CHAPTER VIII THE DIAMOND-SET IRON RING
When Cordie fled from the man of the hawk-like eye and the marblefeatures she dashed directly into the moving throng of shoppers. In this,however, she found scant relief. No matter which way she might turn shefelt sure that the man pursued her and would overtake her if she did notflee faster and faster.
Putting her utmost strength into this flight, she dashed past countersstrewn with goods, round a bank of elevators, through narrow aislesjammed with shoppers, across a narrow court and again into the throng. Atlast, in utter desperation, she fled down a stairway; then another andanother. Little dreaming that she had been descending into the verydepths of the earth, she came up at last with a little suppressed screamto a place where from out a long row of small iron doors fire gleamed redas a noonday sun.
Where was she? Surely she had not dreamed there could be such a place asthis in a great department store.
After wavering unsteadily for a moment, she turned, stumbled, rightedherself, and would have gone racing back up the stair had not a heavyhand fallen upon her shoulder and a gruff, kindly voice said:
"Beg pardon, Miss Cordelia, are you in trouble?"
Surprised at hearing herself called by her own name, she turned about tofind herself staring into the face of James, the bundle man.
For a few seconds she wavered between pause and flight. There was,however, such a light of kindness in the man's eyes as could not bequestioned. So, stepping back from the stairs, she said:
"Yes, I am in trouble. The--the man; I think he was following me."
"He'd do well not to follow you too far this way, if he meant you anyharm." The bundle man shook his powerful frame, then glanced at thefires.
"Wha--what are they?" Cordie stammered. "Where are we?"
"Don't you know?" he looked incredulous. "Them's the boilers that heatthe buildin'. I suppose you never wondered before how this huge buildinggot heated? Well, that's how. Them's the boilers that does it.
"Sometimes I come down here to sit after hours," he half apologized. "Theboys down here that tends to the stokers let me come. I like it. It's thenearest thing to the sea that one finds about the buildin'. You see, it'ssort of like a ship's hold where the stokers work."
"Oh, you belong to the sea."
"Yes, Miss. I'll tell you about it; but that will do for another time.You'll be going home. If it's all right, I'll see you safely on your way,or if you want I'll see you safely home. You need have no fear of me. I'mold enough to be your father, an' I took a sort of interest in you fromthe first. I'd be glad to help you--"
He broke short off to stare at the door through which Cordie had entered.Framed by the outer darkness, a face had appeared there. However wellshaven and massaged it might be, it was not a pleasing face to look uponand hawk-like eyes were set in a countenance as expressionless as marble.
"That's him!" whispered James, staring as if his eyes would pop out ofhis head. "That's the very man."
The next instant the man disappeared. There was reason enough for thistoo, for with every muscle of his face drawn in lines of hate, thestalwart James had leaped square at the door.
And what of Lucile?
After gazing for a moment in astonishment at the purple curtain with thetouch of crimson shining out from it, (beyond which the Mystery Lady haddisappeared,) she stepped close enough to make sure that same purplestrand ran through the thread. Then she turned and walked out of thebuilding.
She found herself more mystified than ever. When would all this maze ofmysteries be solved? Why had the Mystery Lady done that? Why the crimsonthread? Why the iron ring? That was the fourth time the crimson threadhad appeared, and this time there could be no doubt but that it had beenshe who had held the needle.
Strangely enough, at this moment there flashed through her mind onesentence in that clipping relating to the lady who called herself theSpirit of Christmas.
"I am the Spirit of Christmas," she whispered it as she recalled it. "Iam the Spirit of Christmas. Wherever I go I leave my mark which is alsomy sign." She wondered vaguely what she could have meant by that.
This lady of the Christmas Spirit had the whole city on tip-toes.Everyone was looking for her; everyone hoping to come downtown some finemorning to meet her and to claim her bag of gold. Shoppers gazed intofaces of fellow shoppers to wonder: "Are you the Spirit of Christmas?Shall I grasp your hand?" News boys, staring up at lady customers whoslipped them pennies for papers, wondered: "Are you the Christmas Lady?"
Every day the paper told how she had been dressed on the previous day,where she had been and what she had done. One day, in the guise of afarmer's wife, she had visited the stockyards and had spent hourswandering through great buildings or on board-walks above the cattle. Thenext day found her again among the throngs of shoppers. Here she hadpurchased a handkerchief and there a newspaper. She described the clerkand the newsboy. The clerk and the boy read it and groaned. For them thegreat moment had come and was gone forever.
"Who will discover her? When will it be? Who will get the gold?" Thesewere the questions that were on every tongue.
There could be no doubt but the paper was reaping a golden harvest fromit, for did not everyone in the city buy a paper that they might read ofher latest exploits and to discover where she was to be on that day, andto dream that this day he might be the lucky one; this day he might hearthe gold coin jingle?
Lucile thought all this through as she hurried back toward the store. Atthe same time she chided herself for being so foolish as to miss herappointment with Cordie for such a wild goose chase. She hoped againsthope that she would find Cordie still waiting.
She found the door closed. As she pressed her face against the glass shesaw but one person near the entrance--the night watchman. Cordie was notthere.
"Gone," Lucile murmured. "I only hope nothing has happened to her."
At that she turned about and raced away to catch an on-coming elevatedtrain.
* * * * * * * *
As James disappeared through the door of the furnace room of thedepartment store, Cordie sank down in a chair. The chair was black andgreasy, but she had no thought for that. Indeed, so excited andfrightened was she that for a time she was unable to think clearly aboutanything.
When at last the full meaning of the situation had forced its way intoher consciousness, she leaped to her feet, exclaiming:
"Stop him! Stop him! He'll be killed!"
"I bet you he won't," a burly furnace tender smiled quietly. "He's a hardboiled egg, that boy; muscles like steel and quick as a cat. If anybodydoes him in you'll have to give him credit. Y'ought t' see him box. Thereain't a man among us that can touch him."
Somewhat reassured by this glowing description of her companion, the girlsettled back again in her seat. She knew that she was safe enough herewith these rough but kindly men.
As she sat there thinking, there came to her mind a question. Why didJames go into such a fit of anger at sight of the stranger at the door?
"Surely," she told herself, "it could not have been because the man hadbeen following me. That wouldn't be natural. James scarcely knows me. Whyshould he suddenly become such a violent champion of my cause? Andbesides, he had no way of knowing that that was the man who was followingme. He did not wait to ask a single question; just whispered: 'That'shim!' and rushed right at him."
"No he didn't do it because of me," she concluded after a few moments ofthought. "He's seen that man before. I wonder when and where. I wonderwhat he's done to James?"
Then came another, more startling question. What would James do to theman if he caught him?
Instantly her keen imagination was at work. Quickening her sense ofhearing, it set her listening to sounds which she told herself were thedull thud of fist-blows, the sickening rush of a blade as it sped throughthe air, a low groan of pain, and then sharper, more distinct, thepop-pop of an automatic.
In va
in she told herself that with the hiss of steam, the dull thud-thudof revolving grates and the general noises of the boiler-room, it wasquite impossible for her to distinguish sounds ten yards away, and thatin all probability the two men were hundreds of feet away from her, onsome other floor. The illusion still persisted. So certain did she becomethat a battle was being fought just outside the door that she foundherself gripping the arms of her chair to keep from crying out.
The nickel-plated clock against the wall had ticked away a full halfhour. The suspense had grown unbearable when of a sudden, with facegrimy, hair tousled, and clothing all awry, James appeared at the door.
"You--you," Cordie started up.
"Yes, miss," James grinned. "I know I look as if I'd come in from a longand 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 clockcan strike eight bells."
This talk sounded so quaint to the girl that she quite forgot the recentdanger James had been in, and sat staring at him as he thrust his headinto a huge basin of water and proceeded to scrub it with a course brush,much as one might some huge vegetable.
By the aid of a comb and whisk broom, he succeeded in making himselfpresentable.
"Now," he smiled a broad smile, "your Uncle James, once a seaman and nowa land fighter, is ready to pilot you home. What's the port?"
"Sixty-first and Drexel," said Cordie.
"All right. Port 'er bow. We're off."
Concerning his recent combat--if there had been a combat--James said nota word. Cordie wondered at this, but eager as she was to know the outcomeof the battle, if there had been one, she dreaded quite as much to hearthe whole truth. Visions of an inanimate form, lying bruised and bleedingin some dark corner of the stair, set her shuddering. So in the end sheasked no question.
Their passage to the upper floor and out of the building was uneventful.The watchman at the door recognized them and allowed them to pass.
Previous to this time James had seemed quiet and uncommunicative, but nowas they rattled along on the L train he told her many a wild tale of thesea journeys he had made. In his deep mellow drawl he talked of the whaleship _Addler_ in northern seas; of Eskimo and polar bear and the gleamingnorthern lights; and then he talked of the Cutter _Corwin_ among the palmshadowed South Sea Islands.
It was with a real feeling of regret that Cordie, hearing her own stationannounced, realized that their visit was at an end.
Five minutes later, brimming over with excitement, she burst intoLucile's room.
"Wait!" exclaimed Lucile as she read in Cordie's eyes the story of somethrilling experience. "You've had an adventure. So have I. Let's notspoil 'em in the telling. Let's set the stage for a story. You haven'thad a bite to eat, have you?"
"No--o," Cordie admitted, "not a single bite. I'd forgotten."
"Neither have I. You'll find a loaf of bread and a slice of cream pimentocheese in the upper dresser drawer. There are some vanilla wafers, too.You make the sandwiches and I'll have the cocoa piping hot in a minute.No, I'll tell you, let's dress for it first."
Fifteen minutes later they sat in their bright colored dressing gowns,sipping the delicious hot beverage and hungrily devouring sandwiches.
"Now," said Lucile after the last sandwich had vanished and fresh cupshad been poured, "now's the time for spinning yarns. You tell yoursfirst."
With many a gesture and dramatic pause, Cordie told of her startlingdiscovery, her wild dash through the throng, her descent into the depthsof the earth, and of the strange doings down there beneath the surface ofthe city's streets.
"Yes," said Lucile, sipping her chocolate thoughtfully as Cordie'snarrative ended, "that surely was the young man who attempted to carryyou away when you fainted in the Art Museum. Dear little girl, you mustbe careful, very careful indeed. You must never be left alone; never!Never! Even if the Mystery Woman beckons or the Lady of the ChristmasSpirit clinks her gold in my very ears, I will not desert you again."
It was a very warm and friendly hand that Lucile felt tucked into herown, and a suspiciously husky voice that said:
"Thank you, my dear big sister.
"But," Cordie exclaimed suddenly, "I must not tell them. It would neverdo. They wouldn't let me----"
Suddenly checking her speech as if about to unwittingly reveal a secret,she changed the subject abruptly. "Please tell me of your adventure," shesaid.
"My adventure?" smiled Lucile. "Compared with yours, it was no adventureat all--merely an episode. However, since it throws some light on amystery and reveals the whereabouts of a bit of stolen property, I musttell you about it."
Then, while Cordie leaned back among the cushions, her eyes half closedas if she were day dreaming, Lucile told of her experience with theMystery Lady.
"My iron ring!" exclaimed Cordie, sitting bolt upright as Lucile came tothat part of the story. "My iron ring! The old mischief! I might haveknown! I----"
Again Cordie checked herself.
"Might have known what?" asked Lucile.
"Might have known that someone had stolen it, I suppose," finished Cordielamely. "Anyway, someone did, didn't they? And isn't it funny that sheshould have a diamond set in it? Wouldn't it be a joke to come upon herwearing it? Wouldn't it, though? I'd march right up and say, 'Lay-d-e-egive me the ring! You stole it. My precious, my onliest, only ironring!'" She threw back her head and laughed.
Lucile joined her in the laugh, and with this forgot for a time thatCordie had said something very unusual about the ring and the lady whohad taken it. At last Cordie broke the silence:
"James is a very unusual person."
"Yes, he must be."
"Do you suppose he caught that man--the one who had been following me?"
"I hope so, but perhaps not. You say he was all mussed up when he cameback?"
"Uh-huh."
"But not bruised, nor bloody, nor anything like that?"
"No, I guess not--no, not a bit."
"Then probably he didn't. When I got through my wild race about the placethe other night I was good and mussed up, and I hadn't been in a fighteither. It wouldn't be easy to catch anyone in that labyrinth."
Again there was silence for a little while.
"Lucile," whispered Cordie, bending forward eagerly, her face alight withsome strange idea. "James is so mysterious. Do you suppose he could be apirate in hiding?"
"A pirate! Why child, there aren't any pirates."
"Not any at all?"
"You don't read about any, do you?"
"You don't read about lots of things. You never read about my wrappingbundles, did you? But I am, just the same. Everything doesn't get in thepapers. I think it would be wonderful if he turned out to be a realpirate. You'd think he was one if you heard some of the stories he toldme to-night about the sea."
"All right," laughed her companion, "if you can make him out a pirate, anice friendly sort of pirate who is kind to ladies and all that, you'rewelcome. But for my part, I'd give a lot more to know what that selfappointed brother of yours has done to James. It must have been somethingrather terrible."
"Yes," agreed Cordie, "it surely must."
"Listen!" exclaimed Lucile. "There go the chimes! Ten o'clock, and youwork in the morning!"
Leaping from her chair, she began cleaning up the remnants of theirlittle feast. Ten minutes later the room was darkened for the night.
Though the room was dark, and though Lucile was tired enough for sleep,her eyes did not close at once. She was thinking and her thoughts werenot of the most cheerful sort.
The outlook, she was forced to admit, was gloomy enough. She had hoped tosave enough money from her pay at the store to start her in the new termat school. This hope was fast dwindling away. Her own expenses had beengreater than she had thought they would be. Added to this was theincrease in her room rent due to the presence of Cordie. Her dream thatCordie was saving money had been blighted only the night before, for onthat night Cordie had brought home the
gorgeous dressing gown she hadworn as they sat over the cocoa cups.
"And it must have cost her every penny she possessed," groaned Lucile."How extravagant! How--how----"
She wanted to say ungrateful, but could not quite do it. The girlappeared so impractical, so lovable, so irresponsible, that she could notfind the heart to blame her.
Quickly she switched her thoughts to a more cheering subject--LaurieSeymour. He had proven such a jolly fellow-worker--so cheerful, so kindand helpful, so ever ready to bear the heavy burdens--that Lucile had allbut forgotten the fact that he had given his pass-out to the Mystery Ladyon that night when she had in such a surprising manner come into thepossession of the valuable fur lined cape. Equally strange was the factthat she had come to think of the Mystery Lady in a new way. She foundthat she could no longer think of the lady as a thief.
"And yet," she mused, "what could have been her reason for haunting ourstore at that hour of the night? Why should she have left the cape?"
The cape. Ah yes, there was vexation enough in that! Too precious to beworn to work, it had hung for days in Lucile's closet while she had goneto work all too scantily clad in a sweater and broad scarf. She wishedthat she might have her own coat. Poor as it might be, it was at leasther own and it was comfortable.
Next morning, having arrived at the door of the store a full fifteenminutes before the opening hour, the two girls were enjoying a fewmoments of window shopping before the gorgeous windows of State street.Suddenly, above the rattle of distant elevated trains and the honk ofauto horns, Lucile caught clear and distinct the calling neigh of ahorse.
Wheeling quickly about, she stared around her. True enough, there werestill many horses on the streets of the city, but where before, in thedin and rattle of the streets, had she caught that one clear call of ahorse?
What she saw caused her to start and stare. Cordie was no longer at herside. Instead she was in imminent danger of being run down by a cab asshe dashed madly across the street toward the spot where, like a statuein blue, a young policeman sat rigidly erect on his police horse.
The thing the girl did, once she had safely crossed the street, was evenmore surprising. Without the least glance at the young policeman, shethrew both arms about the horse's neck and hid her face in his mane.
Far from objecting to this unusual procedure, the horse appeared torather enjoy it. As for the stern young minion of the law, he was soovercome by surprise that he did not alter his statue-like pose by somuch as a movement of a finger.
Lucile flew across the street.
"Cordie! Cordie! What in the world are you doing?" she fairly screamed.
Paying not the least attention to this, Cordie repeated over and over:"Dick, you old darling. Dear old Dick. You knew me, Dick, you did! Youdid!"
This lasted for a full moment. Then, appearing to come to herself, thegirl dropped her hands and stepped back upon the sidewalk.
One glance at the stern young officer, and a quite different emotionswept over her. Her face turned crimson as she stammered:
"Oh, what have I done? I--I beg--beg your pardon."
"It's all right," grinned the young man, coming to life with a broadsmile. "Friend of yours, I take it?"
"Yes--Oh yes,--a very, very good friend."
"My name's Patrick O'Hara," there was a comradely tone now in the youngofficer'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 hissaddle to grasp the girl's hand.
"Thanks. Thanks awfully. Is this--this where you always stay? I--I'd liketo see Dick real often."
"This is my beat; from here to the next cross street and back again. I'mhere every morning from seven to one. We--we--Dick, I mean, will be gladto 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 thanwords: "Dick won't be the only one who will be glad to see you."
"Lucile," implored Cordie, "I wish you'd do me a favor. I haven't a lumpof 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 therestaurant on the corner and get some?"
"It's all right, Miss--Miss----"
"Cordie," prompted the girl.
"It's all right, Cordie," Patrick O'Hara grinned, "I'll not run away.Duty calls me, though. I must ride up a block and back again. I--I'llmake it snappy. Be back before you are."
Touching Dick with his spurless heel and patting him gently on the neck,he went trotting away.
Five minutes later, the lump of sugar ceremony having been performed tothe complete satisfaction of both Dick and Cordie, the girls hurried awayto the scenes of their daily labors.
This little drama made a profound impression upon Lucile. For one thing,it convinced her that in spite of her expensive and stylish lingerie,Cordie was indeed a little country girl. "For," Lucille told herself,"that horse, Dick, came from the country. All horses do. He's been a petof 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 andsuch a fine up-standing beauty, he has been made a police horse. I don'tblame her for loving him. Anyone would. But it shows what a splendid,affectionate girl she is.
"I'm sort of glad," she told herself a moment later, "that she's gottenacquainted with that young officer, Patrick O'Hara. He seems such a nicesort of boy, and then you can never tell how soon you're going to need apoliceman as a friend; at least it seems so from what happened lastnight."
She might have shuddered a little had she known how prophetic thesethoughts were. As it was, she merely smiled as she recalled once more howher impetuous little companion had raced across the streets to throw herarms about the neck of a horse ridden by a strange policeman.
"I wonder," she said finally, "I do wonder why Cordie does not confide inme? Oh well," she sighed, "I can only wait. The time will come."
Had she but known it, Cordie had reasons enough; the strangest sort ofreasons, too.
It was in the forenoon of that same day that a rather surprising thinghappened, a thing that doubled the mystery surrounding the attractiveyoung salesman, Laurie.
Lucile was delivering a book to a customer. Laurie was waiting at thedesk for change and at the same time whispering to Cordie, when of asudden his eyes appeared ready to start from his head as he muttered:
"There's Sam!"
The next instant, leaving wrapped package, change and customer, hedisappeared as if the floor had dropped from beneath him.
"Where's Laurie?" Cordie asked a moment later. "His customer's waitingfor her change."
Though Lucile didn't know where he was, she was quite sure he would notreturn, at least he would not until a certain short, broad-shoulderedman, who carried a large brief case and stood talking to Rennie, had leftthe section. She felt very sure that Laurie wished to escape meeting thisman.
"That man must be Sam," Lucile thought to herself as she volunteered tocomplete Laurie's sale. "Now I wonder what makes him so much afraid ofthat man!
"He looks like a detective," she thought to herself as she got a betterlook at him. "No, he smiles too much for that. Must be a salesman tryingto get Rennie to buy more books."
The conversation she overheard tended to confirm this last.
"Make it a thousand," he said with a smile.
"I won't do it!" Rennie threw her hands up in mock horror.
"Oh! All right," Sam smiled. "Anything you say."
Having been called away by a rush of customers, Lucile had quiteforgotten both Laurie and Sam when she came suddenly upon the large briefcase which Sam had carried. It was lying on her table.
"Whose is that?" a voice said over her shoulder. "That's Sam's, confoundhim! He's always leaving things about. Now he'll have to come back for itand I'll--"
"Who's Sam?" Lucile asked.
She turned about to receive the answer. The answer did not come. For asecond time that day Laurie had vanished.