CHAPTER XVII A SURPRISE VISIT
To Florence with her interest in mechanical things and her love for theglorious throb of life, the cotton mill was a place of greatenchantment. As she entered now she was greeted by the crack-crack-crackof a hundred shuttles and by the boom-bang of weavers' beams.
"It sounds like a battle," she told herself. "And so it is--a battleagainst depression, cold, hunger and despair." She looked about her.Everywhere hands were busy, faces bright and hearts light.
"And to think," she whispered, "all unknown to these honest, happy ones,there hangs above them a shadow like some great bombing airplane, ashadow that some day may drop a bomb as if from the sky upon all thisglorious harmony of noise and still it forever. Unless--" she wasthinking of the spy who, all undiscovered, lingered in their midst. Hewas a thief. No, he did not take their money, nor their other triflingtreasures. He took their means of living--or would if he could.
"And who is he?" she asked herself. "Who?" She thought of the hunchbackGerman who tended the motors, of the two dark-faced silent sisters whoso resembled the spy that had escaped. "That one too may come back," shetold herself. Danby Force had said that he was sure they had notdiscovered all the secrets. "It's a complicated process. Each secret isknown by only one or two workers." These had been his words. "No one ofthem knows all of it." She thought of the black-eyed girl she had seencarrying away the bottle of dye stuff. "She may have wanted to analyseit," she thought. "More likely that she merely used it to dye that dressshe wore last night." She laughed in spite of herself. Then she recalledthe little ape-like man working out there among the shrubbery. He mightknow a great deal. Who could tell?
"No one knows now." She clenched her hands tight. "But we shall know!"
That evening after working hours she was favored with a surprise visit.She had entered her tiny room in the canary-cage house. Weary andperplexed, wondering uneasily whether she had as yet been of any realservice to this unusual community, and wondering too in a disturbed sortof way whether she should not tell Danby Force there was no use of herstaying longer, she threw herself on her bed and had fallen half asleepwhen a touch like the brush of a feather awakened her.
At once she sprang to a sitting position.
"It is I, Verna." There followed a low laugh. "You have a caller. Andsuch a romantic one! You'd never guess." Verna laughed a low, happylaugh.
"Danby Force is not romantic," said the big girl, fumbling at her hair.
"And it's not Mr. Force," said Verna. Her cheeks, Florence saw, wereflushed. "It is Hugo, Hugo!" There was a note of deep admiration in hertone as she repeated the name a second time softly: "Hugo."
"Oh, Hugo?" Florence started. Hugo, the one who had stolen her act, washere to see her. She wondered why. And, what was more, this lovelyschool girl admired him greatly.
"Did you see him?" she asked.
"No. Oh! I wish I had!" Verna clasped her hands. "Mother opened thedoor. She seated him, then called me from the kitchen to tell you.Aren't you thrilled? You are not hurrying at all."
"No," Florence said quietly, "it isn't wise to hurry--at least not for aman." She smiled at this, then gave the girl a pat on the cheek.
She found herself considerably disturbed as she stepped into the littleparlor.
"Ah!" Hugo, the magnificent, sprang to his feet at sight of her. And hewas, in his own way, magnificent,--bright blue suit, orange colored tie,a flower in his buttonhole, a smile showing all his white teeth. "Ah,Miss Huyler. I came to congratulate you, to tell you how wonderful theparty was last night. You certainly are a marvelous hostess. We of themill--"
He broke short off to stare at something on the wall. He stood there fora count of ten, then he murmured, "How exquisite! How charminglybeautiful!"
He was looking at a picture. It was indeed beautiful. Done by a verygreat artist who had chanced to visit the little city, it was carefullydone,--a picture of a very beautiful face.
"Yes," Florence said quietly, "that is a picture of Verna, the daughterof this house."
"Do you mean to say she lives--that she is real!" The man's astonishmentwas genuine.
"Yes," Florence replied.
"I must meet her." Hugo smiled a dazzling smile.
"She's only a child in high school."
"High school," he murmured low. "Ah, that is the age of romance, ofexquisite grace and beauty. I must meet her," he repeated.
For just no real reason at all Florence wished to say, "I hope you neverdo," and there came also a temptation to emphasize her thought with twoor three words that do not often appear in print. What she did say was,"Won't you have a seat? You wanted to see me about something?"
"Yes--yes--ah--" Hugo appeared to dance toward a chair. He sat down withthe flourish of an expert rider mounting a horse. "Yes,--er--" He was onhis feet again, circling about that picture. At last, like a bee thathas circled a flower, his gaze came to a center close to the picture."Ah yes," he murmured. "A very great artist. A priceless thing!" Heavinga sigh, he tore himself away.
"Yes, Miss Huyler." His change of poise and tone was fairly stunning. Ashe wheeled about he was once more the social conquistador, seeking, thegirl knew not what advantage. "Yes, Miss Huyler, we admire you. In factwe enjoyed the party so much we wish you to organize another within aweek, a truly wonderful party, a harvest ball. A thing to be done incostume, a masked ball."
Florence might have reminded him that she had started her little socialmeeting as one sort of affair and that he had ended it in quite adifferent manner. She might have told him that if he wanted any sort ofparty at all, he was quite free to get it up as he chose. She didnothing of the kind. Instead, she said: "And does Mr. Force approve?"
"Oh, Force!" Hugo made a dismissing gesture. "He doesn't mind. He wantsthis dead old town wakened up!"
"Does he?" Florence said quietly.
"Does he?" Hugo stared. "Isn't that why you're here?"
Florence started. "Yes, yes, I suppose that is why I'm here," shereplied hurriedly. It would never do for any of these people to guesswhy she was here. "Yes. And I am sure the party will be all right. I cancount on your assistance and--and all the others?"
"Absolutely! Absolutely! That's the spirit!" Hugo sprang forward tograsp her hand. For Florence that was a disturbing handclasp. Hugo'shand was hot and trembling. After holding her hand ten seconds too longfor her comfort, he suddenly dropped it to do three more turns about theroom. Then, making a grab at his hat, and snatching a look at his watch,he exclaimed: "Must be going!" At that he bolted out of the room.
"What a remarkable person!" she thought a trifle wearily. "He's a livingimpersonation of jazz." He was a great deal more than that, but this shewas to discover at a later date.
In the meantime she went to her room for a look at her mail. This wasfollowed by a few moments of thinking. Those were very solemn thoughtsindeed. "How," she asked herself, "is this affair to end? Shall Idiscover the spy? If so, how and when? Will the spy be a man or a woman?Will there be a struggle, a trial perhaps?" She shuddered. "After all,"she thought, "perhaps I should have accomplished more by attempting tofollow the dark lady's trail."
In time her thoughts began to wander. She thought of Hugo. "At least,"she told herself, "he has good taste in art. That is a lovely picture ofVerna."
Drawn by this thought, she left her room to wander into the small livingroom. Instantly her lips parted in a suppressed cry of surprise. _Thepicture was gone!_
"But then," she thought, "why raise an alarm? I have been out of theroom for some time. Perhaps a member of the family has carried it away."She decided at last upon a course of watchful waiting. "I'll find it inanother room," she told herself. But would she?