had she but possessed the power to reason quietly, she might have known +that the watchman, searching for an explanation of her strange conduct, +would, upon her suggesting it, take her back to the third floor and +Rennie. Not being in full possession of these powers, she abandoned +herself to panic. Snatching the cape from her shoulders she thrust it +under her arm and plunged on into the darkness. + +In the deeper shadows she saw dim forms looming up before her. Some +seemed giants ready to reach out and grasp her; some wild creatures +poised to fall upon her from the dark. + +Now she tripped and went sprawling. As she sprang to her feet she caught +the gleam of a light. Thinking it the watchman's flashlight, she was away +like the wind. + +At last pausing for breath, she listened. At first she heard only the +beating of her own heart. Then, faint and far away, came the mellow +chimes of the great clock announcing the arrival of half past ten. + +"Half past ten!" she whispered in consternation. "Rennie will leave. The +place will be in darkness and I shall be lost! What shall I do?" + +Again she caught a faint gleam of light. Watching it for a moment, and +seeing that it was steady and constant, she dared to creep toward it. + +Drawing nearer, she saw that it came drifting down an elevator shaft from +some place a long way above. + +"The elevator is there. The door is open!" she said to herself in +surprise. "And there is no one in it." + +Just then, as she strained her ears to listen, she caught again that +heavy, even tread of the watchman. + +Our nerves are strange masters. A great general is thrown into panic at +sight of a cat; a woman of national fame goes into convulsions at sight +of rippling water on the sea. As for Lucile, at that moment nothing could +have so overthrown her whole mental balance as that steady tramp-tramp of +the watchman. + +This time it drove her to the most curious action. As a wild animal, +driven, winded, cornered, will sometimes dash into the very trap that has +been set for him, so this girl, leaping forward, entered the elevator +cage. + +Had there been more time, it may have been that her scattered wits +returning would have told her that here, where the dim light set out her +whole form in profile, was the most dangerous spot of all. + +Before she had time to think of this the elevator gave a sudden lurch and +started upward. + +Nothing could have been more startling. Lucile had never seen an elevator +ascend without an operator at the levers and she naturally believed it +could not be done; yet here she was in the cage, going up. + +It was as if some phantom hand were in control. Darkness and silence +rendered it more spectral. The ever increasing speed shot terror to her +very heart. Sudden as had been the start, so sudden was the stop. + +Thrown to the floor and all but knocked unconscious, she slowly struggled +to her feet. What did it mean? What was to be the end of this terrible +adventure? + +As she looked before her she saw that the car had stopped about three +feet above some floor. The doors to that floor were shut. The catches, +however, were within her reach. Should she attempt to open them and make +a leap for it? + +Had she but known it, those doors were supposed to open only when the +cage was level with the floor. But the infinite power that tempers the +wind to the shorn lamb sometimes tampers with man-made doors. As if by +magic, the doors swung back at her touch and with a leap she was out and +away. + +Then, gripping her madly beating heart, she paused to consider. She was +free from the elevator, but where was she? Her situation seemed more +desperate than before. She had not counted the floors that sped by her. +She did not know whether she was on the sixth or the tenth floor. + +Reason was beginning to come into its own. With a steadier stride she +took a turn about the place. Putting out a hand, she touched first this +object, then that. + +"Furniture," she said at last. "Now on what floor is furniture sold?" + +She did not know. + +Coming at last to a great overstuffed davenport, she sat down upon it. +Feeling its drowsy comfort after her hot race, she was half tempted to +stretch herself out upon it, to spread the splendid cape over her, and +thus to spend the night. + +"It won't do," she decided resolutely. "Every extra moment I spend here +makes it worse." + +At that she rose and looked about her. Over to the right was a broad +stretch of pale light. + +"It's the moonlight falling through the great skylight of the rotunda," +she breathed. + +Instantly she began making her way in that direction. Arrived at the +railing, she looked down. She was high up. The very thought of the dizzy +depth below made her feel faint; yet, fighting against this faintness, +she persisted in looking down until she had established the fact that she +was on the sixth floor. There remained then but to descend three flights +of stairs to find the blessed third floor and, perhaps, Rennie. + +She was not long in descending. Then, such a silent cry of joy as escaped +her lips as she saw Rennie's light still dimly burning in the far corner. + +Slipping on the cape, the better to hide the dust and dirt she had +collected from many falls, she at last tiptoed up close to the desk where +Rennie was working. + +"Hello, dearie," said Rennie, smiling up at her through her thick +glasses. "Ready to go? In just one moment." + +Lucile caught her breath in astonishment. Then the truth burst upon her. +The whole wild adventure through which she had been driven at lightning +speed had consumed but half an hour. So intent upon her work had dear old +Rennie been that she had not noted the passing of time. + +Some three minutes later, arm in arm, they were making their way down the +dark and gloomy marble stairs; and a moment later, having safely passed +the guard, they were out on the deserted street. + +The instant they passed through the door they were caught in a great +whirl of wind and snow that carried them half the way to State Street +before they could check their mad gait. For Rennie, who was to take the +surface line, this was well enough; but for Lucile it meant an additional +half block of beating her way back to her station on the "L." + +With a screamed "Good-night" that was caught up and carried away by the +storm, she tore herself away and, bending low, leaped full into the teeth +of the gale. + +A royal battle ensued. The wind, seeming to redouble its fury at sight of +a fresh victim, roared at her, tore at her, then turning and twisting, +appeared to shake her as some low born parent shakes his child. Snow cut +her face. The blue cape, wrapping about her more than once, tripped her +for a near fall. + +"But it's warm! Oh, so warm!" she breathed. Then, even in the midst of +all this, she asked herself the meaning of all this strange mystery of +the night, and, of a sudden, the sight of Laurie stepping into that +tortuous chute flashed back upon the screen of her memory. + +Stopping stock still to grasp a post of the elevated's steel frame, she +steadied herself and tried to think. Should she turn back? Should she +make one more attempt to rescue Laurie from whatever plight he may have +gotten himself into? + +For a moment, swaying like a dead leaf on a tree, she clung there. + +"No! No!" she said at last, "I wouldn't go back there to-night! Not for +worlds!" She made one desperate leap across the street and was the next +moment beating her way up the steel stairway to the elevated. + +Once aboard the well heated train, with the fur lined cape adding its +cozy warmth to her chilled and weary body, she relaxed for the first time +to think in a quiet way of the night's affair. + +A careful review of events convinced her that she had behaved in quite a +wild and insane manner at times, but that on the whole the outcome was +quite satisfactory. Certainly she could not have been expected to return +home without a wrap on a night such as this. Surely she had had nothing +whatever to do with Laurie's giving away his pass-out, nor of his +flinging himself so recklessly down the parcel chute. He was almost a +stranger to her. Why, then, should she concern herself with the outcome +of an affair which he had clearly entered into of his own free will? + +On this last point she could not feel quite comfortable, but since the +elevated train was hurling her homeward and since she could not, had she +used her utmost will-power, have driven herself back into that great +darkened store, and since there was no likelihood of her being admitted +without a pass, she concluded that she must still be moving in the path +of destiny. + +In strange contrast to the wild whirling storm outside, she found her +room a cozy nook of comfort. After throwing off her street clothes and +going through a series of wild gymnastics that came very near to flying, +she drew on her dream robe, threw a dressing gown across her shoulders +then sank into a great overstuffed chair. There, curled up like a +squirrel in a nest of leaves, she gave herself over to cozy comfort and +to thoughts. + +She had arrived at a very comforting one--which was that since she had +worked until ten this night she need not report for duty until twelve the +next day--when a spot of color caught her eye. A tiny flash of crimson +shone out from a background of midnight blue. The midnight blue was the +rare cape which she had hung against the wall. + +"Wonder what that touch of scarlet means?" she whispered drowsily. +Immediately she thought of Hawthorne's "Scarlet Letter." She shuddered at +the thought. She had dreamed bad dreams for weeks after reading that +book. + +Gathering up her robe, she sprang lightly from the chair to put out a +hand and take up the folds of the cape. + +"A thread," she mused, "a crimson thread!" + +That the thread had not been accidentally caught up by the garment she +saw at once. With a needle it had been passed twice through the cloth, +then tied in a loose knot. It was at the place on the cape that rested +over one's heart. + +"Now why would one wear such a curious ornament?" she asked herself while +a puzzled look came on her face. + +"The Scarlet Letter, a crimson thread across one's heart. How similar! +How very strange!" she mused. Again she shuddered. Was this some ominous +omen? + +With deft fingers she untied the knot, and drawing the thread free, +carried it to her great chair where, intent upon examining the thread in +detail, she again curled herself into a position of perfect comfort. + +"Huh!" she exclaimed after a time. "Strange sort of thread! Looks like +ordinary silk thread at first. About size 40 I'd say, but if you examine +it closely you discover a strand of purple running through it, a very +fine strand, but unmistakable, running from end to end. How very, very +unusual." + +"Anyway," she said slowly after another moment's thought, "the whole +affair is dark, hidden, mysterious. And," she exclaimed, suddenly leaping +from her chair and clasping her hands in ecstasy, "how I do adore a +mystery. I'll solve it, too! See if I don't! And I must! I must! This +cape is not mine. I cannot keep it. It is my duty to see that it is +returned to the owner, whoever she is and whatever her motive for +entering our store at that unearthly hour and for leaving her wrap +instead of mine." + +Drawing a needle from the cushion on her chifforobe, she threaded it with +the crimson bit with its purple strand, then, after selecting the spot +from which it had been taken, she drew it through the wonderful cloth +twice and knotted it as it had been before. + +"There," she breathed, "that's done. Now for bed." + +Two thoughts passed across her dreamy mind before she fell asleep: "I may +sleep until ten. How perfectly gorgeous! The first person I shall look +for when I enter the store will be Laurie Seymour. I wonder if I shall +see him? How exciting. I wonder--" + +In the midst of this last wonder she fell asleep. + + + + + CHAPTER III + A NEW MYSTERY + + +It was a very satisfactory reflection that Lucile's mirror returned to +her next morning at ten. After fifteen minutes of such gymnastics as even +a girl can perform in her own room with the shades down, followed by five +minutes of a cold shower, she stood there pink and glowing as a child. +The glow of health and joy remained on her cheeks even after her drab +working dress had been drawn on. It was heightened by the half hiding of +them in that matchless white fox collar. Almost instantly, however, a +look of perplexity overspread her face as her eyes caught the reflection +of a tiny spot of crimson against the darker color of the gorgeous cape +which had so mysteriously come into her possession. + +"The crimson thread," she whispered. "I do wonder what it could mean." + +The elevated train whirled her swiftly to her place of toil. + +To her vast relief, the first familiar figure to catch her eyes as she +passed between the tables of books in her own corner at the store was +that of Laurie Seymour. + +Could it be that as he smiled and nodded to her she caught in his eye a +look of witching mockery? One thing she did see plainly enough--there +were slight bruises and two freshly plastered cuts on his right hand. + +"Got them when he went down the chute," she told herself. + +As she paused before him she threw back the broad front of the mysterious +cape and said: + +"You should know something about this, I am sure." + +"Beg pardon?" He started and Lucile thought she saw a sudden flush on his +cheek. + +"You should know something about this," she repeated. + +"Why, no, begging your pardon again," he answered easily. "Having had no +sisters and having never ventured into matrimony, I know almost nothing +about women's garments. I should say, though, that it was a fine cape, a +corking fine one. You should be proud of it, really you should." + +This was all said in such a serious tone, and yet with such a concealed +touch of mockery in it, that Lucile abruptly turned away. Plainly there +was nothing to be learned from him concerning the mystery, at least not +at the present moment. + +As she turned, her eyes chanced to fall upon a stack of books that stood +by the end of the table. + +"Well, well!" she exclaimed. "There were two hundred books in that stack +last night! Now they are at least a third gone!" + +"Yes," Laurie smiled, and in his smile there was a look of personal +interest. "Yes, they are going very well indeed. We shall need to be +ordering more soon. You see, it's the critics. They say it is a good +book, an especially good book for young folks. I can't say as to that. It +sells, I can assure you of that, and is going to sell more and more." + +As Lucile made her way to the cloak room, she was reminded of a rumor +that had passed through the department on the previous day. The rumor had +it that Jefrey Farnsworth, the author of this remarkable book "Blue +Flames," (of which she and Laurie had just been speaking, and which was +proving to be a best seller in its line and threatening to outsell the +latest popular novel) had disappeared shortly after the publication of +his book. + +The rumor went on further to dilate upon the subject to the extent that +this promising young man (for he was a young man--no rumor about that) +had received a letter the very day he had vanished. There was no mystery +about the letter. Having been found on his table, it had proven to be but +a letter from his publishers saying that his book would undoubtedly be a +great success and that, should he be willing to arrange a lecture to be +given before women's clubs regarding his work and his books, they had no +doubt but that he would greatly profit by it and that in the end his +sales would be doubled. Women's clubs all over the land would welcome him +with open hands and sizable checks. The letter had said all this and some +few other things. And upon that day, perhaps the most eventful day of his +life, Farnsworth had vanished as completely as he might had he grown +wings and flown to the moon. + +"Only a rumor," Lucile said to herself, "but if it's true, it's mystery +number two." + +Instantly there flashed through her mind the puzzling look of unusual +interest that she had noticed on Laurie's face as he spoke of the huge +sales of the book. + +With this recollection came a strong suggestion which she instantly put +from her mind. + +After hanging the mysterious cape in a secluded corner, she hunted out +her sales-book and plunged into her work. Even a sales-book of soiled red +leather may be entrusted with a mystery. This she was to learn soon +enough. + +Such an afternoon as it proved to be! She had need enough for that robust +strength of hers. Saturday afternoon it was--two weeks before Christmas. +As the clock struck the noon hour the great office buildings poured forth +people like a molten stream. Bosses, bookkeepers, stenographers, +sales-managers, office boys, every type of man, woman and overgrown child +flooded the great stores. Mingling with these were the thousands upon +thousands of school children, teachers, and parents, all free for an +afternoon of pleasure. + +A doubtful sort of pleasure, this. Jostling elbow to elbow, trampling and +being trampled upon, snatching here, snatching there, taking up goods and +tossing them down in the wrong place, they fought their way about. The +toy department, candy department, children's book department--these were +the spots where the great waves of humanity broke most fiercely. Crowded +between a fat woman with a muff and a slim man with a grouch, Lucile +wrote a sale for a tired looking little lady with two small children. In +the meantime an important appearing woman in tight fitting kid gloves was +insisting that Lucile had promised to "wait upon" her next. As a matter +of fact Lucile had not seen her until that very moment, and had actually +promised to sell a large book to a small person who was in a hurry to +catch a train. + +"Catch a train!" Lucile exclaimed to the checking girl. "There must be a +train leaving every two minutes. They're all catching trains." + +So, crowded, pushed and jostled about, answering a hundred reasonable +questions and two hundred unreasonable ones every hour; smiling when a +smile would come, wondering in a vague sort of way what it was all about, +catching the chance remark of a customer about "Christmas spirit," Lucile +fought her way through the long day. + +Then at last, a half hour before closing time, there came the lull. +Blessed lull! Almost as abruptly as it had come, the flood ebbed away. +Here and there a little group of people moved slowly away; and here +someone argued over a long forgotten book or hurried in to snatch up a +book and demand instant attention. But in the main the flood-tide had +spent itself. + +Creeping back into a dark corner and seating herself upon the floor, +Lucile added up her sales and then returned to assist in straightening up +the tables which had taken on the appearance of a chip yard. + +"People have a wonderful respect for books," she murmured to Laurie. + +"Yes, a lot of respect for the one they buy," smiled Laurie. "They'll +wreck a half dozen of them to find a spotless copy for their own +purchasing." + +"Yes, they do that, but just think what a shock to dear Rollo or Algernon +if he should receive a book with a slightly torn jacket-cover for a +Christmas present!" + +"That _would_ be a shock to his nervous system," laughed Laurie. + +For a time they worked on in silence. Lucile put all the Century classics +in order and filled the gaps left by the frenzied purchasers. Laurie, +working by her side, held up a book. + +"There," he said, "is a title for you." + +She read the title: "The Hope for Happiness." + +"Why should one hope for it when they may really have it?" Laurie +exclaimed. + +"May one have happiness?" Lucile asked. + +"Surely one may! Why if one--" + +Lucile turned to find a customer at her elbow. + +"Will you sell me this?" + +The customer, a lady, thrust a copy of Pinocchio into her hand. + +"Cash?" + +"Yes. I'll take it with me, please." + +There was a sweet mellowness in the voice. + +Without glancing up, Lucile set her nimble fingers to writing the sale. +As she wrote, almost automatically, she chanced to glance at the +customer's hands. + +One's hands may be as distinctive and tell as much of character as one's +face. It was so with these hands. Lucile had never seen such fingers. +Long, slim, tapering, yet hard and muscular, they were such fingers as +might belong to a musician or a pickpocket. Lucile felt she would always +remember those hands as easily as she might recall the face of some other +person. As if to make doubly sure that she might not forget, on the +forefinger of the right hand was a ring of cunning and marvelous design; +a dragon wrought in gold, with eyes of diamonds and a tongue of ten tiny +rubies. No American craftsmanship, this, but Oriental, Indian or +Japanese. + +Without lifting her eyes, Lucile received the money, carried her book to +the wrapper and delivered the package to the purchaser. Then she returned +to her task of putting things to rights. + +Scarcely a moment had elapsed when, on glancing toward her cash book +which lay open on a pile of books, she started in surprise. + +There could be no mistaking it. From it there came a flash of crimson. +Imagine her surprise when she found that the top page of her book had +been twice pierced by a needle and that a crimson thread had been drawn +through and knotted there in exactly the same manner as had that other +bit of thread on the blue cape. + +It required but a glance to assure her that through this thread there ran +the single strand of purple. The next instant she was dashing down the +aisle, hoping against hope that she might catch a glimpse of the mystery +woman with the extraordinary fingers and the strange ring. + +In this she failed. The woman had vanished. + +"And to think," she exclaimed in exasperation, "to think that I did not +look at her face! Such a foolish way as we do get into--paying no +attention to our customers! If I had but looked at her face I would have +known. Then I would have demanded the truth. I would have--" she paused +to reflect, "well, perhaps I shouldn't have said so much to her, but I +would have known her better. And now she is gone!" + +But there was yet work to be done. Drawing herself together with an +effort, she hurried back to her table where the disorderly pile of books +lay waiting to be rearranged. + +"Speaking of happiness," said Laurie, for all the world as if their +conversation had not been interrupted, "I don't see much use of writing a +book on the hope for happiness when one may be happy right here and now. +Oh, I know there are those who sing: + + "'This world's a wilderness of woe. + This world is not my home.' + +"But that's religion, of a sort; mighty poor sort, too, I'd say. Idea +being that this world's all wrong and that if you enjoy any of it, if the +scent of spring blossoms, the songs of birds, the laugh of children at +play, the lazy drift of fleecy clouds against the azure sky, if these +things make you happy, then you're all wrong. I guess they'd say: 'Life +here is to be endured. Happiness only comes after death.' Huh! I don't +think much of that." + +"How can one secure happiness?" Lucile asked the question almost +wistfully. She was over-tired and not a little perplexed. + +"There's a lot of things that go with making people happy," said Laurie +as his nimble fingers flew from book to book. "I'm quite sure that +happiness does not come from long hours in a ball-room nor from smoking +cigarettes, nor any one of the many things that put dark rings about the +eyes of our young new rich or near rich, and that set their eyelids +twitching. + +"Happiness," he mused, throwing back his head and laughing softly. "Why, +it's as easy to be happy as it is to tell the truth. Have friends and be +true to them. Find a place you love to be and be there. Keep your body +and mind fit. Sleep eight hours; eat slowly; take two hours for quiet +thinking every day. Have a crowd you love, a crowd you feel that you +belong to and fit in with. Of course they'll not be perfect. None of us +are. But loveable they are, all the same. + +"For instance, take the crowd here," he said, lowering his voice. "You +and I are transients here. Christmas eve comes and out we go. But look at +Donnie and Rennie, Bob, Bettie, and dear old Morrison over there in the +corner. They're the regular ones, been here for years, all of them. + +"See here," he continued earnestly, "I'll bet that when you came in here +you had the popular magazine notion of the people who work in department +stores; slang of the worst kind, paint an inch thick, lip stick, sordid +jealousy, envy, no love, no fellowship. But look! What would happen if +Rennie, the dear mother and straw-boss of us all, should slip before a +car and be seriously injured to-night? What would happen? Not a soul of +us all, even us transients, but would dig down and give our last penny to +buy the things that would help her bear it. That's what I mean, a gang +that you belong to, that you suffer with, endure things with and enjoy +life with! That's the big secret of happiness." + +As Lucile listened to this short lecture on happiness, she worked. At +last her task was done. Then with a hurried: "Thanks awfully. Goodnight," +she rushed for the cloak-room preparatory to donning the fur-lined cape. +She half expected to find it gone, but it was not, and after throwing it +across her shoulders she dashed down the stairs to join the homeward +rushing throng. + +As she snuggled down beneath the covers that night, she found her mind +dwelling with unusually intense interest upon the events of the past two +days. Like pictures on a screen, strange, unanswerable questions passed +through her mind. Who was the mystery woman of the night shadows in the +book department? Why had Laurie given her his pass-out? Why had she left +her gorgeously beautiful cape behind for a shop girl to wear home? How +had the unusual crimson thread come to be drawn into the cloth of the +cape? Had the mystery woman put it there? Had she drawn that thread +through the page of Lucile's cash book? It seemed that she must have. But +why? Why? Why? This last word kept ringing in her ears. Why had Laurie +given up his pass-out? Where had he slept that night? How did it happen +that an elevator in a department store at night ran of its own accord +with no one to work the lever? Surely here were problems enough to keep +one small brain busy. + +Then again, there was the problem of the missing author of that +wonderfully successful book. What did Laurie know about that? Why had he +talked so strangely about it? + +When she had allowed all these problems to pass in review before her +mind's eye, she came to but one conclusion--that she would believe Laurie +a sincere and trustworthy person until he had been proven otherwise. Her +faith had been shaken a bit by the revelation of the night before. + +"Life," she whispered sleepily to herself, "is certainly strange. Surely +one who can talk so wonderfully about happiness can't be bad. And yet +it's all very mysterious." + +Right there she concluded that mysteries of the right sort added much to +the happiness of us all, and with that she fell asleep. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + THE PICTURE GIRL + + +Little dreaming of the stirring events that awaited her, and without the +slightest anticipation of the new mystery and unusual responsibilities +that were crowding in upon her that day, Lucile took her Monday morning +train with the quiet composure of one who, having enjoyed a perfect +Sunday of rest, looks forward with enthusiasm to a day of interesting +service. + +The supreme moment of that day arrived in a rather unusual place at a +time when the clock's hands were nearing the hour of 1:00. Before that, +however, there came hours of the usual toil which many would call +drudgery. From eight-thirty until ten there were few customers. Every +moment was taken up. Two truckloads of books had come down from the +apparently inexhaustable storerooms above. These must be placed on the +tables. Tables must be dusted; cash-books filled with blanks for the day; +books out of place must be returned to the proper section. + +As Lucile came and went in the performance of her allotted tasks, she was +more and more impressed with what Laurie had said about this group of +loyal friends, this company of sales-people who were so much like a very +large family. + +"They are all my friends, almost my kinsfolk," she told herself with a +little gulp of joy that was very near to tears. + +And so they were. Even outside her little corner they greeted her with a +comradely smile. There was the pleasing lady who sold new fiction, and +the tumbled haired lady who sold travel books and had sold books in +stores from coast to coast. In the first alcove was the worried lady who +handled standard sets; in the second was the dignified one who murmured +in low, church-like tones of prayer books and rosaries; while in the +farthest, deepest alcove of all was dear old Morrison, the young-old man +with premature gray hair and a stoop. But his lustrous eyes were lighted +with an earnestness such as one seldom looks into, and he had an air of +poise and refinement and a smile of perfect fellowship. He sold fine +bindings, and knew them well. Besides that, he could tell you the name +and publishers of every book for serious minded people published since +the days of Ben Franklin. + +Working among such people as these, and in spite of all her strenuous +hours of labor, Lucile dreaded the coming of Christmas Eve when she must +bid them all farewell and return to her studies. Never before had she +been so tempted to relinquish her cherished hope of university training +and to settle down to work among a host of interesting and loyal friends. + +So the forenoon wore away, and with the passing of each hour the great +and startling event of that day came sixty minutes nearer. + +The noon hour at last arrived. Having hastily eaten her paper-bag lunch, +Lucile hurried from the store. There was yet three-quarters of an hour to +spend. She would spend the time sauntering through a place of great +enchantment, the Art Museum. + +Five minutes of battling with wind and intense cold, and she was there. +Racing up the stone steps, she paused an instant for breath. Then she +entered and hurried up the broad marble stairway. At last she came to a +place where a great circular leather cushioned seat in the center of a +room offered opportunity for perfect repose. There she sank down, to hide +her eyes with her hands until the frost and the glare of snow had left +them, then to open them slowly and to squint away contentedly toward the +wall which lay before her. + +Before her, and a little to the left, was a painting from Ireland, the +work of a great master. It was a simple thing in a way, a boy clad in +humble garb shoveling snow, and a girl with a shawl thrown over her +shoulders, coming down the well cleaned path. Very simple people these, +but happy and kind. There were sparrows perched along the path. A very +humble theme, but such masses of wonderful color! Had she not seen it, +Lucile would not have believed that artists could have achieved such +perfection. + +To the left was an equally lovely picture; dawn on the heather, the sun +rising from the dripping dewy green and a girl reaper going to her toil +with the song of a lark on her lips and joy in her eye. + +These were the pictures that brought rest and joy to Lucile's half hour +of leisure and helped prepare her for events that cast no shadow before +them. + +She had descended the marble stairs and was about to leave the building +when a picture arrested her attention; a living picture of a girl. And +such a girl as she was! A supple grace to her waist and shoulders, a +proper curve at the ankles, and a face--such a face! Cheeks aglow with +the color the frosty out-of-doors had given them. Cheeks offset by dark, +deep-set eyes, made darker still by eyelashes that were like hemlocks in +a snow covered valley, and a smooth oval forehead backed by a wealth of +short, wavy hair. This was the picture; only faintly sketched, for behind +all this beauty there was a certain strength of character, a force of +will that seemed a slumbering fire gleaming from her eyes. In the +background were people and marble pillars. The girl had just entered the +Museum and, uncertain of her way, stood irresolute. + +"She's from the country," Lucile whispered to herself. "Her clothes show +that. But how startling, how unusual, how--how striking she is! + +"She's like the pictures I've been seeing, they were unusual and +priceless. She is the same. And yet," a feeling of fear and sadness swept +over her, "those priceless pictures are carefully guarded night and day. +I wonder if she is? She seems alone. It's not to be wondered at, their +guarding those pictures. Who would not like one for his room? Who would +not love to open his eyes each morning upon the girl in the 'Song of the +Lark'? But they'd wish to possess that girl, too. A father, a mother, +sister, brother, would be proud to possess her, to look at her every +morning, a--anyone would. And yet, she's not--" + +Her meditations were cut short by sight of a figure standing not ten feet +from her; a tall, slim, young man whose features might have been carved +from marble, and in whose eyes Lucile had surprised a steely glance such +as she had once caught in the beady eye of a down-swooping hawk. + +And then, as if enacting her part in a play, the girl of this living +picture suddenly wavered where she stood. Her face went white, then with +a little, wavering cry, she crumpled in a heap on the marble floor. + +Lucile could have sworn the girl was alone and uncertain of her next +move. She understood what had happened. Having traveled far in the +intense cold, the girl had been overcome by the heavy warmth of the +museum and had fainted. The thing that happened next puzzled Lucile +beyond belief. + +After ten seconds of motionless panic, a half score of people sprang to +her assistance. But the young man, he of the marble features and steely +eye, was first up. + +"It's all right," he was saying in a quiet, even tone, "she's my sister. +I'll take care of her. We have a car outside." + +Lifting the unconscious girl in his arms, he started for the door. + +"It's not all right! It's not all right!" Lucile fairly shrieked the +words. + +To her vast astonishment, the next moment she was gripping a burly guard +by the arm and saying in a voice hoarse with emotion: + +"It's not all right! He's not her brother. He--he's stealing her! Stop +them!" + +To her further astonishment, the guard believed her. With three strides +he reached the door and blocked it. + +"Here! Here!" he said in the tone of one who is accustomed to be obeyed. +"It won't do. You can't take her out like that." + +"Oh, all right," there was a note of forced indifference in the young +man's voice, but there was murder in his cold, hard eyes. "All right, if +you know so much. Fetch some water and get her out of it. She'll tell you +I'm her brother. But be quick about it. You're a beef-head for ordering a +gentleman about." + +Lucile's heart went to the bottom of her shoes. What was this? Had her +emotions led her astray? Was he indeed the girl's brother? It would seem +so, else why would he consent so readily to the delay, which must mean +proof one way or another? She was soon to see. Tremblingly, she awaited +the outcome. Dropping upon the marble floor, she pillowed the girl's head +in her lap and brushing away the hair from the face, caressed the cold +forehead with a soft hand. + +When the water had been brought Lucile dampened her handkerchief and laid +it icy cold on the other's forehead. Almost instantly the eyes opened and +the girl, having dragged herself to a sitting position, stared about the +museum. + +"Wha--where am I?" she asked. "What has happened?" + +"You're in the Art Museum. You fainted." + +"Faint--fainted!" There was terror in her eyes. + +"It was the cold. It's nothing, really nothing." Lucile put a steadying +arm about her. "You'll be quite all right in a moment." + +"Now where is that brother of hers?" grumbled the guard. "He's nowhere to +be seen! He's gone!" + +"Gone?" echoed Lucile. + +"Brother?" said the girl in astonishment. "I have no brother. I am +alone." + +Such a wave of feeling swept over Lucile as made her sick and faint. She +had been right, dreadfully right. She had saved this girl, this wonderful +creature, from--she dared not think from what. + +For a moment, rocked by her emotions, she sat there in silence. At last, +with a supreme effort, she dragged herself to her feet. + +"You look the worst of the two," said the guard, giving her a keen +glance. + +"I'm all right," she protested stoutly. + +To the girl, whom she had assisted to her feet, she said, "You may come +with me if you wish. Our store's only two blocks away. There's a rest +room. You'll be all right there until you sort of get your bearings. +Perhaps I can help you." + +"I'd--I'd be glad to," said the other, clinging to her impulsively. + +So they left the museum together. Though she kept a sharp watch to right +and left, Lucile caught no sign of the volunteer brother, but she +shivered once or twice at the very thought of him. + + * * * * * * * * + +It was a very much perplexed Lucile who curled up in her big chair that +night for a few moments of quiet thought before retiring. + +A new mystery had been added to her already well filled list of strange +doings. "First," she said to herself, telling them off like beads on a +rosary, "there comes the beautiful mystery woman and the cape she left +behind; then Laurie Seymour and the vanishing author; then the crimson +thread; and now this girl." + +As she whispered this last she nodded toward the bed. There, lying +wrapped in slumber, was the beautiful girl she had saved in the museum. + +"She's even more beautiful in sleep than when awake," Lucile murmured. +"And such a strange creature! She hasn't told me a thing." + +The last statement was entirely true. Any notion Lucile had of the girl, +any guess at her hidden secrets, was based on observation and conjecture +alone. Not one word regarding them had escaped the strange girl's lips. + +Having accompanied Lucile to the store, she had lain upon a couch in the +"quiet room" for three hours. Whenever Lucile had stolen a moment from +work to look in upon her, the girl had appeared to be day-dreaming. Far +from being worried about events of the past or the immediate future, she +had appeared to be enjoying the recalling of an interesting adventure or +anticipating one. + +At five she had risen from the cot and, having brushed her hair and +arranged her clothing, had insisted upon helping her new-found friend to +put her tables to rights. She had accepted Lucile's invitation to pass +the night with her with the nonchalance of one who is offered this +courtesy from a long-time friend. + +Innocent of one scrap of baggage, in the same manner she had accepted +Lucile's offer of a dream robe. + +In only one respect had she showed her independence. Having produced a +dollar bill from somewhere on her person, she had insisted on paying for +her own frugal lunch. + +"Her clothes are the strangest of all," Lucile whispered to herself. +"When a girl comes upon a run of hard luck, she's likely to try to keep +up an appearance even though she is shabby underneath. But look at her; a +countrified suit of shiny blue serge, two years behind the times, and her +undergarments are new and of the finest silk, up to the minute, too. How +is one to explain that?" + +She was not disturbed in the least about the girl's morals. She was as +sweet and clean as a fresh blooming rose. Lucile would have sworn to +that. With the lights turned out, and with the tingling winter air +entering the open window, before retiring the girl had joined Lucile in +the nightly "setting up" exercises and had appeared to enjoy them, too. + +The strange girl's skin was like the finest satin. Her lines were +perfect, her muscles superb. Through lack of knowledge of the exercises, +she often blundered. But she could whirl more quickly, leap higher and +swing about more gracefully than Lucile, who had never failed to throw +her whole heart into her gym work. + +"All that," Lucile murmured as she drew off her bathrobe preparatory to +slipping beneath the covers, "all that, and she has not told me one word +about herself. For a country girl she certainly has her full supply of +reserve. To-morrow I am to try to get work for her as a wrapper. No doubt +I can do it. And then?" + +She thought about the future for a moment. She was alone this year. If +you have read our book, "The Cruise of the O'Moo," you will remember that +while living in the yacht in dry dock she had two companions--Florence +and Marion. Florence had gone home. Marion was in Alaska. Now Lucile was +alone. She would welcome a friend and, unless she had misread her +character, this girl had the qualities of a steadfast and loyal pal. + +"But her past?" Lucile whispered as she placed her slippers beneath the +bed and drew back the covers. "Ah well, we shall see." + +Once during the night she was wakened by the girl, who was evidently +talking in her sleep. + +"Don't let them. Don't! Don't!" she all but screamed as she threw out her +arms for protection from some dream foe. + +Putting her arms about her, Lucile held her tight until the dream had +passed and she fell back once more into peaceful slumber. + + + + + CHAPTER V + "COME AND FIND ME" + + +"I'll pull some wires." The kindly face of Morrison, the man of fine +bindings, gleamed as he said these words to Lucile next morning. "That's +the way things are done these days. I haven't much notion how they were +done in the past. But now, if I want anything, I pull some wires. For +instance, your young friend whom you found in the Art Museum and whose +name is Cordelia but whom you choose to call Cordie for short, wants work +in this store. You ask me to pull wires and I pull 'em. I pull one and +Miss So and So comes bowing out of her box of an office and I whisper +what I want. 'I'll pull some wires,' says she, putting on her best smile. +'I'll put in a wedge, a very thin wedge.' + +"She puts in her thin wedge. She pulls some wires and Mr. So and So up on +the eleventh floor bobs bowing out of his box and inclines his ear to +listen. + +"'Ah! Yes, I see, I see,' he murmurs. 'I shall pull some wires.' + +"He pulls some wires. A slip of paper appears. It is signed. It is given +to your friend. She goes here, she bobs there, and presently here she is. +She has accepted 'the iron ring,' wrapping packages with very gay company +all about her, having a good time and getting pay for it. But let me +assure you it could not be done without wires pulled and thin wedges +inserted. No, it could not be done. Nothing these days is done without +wires and wedges. Wires and wedges, wedges and wires, my dear." + +With this very lucid explanation of the way the world is run these days, +the benevolent Morrison bowed himself away. + +True to his prediction, two hours later the mysteriously silent Cordelia +was installed in an obscure corner of the book section, working at the +wrapping counter. She had accepted "the iron ring," said ring being an +affair of solid iron into which, in a semi-circular bump on its edge, had +been set a sharp bit of steel. The theory is that the steel edge cuts the +stout cord with which the bundles are tied. Truth was that more often the +sharp edge cut the girls' fingers than did the steel the string. So, in +time having learned wisdom, Cordie discarded this doubtful bit of jewelry +and used a knife. However, she worked on steadily and quite skillfully. +Before night it had become evident to all that the girl was proving a +credit to her young protector, and that, take it all in all, wires had +not been pulled nor wedges inserted in vain. + +Two matters of interest came to Lucile's attention that day. A rumor was +confirmed and a discovery made that in the end was to take someone +somewhere. + +First in regard to the discovery. Someone had left a morning paper on +Lucile's table of books. She snatched it up and was about to consign it +to the waste box when a headline caught her eye: + + "COME AND FIND ME" + +Beneath this was a second headline: + + "Two Hundred Dollars for a Handshake." + +There was not time to read what followed. Hastily tearing the corner from +the page, she thrust this scrap into her pocket to be read later. + +"The rumor's confirmed," said Laurie a moment later as he thrust a +clipping from a publisher's weekly in her hand. + +There were but a few lines. Lucile read them in a moment. It had to do +with the disappearance of the promising young writer, Jefrey Farnsworth, +author of "Blue Flames." + +"There can be no doubt," the article went on to say, "that the young man +has utterly disappeared. Being a single man with few intimates, and a man +who lived a rather secluded life, he has either slipped away without +being noticed or has met with some grave mishap. His publishers are +greatly disturbed over his disappearance. Without doubting his +willingness to assist in the task of being made famous, they had booked +him for talks before no less than twenty women's clubs. + +"As the popularity of his book, 'Blue Flames,' had grown by leaps and +bounds, every woman in the country was ready to be told by him just what +her son or daughter should or should not read. There was not the least +doubt but that here was the first genuine best seller in the line since +the first days of Treasure Island and Huckleberry Finn. Yes, the world +was ready to hear him speak. But Farnsworth was not ready--at least he +has vanished." + +"Twenty women's clubs," exclaimed Laurie, doing a feint in pantomime. +"Think of speaking to twenty women's clubs! Thousands and thousands of +kid-gloved, well fed, contented women! Oh! Wow! Twenty clubs, then twenty +more and twenty after that! To drink tea with 'em and to have them grip +your hand and tell you how they enjoyed the rot you fed to them! Oh! Ow! +Ow!" + +"Women's clubs are all right," protested Lucile, her face lighting with +anger. "Their work is constructive. They do a great deal of good." + +"Beg a thousand pardons," said Laurie, coloring in his turn. "I didn't +mean to say they weren't. They're all right, and the ladies too, Lord +bless 'em. But how does that go to prove that a poor, innocent young +writer, who happens to have struck gold with his pen but who never made a +speech in his life, should be chained to a platform and made to do tricks +like a trained bear before thousands of women? Women's clubs are all +right, but they couldn't club me to death with their clubs." He threw +back his shoulders to join Lucile in a laugh over his rather bad pun, and +there, for the time being the matter ended. + +Lucile was destined to recall the whole affair from time to time. Hours +later, she had an opportunity to study his face unobserved. She noted his +high forehead, his even and rugged features, his expressive hands, and +when she saw him selling away on that stock of "Blue Flames" as if his +life depended upon it, she was led to wonder a great wonder. However, she +kept this wonder to herself. + +The noon hour had come before Lucile found time to again look at the +scrap of printing she had torn from the discarded newspaper. In the +employees' lunch room, over a glass of milk and a sandwich, and with the +wonderful Cordie sitting opposite, she read the thing through. + +"Come and find me. I am the Spirit of Christmas," it ran. "I offer gold, +two hundred in gold, for a shake of the hand, yet no one is so kind as to +give me the clasp of cheer. I am the Spirit of Christmas. I am tall and +slim, and of course I am a woman--a young woman whom some have been so +kind as to call fair. To-day I dress in the garb of a working woman. +Yesterday it was the coat of a sales-girl. At another time it was in more +gorgeous apparel. But always my face and my hands are the same. Ah yes, +my hands! There is as much to be learned from the hands as from the face. +Character and many secrets are written there. + +"Yesterday I walked the Boulevard, as I promised I should, yet not one of +the rushing thousands paused to shake my hand and say: 'You are the +Spirit of Christmas.' Had one done so, tho' he had been but a beggar in +rags, the two hundred of gold would have clinked into his pocket. Yet not +one paused. They all passed on. + +"I entered a little shop to purchase a tiny bit of candy. The saleslady, +a little black-eyed creature, scowled at me and refused to sell so +little, even though I looked to be a shop-girl. She did not shake my +hand, and I was glad, for had she done so and had she said: 'You are the +Spirit of Christmas,' the gold would have clinked for her. I left my +mark, which is my sign, and passed on. + +"Later I entered a busy shop, a great shop where tired girls rushed here +and there constantly. I troubled a dear little girl who had a wan smile +and tender eyes, to show me many things. I bought nothing in the end, but +she was kind and courteous for all that. I wished--Oh, how I wished that +she would grasp my hand and whisper ever so softly: 'You are the Spirit +of Christmas.' But she said never a word, so the gold did not clink for +her. After leaving my mark, which is also my sign, I passed on. + +"To-day I shall join the throngs that shop among the windows of State +Street. I shall enter a store here and another there. I shall pause here +to examine goods and there to make a purchase. At every place, as I pass +on, I shall leave my mark, which is also my sign. If you chance to see +me, if you know me, if you read my secret in my face or in my hands, +grasp those hands and whisper: 'You are the Spirit of Christmas.' Then +gold will clink for you, two hundred in gold. + +"I am the Spirit of Christmas. Everywhere I go I leave a crimson trail +behind." + +This was the end. Lucile glanced up with a dazed and puzzled look in her +eyes. + +"What in the world can it mean?" she asked, holding the bit of paper +before Cordie. + +Cordie laughed. "That's something the paper is doing. I think it's just +to make people buy the paper. No one has ever recognized her. She's +clever." + +"I'd like to find her," mused Lucile. + +"Wouldn't you, though? Who wouldn't? You'd get the gold if you did; but +you never will. She's keen. Why, only two days ago she was in this store +for a half hour. Bought a book, mind you, and you may have sold it to +her. Think of that! The day before that she was in the store for six +hours. Think of that! And no one knew her. They'll never get her, trust +her for that. But if they do, the gold will clink." The girl laughed a +merry laugh, then hurried away for a cream-puff. + +Left to herself, Lucile had time for a few moments of quiet thinking. She +found her pulse strangely quickened by the news story and her companion's +interpretation. Somehow, almost as if some strange power outside her were +whispering it to her, she felt forced to believe that she could connect +this new and interesting discovery with some of the other mysteries which +had come to haunt her. + +"But how?" she asked herself. "How?" + +Cordie appeared to know a great deal about this "Spirit of Christmas" +lady and the gold that would clink for a handshake. But after all, she +had revealed no facts that were not known to hundreds of thousands who +had followed the matter closely. It had all been in the papers. + +"No, it doesn't tell me anything about Cordie," Lucile whispered, +"except--" she paused suddenly. Cordie had told of things that had +happened in the city four days back. Could she have been in the city all +this time? Probably had been. And without baggage, or so much as a +dream-robe. How very strange! + +But had she been without baggage? Might she not owe a board bill? Might +not her belongings be in the hands of some landlady at the present time? + +"It's a wonder she doesn't tell me about herself," Lucile murmured. "It's +no use to ask her. A person who is forced to reveal her past is almost +sure to tell anything but the truth. I must wait her time. It's true she +has a little money; but perhaps not enough to pay the bill. + +"I wonder," she went on thoughtfully, "why I don't cut her adrift? Why +should I be looking after her? Haven't I enough to do in looking after +myself?" + +It was true that she had her own responsibilities, but she knew right +well that if need be she would do a great deal more for the girl before +casting her off to become an easy prey to the human hawks and vultures +who haunt a great city. + +"But this lady of the Christmas Spirit," she murmured. "The good fates +surely know I need that gold. And if this strange little beauty, Cordie, +costs me something, which she promises to do, I shall need it more than +ever." + +Once more her eyes ran over the scrap of paper. They came to a sudden +pause. + +"Behind me I leave a crimson trail," she read. + +For a moment her brow was wrinkled in puzzled thought. Then she gave a +sudden start. + +"If it should be! If it meant just that!" she exclaimed half aloud. + +"But then, of course it couldn't. A crimson trail--a crimson trail----" + +"Here's one for you," exclaimed Cordie, setting a delicious cream-puff +before her. "There's just time for devouring them before we go back to +work. Work! Oh, boy! I say it's work! But it's heaps of fun, anyway. + +"Say!" she exclaimed suddenly, "Do you know James?" + +"Who is James?" + +"The man who carries away the packages from my desk." + +"A stooped old man." + +"Not a bit of it." + +"They always are." + +"He's not. Take a look at him. He's a sight for tired eyes. He--he's +intriguing. I--I'm working on him. He's awful reserved, but I think he +likes me. He's got a story. I'll get it. Leave that to me." + +"So even little Cordie loves mysteries and has found one to study out," +thought Lucile with an amused smile as she turned to go. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + THE IRON RING + + +Cordie's description of James proved quite true. An intriguing figure was +this James; a stalwart man of forty, a straight, square-shouldered +six-footer, with face as brown as a coffee bean. He was unmistakably +American, yet he seemed oddly out of place as, with arms piled high with +bundles, he moved steadily through the crowd. There was a certain +directness, and with all that a slight roll about his walk, that +suggested some sort of sea craft. He was not unlike some port-to-port +steamer, waiting at dock for its load, then steaming away to the port of +discharge. + +"A silent man, and one who has been accustomed to command, not to plod," +was Lucile's mental comment. "He's not accustomed to being called James, +like a chauffeur or a butler. You can see that by the twinkle in the +corner of his eye when someone calls him by that name. I wonder what +could have brought him to the extremity of carrying bundles for twenty +dollars a week. I'm sure he doesn't drink to excess. His face would show +it if he did. Oh well, that's Cordie's little mystery. Let her fathom it +when the opportunity comes." + +Cordie's opportunity came a little later, and in a decidedly startling +manner. + +In the meantime this was another busy afternoon; one of the busiest of +the season. + +"Only listen to them!" Lucile said to Cordie as she waited for a parcel. +"Most of them are women trying to select books for boys and girls. Not +one in ten really knows what she wants or what boys and girls read these +days. Listen--" + +Cordie listened as she worked, and this, from a score of pairs of lips, +is what she heard: "Have you got the Alger books?" "Do you keep Peck's +Bad Boy? That's such a splendid story. Don't you think so?" "I want a--a +book for a boy fourteen years old. What can you recommend?" "Have you the +Elsie books? Those are _such_ sweet stories!" "I want a book for a boy +twelve years old. I don't want anything trashy, though. Which of these +fifty-cent books would you recommend?" "Is this a good book?" + +"The answer," whispered Lucile with a little giggle, "the answer, if they +say 'Is this a good book?' is always 'Yes.' Always yes, whether you think +so or not. I'll tell you why. Nine times out of ten, when a woman +customer says 'Is this a good book?' she has already made up her mind +that it is a good book. If you say 'Yes' she'll smile and buy it. If you +say 'No,' she'll frown and buy it anyway. So why provoke a frown, and +Christmas only two weeks away?" + +Only her untiring good nature and her native sense of humor, kept Lucile +on her feet and going. There were times, however, when even these +deserted her. One of those unfortunate moments arrived this very +afternoon. A particularly unpleasant customer had said to her: "I want a +book about a boy who was brought up by the monks." After suggesting +everything that seemed akin to this, she happened upon "Tarzan." "Oh +yes!" exclaimed the customer, "That's it. Tarzan." + +A second customer wanted "Laddie." When the modern "Laddie" was produced, +the customer insisted that this was not the original "Laddie," but a +cheap substitute; that the first "Laddie" was written years ago by a +person who's name she did not recall, but who had written another book +called something else. She had insisted on Lucile's asking everyone in +the section about it and, after leaving very warm and unhappy, reappeared +ten minutes later with another clerk, still looking for the original +"Laddie." + +In the midst of all this Lucile came upon a fidgeting customer whose +fingers were constantly plaiting stray locks of hair and whose lips were +saying: "I must make a train. I really must. Do you think you could get +them to hurry. Do you? Do you really? That would be so nice of you!" + +After hurrying the sale through and getting many a sharp look for +stepping in ahead of her turn, Lucile had the pleasure of seeing the +customer meet a friend an aisle over and pause for a prolonged spell of +gossip. + +"Who could believe that they could be such children?" she murmured. "No, +we haven't the Broncho Buster Boys," she turned to answer a query. +"That's a fifty-cent series which we do not carry." The person who asked +the question was a rather pompous lady in kid gloves. + +"Have you the Broncho Buster Boys?" + +She caught the words spoken behind her back. The customer, ignoring her +decided negative, had deliberately turned about and asked the same +question of a girl who had come on the floor that morning and knew +nothing about the stock. + +"I told her," Lucile said in as steady a tone as she could command, "that +we do not carry them." + +Instantly the customer flew into a towering rage. Her words, though quite +proper on the lips of a society lady, were the sort that cut to the very +soul. + +A sharp retort came to Lucile's lips and she said it. + +She was in the midst of it when a hand touched her shoulder and a steady +voice said: + +"Here! Here! What's this?" + +The words, while not said in an unkindly tone, had a ring of authority to +them. Wheeling about, Lucile found herself facing a beautiful lady, one +of the most beautiful she had ever seen; black hair, full cheeks of +wonderful color, and eyes of the deepest blue. Lucile took in all the +beauty of her for the first time at a glance, and at the same moment cold +terror struck to her heart. This was Miss Bruce, the head of the section, +the one who could dismiss a salesgirl at a word. And she had just heard +Lucile break the most rigid rule of the house! She had talked back to a +customer! + +White faced, staring, endeavoring to speak but uttering no sound, Lucile +stood there as if frozen to the spot. + +"There, there, dearie! I know how it is. Don't do it again, that's all." +Lucile felt a friendly pressure on her arm, then the great lady of the +section was gone. + +In spite of her bravest efforts, tears rushed to Lucile's eyes. One +splashed down on either cheek before she could check them. Were they +tears of vexation or gratitude, or merely tired tears? Who could say? + +Through the tears Lucile dimly saw a face. It was an electrifying vision, +and dashing away the tears, she became at once her own, keen, better +self. + +"Yes, yes, it is! It's the Mystery Lady," she assured herself. +"She's--she's talking to Cordie. I must----" + +As she started toward the wrapping stand where stood the Mystery Lady, a +voice at her elbow said: + +"Will you sell me this? Could you have them hurry a little? I must make a +train. I really must." It was the harried and hurried lady of a half hour +previous. She had found another book and was making another train. + +With great reluctance and much pent-up anger, Lucile waited upon her; and +in the meantime, as was her wont, the Mystery Lady, the lady of the +crimson thread, had vanished. + +"Who--who was the tall lady you were speaking to a moment ago?" she +breathlessly asked Cordie a moment later. + +"How should I know? She asked me for a string to tie a package. Lots of +them ask for string, or a piece of corrugated paper, or a card to write a +greeting on." + +"Was that all?" + +"That was about all." + +"Look!" exclaimed Lucile. "Who put that there?" + +She was pointing to a loose end of wrapping paper through which had been +drawn and neatly tied a bit of crimson thread with a single purple +strand. + +"Search me," smiled Cordie. "How should I know?" + +While Lucile was disengaging the thread and thrusting it in her pocket, +Cordie was searching the top of her desk. + +"That's funny," she said at last. "It was here a moment ago. Now it's +gone." + +"What?" + +"My iron ring." + +"The one you cut cord with?" + +"I'm supposed to use it for that," Cordie tossed her head. "The thing +cuts my finger. All the same, I ought to have it. You're supposed to turn +such things in when they lay you off. But if it's gone, it's gone." +Shrugging her shoulders, she promptly forgot it. So did Lucile, but the +time came when she was reminded of the loss in a most forceful manner. + +"I wonder," she whispered as she moved away, "I do wonder what she does +that for. This is the third time. It's the strangest thing I ever heard +of." She fingered the crimson thread. + +The melting away of great stocks of the year's most popular book for +young people, "Blue Flames," was most amazing. A fresh truck load, three +or four hundred copies, had come down that very morning. By mid-afternoon +they were two-thirds gone. + +For a time, as she watched, Lucile's astonishment grew; then it began to +ebb. She was learning the secret of it. Laurie Seymour hovered over the +pile constantly. Hardly a customer left him without purchasing one or +more copies. Apparently well informed regarding the contents of the book, +he told still more regarding the personality of the author and how he had +gone about the task of gathering the material. All of the local color of +the book was penned with minute exactness; the characters were true to +life; their actions, while not pedantic, were such as would lead girls +and boys to higher thinking and unselfish living. More than that, the +story contained precisely the elements which young people of to-day +demand. Action, adventure, suspense, mystery--all were here in proper and +generous proportions. Thus he would describe the book. + +"Yes," he would assure the prospective purchaser, "it's this year's +publication; not six weeks off the press and it sells for a dollar. How +is that possible? That it might have a large sale the author cut his +royalty to one-third, and the publishers cut their profits accordingly. +The book compares favorably with many a book selling for nearly twice the +price." + +What customer could refuse such a book? Few did. Even more important than +this was the fact that the other salespeople, especially those who were +new and had little knowledge of the stock but who were zealous for quick +sales, listened to his lucid story of the book, and having learned it by +heart, joined in selling it. There were times when clerks fluttered as +thickly about that pile of books as sparrows around a crust of bread. + +"Who is Laurie Seymour; why is he so greatly interested in that +particular book, and how does he come to know so much about it?" Having +put these questions to herself, Lucile went about the task of asking +others about him. She asked Rennie and Donnie, the inseparable two who +had worked in that corner so long. She searched out Tommie, the young man +of twenty who knew all about boys' books. She asked Morrison, of the fine +bindings section, and even Emmy, the veteran inspector. All shook their +heads. They had come down one morning, and there he was selling books. +That had been two weeks previous. Someone had pulled some wires and here +he was. By-and-by the rush would be over, then out he would go. That was +the way things were done at Christmas time. It wasn't worth while to care +too much! + +But Lucile did care. Her curiosity had been aroused. She wanted to know +more about Laurie Seymour. + +Her curiosity was given a trace of satisfaction that very evening. At +least she found out who knew about Laurie. Yes, she found out, but +then---- + +She had come hurrying round a pillar when she all but ran into Laurie. He +had been talking in low tones and laughing in notes quite as low. To her +great surprise she saw that the person he was talking to was none other +than the perfectly beautiful Miss Bruce, the head of the section. + +"And to think," Lucile said to herself, "he actually appeared to be +joking her about something! And he a sales-person! Ah well, our chief is +a star--would have been a star on any stage, and a star has a right to be +friendly with any member of the cast." + +"Well," she smiled to herself, "I know now who could tell me all about +Laurie Seymour; but I'd never dare ask. Never! I'll have to find out some +other way." + +One impression coming from this incident bore down heavily upon her. +Laurie Seymour was a young man with a past broader than the four walls of +the juvenile book section. Just what that past might have been, she could +not guess. + +"Perhaps," she told herself, "he is some artist getting pictures from +life; or an actor gathering local color for a play, or--" + +"Is your table in order?" It was Rennie who broke in upon her +meditations. + +It wasn't, so she hurried away to forget, for the time being, Laurie +Seymour and her perplexing problems. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + CORDIE'S MAD FLIGHT + + +"Cordie, there's something I should tell you." + +Cordie looked up from the book she was reading, stared at Lucile for a +moment, then with a toss of her pretty head exclaimed: "If you should, +why don't you?" + +They were at the end of another day. Some time had passed since the +Mystery Lady had last appeared in the store. Work had increased; crowds +of buyers had grown denser, more insistent in their demands. Two +perpendicular lines had appeared between Lucile's eyes. Cordie, too, had +felt the strain of it. Her nerves were tense. She had been upon Lucile's +bed for a half hour, trying to relax. It was no use. + +"Why don't you tell me?" she demanded impatiently. + +"I'm afraid it may frighten you." + +"Frighten me?" the girl's eyes went wide with surprise. + +"Yes, but I think I should tell you. It may put you on your guard." + +Cordie sat bolt upright. + +"Do you remember the time I found you--when you fainted in the Art +Museum?" Lucile asked in a quiet voice. + +"I couldn't forget that. Wasn't it terrible?" + +"More terrible than you think, or at least I believe it might have been." + +"Why?" Cordie stared. + +"A few seconds after you fainted, a strange young man picked you up in +his arms. He said you were his sister. He started to carry you out and +would have, too, if I hadn't made the guard stop him." + +"Oh!" breathed Cordie, wild eyed, incredulous. "So that was what the +guard meant when he asked where my brother was? Oh, how--how sort of +romantic!" + +"It may have been," said Lucile in a very sober tone. "He may have been +romantic, but he also may have been very bad. That's why I thought you +ought to know. He may be keeping a watch on you. Men who are fascinated +by a face often do. You ought not to go alone upon the streets. You +should not have been alone that day. No girl from the country, +unacquainted with the ways of the city, is safe alone upon its streets +and within its public buildings." + +"Why, I'm not--" Cordie halted in the midst of the sentence and began +again. "Did you think--" then drawing her lips tight as if to keep in a +secret that was about to escape, she lapsed into silence. + +When she broke the silence a moment later the look on her face was very +serious. "I do realize the danger," she said slowly. "Truly I do. I will +be careful, very, very careful. It was wonderful of you to save me from +that--that man. How can I ever thank you enough?" + +Hopping down from the bed, she wound her arm about Lucile and planted a +kiss upon her forehead. + +Just at that instant a question entered Lucile's mind. "I wonder when her +appreciation will reach down as deep as her pocketbook? That's a sordid +thought. I ought not to think it," she told herself, "but I just can't +help it." + +Lucile was having to pay an increased rent on her room because of the +girl's occupying it with her. A pay day had come and gone, yet her young +charge had shown no desire to bear her share of this burden. + +"No! No! I mustn't let myself wonder that," Lucile corrected herself +stoutly. "She'll pay when she can. She's probably saving up for her rent +which is in arrears somewhere else. I do wonder, though, what she was +about to tell me when she said: 'I'm not--' and 'Did you think--' I truly +wish she'd tell me about herself, but I can wait her time for revealing." + +Half of the following day had not passed before Lucile repented having +told Cordie of her volunteer brother. "He'll probably never be seen again +by any of us," she told herself, "and now look at the poor girl. She's +all unnerved; grips her desk and stares in a frightened manner every time +a man looks at her. And yet," she reflected, "if anything happened and I +hadn't told her I'd never forgiven myself. Surely life is full of +perplexing problems." + +Ere that day was done something was destined to happen which would make +this particular problem many times more perplexing. Since she knew +nothing of this, Lucile went serenely on selling books. + +"Let me tell you something," said Rennie, the veteran book-seller, who +had apparently made an excuse for going to lunch with Lucile that day. +"You're letting this work get on your nerves. Look at those puckers +between your eyes. It's no use. You mustn't let it. You'll go to pieces +and it's not worth it. You've got your life to live. You--" + +"But Rennie--" + +Rennie held up a finger for silence. "You're young; haven't learned the +gospel of repose. You, perhaps, think of repose as the curling of one's +self up in a soft-cushioned chair. That's not repose; it's stagnation. +Did you ever see a tiny bird balancing himself on a twig over a rushing +waterfall and singing his little heart away? That's repose. You can have +poise and repose in the midst of the crowding throng. The bird, only half +conscious of the rushing water beneath him, sings the more sweetly +because of it. We, too, may have our service sweetened by the very rush +of things if we will. + +"And it is service! You believe that, don't you?" + +There was a new light in the veteran saleslady's eyes. Lucile, as she +looked at her frail body, thought to herself: "She's more spirit than +body. She's given half herself away in service." + +"Why yes," she replied slowly, "I suppose selling juvenile books is a +service in a way." + +"You suppose!" Rennie gripped her arm until it hurt. "Don't you know it +is? It may be made a great, a wonderful service. There are books and +books. You have read many of them. You know them. You are young. You have +read. Some you have loved, some despised. Which do you sell? Which?" + +"Why, the ones I love, of course." + +"That's just it. Being endowed by nature with taste, good taste, and +having had that taste improved by education, you are able to choose the +best. + +"Books are like water. Some are like foam, the white caps of the sea; +pure enough but effervescent. They pass in a moment and are lost forever. +Others are like scum from a stagnant pool; they are poison. Then there +are those blessed others which are like the cool, pure, refreshing water +that comes bubbling up from a mountain spring. Reading has an untold and +lasting influence on a child. Do you believe that? When you have put one +of those better books into the hand of a boy or girl, you have conferred +a lasting blessing upon someone. Do you believe that?" + +"Ye--yes." + +"Of course you do. Now, when you go back to your work this afternoon, do +it with the consciousness that you are really being a benefactor to your +generation. Say to yourself: 'See all those people. Some of these are to +go away from here this afternoon richer because I have been here to serve +them, to advise them, to select for them the thing they really need.' +Then watch the little annoyances, the petty troubles that tempt you to +fret, 'Fold their tents like the Arabs and silently steal away.' + +"Sales-people?" Rennie continued. "Why, we are far more than that. We +may, if we will, take our place beside teachers, nurses, librarians, and +all those whose names will be written high on the tablet of the future +where will appear all those who have truly benefited their race. + +"Pardon me," she smiled again, "I didn't mean to preach, but really I +hope it may do you good." + +"I--I'm sure it will." There was a mist in the girl's eyes as she said +this. She had caught a vision of what real life work meant to this frail +woman. Once more she was tempted to give up her education in favor of a +career as a vendor of juvenile books. + +At ten minutes before closing time Lucile, having promised to meet Cordie +at the northeast door, hurried down the stairs to the first floor. Then +things began to happen with lightning-like rapidity. + +She had just started on her little journey across the store to the +northeast entrance when, all in a flash, she caught sight of a hand, such +a hand as she had seen but once and would never forget. The long, slim, +muscular fingers and the ring of the dragon's head were there. She could +not be mistaken. Somewhere in that jostling throng was the Mystery Lady. +And--yes, Lucile was sure of it, there she was off there to the right. +She could not mistake that face. With a bound she was after her. + +"Not so fast there! Not so fast!" exclaimed a floor man. "There isn't any +fire. What made you think there was?" + +Wedged in between a tall lady from the city and a very broad-shouldered, +bear-skin coated man from the country, Lucile could but heed the +floorman's admonition. + +"She's making for the door," she whispered breathlessly. "I'll follow her +out. Can't fail to catch her in the street. I'll get her before she has +gone a block. And then--" + +Ah yes, and then--well, she'd decide what was to be done when the time +came. She'd trust to inspiration. + +She did not catch up with her in the first block, nor the second or +third, either. The sidewalks were rivers of people; the cross streets +filled with automobiles. Considering the fact that this was an obstacle +race of an exceedingly unusual type, the Mystery Lady made wonderful +progress. As for Lucile, she was not to be outdone; indeed, she gained a +little here, and a little there. She dodged through an open space on the +sidewalk and sprinted down a stretch of street where no autos were parked +or traveling. + +"I--I'll get her in the next block," she panted. "Suppose there'll be a +scene, but who cares? Here goes!" + +A policeman's whistle, releasing the flood of autos on the cross street, +had just blown. With a leap she sprang away before them. Grazed by the +wheel of a gray sedan, drawing an angry hoot from a huge touring car, she +crossed the channel and was about to dash on when a hand seized her +firmly by the arm and gave her such a turn as fairly set her whirling. + +"Here you!" exclaimed a gruff voice. "What you tryin' to do? Tryin' to +commit suicide? Autos has their right as well as them that walks. Give +'em their turn, can't you?" + +What was there to do? She could not tell this policeman of her cause for +speed. She could but stand there panting until he chose to release her. +And as she stood there, with time to think, a startling question came to +her mind: "Cordie! What of Cordie? I promised to meet her at the +northeast entrance! Closing time has now passed." + +For a moment her head whirled, but as the grip on her arm relaxed she +murmured: + +"Well, whatever is to happen has happened back there. I'll get +madamoiselle of mysteries yet!" + +At that she crept slowly away until she was lost from sight of the +officer; then again raced on at breakneck speed. + + * * * * * * * * + +She was right. Something indeed had happened by the door of the northeast +entrance. Cordie had been prompt in keeping her appointment; especially +so since her nerves, disturbed by Lucile's revelation of the night +before, were on edge. + +Surprised at not finding Lucile waiting for her, she had moved back into +a secluded alcove to watch the passing throng crowd through the doors. + +Crowds always amused her. Some of the people were short and some tall; +some young, some old; but all were interesting. Each had his story to +tell if only he could be induced to tell it. This is why the flow of a +river of people is so interesting. + +Just when it was that her attention was drawn from the moving throng to a +single stationary individual, the girl could not tell. The instant she +saw the man she felt he had been watching her; felt too that she had +recognized in him her volunteer brother of the Art Museum. + +"Yes," she whispered as cold dread gripped her heart, "there is the +hawk-like eye, the marble face. It is he. Oh! How shall I escape?" + +Losing her power to reason, she dashed away from the door and into the +crowd that was now thronging toward the exits. + + * * * * * * * * + +Lucile found it rather difficult to again locate the Mystery Lady. When +at last she succeeded it was to get a good square look at her, the first +she had been afforded. + +"How strangely she is dressed!" she murmured. "Like some countrywoman +come to the city for shopping." + +For a second she was inclined to doubt her judgment. It could not be the +lady--yet, yes, there was her profile. There could be no mistake; so, +again she dashed along after her. + +Although she maintained a pace that appeared to be a leisurely one, the +Mystery Lady was hard enough to overtake. Turning to the right, she +crossed two streets to at last come out upon the Boulevard. Swinging to +the left, she joined the home-going throng. + +Lucile, gaining moment by moment, was all but upon her when she turned +quickly to enter a broad, open door. + +"Now I have you!" Lucile murmured. + +She passed through the broad door just in time to see the mysterious one +push back a heavy curtain and disappear. + +Lucile was about to follow, when a guard, touching her on the shoulder, +demanded: + +"Got a pass?" + +"Why--why no," Lucile stood there nonplussed. + +"This is Opera Hall. You can't go back of that curtain without a pass." + +"But--but that lady gave you no pass." + +The guard made no reply. He merely shrugged and smiled. + +Dropping back a step or two, Lucile stood staring at the curtain. Her +head was whirling. What a strangely privileged woman this one must be. +She entered and left a great department store at two hours before +midnight, and no one said to her "No." She steps into a vestibule of a +great musical hall and passes behind the curtain without a pass. What +would she do next? + +Suspended from one brass post to another, a heavy silk rope hung before +the curtain. There were gaps in the curtain. Through one of these gaps, +as Lucile stood staring at it, a hand was thrust. It was the hand of the +mysterious lady. And upon it, beside the dragon's head ring, was another. +And this ring one more unusual and startling than the other. It was the +iron ring of a bundle wrapper! + +"Cordie's ring," Lucile whispered, "and, as I live, a diamond has been +set in it. A magnificent diamond, worth hundreds of dollars! How strange! +How weird! A diamond set in iron!" + +Even as she thought this, the hand disappeared. Instantly the heavy +purple curtain began to sway. Expecting anything, the girl stood there +breathless. A needle flashed twice through the cloth of the curtain, then +in its place there appeared a tiny spot of crimson. + +"The crimson thread!" Lucile whispered. "And I may not pass beyond the +curtain!" + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + THE DIAMOND-SET IRON RING + + +When Cordie fled from the man of the hawk-like eye and the marble +features she dashed directly into the moving throng of shoppers. In this, +however, she found scant relief. No matter which way she might turn she +felt sure that the man pursued her and would overtake her if she did not +flee faster and faster. + +Putting her utmost strength into this flight, she dashed past counters +strewn with goods, round a bank of elevators, through narrow aisles +jammed with shoppers, across a narrow court and again into the throng. At +last, in utter desperation, she fled down a stairway; then another and +another. Little dreaming that she had been descending into the very +depths of the earth, she came up at last with a little suppressed scream +to a place where from out a long row of small iron doors fire gleamed red +as a noonday sun. + +Where was she? Surely she had not dreamed there could be such a place as +this in a great department store. + +After wavering unsteadily for a moment, she turned, stumbled, righted +herself, and would have gone racing back up the stair had not a heavy +hand fallen upon her shoulder and a gruff, kindly voice said: + +"Beg pardon, Miss Cordelia, are you in trouble?" + +Surprised at hearing herself called by her own name, she turned about to +find herself staring into the face of James, the bundle man. + +For a few seconds she wavered between pause and flight. There was, +however, such a light of kindness in the man's eyes as could not be +questioned. So, stepping back from the stairs, she said: + +"Yes, I am in trouble. The--the man; I think he was following me." + +"He'd do well not to follow you too far this way, if he meant you any +harm." The bundle man shook his powerful frame, then glanced at the +fires. + +"Wha--what are they?" Cordie stammered. "Where are we?" + +"Don't you know?" he looked incredulous. "Them's the boilers that heat +the buildin'. I suppose you never wondered before how this huge building +got heated? Well, that's how. Them's the boilers that does it. + +"Sometimes I come down here to sit after hours," he half apologized. "The +boys down here that tends to the stokers let me come. I like it. It's the +nearest thing to the sea that one finds about the buildin'. You see, it's +sort of like a ship's hold where the stokers work." + +"Oh, you belong to the sea." + +"Yes, Miss. I'll tell you about it; but that will do for another time. +You'll be going home. If it's all right, I'll see you safely on your way, +or if you want I'll see you safely home. You need have no fear of me. I'm +old enough to be your father, an' I took a sort of interest in you from +the first. I'd be glad to help you--" + +He broke short off to stare at the door through which Cordie had entered. +Framed by the outer darkness, a face had appeared there. However well +shaven and massaged it might be, it was not a pleasing face to look upon +and hawk-like eyes were set in a countenance as expressionless as marble. + +"That's him!" whispered James, staring as if his eyes would pop out of +his head. "That's the very man." + +The next instant the man disappeared. There was reason enough for this +too, for with every muscle of his face drawn in lines of hate, the +stalwart James had leaped square at the door. + +And what of Lucile? + +After gazing for a moment in astonishment at the purple curtain with the +touch of crimson shining out from it, (beyond which the Mystery Lady had +disappeared,) she stepped close enough to make sure that same purple +strand ran through the thread. Then she turned and walked out of the +building. + +She found herself more mystified than ever. When would all this maze of +mysteries be solved? Why had the Mystery Lady done that? Why the crimson +thread? Why the iron ring? That was the fourth time the crimson thread +had appeared, and this time there could be no doubt but that it had been +she who had held the needle. + +Strangely enough, at this moment there flashed through her mind one +sentence in that clipping relating to the lady who called herself the +Spirit of Christmas. + +"I am the Spirit of Christmas," she whispered it as she recalled it. "I +am the Spirit of Christmas. Wherever I go I leave my mark which is also +my sign." She wondered vaguely what she could have meant by that. + +This lady of the Christmas Spirit had the whole city on tip-toes. +Everyone was looking for her; everyone hoping to come downtown some fine +morning to meet her and to claim her bag of gold. Shoppers gazed into +faces of fellow shoppers to wonder: "Are you the Spirit of Christmas? +Shall I grasp your hand?" News boys, staring up at lady customers who +slipped them pennies for papers, wondered: "Are you the Christmas Lady?" + +Every day the paper told how she had been dressed on the previous day, +where she had been and what she had done. One day, in the guise of a +farmer's wife, she had visited the stockyards and had spent hours +wandering through great buildings or on board-walks above the cattle. The +next day found her again among the throngs of shoppers. Here she had +purchased a handkerchief and there a newspaper. She described the clerk +and the newsboy. The clerk and the boy read it and groaned. For them the +great moment had come and was gone forever. + +"Who will discover her? When will it be? Who will get the gold?" These +were the questions that were on every tongue. + +There could be no doubt but the paper was reaping a golden harvest from +it, for did not everyone in the city buy a paper that they might read of +her latest exploits and to discover where she was to be on that day, and +to dream that this day he might be the lucky one; this day he might hear +the gold coin jingle? + +Lucile thought all this through as she hurried back toward the store. At +the same time she chided herself for being so foolish as to miss her +appointment with Cordie for such a wild goose chase. She hoped against +hope that she would find Cordie still waiting. + +She found the door closed. As she pressed her face against the glass she +saw but one person near the entrance--the night watchman. Cordie was not +there. + +"Gone," Lucile murmured. "I only hope nothing has happened to her." + +At that she turned about and raced away to catch an on-coming elevated +train. + + * * * * * * * * + +As James disappeared through the door of the furnace room of the +department store, Cordie sank down in a chair. The chair was black and +greasy, but she had no thought for that. Indeed, so excited and +frightened was she that for a time she was unable to think clearly about +anything. + +When at last the full meaning of the situation had forced its way into +her consciousness, she leaped to her feet, exclaiming: + +"Stop him! Stop him! He'll be killed!" + +"I bet you he won't," a burly furnace tender smiled quietly. "He's a hard +boiled egg, that boy; muscles like steel and quick as a cat. If anybody +does him in you'll have to give him credit. Y'ought t' see him box. There +ain't a man among us that can touch him." + +Somewhat reassured by this glowing description of her companion, the girl +settled back again in her seat. She knew that she was safe enough here +with these rough but kindly men. + +As she sat there thinking, there came to her mind a question. Why did +James go into such a fit of anger at sight of the stranger at the door? + +"Surely," she told herself, "it could not have been because the man had +been following me. That wouldn't be natural. James scarcely knows me. Why +should he suddenly become such a violent champion of my cause? And +besides, he had no way of knowing that that was the man who was following +me. He did not wait to ask a single question; just whispered: 'That's +him!' and rushed right at him." + +"No he didn't do it because of me," she concluded after a few moments of +thought. "He's seen that man before. I wonder when and where. I wonder +what he's done to James?" + +Then came another, more startling question. What would James do to the +man if he caught him? + +Instantly her keen imagination was at work. Quickening her sense of +hearing, it set her listening to sounds which she told herself were the +dull thud of fist-blows, the sickening rush of a blade as it sped through +the air, a low groan of pain, and then sharper, more distinct, the +pop-pop of an automatic. + +In vain she told herself that with the hiss of steam, the dull thud-thud +of revolving grates and the general noises of the boiler-room, it was +quite impossible for her to distinguish sounds ten yards away, and that +in all probability the two men were hundreds of feet away from her, on +some other floor. The illusion still persisted. So certain did she become +that a battle was being fought just outside the door that she found +herself gripping the arms of her chair to keep from crying out. + +The nickel-plated clock against the wall had ticked away a full half +hour. The suspense had grown unbearable when of a sudden, with face +grimy, hair tousled, and clothing all awry, James appeared at the door. + +"You--you," Cordie started up. + +"Yes, miss," James grinned. "I know I look as if I'd come in from a long +and stormy voyage. My deck needs swabbin' down and my sails a furlin', +but I'll be shipshape and ready to take another cruise before the clock +can strike eight bells." + +This talk sounded so quaint to the girl that she quite forgot the recent +danger James had been in, and sat staring at him as he thrust his head +into a huge basin of water and proceeded to scrub it with a course brush, +much as one might some huge vegetable. + +By the aid of a comb and whisk broom, he succeeded in making himself +presentable. + +"Now," he smiled a broad smile, "your Uncle James, once a seaman and now +a land fighter, is ready to pilot you home. What's the port?" + +"Sixty-first and Drexel," said Cordie. + +"All right. Port 'er bow. We're off." + +Concerning his recent combat--if there had been a combat--James said not +a word. Cordie wondered at this, but eager as she was to know the outcome +of the battle, if there had been one, she dreaded quite as much to hear +the whole truth. Visions of an inanimate form, lying bruised and bleeding +in some dark corner of the stair, set her shuddering. So in the end she +asked no question. + +Their passage to the upper floor and out of the building was uneventful. +The watchman at the door recognized them and allowed them to pass. + +Previous to this time James had seemed quiet and uncommunicative, but now +as they rattled along on the L train he told her many a wild tale of the +sea journeys he had made. In his deep mellow drawl he talked of the whale +ship _Addler_ in northern seas; of Eskimo and polar bear and the gleaming +northern lights; and then he talked of the Cutter _Corwin_ among the palm +shadowed South Sea Islands. + +It was with a real feeling of regret that Cordie, hearing her own station +announced, realized that their visit was at an end. + +Five minutes later, brimming over with excitement, she burst into +Lucile's room. + +"Wait!" exclaimed Lucile as she read in Cordie's eyes the story of some +thrilling experience. "You've had an adventure. So have I. Let's not +spoil 'em in the telling. Let's set the stage for a story. You haven't +had a bite to eat, have you?" + +"No--o," Cordie admitted, "not a single bite. I'd forgotten." + +"Neither have I. You'll find a loaf of bread and a slice of cream pimento +cheese in the upper dresser drawer. There are some vanilla wafers, too. +You make the sandwiches and I'll have the cocoa piping hot in a minute. +No, I'll tell you, let's dress for it first." + +Fifteen minutes later they sat in their bright colored dressing gowns, +sipping the delicious hot beverage and hungrily devouring sandwiches. + +"Now," said Lucile after the last sandwich had vanished and fresh cups +had been poured, "now's the time for spinning yarns. You tell yours +first." + +With many a gesture and dramatic pause, Cordie told of her startling +discovery, her wild dash through the throng, her descent into the depths +of the earth, and of the strange doings down there beneath the surface of +the city's streets. + +"Yes," said Lucile, sipping her chocolate thoughtfully as Cordie's +narrative ended, "that surely was the young man who attempted to carry +you away when you fainted in the Art Museum. Dear little girl, you must +be careful, very careful indeed. You must never be left alone; never! +Never! Even if the Mystery Woman beckons or the Lady of the Christmas +Spirit clinks her gold in my very ears, I will not desert you again." + +It was a very warm and friendly hand that Lucile felt tucked into her +own, and a suspiciously husky voice that said: + +"Thank you, my dear big sister. + +"But," Cordie exclaimed suddenly, "I must not tell them. It would never +do. They wouldn't let me----" + +Suddenly checking her speech as if about to unwittingly reveal a secret, +she changed the subject abruptly. "Please tell me of your adventure," she +said. + +"My adventure?" smiled Lucile. "Compared with yours, it was no adventure +at all--merely an episode. However, since it throws some light on a +mystery and reveals the whereabouts of a bit of stolen property, I must +tell you about it." + +Then, while Cordie leaned back among the cushions, her eyes half closed +as if she were day dreaming, Lucile told of her experience with the +Mystery Lady. + +"My iron ring!" exclaimed Cordie, sitting bolt upright as Lucile came to +that part of the story. "My iron ring! The old mischief! I might have +known! I----" + +Again Cordie checked herself. + +"Might have known what?" asked Lucile. + +"Might have known that someone had stolen it, I suppose," finished Cordie +lamely. "Anyway, someone did, didn't they? And isn't it funny that she +should have a diamond set in it? Wouldn't it be a joke to come upon her +wearing it? Wouldn't it, though? I'd march right up and say, 'Lay-d-e-e +give me the ring! You stole it. My precious, my onliest, only iron +ring!'" She threw back her head and laughed. + +Lucile joined her in the laugh, and with this forgot for a time that +Cordie had said something very unusual about the ring and the lady who +had taken it. At last Cordie broke the silence: + +"James is a very unusual person." + +"Yes, he must be." + +"Do you suppose he caught that man--the one who had been following me?" + +"I hope so, but perhaps not. You say he was all mussed up when he came +back?" + +"Uh-huh." + +"But not bruised, nor bloody, nor anything like that?" + +"No, I guess not--no, not a bit." + +"Then probably he didn't. When I got through my wild race about the place +the other night I was good and mussed up, and I hadn't been in a fight +either. It wouldn't be easy to catch anyone in that labyrinth." + +Again there was silence for a little while. + +"Lucile," whispered Cordie, bending forward eagerly, her face alight with +some strange idea. "James is so mysterious. Do you suppose he could be a +pirate in hiding?" + +"A pirate! Why child, there aren't any pirates." + +"Not any at all?" + +"You don't read about any, do you?" + +"You don't read about lots of things. You never read about my wrapping +bundles, did you? But I am, just the same. Everything doesn't get in the +papers. I think it would be wonderful if he turned out to be a real +pirate. You'd think he was one if you heard some of the stories he told +me to-night about the sea." + +"All right," laughed her companion, "if you can make him out a pirate, a +nice friendly sort of pirate who is kind to ladies and all that, you're +welcome. But for my part, I'd give a lot more to know what that self +appointed brother of yours has done to James. It must have been something +rather terrible." + +"Yes," agreed Cordie, "it surely must." + +"Listen!" exclaimed Lucile. "There go the chimes! Ten o'clock, and you +work in the morning!" + +Leaping from her chair, she began cleaning up the remnants of their +little feast. Ten minutes later the room was darkened for the night. + +Though the room was dark, and though Lucile was tired enough for sleep, +her eyes did not close at once. She was thinking and her thoughts were +not of the most cheerful sort. + +The outlook, she was forced to admit, was gloomy enough. She had hoped to +save enough money from her pay at the store to start her in the new term +at school. This hope was fast dwindling away. Her own expenses had been +greater than she had thought they would be. Added to this was the +increase in her room rent due to the presence of Cordie. Her dream that +Cordie was saving money had been blighted only the night before, for on +that night Cordie had brought home the gorgeous dressing gown she had +worn as they sat over the cocoa cups. + +"And it must have cost her every penny she possessed," groaned Lucile. +"How extravagant! How--how----" + +She wanted to say ungrateful, but could not quite do it. The girl +appeared so impractical, so lovable, so irresponsible, that she could not +find the heart to blame her. + +Quickly she switched her thoughts to a more cheering subject--Laurie +Seymour. He had proven such a jolly fellow-worker--so cheerful, so kind +and helpful, so ever ready to bear the heavy burdens--that Lucile had all +but forgotten the fact that he had given his pass-out to the Mystery Lady +on that night when she had in such a surprising manner come into the +possession of the valuable fur lined cape. Equally strange was the fact +that she had come to think of the Mystery Lady in a new way. She found +that she could no longer think of the lady as a thief. + +"And yet," she mused, "what could have been her reason for haunting our +store at that hour of the night? Why should she have left the cape?" + +The cape. Ah yes, there was vexation enough in that! Too precious to be +worn to work, it had hung for days in Lucile's closet while she had gone +to work all too scantily clad in a sweater and broad scarf. She wished +that she might have her own coat. Poor as it might be, it was at least +her own and it was comfortable. + +Next morning, having arrived at the door of the store a full fifteen +minutes before the opening hour, the two girls were enjoying a few +moments of window shopping before the gorgeous windows of State street. +Suddenly, above the rattle of distant elevated trains and the honk of +auto horns, Lucile caught clear and distinct the calling neigh of a +horse. + +Wheeling quickly about, she stared around her. True enough, there were +still many horses on the streets of the city, but where before, in the +din and rattle of the streets, had she caught that one clear call of a +horse? + +What she saw caused her to start and stare. Cordie was no longer at her +side. Instead she was in imminent danger of being run down by a cab as +she dashed madly across the street toward the spot where, like a statue +in blue, a young policeman sat rigidly erect on his police horse. + +The thing the girl did, once she had safely crossed the street, was even +more surprising. Without the least glance at the young policeman, she +threw both arms about the horse's neck and hid her face in his mane. + +Far from objecting to this unusual procedure, the horse appeared to +rather enjoy it. As for the stern young minion of the law, he was so +overcome by surprise that he did not alter his statue-like pose by so +much as a movement of a finger. + +Lucile flew across the street. + +"Cordie! Cordie! What in the world are you doing?" she fairly screamed. + +Paying not the least attention to this, Cordie repeated over and over: +"Dick, you old darling. Dear old Dick. You knew me, Dick, you did! You +did!" + +This lasted for a full moment. Then, appearing to come to herself, the +girl dropped her hands and stepped back upon the sidewalk. + +One glance at the stern young officer, and a quite different emotion +swept over her. Her face turned crimson as she stammered: + +"Oh, what have I done? I--I beg--beg your pardon." + +"It's all right," grinned the young man, coming to life with a broad +smile. "Friend of yours, I take it?" + +"Yes--Oh yes,--a very, very good friend." + +"My name's Patrick O'Hara," there was a comradely tone now in the young +officer's voice. "He's a friend of mine too, and a mighty good one. +Shake." Solemnly drawing off his gauntlet, he swung half way out of his +saddle to grasp the girl's hand. + +"Thanks. Thanks awfully. Is this--this where you always stay? I--I'd like +to see Dick real often." + +"This is my beat; from here to the next cross street and back again. I'm +here every morning from seven to one. We--we--Dick, I mean, will be glad +to see you." The way he smiled as he looked at Cordie's deep colored, +dimpled cheeks, her frank blue eyes, her crinkly hair, said plainer than +words: "Dick won't be the only one who will be glad to see you." + +"Lucile," implored Cordie, "I wish you'd do me a favor. I haven't a lump +of sugar for poor old Dick. I can't leave him this way. I--I never have. +Won't you please talk to this--this policeman until I can go to the +restaurant on the corner and get some?" + +"It's all right, Miss--Miss----" + +"Cordie," prompted the girl. + +"It's all right, Cordie," Patrick O'Hara grinned, "I'll not run away. +Duty calls me, though. I must ride up a block and back again. I--I'll +make it snappy. Be back before you are." + +Touching Dick with his spurless heel and patting him gently on the neck, +he went trotting away. + +Five minutes later, the lump of sugar ceremony having been performed to +the complete satisfaction of both Dick and Cordie, the girls hurried away +to the scenes of their daily labors. + +This little drama made a profound impression upon Lucile. For one thing, +it convinced her that in spite of her expensive and stylish lingerie, +Cordie was indeed a little country girl. "For," Lucille told herself, +"that horse, Dick, came from the country. All horses do. He's been a pet +of Cordie's back there on the farm. His owner, perhaps her own father, +has sold him to some city dealer. And because he is such a thorobred and +such a fine up-standing beauty, he has been made a police horse. I don't +blame her for loving him. Anyone would. But it shows what a splendid, +affectionate girl she is. + +"I'm sort of glad," she told herself a moment later, "that she's gotten +acquainted with that young officer, Patrick O'Hara. He seems such a nice +sort of boy, and then you can never tell how soon you're going to need a +policeman as a friend; at least it seems so from what happened last +night." + +She might have shuddered a little had she known how prophetic these +thoughts were. As it was, she merely smiled as she recalled once more how +her impetuous little companion had raced across the streets to throw her +arms about the neck of a horse ridden by a strange policeman. + +"I wonder," she said finally, "I do wonder why Cordie does not confide in +me? Oh well," she sighed, "I can only wait. The time will come." + +Had she but known it, Cordie had reasons enough; the strangest sort of +reasons, too. + +It was in the forenoon of that same day that a rather surprising thing +happened, a thing that doubled the mystery surrounding the attractive +young salesman, Laurie. + +Lucile was delivering a book to a customer. Laurie was waiting at the +desk for change and at the same time whispering to Cordie, when of a +sudden his eyes appeared ready to start from his head as he muttered: + +"There's Sam!" + +The next instant, leaving wrapped package, change and customer, he +disappeared as if the floor had dropped from beneath him. + +"Where's Laurie?" Cordie asked a moment later. "His customer's waiting +for her change." + +Though Lucile didn't know where he was, she was quite sure he would not +return, at least he would not until a certain short, broad-shouldered +man, who carried a large brief case and stood talking to Rennie, had left +the section. She felt very sure that Laurie wished to escape meeting this +man. + +"That man must be Sam," Lucile thought to herself as she volunteered to +complete Laurie's sale. "Now I wonder what makes him so much afraid of +that man! + +"He looks like a detective," she thought to herself as she got a better +look at him. "No, he smiles too much for that. Must be a salesman trying +to get Rennie to buy more books." + +The conversation she overheard tended to confirm this last. + +"Make it a thousand," he said with a smile. + +"I won't do it!" Rennie threw her hands up in mock horror. + +"Oh! All right," Sam smiled. "Anything you say." + +Having been called away by a rush of customers, Lucile had quite +forgotten both Laurie and Sam when she came suddenly upon the large brief +case which Sam had carried. It was lying on her table. + +"Whose is that?" a voice said over her shoulder. "That's Sam's, confound +him! He's always leaving things about. Now he'll have to come back for it +and I'll--" + +"Who's Sam?" Lucile asked. + +She turned about to receive the answer. The answer did not come. For a +second time that day Laurie had vanished. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + HER DOUBLE + + +"Two more shopping days before Christmas," Lucile read these words in the +paper on the following morning as she stepped into the elevator which was +to take her to a day of strenuous labor. She read them and sighed. Then, +of a sudden, she started and stared. The cause of this sudden change was +the elevator girl. + +"Why, Florence!" she exclaimed half incredulous. "You here?" + +"Sure. Why not?" smiled the big, athletic looking girl who handled the +elevator with skill. + +"Well, I didn't know--" + +"Didn't know I needed the money badly enough," laughed Florence. "Well, I +do. Seems that one is always running out of cash, especially when it +comes near to Christmas. I was getting short, so I came down here and +they gave me this job. Thought I could stand the rush I guess," she +smiled as she put one arm about her former chum in a bear-like embrace. + +If you have read our other books, "The Cruise of the O'Moo" and "The +Secret Mark," you will remember that these two girls had been the best of +chums. But a great University is a place of many changes. Their paths had +crossed and then they had gone in diverging ways. Now they were more than +pleased to find that, for a time, they were employed in the same store. + +"Speaking of Christmas," said Florence, "since I haven't any grand +Christmas surprises coming from other people, I've decided to buy myself +a surprise." + +"How can you do that?" asked Lucile, a look of incredulity on her face. + +"Why, you see----" + +"Here's my floor. See you later." Lucile sprang from the elevator and was +away. + +"It's nice to meet old friends," the elevator girl thought to herself as +she went speeding up the shaft, "especially when the holiday season is +near. I must try to see more of Lucile." + +Running an elevator in a department store is a dull task. Little enough +adventure in that, you might say, except when your cable begins to slip +with a full load on board. But Florence was destined to come under the +spell of mystery and to experience thrilling adventure before her short +service as an elevator girl came to an end. + +Mystery came leaping at her right out of the morning. She left her car in +the basement and went for a drink. She was gone but a second. When she +came back the elevator door was closed and the cage cables in motion. + +"Gone!" she whispered. "I never heard of such a thing. Who could have +taken it? + +"Might have been the engineer taking it for a testing trip," she thought +after a few seconds of deliberation. "But no, that doesn't seem probable. +He'd not be down this early. But who could it be? And why did they do +it?" + +If the disappearance of her car had been startling, the thing she +witnessed three minutes later was many times more so. + +With fast beating heart she saw the shadow of the car move down from +fifth floor to fourth, from fourth to third, then saw the car itself +cover the remaining distance to the basement. + +Her knees trembled with excitement and fear as she watched the cage in +its final drop. The excitement was born of curiosity; the fear was that +this should mean the last of her position. She had never been discharged +and this gave her an unwonted dread of it. + +The car came to a stop at the bottom. Three passengers got off and one +got on, and the car shot upward again. And Florence did nothing but stand +there and stare in astonishment! + +Had she seen a ghost, a ghost of herself? What had happened? Her head was +in a whirl. The girl at the lever was herself. Broad shoulders, large +hands, round cheeks, blue eyes, brown hair, even to freckles that yielded +not to winters indoors. It was her own self, to the life. + +"And yet," she reasoned, "here I am down here. What shall I do?" + +As she faced the situation more calmly, she realized that the girl +driving her car must be her double, her perfect double. She remembered +reading somewhere that everyone in the world had a double. And here was +hers. But why had her double made up her hair in her exact fashion, +donned an elevator girl's uniform and taken her elevator from her? + +"That is what I must find out," she told herself. + +"There's no use making a scene by jumping in and demanding my cage," she +reasoned, after a moment's reflection. "I'll just get on as a passenger +and ride up with her." + +There was something of a thrill in this affair. She was beginning to +enjoy it. + +"It's--why, it's fairly mysterious," she breathed. + +In spite of all, she found herself anticipating the next move in the +little drama. Driving an elevator was frightfully dull business. Going up +and down, up and down; answering innumerable questions all day long about +the location of silks, shoes, baby rattle, nutmeg graters, boxing gloves, +garters and fly-swatters--this was a dull task that tended to put one to +sleep. And often enough, after her noon luncheon, she actually had to +fight off sleep. But here, at last, was a touch of mystery, romance and +adventure. + +"My double," she breathed. "I'll find out who she is and why she did +this, or die in the attempt." + +Again the cage moved downward. + +This time, as the last customer moved out of the door, she stepped in. +Moving to the back of the car, she stood breathlessly waiting for the +next move of her mysterious double. + +The move did not come at once; in fact she had to wait there in the back +of the car a surprisingly long time. The girl at the lever--her +double--had poise, this was easy enough seen, and she had operated an +elevator before, too. She brought the cage to its position at each floor +with an exactness and precision that could but be admired. + +The cage filled at the first floor. It began to empty at the third. By +the time they had reached the eleventh, only two passengers, beside +Florence, remained in the back of the car. Only employees went beyond the +eleventh; the floors above were stock rooms. + +The girl at the lever threw back a fleeting glance. Florence thought she +was about to speak, but she did not. + +The car went to the thirteenth landing. There two people got off and +three got on. Florence remained. The car dropped from floor to floor +until they were again in the basement. Once more the mysterious double +gave Florence a fleeting glance. She did not speak. Florence did not move +from her place in the corner. The car rose again. To Florence the +situation was growing tense, unbearable. + +Again the car emptied. At the eleventh floor Florence found herself in +the car alone with her double. This gave her a strange, frightened +feeling, but she resolutely held her place. + +"Say!" exclaimed the girl, turning about as the car moved slowly upward. +"Let me run your car, will you? Take my place, won't you? You won't have +a thing to do. It--it'll be a lark." As she said all this in a whisper +there was a tense eagerness on her face that Florence could not miss. + +"But--but your car?" she managed to whisper back. + +"Haven't any. Don't go on until to-morrow. Here's my locker key. Get--get +my coat and furs and hat out and wear them. Stay in the store--Book +Section and Rest Room. All you have to do. + +"Only," she added as an afterthought, "if someone speaks to you, tells +you something, you say, 'Oh! All right.' Just like that. And if they ask +you what you said, you repeat. That's all you'll have to do." + +"Oh, but I can't--" + +"It isn't anything bad," the other girl put in hastily. There was a sort +of desperate eagerness about the tense lines of her face. They were +nearing the thirteenth floor. "Not a thing that's bad--nor--nor anything +you wouldn't gladly do yourself. I--I'll explain some time. On--only do +it, will you?" + +They had reached the thirteenth floor. She pressed the key in Florence's +reluctant hand. + +A tall man, with an arm load of socks in bundles, got on the car. He +looked at Florence. He looked at her double. Then he stared at both of +them. After that his large mouth spread apart in a broad grin as he +chuckled: + +"Pretty good. Eh?" + +Three minutes later Florence found herself in a kind of daze, standing at +the tenth floor landing, staring down at her steadily dropping car. + +"Oh, well," she whispered, shaking herself out of her daze, "sort of a +lark, I suppose. No harm in it. Might as well have a half day off." With +that she turned and walked toward the locker room. + +The coat and hat she took from the mysterious one's locker were very +plain and somewhat worn, not as good as her own. But the fur throw was a +thing to marvel at; a crossed fox, the real thing, no dyed imitation, and +so richly marked with gray that it might easily be taken for a silver +gray. + +"Some strange little combination," she breathed as she threw the fur +about her neck and started once more for the elevator. + +As a proof of the fact that she was carrying out her share of the +compact, she waited for her own elevator. The strange girl shot her a +quick smile as she entered and another as she got off on the third floor +where was the rest room and book section. + +"Seems terribly queer to be walking around in another girl's clothes," +she whispered to herself as she drifted aimlessly past rows of people +resting in leather cushioned chairs. "Especially when that other girl is +someone you've spoken to but once in your life. I wonder--I do wonder why +I did it?" + +She meditated on this question until she had reached the book section. + +"It was the look in her eyes; an eager, haunted look. She's all right, +I'd swear to that, and she's in some sort of trouble that's not all her +own fault. Trouble," she mused. "Part of our reason for being here in the +world is that we may help others out of trouble. I--I guess I'm glad I +did it." + +Of this last she could not be sure. She had sometimes been mistaken, had +bestowed confidence and assistance on persons who were unworthy. Should +this girl prove to be such a person, then she might be helping her to get +away with some unlawful act. And she might lose her position, too. + +"Oh well," she sighed at last, "it's done. I'll lose my memory of it here +among the books." To one who is possessed of a real love for books, it is +a simple task to forget all else in a room where there are thousands of +them. So completely did Florence forget that she soon lost all +consciousness of the role she was playing, and when a rough looking man +with a seafaring roll to his walk came marching toward her she could do +nothing but stare at him. And when he said, "Howdy Meg," she only stared +the harder. + +"The train leaves at eleven thirty," he said, twisting his well worn cap +in his nervous fingers. + +"The--the--" she hesitated. Then of a sudden the words of the girl came +back to her. + +"Oh! All right," she said in as steady a tone as she could command. + +"What say?" asked the man. + +"I said 'Oh, all right.'" + +"Right it is, then," he said and, turning about, disappeared behind a +pile of books. + +With her head in a whirl, the girl stood and stared after him. + +"The train leaves at eleven thirty," she whispered. It was a few minutes +past ten now. Should she go and tell the girl? She had not been +instructed in this regard. What sort of an affair was this she was +getting into, anyway? Was this girl hiding from her people, attempting to +run away? The man had looked rough enough, but he had looked honest, too. + +She had wandered about the place in uncertainty for another half hour. +Then a kindly faced women, in a sort of uniform and a strange hat with +gold lettered "Seaman's Rest" on its band, accosted her. + +"Why, Meg!" she exclaimed. "You still here? The train leaves at +eleven-thirty." + +There it was again. This time she did not forget. + +"Oh! All right!" she exclaimed and turning hurried away as if to make a +train. + +An hour later, still very much puzzled and not a little worried, she +returned to the locker room, took off the borrowed clothes, gave the +wonderful fox fur a loving pat, deposited it with the coat and hat, then +locked the door. + +After that she went to her own locker, put on her wraps preparatory to +going to lunch, then walked over to the elevator. + +A moment's wait brought her car to her. The other girl was still +operating skillfully. Florence pressed the locker key into the girl's +hand and stepped to the back of the car. Five minutes later she found +herself in the crisp air of a midwinter day. + +"And to think," she whispered to herself, "that I'd do that for a total +stranger." + +As she ate her lunch a resolve, one of the strongest she had ever made, +formed itself in her mind. She would become acquainted with her +mysterious double and would learn her secret. + +"The train leaves at eleven-thirty," she mused. "Well, wherever it might +have been going, it's gone." She glanced at the clock which read +twelve-fifteen. + +And then, of a sudden, all thought of the other girl and her affairs was +blotted out by a resolve she had made that very morning. This was Friday. +Day after to-morrow was Christmas. She wanted a surprise on Christmas. +She had started to tell Lucile about it that morning, but while just in +the middle of the story the elevator had reached the Book Department and +Lucile had hurried away. Soon after came the strange experience of +meeting her double and Florence had quite forgotten all about it until +this very minute. + +"Have to provide my own surprise," she said to herself, while thinking it +through. "But how am I to surprise myself?" + +This had taken a great deal of thinking, but in the end she hit upon the +very thing. Her old travelling bag had gone completely to pieces on her +last trip. Her father had sent her fifteen dollars for the purchase of a +new one. She had the money still. She would buy a travelling bag with a +surprise in it. + +Only a few days before, a friend had told her how this might be done. +Every great hotel has in its store room a great deal of baggage which no +one claims; such as hat boxes, trunks, bags and bundles. Someone leaves +his baggage as security for a bill. He does not return. Someone leaves +his trunk in storage. He too disappears. Someone dies. In time all this +baggage is sold at an auctioneer's place to the highest bidders. They +have all been sealed when placed in the store room, and here they are, +trunks, bundles and bags, all to be sold with "contents if any." + +"With contents if any." Florence had read that sentence over many times +as she finished scanning the notice of an auction that was to be held +that very afternoon and night. + +"With contents if any," that was where her surprise was to come in. She +would pick out a good bag that had a woman's name on it, or one that at +least looked as if a woman had owned it, and she would bid it in. Then +the bag would be hers, and the "contents if any." She thrilled at the +thought. Her friend had told of diamond rings, of gold watches, of a +string of pearls, of silks and satins and silver jewel boxes that had +come from these mysterious sealed bags and trunks. + +"Of course," Florence assured herself, "there won't be anything like that +in my bag, but anyway there'll be a surprise. What fun it will be, on my +birthday, to turn the key to the bag and to peep inside. + +"I know the afternoon is going to drag terribly. I do wish I could go +now," she sighed, "but I can't. I do hope they don't sell all the nice +bags before I get there." + +With this she rose from the table, paid her check and went back to her +elevator, still wondering about her mysterious double and still dreaming +of her birthday surprise. + + + + + CHAPTER X + CORDIE'S STRANGE RIDE + + +Twice a day, after Cordie had discovered him, the police horse, Dick, had +a lump of sugar--one in the morning and another at noon. And Mounted +Officer Patrick O'Hara, very young, quite handsome and somewhat dashing, +received a smile with each lump of sugar. It would have been hard to tell +which enjoyed his portion the most, Dick or Patrick O'Hara. + +Apparently nothing could have pleased Cordie more than this discovery of +an old friend. Yes, there was one other thing that would have pleased her +much more. She found herself longing for it more and more. Every time she +saw the horse she secretly yearned for this privilege. + +And then, quite surprisingly, the opportunity came. It was noon. Having +come out from the store to give Dick his daily portion, she was surprised +to find him standing alone, head down, and patiently waiting. A glance +down the street told her there had been an auto collision in the middle +of the block; not a serious one probably, as the cars did not seem badly +smashed, but of course Patrick O'Hara had gone over there to take down +the numbers. Since traffic had been jammed, he had dismounted and walked. + +"Wha--what a chance," Cordie breathed, her heart skipping a beat. "Do I +dare?" + +She looked up at the splendid saddle with its broad circle of brass and +other trappings. She studied Dick's smooth, sleek sides. + +"I know I shouldn't," she whispered, "but I do so want to. Dick, do you +suppose he'd care?" + +The temptation was growing stronger. Glancing down the street, she caught +a glimpse of Patrick O'Hara's cap above the crowd. His back was turned. +The temptation was no longer to be resisted. With a touch and a spring, +light as air, Cordie leaped into the saddle. + +"Just for old times," she whispered. + +She had meant to hover there for an instant, then to leap right down +again. But alas for the best laid plans. Old Dick had apparently +remembered things about the past which she had quite forgotten, and with +a wild snort his head went up, his four feet came together, and with a +leap that completely cleared him from the autos that blocked his way, he +went tearing down the street. + +For a second the girl's head was in a whirl. So unexpected was this mad +dash that she was all but thrown from the saddle. Apparently an +experienced rider, she regained her balance, clung to the pommel of the +saddle for an instant, then gripping the reins, she screamed: + +"Whoa, Dick! Whoa! Whoa!" + +Had her scream been "Go Dick! Go!" it would not have had a different +effect. He simply redoubled his speed. + +Then it was that the State Street throng of shoppers viewed a performance +that was not on the program and one they would not soon forget--a +hatless, coatless girl, hair flying, cheeks aflame, dashing madly down +the street astride a sturdy police horse. + +Some laughed, some cheered, others gasped in astonishment and fright. A +corner policeman leaped for the reins, but missed. Panic spread through +the cross streets. It was a bad morning for jay-walkers. Having failed to +see the on-coming charger, they would leap boldly before a slow-moving +auto to give one startled look upward, then to register the blankest +surprise and shy suddenly backward. Had it not been such a serious +business, Cordie would have laughed at the expressions on their faces; +but this was no laughing matter. To all appearances she had stolen a +policeman's horse, and that in broad daylight. + +Suddenly a second police horse swung out into the street. + +"Stop! Stop! I arrest you!" shouted the rider. + +"That's easy said," the girl murmured in an agony of fear lest Dick +should trample someone under his feet. "It's easy said. I wish you +would." + +Evidently Dick did not agree with these sentiments, for the instant he +sensed this rival his head went higher, a great snort escaped his +nostrils and he was away with a fresh burst of speed which left the +surprised officer three lengths behind. + +"Oh! Oh! What shall I do!" groaned the girl. + +The more she tugged at the reins the faster flew Dick's splendid limbs. +He had the bit between his teeth. + +Suddenly, as if aggravated by the crowds that threatened to block his +way, he whirled to a side street and went dashing toward the Boulevard. + +"The Boulevard! Oh, the Boulevard! We will be killed!" + +Before them lay the Boulevard where autos, thick as bees in clover, raced +forward at twenty miles an hour. What chance could there be of escape? + +Trust a horse. While pedestrians stared and screamed in terror, while +policemen vainly blew whistles and auto drivers set brakes screaming, +Dick, without slackening his pace, raced ahead of a yellow limousine, +grazed a black sedan, sent a flivver to the curb, and with one +magnificent leap cleared the sidewalk and the low chain at its edge, +landing squarely upon the soft, yielding turf of the park. + +"Ah, that's better," he all but seemed to say. Then, heading south along +the narrow park that extended straight away for a mile, he continued his +mad career. + +Cordie, risking one backward look, gasped in consternation and fear. + +"Dick, Dick, you old villain! You've got me in for life! Never, never +again!" + +Three policemen, each mounted on his steed, came dashing after her in mad +pursuit. + +A straight, broad course lay before them; a pretty enough course to tempt +anyone. Seeming to gain new strength from the very touch of it, Dick +gripped his bit and fairly flew. + +And Cordie, in spite of her predicament, regardless of impending arrest, +was actually getting a thrill out of it. For one thing, there were now no +pedestrians to be run down. The park was deserted. For another thing, +ahead of Dick lay a clear stretch of turf which she hoped would satisfy +his lust for speed. + +Finding herself in a more cheerful frame of mind, Cordie took to studying +her pursuers. That they were of different ages she guessed more by the +way they rode than by a clear view of their faces; Dick had left them too +far behind for that. The foremost rider was a man of thirty-five or so, a +stern minion of the law, and he was plainly angry. It had been he who had +informed her on State Street that she was arrested. He had an unusually +long nose--she remembered that. He rode a poor mount very badly indeed. +The punishment he was getting, as he jounced up and down in the saddle, +he would doubtless attempt to pass on to her and to Dick. She ardently +wished that he might never catch up, but realized at the same time that +it could not well be avoided. The race must come to a close. + +The other policemen were different. One was heavy and well past middle +age; the other young, perhaps no older than Patrick O'Hara. They rode +with the easy grace of an aged and a young cowboy. She had seen some like +that in the movies not so long ago. She fancied she saw a smile on the +younger man's face. Perhaps he was enjoying the race. She sincerely hoped +he might be, and the older man, too. As for the one of the long nose--not +a chance. + +All things have an end. Dick's race did. Having come close to an iron +fence, beyond which towered a brick structure, he appeared to assume that +he had reached the goal. Dropping to a slow trot, he circled gracefully +to the right, and as he came to a standstill he threw his head high as +much as to say: + +"We won, didn't we; and by a handsome margin!" + +"Yes, you old goose," the girl breathed. "And now, instead of a blue +ribbon for you and a purse for me, we get an invite to some dirty old +police court." + +There was no time for further thought. The foremost policeman, he of the +long nose, rode up and snatching at the reins, snarled: + +"Suppose you call that smart, you--you flapper!" + +Staring angrily at the girl, he gave Dick's rein such a yank as threw the +magnificent horse on his haunches. + +Instantly Cordie's eyes flashed fire. They might take her to jail and +welcome; but abuse Dick he might not! + +Dick, however, proved quite equal to caring for himself. With a snort he +leaped to one side, and jerking his rein from the policeman's grasp, went +dashing away. + +So sudden was this turn that Cordie, caught unawares, was thrown crashing +to the ground. The officer wheeled and rode after the horse. + +It was the older man, the one with gray about his temples, who, quickly +dismounting, helped the girl to her feet. + +"Are you hurt?" he asked in a tone that had a fatherly touch in it. + +That did the trick for Cordie. All her anger was gone. She was not +injured, but tears came trickling out from beneath her eyelids as she +half sobbed: + +"I--I'm sorry. Truly I am. I didn't, didn't mean to. Truly--truly I +didn't! I--I used to ride him in races, on--on the farm. And I +thought--thought it would be fun to just sit--sit a minute in his saddle. +I tried it and I guess--guess he thought it was to be another race. +Anyway, he--he bolted with me and I couldn't stop him. Truly, truly I +couldn't!" + +"That's all right, Miss," said the elderly one, putting a fatherly hand +on her shoulder. "It may not be so bad, after all." + +The younger policeman had also dismounted and now stood smiling at them +and appearing to wish he might take the place of his older friend. + +"That is Pat O'Hara's horse," he said at last. "He's the smartest mount +on the force. And I'll tell you one thing, if we wait for Hogan to catch +him we'll be here until to-morrow morning." + +Hogan, the irate policeman, was certainly having his troubles catching +Dick. With the skill and mischief of a trained performer, Dick was +playing tag with him in a masterly fashion. He would stand with head down +as if asleep until his pursuer was all but upon him; then with a snort he +would dash away. No amount of coaxing, cajoling or cursing could bring +him any nearer to capture. + +This little play went on for several minutes. Then, at a time when Dick +had circled quite close to her, Cordie suddenly put two fingers to her +lips and let out a shrill whistle. Instantly the splendid horse pricked +up his ears and came trotting toward her. + +"Good old Dick," she whispered, patting him on the neck and not so much +as putting out a hand for his rein. + +"Well I'll be--" mumbled the younger policeman. + +"There's lots like 'em, both horses and girls," the old man smiled, "and +I'll swear there's not more bad in the girl than the horse." + +"No, now Hogan," he held up a warning hand to the one who came riding up. +"You leave this to me. Where's O'Hara's stand?" + +"State and Madison," volunteered the younger man. + +"Good, we're off. You men can ride back to your posts. I'll tend to this +matter myself." + +The younger man grinned. Hogan growled; then they rode away. + +"You better mount and ride back," suggested the older man to Cordie. + +Seeing her hesitate, he reached for her rein, "I'll steady him a bit, but +he's had his race. Guess he'll be satisfied. But," he said suddenly, +"you're not dressed for this. You must be half frozen." + +Unstrapping a great coat from Patrick O'Hara's saddle, he helped her into +it and together they rode away. + +And so it happened that on this day, only a few days before Christmas, +the throngs along State Street viewed a second unusual sight. Though +quite different from the first, it was no less mystifying. Who ever heard +of a gray haired policeman and a bobbed haired girl in a policeman's +great coat, riding police horses and parading up the city's most +congested street in broad daylight? + +"What a fool I've been," the girl whispered to herself as she hid her +face from a camera. "It will all be in the papers. And then what?" + +They found young Patrick O'Hara nervously pacing his beat on foot. His +face lit up with a broad grin as he saw them approaching. + +"I sort of figured," he drawled, "that whoever took Dick would bring him +back. Can't anybody do a good job of riding him except me." + +"If you think that," exclaimed Tim Reilly, the elderly policeman, "you +just take any horse on the force, give this girl and Dick a three-length +start, and see if you'd catch 'em. You would--not! Not in a thousand +moons!" + +Patrick O'Hara grinned as he helped the girl down. + +"Now you beat it," said Tim in as stern a voice as he could command. "I +suspect you work around here somewhere close. You've overdone your noon +hour, and this the rush season. You'll be in for it now." + +Cordie threw him one uncertain glance to discover whether or not he was +in earnest. The next moment she went racing across the street. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + AS SEEN FROM THE STAIRWAY + + +"Where in the world have you been?" Lucile exclaimed, pouncing upon +Cordie as soon as she came in sight. "Rennie's been worrying her poor old +head off about you, and Miss Mones, who's in charge of the checking +girls, is furious." + +"Oh," Cordie drawled, "I was out to lunch. Then I took a spin down the +park on my favorite steed. It's a won-der-ful day outside." + +"You'll have a lot of time to spend outside," scolded Lucile, "if you +don't get right back to your stand." + +A moment later, having somehow made her peace with Miss Mones, Cordie was +back at her task, rustling paper and snipping cord. + +Late that afternoon Lucile was sent to the twelfth floor storeroom to +look up a special order. She enjoyed these trips to the upper realms. +This vast storeroom was like a new world to her. As she walked down long, +narrow, silent aisles, on either side of which were wired in compartments +piled high with every conceivable form of merchandise: rugs, piano lamps, +dolls, dishes, couches, clothes-pins, and who knows what others, she +could not help feeling that she was in the store house of the world, that +she was queen of this little ward and that there remained only for her to +say the word and a house would be handsomely furnished, a beautiful bride +outfitted with a trousseau, or a Christmas tree decorated for a score of +happy children. Yes, these aisles held a charm and fascination all their +own. She liked the silence of the place, too. After the hours of +listening to the constant babble of voices, the murmur of shoppers, the +call of clerks, the answers of floormen, this place seemed the heart of +silent woods at night. + +Captivated by such thoughts as these, and having located the missing +books and started them on their journey down the elevator, she decided to +walk down the nine flights to her own floor. + +Here, too, as she skipped lightly down from floor to floor, she caught +little intimate glimpses of the various lives that were being lived in +this little world of which she was for a time a part. Here a score of +printing presses and box making machines were cutting, shaping and +printing containers for all manner of holiday goods. The constant rush of +wheels, the press and thump of things, the wrinkles on the brows of +operators, all told at what a feverish heat the work was being pushed +forward. + +One floor lower down the same feverish pace was being set. Here nimble +fingers dipped and packed chocolate bon-bons, while from the right and +left of them came the rattle and thump of drums polishing jelly beans and +moulding gum drops at the rate of ten thousand a minute. + +Ah yes, there was the Christmas rush for you. But one floor lower down +there was quiet and composure such as one might hope to find in a meadow +where a single artist, with easel set, sketches a landscape. It was not +unlike that either, for the two-score of persons engaged here were +sketching, too. The sketches they made with pen and ink and water-colors +were not unattractive. Drawings of house interiors they were; here the +heavily furnished office of some money king, and there the light and airy +boudoir of one of society's queens; here the modest compartment of a +young architect who, though of only average means, enjoyed having things +done right, and there the many roomed mansion of a steel magnate. These +sketches were made and then shown to the prospective customer. The +customer offered suggestions, made slight changes, then nodded, wrote a +check, and a sale amounting to thousands of dollars was completed. + +"That must be fascinating work," Lucile whispered to herself as an +artistic looking young woman showed a finished sketch to a customer. "I +think I'd like that. I believe----" + +With a sudden shock her thoughts were cut short. Two persons had entered +the glassed-in compartment--a woman of thirty and a girl in her late +teens. And of all persons! + +"The Mystery Lady and Cordie! It can't be," she breathed, "and yet it +is!" + +It was, too. None other. What was stranger still, they appeared to have +business here. At sight of them one of the artists arose and lifting a +drawing which had been standing face to the wall, held it out for their +inspection. + +Cordie clasped her hands in very evident ecstasy of delight, and, if +Lucile read her lips aright, she exclaimed: + +"How perfectly wonderful!" + +The expression on the Mystery Lady's face said plainer than words, "I +hoped you'd like it." + +The sketch, Lucile could see plainly enough from where she stood, was a +girl's room. There was a bed with draperies, a study table of +slender-legged mahogany, a dresser, one great comfortable chair +surprisingly like Lucile's own, some simpler chairs of exquisite design. +These furnishings, and such others as only a girl would love, were done +in the gay tints that appeal to the springtime of youth. + +"Cordie?" Lucile stared incredulously. "A simple country girl, what can +she know about such things? That room--why those furnishings would cost +hundreds of dollars. It's absurd, impossible; and yet there they are--she +and the Mystery Lady." + +The Mystery Lady! At thought of her, Lucile was seized with an almost +uncontrollable desire to rush down there and demand the meaning of that +lady's many strange doings. But something held her back. So Cordie was +acquainted with the Mystery Lady! Here was something strange. Indeed, +Lucile was beginning to wonder a great deal about Cordie. + +"She has her secrets, little Cordie!" exclaimed Lucile. "Who would have +thought it?" + +Perhaps it is not strange that Lucile did not feel warranted in breaking +in upon those secrets. So there she stood, irresolute, until the two of +them had left the room and lost themselves in the throngs that crowded +every aisle of this great mart of trade. + +"Now," Lucile sighed, "I shan't ever feel quite the same about Cordie. I +suppose, though, she has a right to her secrets. What could she possibly +know about interior decorating and furnishing? Perhaps more than I would +guess. But a country girl? What does she know about the Mystery Lady? +Little, or much? Have they known each other long? I--I'll ask her. +No--n-o-o, I guess I won't. I wasn't supposed to see. It was too much +like spying. No," this decisively, "I'll just have to let things work +themselves out. And if they don't work out to something like a +revelation, then I'll know they haven't, that's all. More than half the +mysteries of the world are never unravelled at all." + +After this bit of reasoning, she hastened on down the remaining flights +of stairs to her work. + +"Where's Cordie?" she asked of Laurie. + +"Out on a shopping pass. Swell looking dame came in and called for her." +There was a knowing grin on Laurie's face as he said this, but Lucile, +who had turned to her work, did not notice it. + +Cordie returned a few moments later, but not one word did she let fall +regarding her shopping mission. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + SILVER GRAY TREASURE + + +"What do you think!" exclaimed Cordie. "It was such a strange thing to +happen. I just have to tell some one, or I'll burst. I daren't tell +Lucile. I am afraid she'd scold me." + +James, the mysterious seaman who carried bundles in the book department, +looked at her and smiled. + +"I've heard a lot of stories in my life, and them that wasn't to be +repeated, wasn't. If you've got a yarn to file away in the pigeon holes +of somebody's brain, why file it with me." + +She had come upon James while on the way from the cloak room. She would +have to wait a full half hour before Lucile would have finished her work, +and she felt that she just must tell some one of her thrilling adventure +with Dick and the policeman. + +Seated on the edge of a table, feet dangling and fingers beating time to +the music of her story, she told James of this thrilling adventure. + +"You came out well enough at that," he chuckled when she had finished. +"Lots better'n I did the last time I mixed into things." + +Cordie wondered if this remark had reference to his chase after the +hawk-eyed young man who had followed her to the furnace room that night. +But asking no questions, she just waited. + +"Funny trip, that last sea voyage I took," James mused at last, his eyes +half closed. "It wouldn't have been half bad if it hadn't been for one +vile crook. + +"You see," he went on, "sometimes of a summer I run up to Nome. I've +always had a few hundred dollars, that is up until now. I'd go up there +in the north and sort of wander round on gasoline schooners and river +boats, buyin' up skins; red, white, cross fox, and maybe a silver gray or +two. Minks and martin too, and ermine and Siberian squirrel. + +"Always had a love for real furs; you know what I mean, the genuine stuff +that stands up straight and fluffy and can't be got anywhere far south of +the Arctic Circle--things like the fox skin that's on that cape your pal +Lucile wears sometimes. When I see all these pretty girls wearin' rabbit +skin coats, it makes me feel sort of bad. Why, even the Eskimos do better +than that! They dress their women in fawn skin; mighty pretty they are, +too, sometimes. + +"Well, last summer I went up to Nome, that's in Alaska, you know, and +from there I took a sort of pirate schooner that ranges up and down the +coast of Alaska and into Russian waters." + +"Pirate," breathed Cordie, but James didn't hear her. + +"We touched at a point or two," he went on, "then went over into Russian +waters for walrus hunting--ivory and skins. + +"We ran into a big herd and filled the boat up, then touched at East +Cape, Siberia. + +"There wasn't any real Russians there, so we went up to the native +village. Old Nepassok, the chief, seemed to take a liking to me. He took +me into his storeroom and showed me all his treasure--walrus and mastodon +ivory, whale bone, red and white fox skins by the hundred, and some mink +and beaver. Then at last he pulled out an oily cotton bag from somewhere +far back in the corner and drew out of it--what do you think? The most +perfect brace of silver fox skins I have ever seen! Black beauties, they +were, with maybe a white hair for every square inch. Just enough for +contrast. Know who wears skins like that? Only the very wealthiest +people. + +"And there I was looking at them, worth a king's ransom, and maybe I +could buy them." + +"Could you?" breathed Cordie. + +"I could, and did. It took me four hours. The chief was a hard nut to +crack. He left me just enough to get back to Chicago, but what did I +care? I had a fortune, one you could carry in two fair sized overcoat +pockets, but a fortune all the same. + +"I got to Chicago with them," he leaned forward impressively, "and then a +barber--a dark faced, hawk-eyed barber--done me out of them. Of course he +was a crook, just playing barber. Probably learned the trade in jail. +Anyway he done me for my fortune. Cut my hair, he did, and somehow got +the fox skins out of my bag. When I got to my hotel all I had in my bag +was a few clothes and a ten dollar gold piece. I raced back to the barber +shop but he was gone; drawed his pay and skipped, that quick. + +"That," he finished, allowing his shoulders to drop into a slouch, "is +why I'm carrying books here. I have to, or starve. Just what comes after +Christmas I can't guess. It's not so easy to pick up a job after the +holidays. + +"But do you know--" he sat up straight and there was a gleam in his eye, +"do you know when I saw that barber fellow last?" + +"Where?" + +"Down below the sub-basement of this store, in the boiler room at night." + +"Not--not the one who was following me?" + +"The same. And I nearly got him, but not quite." + +"You--you didn't get him?" + +Cordie hardly knew whether to be sorry or glad. She hated violence; also +she had no love for that man. + +"I did not get him," breathed James, "but next time I will, and what I'll +say and do for him will be for both you and me. G'night!" He rose +abruptly and, shoulders square, gait steady and strong, he walked away. + +"What are you dreaming about?" Lucile asked as she came upon Cordie five +minutes later. + +"Nothing much, I guess. Thinking through a story I just heard, that's +all." + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + LUCILE'S DREAM + + +That evening on the L train Lucile read a copy of the morning paper, one +which she had carefully saved for a very definite reason. It was the +paper which was exploiting the Lady of the Christmas Spirit. Lucile +always got a thrill out of reading about the latest doings of that +adventurous person who had managed to be everywhere, to mingle with great +throngs, and yet to be recognized by no one. + +"Well, I declare!" she whispered to herself as a fresh thrill ran through +her being. "She was to be in our store this very afternoon; in the art +room of the furniture store. That's the very room in which I saw Cordie +and the Mystery Lady. This Lady of the Christmas Spirit may have been in +the room at that exact moment. How very, very exciting!" + +Closing her eyes, she tried to see that room again; to call back pictures +of ladies who had entered the room while she had been looking down upon +it. + +"No," she thought at last, "there isn't one that fits; one was tall and +ugly, one short, stout and middle aged, and two were quite gray. Not one +fits the description of this Christmas Spirit person; unless, unless--" +her heart skipped a beat. She had thought of the Mystery Lady. + +"But of course it couldn't be," she reasoned at last. "It doesn't say she +was to be there at that very moment. I was not standing on the stair more +than ten minutes. There are six such periods in an hour and nine and a +half working hours in a store day. Fine chance! One chance in fifty. And +yet, stranger things have happened. What if it were she! What----" + +Her dreamings were broken short off by the sudden crumpling of paper at +her side. Cordie had been glancing over the evening paper. Now the paper +had entirely disappeared, and Cordie's face was crimson to the roots of +her hair. + +"Why Cordie, what's happened?" exclaimed Lucile. + +"Noth--nothing's happened," said Cordie, looking suddenly out of the +window. + +That was all Lucile could get out of her. One thing seemed strange, +however. At the stand by the foot of the elevated station Cordie bought +two copies of the same paper she had been reading on the train. These she +folded up into a solid bundle and packed tightly under her arm. + +"I wonder why she did that?" Lucile thought to herself. + +As often happens in bachelor ladies' apartments, this night there was +nothing to be found in their larder save sugar, milk and cocoa. + +"You get the cocoa to a boil," said Lucile, "and I'll run over to the +delicatessen for something hot. I'm really hungry to-night." She was down +the stairs and away. + +Somewhat to her annoyance, she found the delicatessen packed with +students waiting their turn to be supplied with eatables. The term had +ended, and those who were too far from home to take the holidays away +from the University were boarding themselves. + +After sinking rather wearily into a corner seat, Lucile found her mind +slipping back over the days that had just flown. + +"To-morrow," she told herself soberly, "is the day before Christmas. It +is my last day at the store. And then? Oh, bother the 'and then'! There's +always a future, and always it comes out somehow." + +That she might not be depressed by thoughts of the low state of her +finances, she filled her mind with day dreams. In these dreams she saw +herself insisting that Cordie reveal to her the secret hiding place of +the Mystery Lady. Having searched this lady out, she demanded the return +of her well worn, but comfortable, coat. In the dream still she saw the +lady throw up her hands to exclaim: + +"That frayed thing? I gave it to the rag man!" + +Then in a rage she, Lucile, stamps her foot and says: "How could you! Of +course now I shall keep your cape of fox skin and Siberian squirrel." + +"Ah," she whispered, "that was a beautiful dream!" + +Glancing up, she saw there were still six customers ahead of her and she +must wait for her turn. + +"Time for another," she whispered. + +This time it was the Lady of the Christmas Spirit. She saw her among the +throngs at the store. Feeling sure that this must be the very person, +that she might steal a look at her hands, she followed her from +department to department. Upstairs and downstairs they went. More than +once she caught the lady throwing back a mocking glance at her. + +Then, of a sudden, at the ribbon counter she caught sight of her hands. + +"Such hands!" she whispered. "There never were others like them. It is +the Lady of the Christmas Spirit." + +Putting out her own hand, she grasped one of the marvelous ones as she +whispered: "You are the Lady of the Christmas Spirit." + +At once there came a mighty jingle of gold. A perfect shower of gold went +sparkling and tinkling to the floor. + +"Oh! Oh!--Oh! It will all be lost!" she cried, leaping forward. + +She leaped almost into the delicatessen keeper's arms. To her surprise +she saw that the store was empty. Her day-dream had ended in a real +dream; she had fallen asleep. + +Hastily collecting her scattered senses, she selected a steaming pot of +beans and a generous cylinder of brown bread, then drawing her scarf +about her, dashed out into the night. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + THE NEWSPAPER PICTURE + + +Lucile may have been dreaming, but Cordie was wide awake and thinking +hard. The instant Lucile had closed the door behind her she had spread +one of the papers she had bought out before her and, having opened it at +page 3, sat down to look at a picture reproduced there. + +For a full two minutes she sat staring at it. + +"Well anyway, it's not such a bad picture," she chuckled at last. + +After the chuckle her face took on a sober look. + +Then suddenly she exclaimed: "Let's see what they say about it!" + +"Well of all things! Nothing but a line of question marks! Well, at least +the reporters know nothing about it." + +For a moment she stared at the long line of interrogation points, then +her face dimpled with a smile. + +"Just think," she murmured. "They never whispered one word! Not one of +them all! Not Patrick O'Hara, nor the old one they called Tim, nor the +young one, nor even Hogan, who was so angry at me. And I'll bet the +reporters begged and tempted them in every way they could think of. What +wonderful good sports policemen must be. I--I'd like to hug every one of +them!" + +Then she went skipping across the floor and back again, then paused and +stared again at the picture. + +Truth was, all unknown to her, and certainly very much against her +wishes, Cordie's picture had gotten into the paper. This was the picture +she was still staring at: Crowds thronging State Street, a gray-haired +mounted policeman, and by his side, also riding a police horse, a bobbed +haired young girl in a policeman's great coat. + +"What if they see it!" she murmured. + +"They wouldn't let me stay. They will see it too--of course they will." + +"But then, what does it matter?" she exclaimed a moment later. +"To-morrow's the day before Christmas. What will I care after that?" + +Hearing steps on the stairs, she hastily tore a page out of each of the +two papers, folded them carefully and thrust them into a drawer. Then she +threw the remaining part of the paper into the waste basket. + + +"To-morrow is the day before Christmas," whispered Lucile as two hours +later she sat staring rather moodily at the figures in the worn carpet. +"A great Christmas, I suppose, for some people. Doesn't look like it +would be much for me. With term bills and room rent staring me in the +face, and only a few dollars for paying them, it certainly doesn't look +good. And here I am with this little pet of mine sleeping on me and +eating on me, and apparently no honest way of getting rid of her." She +shook her finger at the bed where Cordie was sleeping. + +"If only you were an angora cat," she chided, still looking at the +dreaming girl, "I might sell you. Even a canary would be better--he'd +make no extra room rent and he'd eat very little." + +"And yet," she mused, "am I sorry? I should say I'm not! It's a long, +long life, and somehow we'll struggle through." + +"Christmas," she mused again. "It will be a great Christmas for some +people, be a wonderful one for Jefrey Farnsworth--that is, it will be if +he's still alive. I wonder when they'll find him, and where? They say +we've sold two thousand of his books this season. Think of it!" + +After that she sat wondering in a vague and dreamy way about many things. +Printed pages relating to the Lady of the Christmas Spirit floated before +her mind's vision to be followed by a picture of Cordie and the Mystery +Lady in the art room of the furnishings department. Cordie's iron ring, +set with a diamond, glimmered on the strange, long, muscular fingers of a +hand. Laurie sold the last copy of "Blue Flames." Jefrey Farnsworth, in +the manner she had always pictured him, tall, dark, with deep-set eyes +and a stern face wrinkled by much mental labor, stood before an audience +of women and made a speech. Yellow gold glittered, then spread out like a +molten stream. With a start she shook herself into wakefulness. Once more +she had fallen asleep. + +"Christmas," she whispered as she crept into bed. "To-morrow is the day +before----" + + + + + CHAPTER XV + "WITH CONTENTS, IF ANY" + + +In the meantime Florence had come upon an adventure. The place she +entered a half hour after quitting time was a great barn-like room where +dark shadows lurked in every corner but one. The huge stacks of bags and +trunks that loomed up indistinctly in those dark corners made the place +seem the baggage room of some terminal railway depot. + +As she joined the throng in the one light corner of the room she was +treated to another little thrill. Such a motley throng as it was. Jewish +second-hand dealers, short ones, tall ones, long-bearded ones; men of all +races. And there were two or three women, and not a few vagabonds of the +street, who had come in for no other purpose than to get out of the cold. +Such were those who crowded round the high stand where, with gavel in +hand, the auctioneer cried the sale: + +"How much am I bid? Ten dollars! Thank you. Ten I have. Who'll make it +eleven! 'Leven, 'leven, 'leven. Who'll make it twelve?" + +There was not an attractive face in the group that surrounded the block. +Florence was tempted to run away; but recalling the surprise she had +promised herself, she stayed. + +Presently her eyes fell upon a face that attracted her, the kindly, +gentle face of a woman in her thirties. She was seated at a desk, +writing. + +"She's the clerk of the sale," Florence thought. "They're selling trunks +now. She may be able to tell me when they will sell bags." + +She moved over close to the desk and timidly put her question. + +"Do you really want one of those bags?" the woman asked, surprise showing +in her tone. + +"Yes. Why not?" the girl asked. + +"No reason at all, I guess," said the clerk. Then, after looking at +Florence for a moment, a comradely smile spread over her face. + +"Come up close," she beckoned. "He'll be selling bags in fifteen minutes +or so," she whispered. "Sit down here and wait. Why do you want one of +those bags so badly?" + +"I--I need one," said Florence. + +"That's not all the reason." + +"No--not--not all," Florence hesitated, then told her frankly of the +surprise she had planned for herself. + +The woman's face became almost motherly as she finished. + +"I'll tell you what to do," she whispered. "There are just five bags to +be sold in the next lot. You won't want the first one. She--the woman who +owned it, died." + +"Oh, no," Florence whispered. + +"You won't get the second nor the third. That long bearded Jew, and the +slim, dark man standing by the post, will run them high if they have to. +They know something about them." + +"How--how--" + +"How did they find out? I don't know, but they did. The last two bags are +quite good ones, good as you would purchase new for fifteen or twenty +dollars, and I shouldn't wonder," she winked an eye ever so slightly, "I +shouldn't wonder a bit if there'd be a real surprise in one of them for +you. There now, dearie," she smiled, "run over and look at them, over +there beside the green trunk. And don't whisper a word of what I have +told you. + +"The one nearest the block will be sold first, and the others just as +they come," she added as the girl rose to go. + +Making her way around the outskirts of the crowd, Florence walked over to +the place of the green trunk. The bags were all good, and most of them +nearly new. Any one of them, she concluded, would see her safely through +college, and that was all that mattered. Then, lest she attract too much +attention, she slunk away into a dark corner. + +Her heart skipped a beat when the first bag was put up. Her hopes fell +when she saw it sell for thirty-two dollars. Her little roll of fifteen +dollars seemed to grow exceedingly small as she clutched it in her right +hand. Was her dream of a surprise for Christmas morning only a dream? It +would seem so, for the second and third bags also sold for a high figure. +But, recalling the little lady's advice, she kept up her courage. + +"How much am I bid?" said the auctioneer as the fourth bag was handed +him. Florence caught her breath. She tried to say "Ten dollars," but her +tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. A round faced man relieved her of +the task. The bag went to eleven dollars, then twelve. Then it came to a +halt, giving time for Florence to regain her voice. + +"Twelve and a half," her voice seemed piping and thin in that great +place. But the auctioneer got it. + +"Thank you. Twelve and a half, a half, a half." + +"Thirteen! Thank you. Thirteen I have. Now the half," he nodded to +Florence and she nodded back, "And a half, I have it. And a half. Now +fourteen. Thirteen and a half. Now make it fourteen." + +"Fourteen," someone shouted. Again the girl's heart sank. What was the +use? + +"And a half?" The auctioneer nodded at her and she nodded back. + +"Now fifteen. Now fifteen. Now fifteen," he shouted hoarsely. "Who'll +make it fifteen? Fifteen once. Fifteen twice!" Florence crushed her money +into a solid mass, "Fifteen three times, and SOLD to the young lady in +blue!" His gavel came down with a bang. + +Scarcely believing her senses, the girl groped her way forward to receive +the bag, then hurried over to the desk. + +"You got it?" smiled the clerk. "Here's hoping it's a beautiful, +wonderful surprise!" she whispered as she pressed a lonely half dollar +into the palm of her hand. + +Curiosity regarding the price that would be bid for the last bag of the +lot held Florence to the spot for the space of three minutes. And that +was a bit of curiosity which she was destined to regret. + +As she stood there listening to the bids she could not help but notice a +dark man, with burning, hawk-like eyes hurry into the place, glance +frantically about, race back to the place where the five bags had been, +then stand stock still. His dark eyes roved about the place until they +came to rest on one spot and that spot was the one occupied by the bag +which Florence held in her hand. From that time until she left the room, +although he pretended to be looking at everything else, she was sure his +eyes did not leave that bag for a space of more than five seconds at any +one time. The cold glitter of his eyes made her feel strangely weak at +the knees. + +She had not gone twenty rods from the place when she heard footsteps +behind her. Looking back, she saw that same small dark man coming behind +her. + +"Just happened to come out then," she tried to reassure herself. But it +was no use. Something within her told her that she was being followed, +followed on the deserted city streets at night. + +At once a mad procession of questions began racing through her mind. Who +was this man? Was it the bag he wanted? Why? What did he know about the +bag? What did it really contain? To none of these questions could she +form an adequate answer. Only one thing stood out clearly in her +mind--the bag was hers. She had come by it in an honest manner. The hotel +had a right to give it to the auctioneer to sell. She had a right to +purchase it. She had paid for it. She had the bill of sale. It was +rightfully hers. + +But even as these thoughts crystallized in her mind she realized that she +was desperately afraid. The man with his burning black eyes was enough to +inspire fear, and added to that it was night. + +"What am I to do?" she asked herself. "The elevated station is only two +blocks ahead, but he will board the train I take. He will follow me after +I get off and there are five desolate blocks to travel to my room." + +Suddenly a solution came to her. Just before her was the entrance to the +LaSalle Street Railway Station. Why not walk in there and leave the bag +at the checking room? She could return for it in the morning and carry it +to the store where she could check it again and leave it until closing +time. + +No sooner thought than done. Five minutes later, looking neither to right +nor left, she walked demurely out of the station. She did not know what +had become of her pursuer, and she did not care. The bag was safe. He +could not get it, and aside from that, what did he care for her, an +elevator girl going home from work? Very evidently he cared nothing at +all, for she did not see him again that night. + +"Fooled him," she smiled to herself as she settled herself comfortably in +a seat where she might watch the winter whitened city speed past her. +"That's the last I'll ever see of him." + +In coming to this conclusion she overlooked one trifling detail. Since +the night was cold, she had worn beneath her coat her elevator girl's +uniform. The auction room was warm. While there she had unbuttoned her +coat, displaying plainly the uniform and the monogrammed buttons on it. +The greatest of stores employ few enough elevator girls. To visit each +bank of elevators and to get a look at each girl is but the work of an +hour or two at most. The man would have no trouble in locating her if he +cared to do so. Since she had not thought of this she rode home humming +in a carefree manner and, after a meal of sandwiches, cocoa and pie, +followed by an hour of reading, she went to bed to dream of mysterious +treasures taken by the truck load from the depths of a heavy, dark brown +travelling bag. + +She awoke in the morning with a pleasing sense of mystery and +anticipation lurking about in the shadowy corners of her brain. + +Leaping from bed, she went through a series of wild calesthenics which +set every ounce of blood in her veins racing away with new life. + +An hour later, with a little suppressed feeling of excitement tugging at +her heart and with fingers that trembled slightly, she passed her check +over the counter at the depot. She had some slight feeling that it had +all been a dream. But no, there it was, her mysterious bag, as big and +handsome as ever. It was quite light, but she felt sure it was not empty. +What could it contain? She was tempted to draw the key from her pocket +then and there and have a peek. But no--to-morrow was Christmas. She +could wait. So, seizing the bag, she hurried away to her work. + +Once the bag was checked at the store and she back at her lever in the +cage that went up and down, up and down all day, she found herself +thinking of that other girl, the mysterious double of hers. Where was she +to-day? Had she really gone to work, or had she vanished? What manner of +plot had she been mixed up in? What train had gone at eleven-thirty? +Whose train? Was that girl supposed to go? If so, why did she not wish to +go? Where did she live? Who was she anyway? + +While the elevator went up and down, up and down, these questions, and a +score of others, kept revolving themselves in her mind. At last she found +herself forming a firm resolve that should she happen upon her mysterious +double again she most certainly would keep in touch with her until she +found out more about her. + +She saw her mysterious double shortly after she had gone to work, but +under conditions which gave her no opportunity to either study or +question her. The girl, dressed in her uniform and apparently ready to go +to work, was standing before the bank of elevators on the thirteenth +floor. She had been talking in low and excited tones to a tall, square +shouldered man who, in spite of the fact that he was on a floor of this +great store where only employees are allowed, had in his bearing and walk +something that spoke strongly of boats and the sea. + +"He's been a captain or a mate or something," Florence said to herself as +she sent her cage speeding downward. "I wonder if that girl belongs to +the sea." + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + A GREAT DAY + + +"The day before Christmas! Oh joy! Joy! Joy!" + +Lucile leaped out of bed. Throwing off her dream-robe, she went whirling +about the room for all the world as if she were playing roll the hoop and +she were the hoop. + +The day before Christmas! Who cared if room rent was due to-night? Who +cared if the school term loomed ahead with little enough cash in her +stocking to smooth its way? Who cared about anything? It was the day +before Christmas. + +This day work would be light. Tommie had said that. Donnie had said it. +Rennie and all the others of the sales group who stayed from year to year +had said it. What was more, for this one day, if never again, Lucile had +resolved to wear the magnificent cape of midnight blue and fox-skin. And +at night, when the day was done, the week ended, the season closed, there +was to be a wonderful party. A party! Oh joy! A party! + +Laurie, the mysterious Laurie Seymour, had invited them, just they of his +corner--Donnie and Rennie, Tommie, Cordie and herself. + +A grand party it was to be, a supper at Henrici's and after that Laurie +was to take them to a symphony concert! And to this party she would wear +the midnight blue cape. For one night, one reckless, joyous night, she +would travel in the height of style. And then? + +"Oh, bother the 'and then'! It's the day before Christmas!" She went +through another series of wild whirls that landed her beneath the shower. + +When at last she was fully dressed for this last day of work in the book +department, Lucile drew on the cape. Then, having told Cordie that she +would wait for her outside, she went skipping down the stairs. + +It was one of those crisp, snappy, frosty mornings of winter that invite +you to inhale deeply of its clear, liquid-like air. + +After taking three deep breaths Lucile buried her radiant face in the +warm depths of the fox skin. + +"How gorgeous," she murmured. "Oh, that I might own it forever!" + +Even as she said this all the unanswered questions that grouped +themselves about the cape--its owner, and the girl's associates at the +store--came trooping back to puzzle her. Who was the Mystery Lady? Why +had she left the cape that night? Why did she not return for it later? +How had it happened that she was in the store that night at two hours +before midnight? Who was Laurie Seymour? Why had he given the Mystery +Lady his pass-out? How had he spent that night? What had happened to the +vanished author of "Blue Flames"? Who was Cordie? Was she really the +poor, innocent little country girl she had thought her? What was to come +of her, once the season had closed? Who was the "Spirit of Christmas"? +Had she ever seen her? Who would get the two hundred in gold? What had +she meant by the crimson trail she left behind? Who was Sam? Why was +Laurie so much afraid to meet him? Above all, what were the secrets of +the crimson thread and the diamond set iron ring? + +Surely here were problems enough to put wrinkles in any brow. But it was +the day before Christmas, so, as Cordie came dancing down to a place +beside her, Lucile gripped her arm and led away in a sort of +hop-skip-and-jump that brought them up breathless at the station. + +There was just time to grab a paper before the train came rattling in. +Having secured a seat, Lucile hid herself behind her paper. A moment +later she was glad for the paper's protection. Had it not been for the +paper she felt that half the people on the train might have read her +thoughts. + +The thing she saw in the Spirit of Christmas column, which daily told of +the doings of the lady by that name, was such a startling revelation that +she barely escaped a shriek as her eyes fell on it. + +"You have been wondering," she read in the column devoted to the lady of +the "Christmas Spirit," "what I have been meaning by the crimson trail +which I have left behind. Perhaps some of you have guessed the secret. If +this is true, you have made little use of that knowledge. None of you +have found me. Not one of the hundreds of thousands who have passed me +has paused to grip my hand and to whisper: 'You are the Spirit of +Christmas.' + +"Now I will give you some fresh revelations. It is the day before +Christmas. At midnight to-night Christmas comes. As the clock strikes +that magic hour my wanderings cease. If no one has claimed my gold by +then, no one will. + +"I have told you always that hands ofttimes express more than a face. +This is true of my hands. They are strange hands. Stranger still are the +rings I wear upon them. For days now I have worn an iron ring set with a +diamond. Had someone noticed this, read the secret and whispered: 'You +are the Spirit of Christmas,' not only should my gold have clinked for +him, but the diamond should have been his as well." + +Lucile caught her breath as she read this. Here indeed was revelation. +Could it be--There was more. She read on. + +"As for the crimson trail I have left behind. That is very simple. I +marvel that people can be so blind. I have left it everywhere. It is +unusual, very unusual, yet I have left it everywhere, in hundreds of +places, in newsboys' papers, in shopgirls' books, in curtains, shades, +and even in people's garments, yet not one has read the sign. The sign is +this: a bit of crimson thread drawn twice through and tied. There is a +purple strand in the thread. It is unusual, yet no one has understood; no +one has said 'You are the Spirit of Christmas'." + +"The crimson thread," Lucile breathed. "Why, then--then the Mystery Lady +and the Spirit of Christmas Lady are one, and I have seen her many times. +I saw her at two hours before midnight. I sold her a book. Twice I saw +her talking to Cordie. I followed her upon the street. Had I but known it +I might have whispered to her: 'You are the Spirit of Christmas.' Then +the gold would have been mine. Two hundred in gold!" she breathed. "Two +hundred in gold! And now it is gone! + +"But is it? Is it quite gone yet? There is yet this day, the day before +Christmas." + +Again her eyes sought the printed page. And this is what she read: + +"Today I shall not appear before sunset. Early in the evening, and again +between the hours of ten and midnight, I shall be somewhere on the +Boulevard. I shall attend the Symphony Concert in Opera Hall." + +"The concert," Lucile murmured with great joy. "We, too, are going there +to-night. We shall be on the Boulevard. There is yet a chance. And the +beauty of it all is I shall know her the instant I see her. Oh! You +glorious bag of gold, please, please do wait for me!" + +As the car rattled on downtown, her blood cooled and she realized that +there was a very slight hope. With these broad hints thrown out to them, +all those who had been following the doings of this mysterious lady would +be eagerly on the alert. There may have been some, perhaps many, who had +found the crimson thread and had marvelled at it. Perhaps, like her, they +had seen the Mystery Lady's face and would recognize her if they saw her +on the Boulevard. There may have been many who had seen and marvelled at +the diamond set iron ring. + +"Ah well," Lucile whispered to herself, "there is yet hope. 'Hope springs +eternal--'" + +At the downtown station she dismissed the subject for matters of more +immediate importance, the last great day of sales before Christmas. + +Trade until noon was brisk; mostly business men rushing in for "cash and +carry." At noon she arranged to have lunch with her old chum, the +elevator girl and, because it was the day before Christmas, instead of +the crowded employees' lunch room, they chose as their meeting place the +tea room which was patronized for the most part by customers. Here, in a +secluded corner, they might talk over old times and relate, with bated +breath, the events of the immediate past and the future. + +Enough there was to tell, too. Lucile's Mystery Lady, who had turned so +suddenly into the one of the Christmas Spirit, her Laurie Seymour, her +hoped for $200 in gold, her James, the bundle carrier and last but not +least, Cordie. And for Florence there was her mystifying double and the +bewitching bag that contained her Christmas surprise. Did ever two girls +have more to tell in one short noon hour? + +As Florence finished her story; as she spoke of seeing her double talking +with the broad shouldered man of the seaman-like bearing, Lucile suddenly +leaned forward to exclaim: + +"Florence, that man must have been our bundle carrier, James. He has told +Cordie of his trips upon the sea. There could scarcely be two such men in +one store." + +"It might be true," smiled Florence, "but don't forget there are two such +persons as I am in this store. You never can tell. I'd as soon believe he +was the same man. Wouldn't it be thrilling if he should turn out to be a +friend of my double's and we should get all mixed up in some sort of +affair just because I look exactly like her. Oh, Lucile!" she whispered +excitedly, "the day isn't done yet!" And indeed it was not. + +"And this man who followed you after you had bought the bag," said Lucile +thoughtfully. "He sounds an awful lot like the one who tried to carry +Cordie away. Do you suppose----" + +"Now you're dreaming," laughed Florence as she reached for her check, +then hurried away to her work. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + AN ICY PLUNGE + + +Florence's opportunity for following her surprising double came sooner +than she expected; that very evening, in fact. She had quit work at the +regular time, had donned hat and coat, had gone to the checking room to +retrieve her Christmas bag. She was just leaving by a side door when, +ahead of her in the throng, she caught a glimpse of that splendid cross +fox which her double had insisted on her wearing the day before. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Here's where I solve a mystery." + +Without a thought of what it might lead to, she followed the girl to a +surface car and boarded it just behind her. At Grand Avenue the girl got +off and Florence followed her again, boarded an eastbound car and, almost +before she knew it, found herself following the girl through a blinding +swirl of snow that swept in from the lake. + +The street the girl had taken was covered with untrodden snow. It led to +the Municipal Pier, the great city pier that like some great black +pointing finger of destiny reached a full half mile out into the white +ice-bound lake. + +"Where--where can she be going?" Florence asked herself. + +"Boo! How cold!" she shivered. + +The next moment she shivered again, but this time it was from fear. +Having chanced to look about, she was startled to see a man all but upon +her heels. And that man--no, there could be no mistake about it--that man +was the one of the night before, he of the burning black eyes. + +Not knowing what else to do, the girl redoubled her speed. A half formed +hope was in her mind, a hope that she might catch up with the other girl. +Two were better than one, even if both were girls. + +Hardly had this hope come when it vanished. In the shadows of the +three-story brick structure that formed the base of the pier, her double +suddenly disappeared and left her, a lone girl on a wind-swept, deserted +street that led to an empty pier. And here was a dark-faced, villainous +looking man at her heels. + +She could see but one chance now; that she might find her way out upon +the pier and there, amid its labyrinth of board walks, freight rooms and +deserted lunch rooms, lose herself from her pursuer. She resolved to try +it. The next moment she dashed into the shadows of that great black +building. + +The pier, upon which she had placed hopes of escape, was used in summer +as a recreation center. On warm days its board walks and its wind-swept +pavilions were thronged. Now it was still as a tomb. + +Florence had once been here with the throng, but had taken little notice +of things then. The very silence of the place was confusing. She fancied +that she heard her own heart beat. Which way should she turn? Above, two +stories up, she remembered was a broad board walk a half mile long. She +might race up the stairs to this; but after all it offered no place of +hiding. To her right was a hallway which led to a long narrow loading +place for trucks. At this place, in summer, ships docked; here their +hundreds of tons of fruit, grain, flour, manufactured articles, and a +hundred other commodities, were unloaded. She had a vague notion that +just back of this loading place, beyond the fast closed doors, was a +labyrinth of freight rooms. + +"If only one of those doors were open," she breathed. "Perhaps one is +unlocked. It's my best chance." + +All this thinking consumed less than a moment of time. The next instant +she went racing over the cement floor. She was across it and out upon the +landing in a moment. This she knew was a perilous position. There was a +night watchman about somewhere. Here she was in plain view. What would +the watchman do if he found her? Her pursuer was not far behind. + +With a trembling hand, she gripped the latch of a door. It lifted, but +the door did not open. + +"Locked," she whispered in a tone of despair. + +"Try another," was her next thought. She was away like a shot. + +Again the latch lifted; again the door refused to budge. She thought she +saw a dark figure pass from pillar to pillar in the place she had just +left. She could not see him, but she caught the thud-thud of his feet on +the cement platform. + +Fighting her way against the wind, racing fast, breathing hard, she +battled onward. And all the time something within her was whispering: +"It's no use, no use, no use." Yet, setting her teeth hard, she raced on. + +The man was gaining, she was sure of that. Yes, now as she looked back +she saw him, only some fifty yards behind her. + +This drove her to frantic effort. But to no avail. He continued to gain; +a yard, two yards, five, ten, twenty. + +"It's no use," she panted sobbingly. + +And then--she could not believe her eyes--before her, to the right, was +an open door. + +Like a flash she was inside. Grasping the door she attempted to shut it, +but the snow blocked it. + +One glance about her showed great dark bulks on every hand. + +"Freight," she breathed, "piles of freight. Here--here is a chance yet." + +The next instant she was tip-toeing her way softly in and out among the +innumerable piles of boxes, bags and crates that extended on and on into +the impenetrable darkness. + +She ran along as softly as she could, yet each time as she paused she +fancied that she caught the stealthy footsteps of that horrible man. + +"What does he want? Is it the bag that he wants? Whose bag was it? Was it +his? If so, why did he let it get away from him?" These questions kept +racing through her brain. Then came another question even more +disturbing. Perhaps this man had been unfortunate, had been sick or had +lost all his property. It might be that he had returned just in time to +miss the opportunity of redeeming this lost possession which contained +something he prized, perhaps of great value. + +"In that case he is more to be pitied than feared," she thought. + +For an instant she contemplated going back to him; yet she dared not. + +So, in the end, she continued tip-toeing about. Round a great pile of +sacks, filled with sugar or beans, past boxes of tin cans and in and out +among massive pieces of machinery, she wandered, all the time wondering +in a vague sort of way what was to be the end of it all. + +The end to her stay in the store-room came with lightning-like rapidity. +She had just tiptoed around a huge steel drum of some sort when all of a +sudden there burst upon her ear a deafening roar that shattered the +stillness of the place. + +The next instant a great black dog leaped at her. + +He was not three feet from her when, with an agility that surprised her, +she leaped from box top to box top until she found herself ten feet above +the floor. + +But the dog, who appeared to be an utterly savage beast, could climb too. +She could hear him scrambling and scratching his way up, growling as he +came. Her head was in a whirl. What was to be done? Suddenly she realized +that just before her, beyond the boxes, was a window. Dragging her bag +after her, she succeeded in reaching the window. She found it locked. In +her desperation she dropped her bag and began kicking at the sash. With a +sudden snap the fastenings gave way. She was caught so unawares that she +plunged straight out of the window. + +With a bump that knocked all the wind from her lungs and most of her +senses from her head, she landed on something hard. Without being able to +help herself, she rolled over once, then fell again. This time, to her +surprise and consternation, she did not bump; she splashed. She sank. She +rose. With all her nerves alert, she swam strongly in the stinging lake +water. She had fallen from the narrow pier ledge and had landed in the +lake. + +A white cake of ice loomed up before her. She swam to it and climbed upon +it. What was to be done? The thermometer was near zero. She was soaked to +the skin, and far from anyone she knew. + +"Got--got to get to shore somehow," she shivered. "I'll freeze here, +sure. Freeze in no time." + +She looked back at the place from which she had come. The window was +still open. The dog had stopped barking. She wondered in a vague sort of +way what had become of her pursuer. + +"And--and my bag," she chattered. "It--it's in there." She was coming +almost to hate that bag. + +"Can't get up there anyway," was her final comment. It was true; between +the water line and the surface of the pier landing was a sheer wall of +cement, eight feet high and smooth as glass. + +Her gaze swept a broad circle. Off to her right was a solid mass of ice +which appeared to reach to shore. + +"One swim and then I can walk to land," she shuddered. + +Two steps forward, a sudden plunge, and again she was in the freezing +water. + +Once on the ice she dashed away at top speed. It was a race, a race for +her life. Already her clothing was freezing stiff. + +Here she leaped a chasm of black water; there she tripped over a hole and +fell flat; here dodged a stretch of honeycomb ice and raced across a +broad level stretch. + +Almost before she knew it she was alongside a row of steamships tied up +in a channel close to shore. Then, to her surprise, she caught the gleam +of a light in a cabin on the upper deck of the smallest boat tied there. + +"There's a rope cable hanging over the side," she told herself. "I--I +could climb it. There must be someone up there, and--and a fire. A fire! +Oh, a fire and warmth! I must do it, or I'll freeze. + +"Of course they are strangers--a man, two men, maybe a family, but sea +folks are kind people, I'm told. They know what it means to be wet and +cold. I--I'll risk it." + +The next moment, hand over hand, she was making her way up the cable. + +Once on deck, she raced along the side until she came to a stair. Up this +she sprang, then down the side again until she was at the door of the +room where the light still gleamed into the night. + +Without a moment's hesitation she banged on the door. + +"Who--who's there?" came in a distinctly feminine voice. Florence's heart +gave a great throb of joy. + +"It's me. Only me," she answered. "You don't know me, but let me in. I +fell in the lake. I--I'm free--freezing!" + +At once the door flew open and she was dragged inside. Then the door +slammed shut. + +For a fraction of a moment the two girls stood staring at one another, +then as in one voice, they burst out: + +"It's you!" + +"It's you!" + +The girl in the ship's cabin was none other than Florence's double. + +There was no time for explaining. The girl began tugging away at her +double's frozen garments. Ten minutes later, with her clothing on a line +behind the glowing stove, Florence sat wrapped in a blanket by the fire, +sipping a cup of cocoa. + +For a time she sat looking at the girl who was so marvelously like +herself in appearance. Then she said quietly: + +"Would you mind telling me about yourself?" + +"Not a bit. Guess I ought to. You did me a good turn. My name's Meg." + +"I guessed that much." + +"How?" + +"That's what the man and the woman called me." + +"The man and the woman?" For a moment the girl's face was puzzled. Then, +"Oh yes, I----" + +She paused for a moment as if about to tell something about the strange +man and woman who had told Florence that the train left at eleven-thirty. +If this had been her intention she thought better of it, for presently +she said: + +"My mother and father are dead. Since I was ten years old I've lived with +my uncle, mostly on ships." + +"How--how thrilling!" + +"Well, maybe, but you don't learn much on ships. There's an old saying: +'You can't go to school if you live on a canal boat.' Ships are about as +bad. I've got through eighth grade, though, and I want to go some more. +That day I took your place and you wore my clothes I----" + +"Who--who's that?" Florence had heard the movement of feet outside. + +"No friend of mine; not this time of night. Must be yours." + +"It might be the man!" + +"What man? Your friend?" + +"No. Not my friend; an awful man who wanted the bag." + +"What bag?" + +"A bag I bought at an auction. My--my Christmas surprise. There--there he +is," she whispered tensely as there came a knock at the door. + +"Come in," said Meg. + +"Oh, don't!" Florence struggled to her feet. "Don't let him in!" + +"Why not?" Meg had risen. In her hand was an affair resembling a +policeman's club, only it was made of iron--a heavy belaying pin. "Why +not?" she repeated. "If I don't fancy him, he'll let himself out fast +enough." At the same time there came a rattle at the door knob. Florence +sank back into her chair. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + THE MYSTERY LADY'S NEW ROLE + + +Such a party as it was; that one which was being enjoyed by Lucile and +her friends of the juvenile book corner. Such crisp brown cream biscuits! +Such breast of turkey with cranberry sauce and dressing! Such pudding! +Even in the days of her childhood at home Lucile had never seen a more +sumptuous feast. All this, in the midst of the gayest of Christmas +spirit, made the occasion one long to be remembered by any person whose +mind was not too much occupied by bewitching thoughts of other important +things. + +As for Lucile, her mind was indeed engaged with dreams that were far from +the realm of food and drink. She was thinking of that meeting she had so +long dreamed of and which she still had the courage to hope might come to +pass, her own meeting with the Mystery Lady of the Christmas Spirit. + +"I shan't fail to recognize her," she assured herself, "though she be +dressed like an Eskimo or a South Sea Island maiden." + +At last the time came for strolling down the Boulevard toward the music +hall. Lucile stared at the passing throngs until Laurie teasingly asked +her whether she hoped to see in one of them the face of a long lost +brother. + +At last she found herself in the opera chair of the great hall. Now, at +least, she was in the same room as the Mystery Lady, or soon must be, for +if the Mystery Lady had not entered she soon would. In ten minutes the +first note would be struck. There was a thrill in that. + +It was to be a truly wonderful program, such a one as the girl had +perhaps never listened to before. And she loved music, fairly adored it. +As she thought how her interest this night must be divided between the +fine music and the Mystery Lady, she found herself almost wishing that +the Mystery Lady had not brought into her life so much that was unusual, +perplexing and mysterious. + +"Perhaps I shall be able to locate her before the music begins," she +thought to herself. "Then, during a recess, I'll glide up to her and +whisper, 'You are the Spirit of Christmas.'" + +Though she scanned the sea of faces near and far, not one of them all, +save those of her own little group, was familiar to her. + +It was with a little sigh of resignation that she at last settled back in +her seat and allowed her program to flutter to her lap. + +The time for the first number had arrived. The musicians had taken their +places. The rows of violinists and cornetists, the standing bass viol +player, the conductor with his baton, all were there. Like soldiers at +attention, they waited for the soloist. + +Mademoiselle Patricia Diurno, the country's most talented young pianist, +was to lead that night in the rendition of three master concertos. + +There was an expectant lull, then mighty applause. She was coming. At a +door to the right she appeared. Down a narrow way between rows of +musicians she passed, a tall, slim, gracefully beautiful lady. + +In the center of the stage she paused to bow in recognition of the +applause, then again, and yet again. Then, turning with such grace as +only a trained musician knows, she moved to her place and with a slight +nod to the leader, placed her hands upon the keys, then sent them racing +over the keys, bringing forth such glorious music as only might be +learned beside a rushing brook in the depths of the forest. + +Lucile gripped her seat until her fingers ached. She strove to remain +seated while her face went white and then was flushed with color. + +"It is she," she whispered to herself. "It cannot be, yet it is! The same +eyes, the same nose, the same hair. I cannot be mistaken. It is she! +Patricia Diurno, the celebrated, the most wonderful virtuoso, is the +Mystery Lady and the Spirit of Christmas! And I? How am I to remain in +this seat for two mortal hours while before me sits a woman pouring forth +bewitching music, a woman who for a handclasp has the power to make me +rich, yes, rich? Two hundred in gold. How--how can I?" + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + MEG WIELDS A BELAYING PIN + + +Florence started back at sight of the one who opened the door in response +to Meg's "Come in." It was indeed the small man of the burning, hawk-like +eyes. His disposition appeared to have been changed by his battle with +the storm. It was plain from the first that he was now a man not to be +trifled with; at least not by two girls in a lonely ship's cabin at an +hour fast approaching midnight. He twisted his face into an ugly grin. +His smile was more horrible than a snarl would have been. His white teeth +showed like an angry dog's. + +"The bag!" he said in a tone that was a command. It was evident that he +was both angry and desperate. + +"What bag?" said Meg, rising as her companion, wrapping her blanket +closer about her, slunk further into the corner. + +"My bag!" His tone was threatening. He advanced a step. + +Florence could see a deep red stealing up beneath the natural tan of the +daughter of the sea as she too advanced a step. Meg showed not the +slightest fear. + +"There's no bag here." Her hand was behind her, gripping the belaying +pin. "No bag at all unless you call that thing a bag." She pointed to a +canvas duffel bag that hung in the corner. "That's mine. You can't have +it. You can't have anything in this cabin. You can't even touch anything +or anybody, so you better get out." + +"So!" The man's word was more like a hiss than a real expression of the +word. At the same time his teeth were so uncovered that one might count +them. + +"So!" He advanced another step. + +There came a faint click. Something bright gleamed in his right hand. A +scream came to Florence's lips, but she did not utter it; she only sat +and stared. + +"Yes," said Meg in an even tone, while the red mounted to the roots of +her hair. "We get your kind on the ships too. We get all kinds." + +Then, like a tiger in the jungle, she leaped forward. There followed a +resounding thwack; a heavy knife went jangling to the floor. The +stranger's usually dark face turned a sickly white as, gripping a bruised +wrist, he backed out of the room. + +Stepping to the door Meg closed it, but did not bother to lock it. + +Stooping, she picked up the knife and examined it carefully. + +"That," she said in a matter of fact tone, "is a good knife, much better +than the one I use for slicing bacon. I shall keep it. + +"See," she said, holding it close to Florence, "it has a six-inch blade +that locks when you open it. That's what made it click." + +Florence shrank from the thing. + +"He had no right to carry it," said Meg, closing it and dropping it into +a chest. "It's a concealed weapon, and they're against the law. So I'll +keep it. Now what about this bag?" she asked suddenly. + +"Why, you see," smiled Florence, "to-morrow's Christmas. Since I didn't +expect a surprise from anyone, I decided to buy myself one. So I went +down to an auction sale and bought a bag with 'contents if any.' I meant +to buy a bag anyway, and the 'contents if any' was to be my surprise." + +"What did you get?" Meg asked, leaning forward eagerly. + +"I didn't look. I meant to keep the bag until to-morrow. It wouldn't be a +Christmas surprise if I opened it before hand. And now it's gone!" + +"What--what did you expect to find?" + +"It might have been anything--silk scarfs, some splendid furs, jewelry, a +watch--anything. And then again," her voice lost its enthusiasm, "it +might have contained a man's collar and a suit of pajamas. I couldn't +tell. Maybe it was just nothing at all. It was awful light." + +"All those things," said Meg, her eyes shining, "or any of them. What a +pity! What fun you would have had!" + +For a moment she sat there in silence. Then suddenly, "Where's it gone?" + +"I--I lost it on the pier." + +"Where?" Meg sat up all alert. + +Florence told her as best she could. + +"I'll go get it." Meg dragged her coat from its hanger. + +"No! No! Don't!" Florence exclaimed, springing up. "It's dangerous." + +"What's to be afraid of?" laughed Meg. "Don't everybody on the pier know +me? Even the watch-dog knows me? As for your late friend and follower, +I'll just take my belaying pin along. But I guess he's far enough away by +now. Watch me. I'll be back in half an hour with that bag--you wait and +see." + +With a rush that let in a great gust of cold air and snow, she was out of +the cabin and away. + +The greater part of what she had said to Florence was true. She did know +the dock as well as any ship on which she had ever sailed. She knew the +watchman and his dog. But, without her knowledge, there was one person in +authority by the pier that night who did not know her and this the two +girls were to learn to their sorrow. + + * * * * * * * * + +Seeing a heavy dressing gown hanging in the corner, Florence rose and, +discarding her blanket, put this robe on. Then, after feeling of her +slowly drying clothes and moving her skirt closer to the stove, she +walked to the door and locked it. + +"Meg may not be afraid of that man," she whispered to herself, "but I +am." + +At once, as she began walking the floor of the narrow cabin, her mind +went to work on the many unanswered questions stored away in her mind. +Like some scientist examining specimens, she drew these questions one at +a time from their mental pigeon holes. + +Why did this evil looking man with the scar above his eye want her bag so +badly? Suddenly it occurred to her that he might be a thief, or a safe +blower, and this bag might contain some of his valuable loot. She +remembered reading of criminals who had locked their booty in trunks or +bags and stored them in some public place until the police had gotten off +their trail. + +"In that case," she told herself, "my surprise will be a disappointment. +No matter how wonderful the contents may be, I will not keep the least +bit of it, but turn it over to the police. + +"But then," she thought again, "probably Meg will not be able to get the +bag. She may not be able to get in. Probably the watchman heard the dog +and closed the door and window. And again, she may find it and that +terrible man may take it from her." + +This last she doubted. Meg appeared abundantly able to take care of +herself. Florence could not but admire her strength and bravery. It had +been magnificent, the way she had put that villainous intruder to flight. +She thought of what the girl had said about being reared on a steamship +and wanting more education. She found herself longing to help her. And +why not? She roomed alone. Hers was a large bed, large enough for two, +and she thought she could get a scholarship for her in the academy +connected with the university. Anyway, it could be managed somehow. There +were elevators in great hotels close to the school that must be run. +Perhaps she could find her a part time position on one of these. She +would talk to her about it as soon as opportunity offered. + +But who was she, after all? She had been telling her story when that man +broke in upon them. Would she have told why she asked Florence to wear +her clothes for a half day and play the role of Meg? If she had, what +would her reason have been? + +During the time that these problems had passed in review in her memory +she had been walking the cabin floor. Now she came to a sudden pause. Had +she heard footsteps on the deck below? She thought so. Yes, there it was +again, more plainly now. They were mounting the stairs. Who could it be? +Was it that man? She shuddered. Springing to the corner, she put out a +hand for Meg's belaying pin. It was gone. The door was locked, but the +lock looked very weak. What was she to do? It did not seem possible that +Meg could be back so soon. She had---- + +A hand tried the door. What should she do? Should she let the person in? + +Certainly she should, for in Meg's unmistakable voice she heard: + +"Let me in." + +When Florence threw open the door she saw at a glance that Meg had the +bag and that the seal was unbroken. + +"Tell you what," began Florence, "you go home with me to-night. To-morrow +is Christmas. We don't have to get up early. We'll have something hot to +drink and some cakes, and we'll talk a little. Then, just as the clock +strikes twelve, we'll break the seal to the bag. Won't that be romantic?" + +"I should say!" said Meg with gleaming eyes. "That would be spiffy! When +do we start?" + +"At once," said Florence, pulling her clothing from the line. + +They were not destined to get away so easily, however. Unfortunately for +them, there was a person near the entrance to the pier that night whom +Meg did not know, had in fact never seen. + +The wharf to which the boats were tied lay a distance of about a block +south of the entrance to the pier, and the particular boat on which Meg +had taken up quarters was tied about two blocks from the end of the pier. +In order to reach the car line they were obliged to battle their way +against the storm, which had increased in violence, until they were near +the entrance to the pier. + +They had covered these three blocks and had paused to catch their breath +and to watch for the light of a street car boring its way through the +whirl of snow, when a gruff voice said: + +"Where y' think y'r goin'?" + +"Why, we--" Florence hesitated. + +"What you got in that bag?" + +Florence turned to find herself looking into the face of a young +policeman. + +She flashed a glance at Meg. That one glance convinced her that Meg did +not know him. + +"Where--where's Tim?" Meg faltered. + +"Tim who?" + +"Tim McCarty. This is his beat." + +"'T'aint now. It's mine. He's been transferred. What's more," he paused +to lay a gloved hand on the travelling bag, "since this is my beat, part +of my job's findin' out what comes off them ships at night. What y' got +in that bag?" + +"I--I don't know," Florence said the words impulsively, and regretted +them the instant they were said. + +"Don't know--" he ceased speaking to stare at her. "Say, sister, you're +good! Don't know what you've got in that bag! In that case all I can do +is take you to the station for questioning. + +"No," he said in a kindlier tone after a moment's thought, "maybe if +you'll unlock it and let me see what's inside I'll let you go." + +Open it and let him see what was inside? Florence's head was in a whirl. +Open it? What if her fears proved true? What if it contained stolen +goods? Why, then she would see the first light of Christmas morning +behind prison bars. Was ever anyone in such a mess? Did ever a girl pay +so dearly for her own Christmas surprise? + +But Meg was speaking: "Say, you see here," she said to the young +policeman, her voice a low drawl. Florence heard them indistinctly +against the roar of the storm. So there she stood with her back to the +wind, clinging tightly to the handle of her bag and hoping against hope +that she would not be obliged to reveal her secret there and then. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + THE GREAT MOMENT + + +The revelation that had come to Lucile as she sat there listening to the +first notes of a great concerto, led by a famous virtuoso, was so +unusual, so altogether startling, that she felt tempted to doubt her +senses. + +"Surely," she whispered to herself, "I must be mistaken. There is a +resemblance, but she is not that woman. Imagine a great virtuoso, one of +the famous musicians of our land, being in a department store at two +hours before midnight! Fancy her going up and down streets, in and out of +the stores and shops dressed in all manner of absurd costumes, playing +the star role in a newspaper stunt to increase circulation! How +impossible! How--how utterly absurd!" + +She paused for reflection and as she paused, as if to join her in quiet +thought, the great musician allowed her flying fingers to come to rest on +the keyboard while a violin soloist did his part. + +Then, quick as light, but not too swiftly for Lucile's keen eyes, she +slipped something from her finger, a something that sent off a brilliant +flash of light. This she placed on the piano beside the keyboard. + +To Lucile, resting as it did against the black of the ebony piano, this +thing stood out like a circle of stars against the deep blackness of +night. She felt her lips forming the words: + +"Don't put it there! A hundred people will see it!" + +That dull gray circle with the flashing spot of light was a ring; +Cordie's iron ring with its diamond setting. There was no longer a single +vestige of doubt in the girl's mind regarding the identity of the Mystery +Lady and the Spirit of Christmas. They were one and the same, and +together they were Patricia Diurno, the celebrated virtuoso. + +Somehow Lucile got through that two hours without screaming or jumping +from her seat to hurl herself upon the platform, but she will never quite +know just how she did it. At times she drove the whole affair from her +mind to think of other unsolved problems--of Laurie and the lost author; +of Cordie, and of Sam. At other times she found herself completely +absorbed by the wonderful music which poured forth. + +The majesty of the music grew as the evening passed. When at last the +orchestra struck out into that masterpiece, Tschaikowsky's Concerto in B +minor, she forgot all else to lose herself in the marvelous rise and fall +of cadent sound that resembled nothing so much as a storm on a rockbound +coast. + +The piano, leading on, called now to the violin to join in, then upon the +cello, the bass viols, the cornets, the saxophones, the trombones, the +trap-drums, until all together, in perfect unison, they sent forth such a +volume of sound as shook the very walls. + +The great virtuoso, forgetful of all else, gave herself completely to her +music. Turning first this way, then that, she beckoned the lagging +orchestra on until a climax had been reached. + +Then, after a second of such silence as is seldom experienced save after +a mighty clap of thunder, as if from somewhere away in a distant forest +there came the tinkle, tinkle of the single instrument as her velvet +tipped fingers glided across the keys. + +A single violin joined in, then another and another, then all of them, +until again the great chorus swelled to the very dome of the vast +auditorium. + +This was the music that, like the songs of mermaids of old, charm men +into forgetfulness; that lifts them and carries them away from all dull +care, all sordid affairs of money and all temptation to the mean, the low +and the base. + +It so charmed Lucile that for a full moment after the last note had been +struck and the last echo of applause had died away, she sat there +listening to the reverberations of the matchless music that still sounded +in her soul. + +When she awoke from her revery it was with a mighty start. + +"Where is she?" she exclaimed, leaping from her seat. + +"Who?" said Laurie. + +"Patricia Diurno! The Mystery Lady! Spirit of Christmas! Where has she +gone?" + +Staring to right and left, she found her way blocked. Then with the +nimbleness of an obstacle racer, she vaulted over four rows of seats to +dash away through the milling crowd toward the platform. + +"Where is she?" she demanded of an attendant. + +"Who, Miss?" + +"The--the Mystery Lady. No, No! Miss Diurno, the virtuoso." + +"Most likely in the Green Room, Miss. Who--who--is some of her folks +dead?" + +"No, no! But please show me where the Green Room is, quick!" + +Leading the way, he took her to the back of the stage, through a low +door, down a long passage-way to a large room where a number of people +stood talking. + +A glance about the place told her that Miss Diurno was not there. + +"Is this the Green Room?" + +"Yes, Miss." + +"Then where is she?" + +"I don't know, Miss. You might ask him." + +He nodded to a large man in an evening suit. + +"Where--where is Miss Diurno?" she asked timidly. + +"Miss Diurno did not stay. She left at once." + +"Gone!" Lucile murmured. "And my opportunity gone with it." Sinking +weakly into a chair, she buried her face in her hands. + +This lasted but a moment; then she was up and away like the wind. Miss +Diurno, the Mystery Woman, Spirit of Christmas, had gone out on the +Boulevard. She had promised, through the news columns, to be about the +Boulevard until midnight. There was still a chance. + +Hurrying back to the now almost deserted hall, she found Laurie and +Cordie waiting for her. + +"Well now, what does this mean?" Laurie laughingly demanded. "Did you +recognize in the hands of some violinist the Stradivarius that was stolen +from your grandfather fifty years ago?" + +"Not quite that," Lucile smiled back. "I did discover that someone has +vanished, someone I must find. Yes, yes, I surely must!" She clenched her +hands tight in her tense excitement. "I want you two to promise to walk +the Boulevard with me until midnight, that is, if I don't find her +sooner. Will you? Promise me!" + +"'Oh promise me,'" Laurie hummed. "Some contract! What say, Cordie? Are +you in on it?" + +"It sounds awfully interesting and mysterious. Let's do." + +"All right, we're with you till the clock strikes for Christmas morning." + +Lucile led the way out of the hall. They were soon out in the cool, crisp +air of night. There had been a storm but now the storm had passed. The +night was bright with stars. + +To promenade the Boulevard at this hour on such a night was not an +unpleasant task. Out from a midnight blue sky the golden moon shone +across a broad expanse of snow which covered the park, while to the left +of them, as if extending their arms to welcome jolly old St. Nicholas, +the great buildings loomed toward the starry heavens. + +The street was gay with light and laughter, for was not this the night of +all nights, the night before Christmas? + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + THE MAN IN GRAY + + +"I know of an odd old custom which might prove interesting," said Laurie +as the three of them walked arm in arm along the boulevard. "I've +forgotten to what little out of the way corner of the world it belongs, +but anyway, in the villages of that land, sometime near to midnight, on +Christmas Eve, friends gather about small tables in their taverns and +over the festive board talk of the year that is gone. The strange part is +this: Just to make it a clearing up time of unsolved problems, each +member of the group may select one other member of that group and may ask +him three questions. Each member is pledged to answer all three questions +frankly and truthfully." + +"Oh!" exclaimed Cordie. "I'd not like to get caught in a crowd like +that." + +"Too bad," sighed Laurie. "I was about to propose that a half hour before +midnight we get together to celebrate in just that way. I think I can +pick up a person or two whose secrets would be of interest to some people +I know." + +"That would be wonderful," exclaimed Lucile. "But must we select one +person, only one?" + +"One, that's all." + +"And ask him just three questions; no more?" + +"Not another one." + +"Eenie-meenie-minie-mo," exclaimed Lucile, pointing her finger first at +Cordie, then at Laurie, + + "Catch a monkey by the toe, + If he hollers, let him go, + Eenie-meenie-minie-mo. + +"Laurie, you're my choice," she laughed. "I'll ask three questions of +you, though goodness knows I'd like to ask them of Cordie." + +"Wait," said Laurie holding up a warning finger. "There may be someone +there who is more interesting to you than we are." + +"There's only one such person in the world," exclaimed Lucile, "and--and +I hope I may meet her before that hour comes." + +She was a little surprised at the glances Laurie and Cordie exchanged and +greatly puzzled by the fact that they did not ask her who that person +was. + +Laurie and Cordie gave themselves over to the gaiety of the night. The +blazing light, the splendid cars that went gliding down the Boulevard, +the magnificent furs worn by those who chose to promenade the broad +sidewalk, were sights to catch any eye. + +They did not hold Lucile's attention. She had eyes for but one sight, the +glimpse of a single face. What that glimpse would mean to her! Room rent +paid, term bills paid, a warm coat, other needed clothing, a last minute +present which she had been too poor to purchase, and a snug little sum in +the bank. All these it would mean, and more; two hundred in gold. + +But the face did not appear. For an hour they walked the Boulevard, yet +no sight of the Mystery Lady, she of the Christmas Spirit, came to them. +One matter troubled Lucile more and more. Often in her search she looked +behind her. More than once, four times in fact, she had caught sight of a +man who walked always at exactly the same distance behind them. A tall +man, it was, with a long gray coat, a high collar turned up and cap +pulled low. + +"It isn't just because he happens to be walking in our direction," she +told herself with a little shiver. "Twice we have turned and walked back +and once we crossed the street. But all the time he has been directly +behind us. I wonder what it could mean?" + +At that moment there came the clatter of hoofs and four mounted +policemen, clad in bright uniform, came riding down the Boulevard. + +"It's a big night," exclaimed Laurie. "There's a special squad of them +out." + +"Oh there--there he is!" exclaimed Cordie. "There's Dick! That's Patrick +O'Hara riding him! Aren't they splendid? And right beside him is Tim, +good old Tim. See! They recognized me. They touched their hats!" + +"Who's Tim?" asked Lucile. + +"Don't you wish you knew?" taunted Cordie. "If only you were going to ask +your questions of me you'd be sure to find out." + +"Don't worry," smiled Laurie. "I've just decided that you shall be the +person to answer my three questions." + +"You horrid thing! I shan't go! I'm off your old party!" In mock anger, +she sprang away from her companions and went racing on ahead of them. + +Then strange and startling things began to happen. A long, low-built blue +roadster, which had been creeping along the curb as if looking for +someone, came to a grinding stop. A man leaped out. A second later a +piercing scream reached the ears of Laurie and Lucile. + +"It's Cordie!" exclaimed Lucile. "Some--something terrible! C'mon!" + +As she said this a gray streak shot past her. Even in this wild moment of +excitement, she recognized the man who had been dogging their footsteps +and she wondered why she had not recognized him sooner. + +The next second they were in the midst of things. With wildly beating +heart Lucile stared at the panorama that was enacted before her. +Powerless to aid, she saw Cordie, the innocent country girl, the center +of a battle, snatched from hand to hand until it seemed the very life +must be torn from her. + +First she caught a glimpse of her fighting frantically but vainly in the +grasp of a man. Lucile recognized him instantly. + +"The hawk-eyed man!" she whispered. "The one who claimed to be her +brother! Quick!" she exclaimed, gripping Laurie's arm until her fingers +cut into the very flesh. "Quick! They're taking her to the auto. They'll +carry her away!" + +Active as he was, Laurie was not the first to leap at the hawk-eyed one. +A man in gray, the man who had been following them, sprang squarely at +the captor's throat. + +With a howl of rage and fear the villain loosed one hand to strike out at +his mysterious assailant. All in vain; the rescuer came straight on. +Striking the captor squarely in the middle, he bowled him over like a +ten-pin. So sudden was this attack that Cordie was also thrown to the +pavement. + +Finding herself free and unharmed, she sprang to her feet. She felt a +hand at her elbow and turned to look into the face of Laurie Seymour. + +"Ah!" she breathed, "I am safe!" + +But even as she said this she saw Laurie collapse like an empty sack, and +the next instant grasped from behind by two clutching hands, she was +again whirled toward the kidnapper's car. + +Half blinded by terror, she caught a vision of police blue that hovered +above her. + +"Pat! Patrick O'Hara!" she called. + +There came the angry crack of an automatic. Then the figure in blue came +hurtling off the horse to fall at her feet. At the same instant there was +a second catapult-like blow of the man in gray. Again she was snatched +free. + +"Jiggers! Beat it! Beat it!" she heard in a hoarse whisper. The next +instant the door to the blue car slammed shut and its wheels began to +move. + +For three seconds she wavered there, watching the car move away. Then +catching a glimpse of Patrick O'Hara lying at her feet, wounded, perhaps +dead, a great courage came to her. + +"They must not escape!" she screamed. "They shall not!" + +The next instant she leaped into the saddle of the police horse, Dick. +Just as the noble animal dashed away she felt the solid impact of someone +mounting behind her. + +One glance she cast behind her. "Oh!" she breathed. It was the man in +gray. To Dick she whispered: "All right, Dick, old dear, Go! Go fast! For +the love of Patrick O'Hara and Laurie Seymour; for the love of all that's +good and true, go; go as you never went before!" + +There was no need to talk to Dick. He was away like the wind. + +It was a moment of high suspense and swift action; one of those moments +when success or failure hinges on the right move at the right second. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + THE FINISH + + +Dick was no ordinary horse. He was an unusual horse who had very unusual +masters. The young policeman had spoken the truth when he said that Pat +O'Hara's horse was the smartest on the force. As Dick felt his young +mistress in the saddle and the man in gray behind her, he realized that +this was not to be a race, but a fight. He seemed to sense that his task +was to keep in sight of that racing blue automobile, and not for one +instant to lose sight of it. + +Follow it he did, and that at the peril of his own life and the lives of +those who rode. Now dashing past a low, closed car, now crowding between +two black sedans, now all but run down by a great yellow car, he forged +straight ahead. + +He not only followed; he actually gained. Leaning far forward in the +saddle, Cordie kept her eyes upon the fleeing car. Now they were but +three quarters of a block away, now a half, now a quarter. + +It was an exciting moment. Beads of perspiration stood out upon the tip +of Cordie's nose. The hand that held the reins trembled. They were +gaining, gaining, gaining. Through narrow passages impossible to a car, +old Dick crowded forward like a fleet, sure-footed dog. Now a yard he +gained, now a rod, and now a long stretch of open. They were gaining, +gaining, gaining! What were they to do once the car was overtaken? That +Cordie could not tell. She only knew one thing clearly--the men in the +car must not escape and she was determined to prevent their escape. + +Then, as they neared a cross street, a man stepped out on the running +board and flashed an automatic. Aiming deliberately, he fired. The next +instant, with the din of a hundred sets of brakes screaming in their +ears, Cordie, the horse and the man in gray were piled all in a heap in +the middle of the street. + +In the midst of all this there came a crash. What was that? Dared she +hope it was the villains' car? At sound of it the man in gray was up and +away like mad. + +"What's this?" she heard an unfamiliar voice saying. A man from the +nearest car behind them had come to the aid of the girl and the horse. + + * * * * * * * * + +In the meantime, Lucile was passing through experiences quite as strange. + +Laurie Seymour had been knocked unconscious by a blow on the head. +Patrick O'Hara had been shot from his horse. How serious were the +injuries of these, her friends? + +To determine this, then to see what might be done for their relief; this +appeared to be her duty, even though Cordie was in grave danger still. + +Men pressed forward to assist her. They carried the unconscious ones into +the lobby of a hotel. There they were stretched out upon davenports and +remedies applied by the house physician. + +Lucile was engaged in stopping the flow of blood from Patrick O'Hara's +scalp wound. She chanced to look up and there, at the edge of the +davenport, she caught sight of a familiar face. + +"Miss Diurno! The Mystery Lady! Spirit of Christmas! Two Hundred in +gold!" her mind registered automatically, but her fingers held rigidly to +their task. + + * * * * * * * * + +As Cordie struggled to her feet, after being plunged from the back of the +fallen horse, she saw the man in gray leap for the side of an automobile +that had crashed into the curb. A thrill ran through her as she realized +that this was the blue racer. The next instant, after fairly tearing the +door from the hinges, the man in gray dragged a man out of the blue car, +threw him to the pavement and held him rigidly there. + +There came the clatter of horse's hoofs, and then down sprang good old +Tim, the police sergeant, and his fellow officer. + +"He's a bad one," growled the one in gray. "If you've got handcuffs, put +'em on him." + +Tim hesitated. How was an officer to know who was in the right? This +might be but a Christmas Eve fight. He had not witnessed the beginning of +this affair. + +A hand tugged at his sleeve. "If you please, Tim," came a girlish voice, +"It's me, the one who stole Patrick O'Hara's horse. If you'll believe me +you better take his word for it. He's right." + +"Oh, he is, eh?" rumbled Tim. "Little girl, what you say goes. I'd trust +you any time. On they go." + +The hawk-eyed man, for it was he that had been captured (his accomplice +had vanished) made one more desperate effort to escape, but failed. The +handcuffs were snapped on and he was led away by the younger officer. + +"Now," said Tim in a sterner voice, "tell me how Pat O'Hara's horse comes +to be lyin' there in the street?" + +"He--he shot him," Cordie gulped, pointing away toward the hawk-eyed man. + +"He did, did he? Then he should be hung." + +"Pat--Patrick O'Hara's sho--shot too," Cordie was very near to tears. "If +it hadn't been for him," she nodded to the figure in gray, "we--we +wouldn't have got him, though Dick and I would have done our--our best, +for he--he shot our good good friend Pat O'Hara." At this, Cordie's long +pent up tears came flooding forth as she hid her face on good old Tim's +broad breast. + +"That's all right," he soothed, patting her on the shoulders. "It's not +as bad as you think. Look! There's old Dick getting to his feet now." + +It was true. The man in gray had walked over to where Dick lay, had +coaxed the horse to get up, and was now leading him limping to the curb. + +"It's only a flesh wound in the leg," he explained. "Give him a week or +ten days and he'll be on the beat again. Dick, old boy," he said huskily, +"and you too, dear little Cordie, I want to thank you for what you've +done for me. I--I've had my revenge, if a man has a right to revenge. And +it might be they'll find the fox skins among his plunder." + +The eyes of the man in gray, just now brimming with honest tears, were +turned toward Cordie. It was James, the seaman and bundle carrier! + +For a moment he gripped the girl's hand, then turning to Tim, said: + +"You'll look after her? See that she gets safely back to her friends?" + +"Oh sure! Sure!" + +"Then I'll be getting over to the police station. They'll be wanting +someone to prefer charges." + +He was turning to go, but Cordie called him back. Handing him a slip of +paper on which she had scribbled a number and an address, she said: + +"Call me on the phone at that number to-morrow, or else at the Butler +House before midnight. I want to know whether you get those wonderful +silver fox skins back. I--might have a customer for them if you do." + +"It would make a great little old Christmas for me if I did," he smiled. +"But it's going to be all right anyway." + +Reading the address Cordie had given him, James gave a great start. +"Right on the Gold Coast!" was his mental comment. "Out where there is +nothing but palaces and mansions!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + MEG'S SECRET + + +And what of Florence and Meg? They had not fared so badly after all. +Three minutes after her first meeting with the young policeman, Florence +was thinking fine things about Meg. + +"This girl Meg certainly has a way about her," she thought. "She does +things to people." + +She wondered what Meg had done to the young policeman. "Surely," she told +herself, "she didn't use that iron belaying pin on him the way she did on +that terrible man who had been following me. No, she didn't do that, +though I suspect she still has it hidden up her sleeve." + +One thing was sure, she had done something to the young policeman. +Florence hadn't heard what Meg had said, but she did know that one moment +he was frightening the very life out of her by demanding that she unlock +the bag and show him the contents, which was quite as much unknown to her +as to him, and the next he had let out a low chuckling laugh and had told +her she might run along. How was she to account for that? + +She didn't bother much to account for it. She was too much pleased at +being able to go on her way, and carrying with her the bag with its +secret securely sealed. She would know about Meg later. Meg had promised +to tell. + +It was only after they had started on that she noticed that the storm had +blown itself out and the stars were shining. They were soon aboard a car +bound for home. + +An hour later, in the warmth of her room, and with the bag at their feet, +Florence and Meg sat dreamily thinking their own thoughts. + +Florence was not sure that she did not sleep a little. After the wild +experiences of the night, followed by the battle with the storm, this +would not be surprising. + +She did not sleep long, however, and soon they fell to talking in the way +girls will when the hour is approaching midnight and the strenuous +experiences of an exciting night are all at an end. + +At an end, did I say? Well, not quite. Perhaps you might say not at all; +for did not the mysterious brown leather traveling bag, which had been +wondered about and fought over, rest on the floor at their feet? And was +not the seal unbroken? Did it not still contain Florence's Christmas +secret? And now it was just twenty-five minutes until midnight, the +witching hour when secrets are revealed. + +"There is just time for you to finish telling me about yourself before +the tower clock strikes midnight," said Florence, glancing at the small +clock on her desk. + +"Oh!" laughed Meg with a little shrug of her wonderful shoulders. "There +really isn't much to tell. I've already told you that since I was a slip +of a child I've lived on ships with my uncle. He's a mate. We've been on +a lot of ships because he often drinks too much and can't hold his +position. He's a big gruff man, but kind enough in his way." + +"That man who----" + +"No, the man who told you about the train was not my uncle. That was Tim, +a sailor. My uncle sent him. + +"Well, you know," she went on, "at first I was just sort of a ship's +mascot and the sailors' plaything. They rode me on their backs and +carried me, screaming with delight, to the top of the mast. + +"That didn't last long. They found I could peel potatoes, so they put me +to work. And I've been at work ever since." + +She spread out her hands and Florence saw that they were as seamed and +hard as a farmer's wife's. + +"I don't mind work," Meg continued. "I love it. But I like to learn +things, too; like to learn them out of books, with folks to tell me what +it means. I've gone to school all I could, but it wasn't much. I want to +go some more. + +"Uncle has signed up for a sea voyage through the Canal to England. He +wanted me to go along as cook. It's a lumber ship; sure to be a rough +crew. I don't mind 'em much." + +Something suddenly clattered on the floor. It was Meg's belaying pin. + +"I--I guess you sort of get rough when you go on the sea," she +apologized, smiling. "That's partly why I didn't want to go. My uncle +would have made me go that day you changed places with me, if he'd found +me. He likes to have me along because he can get a better berth himself +if he can bring along a good cook. Good sea cooks are scarce. + +"I'm not going now. His train's gone and he's gone. He left that day." + +"So that was what the man and the woman meant by the train leaving at +eleven-thirty?" asked Florence. + +"Yes. That woman was the matron of the Seamen's Home. She thought I ought +to go. She didn't know everything. She didn't understand. I'm eighteen. +My uncle hasn't any right to claim me now, and I owe him nothing. +Everything that's been done for me I've paid for--paid with hard labor." +Again she spread her seamed hands out on her lap. + +"But now," she said after a moment's silence, "now I'm not sure that I +know how I'm going to school. It costs a lot, I suppose, and besides I've +got to live. They let me stay on that ship. That's something, but it's a +long way from any school, and besides----" + +"Wait," Florence broke in. "Let me tell you----" + +But just then Meg held up a warning finger. Loud and clear there rang out +over the snow the midnight chimes. + +"Midnight," whispered Florence, reaching out a hand for the bewitching +bag. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + THREE QUESTIONS + + +"He's coming round all right." It was the house doctor of the hotel who +spoke. Lucile was still bending over Patrick O'Hara. "He's regaining +consciousness. It's only a scalp wound. A narrow squeak. An inch to the +right, and it would have got him. He'd better go to the hospital for a +little extra petting and patching, but he's in no danger--not the least. +And as for your friend Laurie--he's got a bump on his head that'll do to +hang his hat on for a day or two. But outside of perhaps a bit of a +headache, he's O. K. Your friends are riding under a lucky star, I'd +say." + +"A lucky star," thought Lucile. Again she was free. Had the Lady of the +Spirit of Christmas vanished? No. For once fortune was with her. As if +fascinated by the scene, the lady still stood there, looking down at +Patrick O'Hara. + +Twenty seconds later this lady felt a tug at her arm as a girl in a low +but excited whisper said: "You are the Spirit of Christmas." + +"What?" the lady stared at her for a second, then a smile lighted her +face. "Oh yes, why to be sure! So I am. In the excitement of the moment I +had quite forgotten. Surely I am. So it is you who win? I am glad, so +very, very glad! I do believe you recognized me five minutes ago, and +that you've been working over that brave young policeman ever since, when +I might easily have slipped away. What wonderful unselfishness! Here is +the gold!" + +Lucile felt a hard lump of something pressed into her hand and without +looking down knew that it was ten double eagles. A warm glow crept over +her. + +"I did see you," she said, after murmuring her thanks, "but you see +Patrick O'Hara was wounded trying to rescue a friend of mine. So how +could I desert him for gold?" + +"Yes, yes, how could you? Who was your friend?" + +"Cordie." + +"Oh! Cordie? Was she in danger?" the lady exclaimed excitedly. "Where is +she? I must go to her at once!" + +"Here! Here I am, Auntie!" cried an excited and tremulous young voice. +The next moment little Cordie was enfolded in the arms of the Mystery +Lady, Spirit of Christmas. And this lady was also Miss Diurno, the great +virtuoso, and Cordie had called her Auntie! + + * * * * * * * * + +At exactly a half hour before midnight on this most exciting Christmas +Eve, four people sat at a round table in the Butler House. There was a +distinguished looking lady, a young man with a bump on his head that made +his hair stand up in a circle, a young lady of college age, and a girl in +her teens. They were the Mystery Lady, Laurie Seymour, Lucile and Cordie. + +Ice cream and cakes had been served; coffee was on the way. Laurie had +finished explaining to Miss Diurno the ancient custom of some long +forgotten land, that of answering, truthfully, three questions round. + +"But Laurie, old dear," she protested, "why should I ask three questions +of you? I already know far too much about you for my own good peace of +mind; and as for Cordie, I fancy I know more about her than she knows +about herself. I move we amend the custom a little. How would it do to +allow our friend Lucile to ask all the questions--three around for each +of us?" + +"Oh! That would be darling!" exclaimed Lucile, fairly leaping from her +chair. "You are all so very, very mysterious. There are so many, many +things I'd like to know." + +"Agreed!" exclaimed Laurie. + +"I don't mind," smiled Cordie. + +"Good. That's settled," said Miss Diurno, whose very greatness as a +musician so affected Lucile that she found it very difficult to be her +usual frank and friendly self. "Miss Lucile, you may have ten minutes for +thinking up questions. Then, over our coffee, we will answer them. But +remember, only three questions, three around." + +"Only three," Lucile whispered to herself. "And there is so much I want +to know! So much I just _must_ know!" + +As she sat there, with her head all in a whirl, trying in vain to form +the questions she wished to ask, one conviction was borne in upon her. +She had been the center of a plot, a very friendly plot, she was sure of +that, and one that had been entered into the truest of Christmas spirit. +Cordie had known Miss Diurno all the time, in fact had only a short time +ago called her Auntie. Miss Diurno had called Laurie by a familiar +name--she had said "Old dear." She must have known him a long time. Then +surely, to be a friend to such an one, he must be something rather great +himself. And Cordie? She could scarcely be the simple little country girl +she had thought her. Lucile's mind was in such a daze that when the great +pianist tapped her wrist watch and said: "Time's up. Who's the first?" +she had not formed one question. + +"Age before beauty," laughed Cordie. + +"Well, that's me?" smiled Miss Diurno. "I am ready to be questioned." + +"Why--er--" stammered Lucile. "Why did you, who are such a very great +musician, undertake the humble task of assisting in a newspaper stunt?" + +"Dear little girl," said Miss Diurno, a very mellow note of kindness +creeping into her voice, "there are no great people in the world, and +there are no truly humble tasks. All people who are truly great are also +very humble. Tasks called humble by men may be truly great. + +"But you have asked me a question. The reason I accepted that newspaper +task was this: Marie Caruthers, my very best school chum and lifetime +friend, went in for newspaper work. She was to have done the stunt, but +just when the time came she was taken to the hospital. So I volunteered +to take her place. And it was fun, heaps of it! Just imagine having the +whole city looking for you and yet to be walking in and out among the +people every day and not a single one of them recognizing you at all. + +"But there were times enough when I got into plenty of trouble. That +night in the department store was a scream!" + +"Not so much of a scream for me," grumbled Laurie. "I gave you my +pass-out. Then after knocking nearly all the skin off my hand going down +the bundle chute, I had to sleep in the basement, with corrugated paper +for mattress and covers." + +"Poor old Laurie!" smiled Miss Diurno. "But you deserved all you got. +Think of the role you have been playing! Think! Just think!" laughed the +pianist. + +"You see," she said, turning to Lucile to explain her presence in the +store that night, "I had promised to be in the store six hours that day. +Then I allowed myself to become absorbed in some new music, and the first +thing I knew it was getting late in the afternoon and my six hours not +yet begun. Of course there was nothing for it but to remain in the store +after closing hours. I hid in that long narrow place, wedged myself +between book shelves and stands, then stuck there until the clock struck +ten. + +"I hadn't realized that it would be hard to get out. When I did think of +it I was terror-stricken. To think of remaining in that great vault of a +store all night! Ugh! It gives me the shivers to think of it, even now. I +haven't the least notion what I would have done if I hadn't come upon +good old Laurie. He gave me his pass-out. You saw him do it. I knew this +at the time, and I think you were a great little sport not to raise a big +rumpus, especially after I took your coat." + +"Why did you take my coat?" asked Lucile. + +"I was afraid I couldn't get out in that fur cape. And besides, I wanted +just such a coat as yours for the next day's stunt. So I traded with you. +That was fair enough, wasn't it?" + +"Traded? What do you mean?" + +"Just what I said, just traded, and thanked you for the opportunity. And +now, my dear, that makes three questions." + +"Three," Lucile cried excitedly. "Why no, I've only asked one." + +"Leave it to the crowd," beamed the great little lady. + +"Three! Three!" agreed Laurie and Cordie with one voice. + +"Why--why then I shall be obliged to take up someone else." + +"Heads I'm next, tails I'm not," said Laurie, tossing a coin in air. +"Heads! I'm it. Do your worst." + +"Who is Jefrey Farnsworth?" Lucile asked. + +"See!" exclaimed Laurie. "See what I get into right away! Well, since it +is Christmas Eve, I dare not tell a lie. I am forced to inform you that +the only gentleman at this table was given that name at his birth." + +"You--you are Jefrey Farnsworth?" + +"Quite right." + +"Be careful," warned Cordie, "You've used up two questions already." + +Lucile was silent for a moment, then with a smile she said: + +"Why did you take an assumed name, and who was Sam, and did he have +anything to do with your selling books, and why were you afraid of him?" + +"That business of hanging your question on a string is great stuff," +laughed Laurie. "I recommend that you try it out on Cordie." + +Then in a more sober tone, he said: + +"You see it was this way: My publishers saw that my book was going to go +across rather big and, since I was to benefit financially in its success, +they thought it would be nice for me to have a part in making it a still +greater--um--um, triumph. So they cooked up that idea about my speaking +to ladies' clubs. I knew I couldn't do it, but I knew also that Sam would +make me do it if I stuck around. Everyone does what Sam wants them to do; +that is, they do if they stay where he is. + +"So I said to myself, 'If I must help sell my books, I'll do it in a +straightforward way right over the counter. I'll get a job.' I did. And +just so Sam couldn't find me and drag me away, I came to this city and +took an assumed name. + +"Sam's a sort of salesman for my publishers; that is, he sells books when +he isn't promoting authors. When I saw him in the store that time I just +naturally had to disappear. + +"I think, though," he added, "that even Sam is satisfied. We sold two +thousand copies of 'Blue Flames,' you and Donnie and Rennie and all the +rest. + +"As for my knowing the lady of the hour," he smiled, touching the arm of +Miss Diurno, "I've known her for some time. And on some future lovely day +in June, when my income has come to be half as much as hers, we're going +to move into a certain lovely little vine covered cottage I know about +and set up a nest all for ourselves." + +"Good!" exclaimed Lucile. "Can't I come to see you?" + +"My dear," said the great musician, "you may come and live with us, both +you and Cordie, live with us forever." + +"Cordie, your turn to be questioned," said Laurie. + +"Oh!" exclaimed Cordie, throwing her arms about Lucile and hiding her +face in the folds of her dress. "I don't want you to ask me questions. I +don't! I don't! I just want to confess how mean I have been and what an +unkind trick I have played on you." + +"Why Cordie!" Lucile consoled her. "You've not been mean to me at all. +You--you've been the dearest kind of a little pal!" + +"Oh, yes I have! I let you think I was a poor little girl from the +country, when I wasn't at all. I allowed you to spend money on me and pay +all the room rent when I just knew you thought you were going to have to +live on milk toast all next term of school. And I never even offered to +do my share at all. + +"But if you only knew," she raced on, "how good it seemed to have one +friend who wasn't one bit selfish, who didn't want a lot of things for +herself and who was willing to do things for other people when she really +needed just plain ordinary things for herself. If you only knew! If you +only did!" Cordie's voice rose shrill and high. She seemed about to burst +into tears. + +"There, there, dear little pal!" whispered Lucile. "I think I understand. +But tell me, why did you take a job as wrapper when you really wasn't +poor and didn't need the money?" + +"Money!" laughed Cordie, now quite herself again. "I've never had to ask +for any in my whole life! My father owns a third of that big store we +worked in, and a lot besides." + +"But Dick?" said Lucile. + +"I rode Dick on my father's estate. It nearly broke my heart when they +sold him. My father gave up his stables." + +"But you haven't told me why you wanted to work in the store." + +"Well, you see that day, the first day you ever saw me, just for fun I +had dressed up in plain old fashioned clothes and had gone downtown for a +lark. Then I did that foolish fainting stunt. I really, truly fainted. +And that man, that hawk-eyed man--" she shuddered, "must have recognized +me. He must have known he could get a lot of money from father if only he +could carry me away. Anyway he tried it and you--saved me!" She paused to +give Lucile another hug. + +"You are coming to my house for Christmas dinner, and I've kept track of +everything in a little book and I'm going to pay you every cent, truly I +am, and we'll have the best time. + +"But I was going to tell you," she paused in her mad ramble, "I was----" + +"Listen!" Miss Diurno held up a hand for silence, "Cordie, someone is +paging your name. Here! Over here!" she called to the bell boy. + +"Telephone," said the boy. + +The three sat in silence until Cordie returned. + +"What do you think!" she exclaimed as she came bounding toward them. "It +was James, my friend the bundle carrier at the phone. They've worked +fast. They raided the room of--of the hawk-eyed man and they found James' +silver fox skins. And Auntie, I'm going to have father buy them as a +present for you. Won't that be g-grand!" + +"I should think it might," smiled her aunt, giving her arm an +affectionate squeeze. "But, my dear, you hadn't finished telling Lucile." + +"Oh! That's a short story now. When I saw how good and kind you were," +Cordie said, turning to Lucile, "when I saw the work there was to do and +everything, I was fascinated. I just wanted to play I was just what you +thought me to be. So I called up my father and made him let me do it. +That was all there was to it. + +"But Auntie!" she exclaimed, turning to Miss Diurno. "Why did you steal +my badge of serfdom?" + +"Your what?" + +"My badge of serfdom, the iron ring. In olden days serfs wore iron +collars; now it's an iron ring." + +"Oh, your iron ring!" laughed her aunt. "I needed it for my stunt. But +here it is; you may have it and welcome, diamond and all." + +"I shall keep you ever and always," murmured the girl, pressing the ring +to her lips. "I shall cherish you in memory of a grand and glorious +adventure." + +"Of course you understood," said Miss Diurno, turning to Lucile, "that +you are to keep the fur lined cape." + +"No, I----" + +"Oh yes, you must! It was the one extravagance that I made the paper pay +for. I traded with you, and have lost yours, so there is really no other +way out. Besides," her voice softened, "I want you to accept it as a gift +from me, a little token of appreciation for your many kindnesses to my +little niece." + +Lucile's head was in a whirl. She found herself unable to think clearly +of all her good fortune. A great musician, an author, and a very rich +girl for her friends; a magnificent cape of midnight blue and fox skin, +and two hundred dollars in gold! Merry Christmas! What a Christmas it +would be indeed! + +"Listen," whispered Miss Diurno. From some distant room there came the +slow, sweet chimes of a clock. + +"Striking midnight," she whispered. Then from far and near there came the +clanging of church bells. + +"Christmas morning!" exclaimed Miss Diurno, springing to her feet. +"Merry, Merry Christmas to all!" + +"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" they chorused in return. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + WHAT THE BROWN BAG HELD + + +At the precise moment that the four companions in the great city hotel +rose to offer each other their Christmas greetings, Florence and Meg +stood over the fascinating bag which had cost Florence so much worry and +trouble. As Florence felt in her purse for the key she found herself +wondering for the hundredth time what it might contain. + +"Christmas, my Christmas secret," she whispered. Then, as she felt the +key within her grasp, she turned resolutely to the task. Although she had +looked forward to this hour with pleasure, now it seemed to hold +something of a feeling of fear. She was opening a bag which had belonged +to another. What might it not contain? + +With trembling fingers she broke the seal which had so long and +faithfully hidden the secret. Then, with a steadier hand, she inserted +the key. + +For a full moment after that she stood there in silence. She was saying +to herself over and over again: "There is nothing, nothing, nothing in +there that I shall care for. Nothing, nothing, nothing." + +Thus fortified against disappointment, she at last turned the key, pulled +the flap and threw the bag wide open. + +The first look brought a glimpse of a bit of negligee. Nothing so +exciting in this. + +"Well anyway," sighed Florence, "it--wasn't a man's bag. It could not +have belonged to that--that man." + +"No," said Meg, "it couldn't." + +One by one Florence removed the few articles of clothing that had been +packed in the bag. These were of fine texture and well made. But beneath +these was something to bring an exclamation to her lips. + +Putting out her hand, she lifted to view a roll of silk cloth, of royal +blue, and of such thinness and fineness as she had seldom seen in all her +life. + +"Yards and yards of it," she breathed, throwing it before her in bright, +billowy waves. + +"And look!" cried Meg. "Batik!" + +It was true; beneath the silk was a bolt of batik. This Meg took to the +light and examined it with great care. + +"It's genuine," she whispered at last. "Not the sham stuff that is made +in American factories, but the kind that dark faced women dye with great +skill and much labor, dipping again and again in colors such as we know +nothing of." + +Florence examined the cloth, then spread it over the back of a chair. +Then she sat down. There was a puzzled look on her face. + +"It's very beautiful," she mused. "One could not hope to buy a more +perfect present, sight unseen, but I'm wondering why a man should be +willing to trace me down at infinite pains and then follow me in the face +of danger and in the teeth of a storm for the sake of getting possession +of two rolls of cloth. That seems strange." + +"Does seem odd," said Meg. "But wait! Here's something else." She drew +two long pasteboard tubes from the bottom of the bag. + +"What do you suppose?" whispered Florence. Inserting one finger in the +first tube she twisted it about, then began drawing it out. A roll of +papers appeared. + +"Papers," she whispered. "Probably important papers; deeds, stocks and +bonds, perhaps." + +Imagine her surprise when, having drawn the papers out and partly +unrolled them, she found them to be pictures. + +"Pictures!" she exclaimed in disgust. "And only printed pictures at +that." + +"But such wonderful pictures!" exclaimed Meg, holding one out to view. + +It was indeed a wonderful picture, one of those vague, misty things that +came out of the great war. This one was of a smoke clouded cannon in the +foreground, belching black smoke and fire, and in the midst of the smoke, +forming herself out of it, a most beautiful black-haired woman, her eyes +burning, her hands clawing, leaping straight at the enemy. + +"It _is_ a wonderful picture," said Florence when they had gazed at it in +silence for a time. "But after all, it is only a print, and can't be +worth much. I still don't see----" + +"Tell you what," Meg broke in, "let's unroll them all and weight them +down on the floor with books so we can have a good look." + +"Good idea," said Florence, beginning to unroll one. + +It was truly a remarkable collection of pictures which at length carpeted +the floor. War pictures, all of them, and all displaying that strong +spiritual interpretation which was so common in pictures of those times. +A French airplane falling in flames and beneath it an angel waiting to +bear away the soul of the brave aviator; the American flag drifting in +the clouds and seen from afar by a French soldier in the trenches; such +were the themes. + +"Don't you think they're grand?" said Meg. + +"Yes," Florence responded, "but after all, they are only prints of the +work of some great master. 'Veny LeCarte'" she read at the bottom of one. +"I believe, yes, they're all by the same man." + +For some time they sat there in silence. They were at last about to rise +when there came a light rap at their door. + +"Let me in," came from outside. "I saw the light in the room as I was +passing and thought I'd come up to say 'Good morning and Merry +Christmas.'" It was Lucile. + +"Merry Christmas yourself," exclaimed Florence, throwing wide the door. +"Come in." + +"This is Meg, Lucile; and Meg, that's Lucile," she smiled. + +"But Florence, where in the world did you get those marvelous etchings?" +exclaimed Lucile after she shook hands with Meg. "And why do you carpet +your floor with them? I nearly stepped on one." + +"Etch--etchings!" stammered Florence. "They're mine--at least I bought +them." + +"Bought them! You? You bought them!" Lucile stared incredulous. Then, +bending over, she read the name at the bottom of one. After that her eyes +roved from picture to picture. + +"Veny LeCarte," she murmured as if in a dream. "And she says she bought +them!" She dropped weakly into a chair. + +"Florence," she said at last, "do you know who Veny LeCarte was?" + +"N-o." + +"Well, I'll tell you. He was one of the most famous artists of France. He +made etchings of the war. No one could surpass him. And unlike his fellow +artists, who allowed a hundred copies to be made from each plate, he +allowed but twenty. Then the plates were destroyed. He made these +pictures. You have nearly all of them. And then he went away to the war, +and was killed. + +"Since that time his etchings have been much prized and have brought +fabulous prices. Oh, Florence, tell me how you got them! Surely, surely +you didn't buy them!" + +"I did," said Florence unsteadily, hardly knowing whether to laugh or +cry, "but I bought them in a strange way. I'll tell you about it." Then +she told Lucile the whole story. + +"And those pictures," she said at the end, "are the reason that man +dogged my footsteps. It had not been his bag. He had not owned the +pictures, but some way he had learned that the pictures were in this bag. +He had meant to buy the bag, but arrived too late." + +The hour was late. What did that matter? To-morrow was Christmas. +Florence set about brewing some cocoa, and over the cups the girls +engaged in such a talk fest as they had not enjoyed for months. +Everything that had happened to Lucile during those eventful weeks, from +the first night to the last, had to be told. The wonderful cape, with its +white fox collar, must be displayed. The gold coins must be jingled and +jangled. Meg's story must be told all over again. + +After that, problems yet unsolved must be discussed. Was the hawk-eyed +man who had attempted to gain possession of Florence's bag the same one +who had attempted to kidnap Cordie? + +"That question," said Lucile to Florence, "can only be settled by you +going down to the police station and looking at him." + +"In that case, it will never be answered," said Florence, with a shudder. + +Would a romance spring up between the rich girl Cordie and the gallant +young policeman, Patrick O'Hara? Who could tell? So the conversation +rambled on until early morning. At last Lucile hurried away and Meg and +Florence prepared for three winks. + +As Florence, with Meg by her side, was drifting off to sleep, she heard +Meg say: + +"To-morrow I must go back to the ship." + +"Indeed you'll not," she roused up to protest. "You'll stay right here +to-morrow and every day. And you're going to school, too. I need you to +guard all my--my treasure." + +How the pictures came to be in the bag which Florence had purchased at +the sale, will probably always remain a secret. Perhaps the one who left +the bag did not realize the value of the etchings. Who knows what may +have been the reason? But they were truly valuable, and Florence learned +this for certain on the following Monday. Later she sold them to a dealer +for a good round sum. This money went far, not only to smooth the road to +her own education, but to enable her to give Meg many a lift along the +way. + + + + + The Roy J. Snell Books + + +Mr. Snell is a versatile writer who knows how to write stories that will +please boys and girls. He has traveled widely, visited many +out-of-the-way corners of the earth, and being a keen observer has found +material for many thrilling stories. His stories are full of adventure +and mystery, yet in the weaving of the story there are little threads +upon which are hung lessons in loyalty, honesty, patriotism and right +living. + +Mr. Snell has created a wide audience among the younger readers of +America. Boy or girl, you are sure to find a Snell book to your liking. +His works cover a wide and interesting scope. + +Here are the titles of the Snell Books: + + + _Mystery Stories for Boys_ + + 1. Triple Spies + 2. Lost in the Air + 3. Panther Eye + 4. The Crimson Flash + 5. White Fire + 6. The Black Schooner + 7. The Hidden Trail + 8. The Firebug + 9. The Red Lure + 10. Forbidden Cargoes + 11. Johnny Longbow + 12. The Rope of Gold + 13. The Arrow of Fire + 14. The Gray Shadow + 15. Riddle of the Storm + 16. The Galloping Ghost + 17. Whispers at Dawn; or, The Eye + 18. Mystery Wings + 19. Red Dynamite + 20. The Seal of Secrecy + 21. The Shadow Passes + 22. Sign of the Green Arrow + + + _The Radio-Phone Boys' Series_ + + 1. Curlie Carson Listens In + 2. On the Yukon Trail + 3. The Desert Patrol + 4. The Seagoing Tank + 5. The Flying Sub + 6. Dark Treasure + 7. Whispering Isles + 8. Invisible Wall + + + _Adventure Stories for Girls_ + + 1. The Blue Envelope + 2. The Cruise of the O'Moo + 3. The Secret Mark + 4. The Purple Flame + 5. The Crimson Thread + 6. The Silent Alarm + 7. The Thirteenth Ring + 8. Witches Cove + 9. The Gypsy Shawl + 10. Green Eyes + 11. The Golden Circle + 12. The Magic Curtain + 13. Hour of Enchantment + 14. The Phantom Violin + 15. Gypsy Flight + 16. The Crystal Ball + 17. A Ticket to Adventure + 18. The Third Warning + + + + + * * * * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's note: + +--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this + e-text is in the public domain in the country of publication. + +--Obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment; + non-standard spellings and dialect were left unchanged. + +--Promotional material was moved to the end of the book, and the + list of books in the three series was completed using other + sources. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON THREAD*** + + +******* This file should be named 41909.txt or 41909.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/1/9/0/41909 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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