Hour of Enchantment

  CHAPTER XVIII THE SLIM STRANGER

  When Erik Nord and Florence caught sight of the long-eared Chinamanplacidly cruising the lagoon in a Dodge-Em, Erik, as we have said, ledthe girl away in hot pursuit.

  Unfortunately, on reaching the nearest available craft, they found it tobe but another slow going, doddering old Dodge-Em.

  "We'll take it," Erik decided on the instant.

  "Have to. Nothing else in sight. Probably he hasn't seen us. Slip up onhim without the least trouble."

  "And if he goes ashore I'll get him. I can run. No Chinaman hasout-distanced me yet." He stepped on the gas and they were away, away atthe breakneck speed of four miles an hour.

  "Think of finding him right here in Chicago!" Erik exulted. "How'd youcome to know him?"

  Florence did not reply.

  "Look!" She leaned far forward. "There he goes! He's headed straight downthe lagoon."

  "He'll never go outside. Probably land. We'll get him!" Erik trod angrilyon the lever that kept the motor going. "If only a fellow could get oneburst of speed out of this thing!"

  He was making that same remark a quarter of an hour later. The long-earedone had not gone ashore. Instead, he had headed straight down the lagoonand out into the open lake where darkness and silence reigned. And ErikNord, with all the stubbornness of his race, had followed in slowpursuit.

  "It's a turtle race," he said without apparent emotion. "Two turtles. Thequestion is, which will tire first?"

  "We'll run out of gas," Florence murmured.

  "Something like that."

  "And be stuck out here for the night." Florence thought this, but did notsay it. The moon would be out in an hour. And then--

  Slowly but doggedly the Dodge-Em pushed its stout rubber nose through theblack water. The Chinaman, a dark spot above the water, was ever beforethem. They did not lose. They did not gain. They only followed on.

  "I've been told that a man crossed the lake in one of these," Erikrumbled. "Safe enough, I guess. Anyway, when you've lived in China youget used to any mode of travel."

  Florence wondered if they would cross the lake. "And after that?" shewhispered to herself. The rumble of the city was dying away in thedistance, the lights of the Fair were growing dim. It was strange to beout here in the night with one she had known for so short a time. And yetthis was the turn chance had taken.

  Leaning back, she closed her eyes. It had been a long day. The night airsweeping in from the lake fanned her cheek. The darkness had been kind toher tired eyes. Now she felt the need for rest.

  Did she fall asleep? Perhaps. Perhaps not. All she knew was that when sheopened her eyes at last she became conscious of a change. "Wha--what isit?"

  "Motor stopped. We lose," Erik grumbled. "We lose."

  "And here we are." She caught a long breath. The moon was just beginningto roll, a ball of red, along the black horizon.

  "Here we are," Erik agreed, then settled back comfortably in his corner.

  * * * * * * * *

  It was at about this same moment that Jeanne found herself speeding awayin a taxi with a man she had never seen before.

  "He saved me," she told herself. "Saved me from a horrible night. He knewI was there. How? He willed to get me out of that place. Why?" To thesequestions she could find no answers. There was, she believed, but onething to do; to sit back and allow the future to unfold itself.

  They were entering the Loop. There was comfort in that. In the Loop weremany people. And in numbers there is always a degree of safety.

  "You'll be in need of a cup of coffee after that," her companionsuggested. "Supposing we stop in here." The cab had stopped before a welllighted coffee house.

  Without a word Jeanne followed him inside and back to a small table inthe rear. "Who is he? What does he want?" She was determined now to seethe thing through.

  "I'm Tom Tobin of the _News_," the strange rescuer announced when coffeehad been ordered.

  "Oh!" Jeanne caught her breath. "You were after news! And--and I--I willbe in the paper! That explains--"

  "It explains nothing." Tom Tobin's smile was disarming. "I wasn't lookingfor news, and this will not get you in the paper. Far from it.

  "I was keeping tab on you," he added.

  "Tab on me?" Her wide eyes registered astonishment.

  "Well, sort of guarding you, if that sounds better. I did it for a verygood reason, too.

  "You see," he leaned forward over the table, speaking in a voice scarcelyabove a whisper, "I know you better than you think. You are not LorenaLeMar."

  "Not--"

  He held up a hand for silence. "No use!" he warned. "You are the littleFrench girl, Petite Jeanne.

  "No, I'll not betray you." He had read the consternation in her eyes."Why should I? You--you're doing a big thing for me."

  "For you?"

  "You are planning to make a success of the scenario I wrote, 'When theDogwood Is in Bloom.'"

  "You wrote it? How--how wonderful!" Jeanne stretched a slim white handacross the table. Tom Tobin grasped it frankly. "Here's luck!" His frankeyes shone.

  "And here's our coffee. How jolly!" Fear had flown from Jeanne's eyes.She was her own bright, joyous self once more.

  "But how could you know I am to make a success of your picture?" shedemanded eagerly. "I do not know it myself."

  "Old Sollie, Mr. Soloman, your producer, told me. He's all het up aboutit; says you showed him how to make a great picture of it and get a lotof free publicity. He's working on the scene, got men after real mountainivy and rhododendrons and dogwood. Sent for two log cabins like the onesin the Lincoln Group, and all that.

  "Say!" he exclaimed, "Suppose we get together and work over the dialogueand all that! Sollie says you know a lot about the mountains."

  "No, I've never been there."

  "But he told me--"

  "Yes, I know." Jeanne smiled. "I have a friend who prompted me. She haslived there all her life."

  "Then she'll help us. We'll work it over together, beginning to-morrowafternoon."

  "That--" Jeanne favored him with her loveliest smile. "That--how do yousay it? That is a _go_! Eh, what?"

  "That's it!" Tom grinned. "We'll get on grand. You're a regular guy!"

  "And why not?" Jeanne laughed a merry laugh.

  A half hour later, as Jeanne entered the lobby of the hotel after biddingTom Tobin a heartfelt "Happy dreams!" the porter stared at her for amoment as if uncertain of her identity, then said in a matter-of-facttone: "Your trunk has gone up, Miss LeMar."

  "My trunk?" She stared. "Oh, but I have not--"

  She broke short off. Was she about to betray her secret? She was MissLeMar. Perhaps the real Lorena LeMar had ordered a trunk sent overwithout informing her.

  Her tone changed. "Very well. Thank you." She dropped a coin into hishand, then hurried away.

  "But a trunk?" she thought. "A trunk in our apartment!" An unreasoningterror swept upon her.

  "But only a trunk!" She shook herself free of this wild fear. "What is atrunk?"

  What indeed?