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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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