The Secret Mark

  CHAPTER IX SHADOWED

  A cold fog hung low over the city as the two girls stole forth from theelevated station that night on their way to Tyler street. From thetrestlework of the elevated there came a steady drip-drip; the streetsreeked with damp and chill; the electric lamps seemed but balls of lightsuspended in space.

  "B-r-r!" said Florence, drawing her wraps more closely about her. "What anight!"

  "Sh!" whispered Lucile, dragging her into a corner. "There's someonefollowing us again."

  Scarcely had she spoken the words when a man with collar turned up andcap pulled low passed within four feet of them. He traveled with a long,swinging stride. Lucile fancied that she recognized that stride, but shecould not be sure; also, for the moment she could not remember who theperson was who walked in this fashion.

  "Only some man returning to his home," said Florence. "This place gets onyour nerves."

  "Perhaps," said Lucile.

  As they reached the street before the cottage of many mysteries they werepleased to see lights streaming from the rent in the shade.

  "At least we shall be able to tell whether they have the book of Portlandcharts," sighed Lucile as she prepared to make a dash for the shadows.

  "Now," she breathed; "there's no one in sight."

  Like two lead-colored drifts of fog they glided into a place by thewindow.

  Lucile was first to look. The place seemed quite familiar to her. Indeed,at first glance she would have said that nothing was changed. The old mansat in his chair. Half in a doze, he had doubtless drifted into the sortof day-dream that old persons often indulge in. The child, too, sat bythe table. She was sewing. That she meant to go out later was proved bythe fact that her coat and tam-o'-shanter lay on a near-by chair.

  As I have said, Lucile's first thought was that nothing had changed. Onedifference, however, did not escape her. Two books had been added to thelibrary. The narrow, unfilled space had been narrowed still further. Onebook was tall, too tall for the space which it was supposed to occupy, sotall that it leaned a little to the right. The other book did not appearto be an old volume. On the contrary its back was bright and shiny as ifjust coming from the press. It was highly ornamented with figures and atitle done all in gold. These fairly flashed in the lamplight.

  "That's strange!" she whispered to herself.

  But even as she thought it, she realized that this was no ordinarypublishers' binding.

  "Leather," she told herself, "rich leather binding and I shouldn't wonderif the letters and decorations were done in pure gold."

  Without knowing exactly why she did it, she made a mental note of everyfigure which played a part in the decorating of the back of that book.

  Then suddenly remembering her companion and their problem, she touchedher arm as she whispered:

  "Look! Is that tall book second from the end on the shelf with the vacantspace the Portland chart book?"

  Florence pressed her face to the glass and peered for the first time intothe room of mysteries. For a full two minutes she allowed the scene to bephotographed on the sensitive plates of her brain. Then turning slowlyaway she whispered:

  "Yes, I believe it is."

  They were just thinking of seeking a place of greater safety when afootstep sounded on the pavement close at hand. Crouching low they waitedthe stranger's passing.

  To their consternation, he did not pass but turned in at the short walkwhich led up to the cottage.

  Crouching still lower, scarcely breathing, they waited.

  The man made his way directly to the door. After apparently fumblingabout for an electric button, he suddenly flashed out an electric torch.

  With an inaudible gasp Florence prepared to drag her companion out oftheir place of danger. But to their intense relief the man flashed thelight off, then gave the door a resounding knock.

  That one flash of light had been sufficient to reveal to Lucile thefeatures of his face. She recognized it instantly. In her surprise shegripped her companion's arm until she was ready to cry out with pain.

  The door flew open. The man entered. The door was closed.

  "Look!" whispered Lucile, pressing Florence toward the spot where thelight streamed out. "Look, I know him."

  She gave Florence but a half moment, then dragging her from the place ofvantage pressed her own face to the glass.

  "This would be abominable," she whispered, "if it weren't for the factthat we are trying to help them--trying to find a way out."

  The man, a very young man with a slight moustache, had removed his coatand hat and had taken a seat. He was talking to the old man. He did thegreater part of the talking. Every now and again he would pause and theold man would shake his head.

  This pantomime was kept up for some time. At last the young man rose andwalked toward the bookshelves. The old man half rose in his chair as ifto detain him, then settled back again.

  The young man's eyes roved over the books, then came to rest suddenly ina certain spot. Then his hand went out.

  The old man sprang to his feet. There were words on his lips. What theywere the girls could not tell.

  Smiling with the good-natured grace of one who is accustomed to have whathe desires, the young man opened the book to glance at the title page. Atonce his face became eager. He glanced hurriedly through the book. Heturned to put a question to the old man beside him.

  The old man nodded.

  Instantly the young man's hand was in his pocket. The two girls shrankback in fear. But the thing he took from his pocket was a small book,apparently a check book.

  Speaking, he held the check book toward the old man. The old man shookhis head. This touch of drama was repeated three times. Then, with adisappointed look on his face, the young man replaced the book, turned tothe chair on which his hat and coat rested, put them on, said good nightto the old man, bowed to the child and was gone.

  The two girls, after stretching their cramped limbs, made their waysafely to the sidewalk.

  "Who--who was he?" whispered Florence through chattering teeth.

  "R. Stanley Ramsey."

  "Not the rich Ramsey?"

  "His son."

  "What did he want?"

  "I don't know," said Lucile, "but it may be that we have found the manhigher up, the real criminal. It may be that this rich young fellow isgetting them to steal the books so he can buy them cheap."

  Lucile told of the incident regarding the copy of "The Compleat Angler."

  "He said he thought he knew where there was another copy. Don't you see,he may have gotten the girl to steal it. And now he comes for it and isdisappointed because they haven't got it for him."

  "It might be," said Florence doubtfully, "but it doesn't seem probable,does it? He must have plenty of money."

  "Perhaps his father doesn't give him a large allowance. Then, again,perhaps, he thinks such things are smart. They say that some rich men'ssons are that way. There's something that happened in there though that Idon't understand. He--"

  "Hist," whispered Florence, dragging her into a slow walk; "here comesthe child."

  Once more they saw the slim wisp of a girl steal out like a ghost intothe night.