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diff --git a/42137-8.txt b/42137-0.txt index bd850d6..f8db05a 100644 --- a/42137-8.txt +++ b/42137-0.txt @@ -1,37 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Magic Curtain, by Roy J. Snell - - -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 www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: The Magic Curtain - A Mystery Story for Girls - - -Author: Roy J. Snell - - - -Release Date: February 19, 2013 [eBook #42137] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAGIC CURTAIN*** - - -E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan, and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42137 *** A Mystery Story for Girls @@ -2779,7 +2746,7 @@ rod." The man stood his ground. "Fair enough." With a skill born of long practice, the veteran detective went through the man's clothes. -"You've cachéd it," he grumbled, as he stood back empty-handed. +"You've cachéd it," he grumbled, as he stood back empty-handed. "I'm not in on the know." The suspicion of a smile flitted across the dark one's face. "Whatever you're looking for, I never had it." @@ -6324,362 +6291,4 @@ Transcriber's note: --Obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment. Non-standard spellings and dialect were left unchanged. - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAGIC CURTAIN*** - - -******* This file should be named 42137-8.txt or 42137-8.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/1/3/42137 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Snell</title> <style type="text/css"> xbody, table.twocol tr td { margin-left:2em; margin-right:2em; } /* BODY */ @@ -150,19 +150,8 @@ p.t15,div.t15,.t15 { margin-left:19em;text-indent:-3em; margin-top:0; margin-b </style> </head> <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42137 ***</div> <h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Magic Curtain, 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 Magic Curtain</p> -<p class="pg"> A Mystery Story for Girls</p> -<p class="pg">Author: Roy J. Snell</p> -<p class="pg">Release Date: February 19, 2013 [eBook #42137]</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 MAGIC CURTAIN***</p> <p> </p> <h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan,<br /> and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> @@ -7046,360 +7035,6 @@ spellings and dialect were left unchanged.</li></ul> <p> </p> <p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="pg">***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAGIC CURTAIN***</p> -<p class="pg">******* This file should be named 42137-h.txt or 42137-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/4/2/1/3/42137">http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/1/3/42137</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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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.</p> - -<p class="pg">Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></p> - -<p class="pg">This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.</p> - +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42137 ***</div> </body> </html> diff --git a/42137.txt b/42137.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8ebb0bc..0000000 --- a/42137.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6685 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Magic Curtain, by Roy J. Snell - - -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 www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: The Magic Curtain - A Mystery Story for Girls - - -Author: Roy J. Snell - - - -Release Date: February 19, 2013 [eBook #42137] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAGIC CURTAIN*** - - -E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan, and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) - - - -A Mystery Story for Girls - -THE MAGIC CURTAIN - -by - -ROY J. SNELL - - - - - - - -The Reilly & Lee Co. -Chicago - -Copyright 1932 by -The Reilly & Lee Co. -Printed in the U. S. A. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I A Face in the Dark 11 - II Petite Jeanne's Masquerade 22 - III On the Verge of Adventure 32 - IV A Living Statue 40 - V The Secret Place 47 - VI The Woman in Black 55 - VII Dreams of Other Days 65 - VIII An Island Mystery 70 - IX Caught in the Act 76 - X The One Within the Shadows 88 - XI A Dance for the Spirits 100 - XII The Lost Cameo 106 - XIII A Nymph of the Night 121 - XIV The Disappearing Parcel 132 - XV Strange Voices 144 - XVI Through the Window 156 - XVII Startling Revelations 167 - XVIII They That Pass in the Night 177 - XIX The Unseen Eye 185 - XX A Place of Enchantment 191 - XXI From the Heights to Despair 197 - XXII The Armored Horse 203 - XXIII Florence Solves a Mystery 215 - XXIV The Black Packet 223 - XXV The Bearded Stranger 228 - XXVI An Exciting Message 236 - XXVII Dreaming 240 - XXVIII Florence Crashes In 247 - XXIX It Happened at Midnight 259 - XXX A Surprise Party 268 - XXXI Florence Meets the Lady in Black 278 - XXXII Sparkling Treasure 287 - - - - - THE MAGIC CURTAIN - - - - - CHAPTER I - A FACE IN THE DARK - - -It was that mystic hour when witches are abroad in the land: one o'clock -in the morning. The vast auditorium of the Civic Opera House was a well -of darkness and silence. - -Had you looked in upon this scene at this eerie hour you would most -certainly have said, "There is no one here. This grandest of all -auditoriums is deserted." But you would have been mistaken. - -Had you been seated in the box at the left side of this great auditorium, -out of that vast silence you might have caught a sound. Faint, -indistinct, like the rustle of a single autumn leaf, like a breath of air -creeping over a glassy sea at night, it would have arrested your -attention and caused you to focus your eyes upon a pair of exceedingly -long drapes at the side of the opera hall. These drapes might have -concealed some very long windows. In reality they did not. - -Had you fixed your attention upon this spot you might, in that faint -light that was only a little less than absolute darkness, have seen a -vague, indistinct spot of white. This spot, resting as it did at a -position above the bottom of the drape where a short person's head would -have come, might have startled you. - -And well it might. For this was in truth the face of a living being. This -mysterious individual was garbed in a dress suit of solemn black. That is -why only his face shone out in the dark. - -This person, seemingly a golden haired youth with features of unusual -fineness, had called himself Pierre Andrews when, a short time earlier, -he had applied for a position as usher in the Opera. Because of his -almost startling beauty, his perfect manners and his French accent, he -had been hired on the spot and had been given a position in the boxes -where, for this "first night" at least, those who possessed the great -wealth of the city had been expected to foregather. - -They had not failed to appear. And why should they fail? Was this not -their night of nights, the night of the "Grand Parade"? - -Ah, yes, they had been there in all their bejewelled and sable-coated -splendor. Rubies and diamonds had vied with emeralds and sapphires on -this grand occasion. Yes, they had been here. But now they had departed -and there remained only this frail boy, hovering there on the ledge like -a frightened gray bat. - -Why was he here? Certainly a timid-appearing boy would not, without some -very pressing reason, remain hidden behind drapes at the edge of a great -empty space which until that night had been practically unknown to him. - -And, indeed, at this moment the place, with its big empty spaces, its -covered seats, its broad, deserted stage, seemed haunted, haunted by the -ghosts of other years, by all those who, creeping from out the past, had -stalked upon its stage; haunted, too, by those who only one or two short -years before had paraded there on a "first night" in splendor, but who -now, laid low by adverse circumstances, crept about in places of poverty. -Yet, haunted or no, here was this frail boy peeking timidly out from his -hiding place as the clock struck one. - -He had asked a curious question on this night, had this boy of golden -locks and expressive blue eyes. It was during the recess between acts -while the curtain was down and the pomp that was Egypt had for a moment -been replaced by the pomp that is America. Leaning over the balustrade, -this thoughtful boy had witnessed the "Grand Parade" of wealth and pomp -that passed below him. Between massive pillars, beneath chandeliers of -matchless splendor where a thousand lights shone, passed ladies of beauty -and unquestioned refinement. With capes of royal purple trimmed in ermine -or sable but slightly concealing bare shoulders and breasts where jewels -worth a king's ransom shone, they glided gracefully down the long -corridor. Bowing here and there, or turning to whisper a word to their -companions, they appeared to be saying to all the throng that beheld -them: - -"See! Are we not the glory that is America in all her wealth and power?" - -Then it was that this mysterious boy, poised there upon the ledge still -half hidden by drapes, had asked his question. Turning to a white-haired, -distinguished-looking man close beside him, a man whom he had never -before seen, he had said: - -"Is this life?" - -The answer he received had been quite as unusual as the question. Fixing -strangely luminous eyes upon him, the man had said: - -"It is a form of life." - -"A form of life." Even at this moment the boy, standing in the shadows -timid and terribly afraid, was turning these words over in his mind. "A -form of life." - -There had been about him, even as he had performed his simple duties as -usher in the boxes on this night, an air of mystery. He had walked--more -than one had noted this--with the short, quick steps of a girl. His hair, -too, was soft and fine, his cheeks like the softest velvet. But then, he -was French. His accent told this. And who knows what the French are like? -Besides, his name was Pierre. He had said this more than once. And -Pierre, as everyone knows, is the name of a boy. - -It was during the curtain before the last act that an incident had -occurred which, for a few of the resplendent throng, had dimmed the glory -of that night. - -No great fuss was made about the affair. A slim girl seated in the box -occupied by the man whose great wealth had made this opera house -possible, had leaned over to whisper excited words in this gray-haired -millionaire's ears. With fingers that trembled, she had touched her bare -neck. - -With perfect poise the man had beckoned to a broad-shouldered person in -black who had until now remained in the shadows. The man had glided -forward. Some words had been spoken. Among these words were: "Search -them." - -One would have said that the golden-haired usher standing directly behind -the box had caught these words for he had suddenly turned white and -clutched at the railing to escape falling. - -Had you looked only a moment later at the spot where he had stood you -might have noted that he was not there. And now here he was on the ledge, -still all but concealed by drapes, poised as if for further flight. - -And yet he did not flee. Instead, dropping farther into the shadows, he -appeared to lose himself in thought. - -What were these thoughts? One might suppose that he was recasting in his -mind the events of the immediate past, that he read again the look of -surprise and consternation on the face of the beautiful child of the very -rich when she discovered that the string of beautifully matched pearls, -bought by her father in Europe at a fabulous cost, were gone. One might -suppose that he once again contemplated flight as the stout, hard-faced -detective, who had so opportunely materialized from the shadows, had -suggested searching the ushers and other attendants; that he shuddered -again as he thought how barely he had escaped capture as, in the darkness -attending the last act, he had glided past eagle-eyed sleuth Jaeger, and -concealed himself behind the draperies. One might suppose that he lived -again those moments of suspense when a quiet but very thorough search had -revealed neither the priceless pearls nor his own humble person. - -Yes, one might suppose all this. Yet, if one did, he would suppose in -vain. Our minds are the strangest creation of God. "The thoughts of youth -are long, long thoughts." - -The young person still half concealed by draperies and quite hidden by -darkness was living again, not the scenes enacted among the boxes, but -those which had been enacted upon the stage. - -In his mind's eye he saw again the glory that once was Egypt. Picturing -himself as the heroine, Aida, he loved the prince of all Egypt's -warriors, and at the same time shuddered for her people. - -As Radames, he heard the shouts of his people when he returned as a -triumphant victor. - -As Amneris, the Egyptian princess in the stately boat of those ancient -days beneath a golden moon, he glided down the blue Nile. And all the -time, as the matchless beauty of the scenes and the exquisite melody of -the music filled him with raptures that could not be described, he was -saying to himself: - -"Oh, for one golden moment to stand before that assembled throng--all the -rich, the learned of the great of this city--and to feel the glory of the -past about me! To know love and adventure, the daring of a Captain of the -Guard, the tender sentiments of an Aida, and to express it all in song! -To do all this and to feel that every heart in that throng beats in -rapture or in sorrow, as my own! What glory! What matchless joy!" - -And yet, even as these last thoughts passed into eternity, the young head -with its crown of gold fell forward. There was a moment of relaxation -expressing pain and all but hopeless despair. Then, like a mouse creeping -out from the dark, he slipped from his place to glide stealthily along -among the shadows and at last disappear into that place of darkness that -is a great auditorium at night. - -Having felt his way across a tier of boxes, he vaulted lightly over a low -rail. Passing through a narrow corridor, he touched a door and pushed it -noiselessly open. He was met by a thin film of light. - -"Too much," he murmured. "I shall be seen." - -Backing away, he retraced his steps. - -Having moved a long way to the right, he tried still another door. - -"Ah, it is better," he breathed. - -A moment later he found himself on the ground floor. - -"But the way out?" He whispered the words to the vast silence that was -all about him. No answer came to him. Yet, even as he paused, -uncertainly, a sound reached his ears. - -"A watchman. In the concourse. This is the way." - -He sprang toward the stage. A mouse could scarcely have made less sound, -as, gliding down the carpeted aisle, he at last reached a door at the -left of the stage. - -The door creaked as he opened it. With one wild start, he dashed across -the gaping stage to enter a narrow passageway. - -Another moment and he was before a door that led to the outer air. It was -locked, from within. - -With breath that came short and quick, he stood there listening intently. - -"Footsteps." He did not so much as whisper the words. "The watchman. -There is need for haste. - -"The lock. Perhaps there is a key. Ah, yes, here it is!" - -His skilled fingers fumbled in the darkness for a moment. The light from -without streamed in. The door closed. He was gone. - - - - - CHAPTER II - PETITE JEANNE'S MASQUERADE - - -Fifteen minutes after his disappearance into the shadows, the youth, -still clad in a dress suit, might have been seen walking between the -massive pillars that front the Grand Opera House. Despite the fact that -his small white hands clasped and unclasped nervously, he was able to -maintain a certain air of nonchalance until a figure, emerging from the -shadow cast by a pillar, sprang toward him. - -At that instant he appeared ready for flight. One glance at the other, -and he indulged in a low chuckle. - -"It is you!" he exclaimed. - -"It is I. But what could have kept you?" The person who spoke was a girl. -A large, strongly built person, she contrasted strangely with her slender -companion. - -"Circumstances over which I had no control," the youth replied. "But come -on!" He shuddered. "I am freezing!" - -Having hurried west across the bridge, they entered a long concourse. -From this they emerged into a railway station. Having crossed the waiting -room, the slim one entered an elevator, leaving the other to wait below. - -When the slim one reappeared he was wrapped from head to toe in a great -blue coat. - -"Ah, this is better, _ma chere_," he murmured, as he tucked a slender arm -into his companion's own and prepared to accompany her into the chill of -night. - -The apartment they entered half an hour later was neither large nor new. -It was well furnished and gave forth an air of solid comfort. The living -quarters consisted of a narrow kitchen and a fair-sized living-room. At -either side of the living-room were doors that led each to a private -room. - -The big girl walked to the fireplace where a pile of kindling and -firewood lay waiting. Having touched a match to this pile, she stood back -to watch it break into a slow blaze, and then go roaring up the chimney. - -"See!" she exclaimed. "How cozy we shall be in just a moment." - -"Ah, yes, yes, _mon ami_!" The slight one patted her cheek. "We shall -indeed. But anon--" - -The private door to the right closed with a slight rush of air. The slim -one had vanished. - -The stout girl's gown revealed a powerful chest. Every curve of her -well-formed body suggested strength, while the blonde-haired one, with -all her slender shapeliness, seemed little more than a child--and a girl, -at that. Yet, one cannot fully forget the dress suit that at this moment -must rest upon a hanger somewhere behind that closed door. - -"Well, now tell me about it," said the stout one, as, some moments later, -the blonde one reappeared in a heavy dressing gown and sat down before -the fire. - -"A pearl necklace was stolen," the slight one said in a quiet tone. "It -was worth, oh, untold sacks of gold. _Mon Dieu!_ How is one to say how -much? Since I was near, I was suspected. Who can doubt it? I bolted. In -the darkness I concealed myself in the drapes that seemed to hide a -window and did not." - -"But why did you run? You could not have done worse." - -"But, _mon Dieu_! There was talk of searching us. Could I be searched?" - -"No." A broad smile overspread the stout girl's face. "No, you could -not." - -"Ah, my good friend! _Ma chere!_ My beloved Florence." The slender one -patted the other's cheek with true affection. "You agree with me. What -else can matter? You have made me happy for all my life." - -So now you know that this large, capable girl is none other than an old -friend, one you have met many times, Florence Huyler. But wait, there is -still more. - -"But how now is it all to end?" Two lines appeared between the large -girl's eyes. - -"I shall return!" the other exclaimed. "Tomorrow night I shall go back. I -must go! It is too wonderful for words. All the rich, the great ones. The -sable coats, the gowns, the rare jewels. And the stage! Oh, my friend, -how perfectly exquisite, how glorious!" - -"Yes, and they'll arrest you." The large girl's tone was matter-of-fact. -"And what will you see after that?" - -"For what will they arrest me? Did I take the necklace? No! No! Nevair!" - -"But you ran away." - -"Yes, and for a very good reason." A faint flush appeared on the slim -one's cheek. "I could not be searched." - -"And will you tell them why?" - -"Oh, no!" - -"Then how can you go back?" - -"Listen, my friend." The slim one laid an impressive hand on the other's -arm. "Sometimes we have good fortune, is it not so? Yes. It is so. The -young lady, that girl who lost the necklace, she will be there. She is -kind. Something tells me this. She will not have Pierre Andrews arrested. -Something tells me so. For look, now, as Pierre I am--how did you say -it?--very handsome!" - -"But, Petite Jeanne!" Florence broke short off. By this exclamation she -had betrayed a secret. Since, however, only the walls and her companion -heard it, it did not much matter. Our old friend, Petite Jeanne (the -little French girl), and Pierre Andrews are one and the same person. On -the stage Jeanne had played many a role. Now she was playing one in real -life and playing it for a grand prize. - - * * * * * * * * - -But we must go back a little. Petite Jeanne, as you will recall if you -have read that other book, _The Gypsy Shawl_, was a little French girl -found wandering with the gypsies among the hills of France. Brought by a -rich benefactress to America, she had made a splendid showing on the -stage as a star in light opera. - -All stage productions, however, have their runs and are no more. Petite -Jeanne's engagement had come to an end, leaving her with a pocketful of -money and one great yearning, a yearning to have a place upon the stage -in Grand Opera. - -This longing had come to her through contact with a celebrated opera -star, Marjory Dean. Through Marjory Dean she had secured the services of -a great teacher. For some time after that she had devoted her entire time -to the mastering of the technique of Grand Opera and to the business of -developing her voice. - -"You will not go far without study abroad," Marjory Dean had warned her. -"Yet, who knows but that some golden opportunity may come to you? You -have a voice, thin to be sure, but very clear and well placed. What is -still more, you have a feeling for things. You are capable of inspiring -your audience with feelings of love, hate, hope, despair. This will carry -you far." - -"And I shall work! Oh, how I shall work!" Jeanne had replied. - -That had been months ago. But teachers must be paid. Jeanne's pocketful -of money no longer weighed her down. Then, too, times were hard. The -little French girl could make people feel the things she did on the stage -because she, too, had a warm heart. She could not resist wandering from -time to time into the tenement districts where dwelt her gypsy friends. -There she found poverty and great need. Always she came away with an -empty purse. On Maxwell Street it was no better. - -"I shall apply for work," she had told Florence at last. - -"But what can you do?" - -"I can act. I can sing." - -"But no one wants you to act or sing." - -"On the stage," Jeanne had shrugged, "perhaps no. But in life one may -always act a part. I shall act. But what shall I be?" - -"There, now!" she had cried a moment later. "I shall be a boy. I shall -become an usher, an usher in Grand Opera. If I may not be on the stage, I -may at least spend every night in the aisles. I shall see all the operas, -and I shall earn a little." - -"But, Petite Jeanne!" - -"No! No! Do not resist me!" Jeanne had cried. "I will do it. I must! It -is my soul, my life, the stage, the opera. Hours each day I shall be near -it. Perhaps I may steal out upon the stage and sing an aria when the hall -is dark. Perhaps, too, I shall meet Marjory Dean, the great one this city -adores. - -"And who knows," she had clasped her hands in ecstasy, "who knows but -that in some mysterious way my opportunity may come?" - - * * * * * * * * - -"My opportunity," she thought now, as, sitting before the glowing fire, -she contemplated the future, "appears to be a bed in jail. But who -knows?" - -Jeanne refused to be depressed. Casting off her dressing gown, she sprang -away in a wild dance as she chanted: - - "Now I am Pierre, - Now I am Jeanne. - To-night I sleep on eiderdown, - To-morrow I am in jail. - -"Oh, sweet mystery of life." - -Her voice rang out high and clear. Then, like the flash of sunshine -across the brow of a hill, her mood changed. - -"To-morrow!" she exclaimed, dropping into the depths of a great chair by -the fire. "Why think of to-morrow? See! The tea kettle sings for us. Why -not one good cup of black tea? And then--sweet dreams." - -A moment later there was a clinking of thin china cups. A belated -midnight lunch was served. - -An hour later, as Petite Jeanne twisted her pink toes beneath her -silk-covered eiderdown, brought all the way from her beloved France, she -whispered low: - -"To-morrow!" - -And after a time, once again, faint, indistinct like a word from a dream: - -"To-morrow." - - - - - CHAPTER III - ON THE VERGE OF ADVENTURE - - -Long after Petite Jeanne's dainty satin slippers had danced her off to -bed, Florence Huyler sat before the fire thinking. If your acquaintance -with Florence is of long standing, you will know that she was possessed -of both courage and strength. For some time a gymnasium director, she had -developed her splendid physical being to the last degree. Even now, -though her principal business in life had for some time been that of -keeping up with the little French girl, she spent three hours each day in -the gymnasium and swimming pool. Her courage surpassed her strength; yet -as she contemplated the step Petite Jeanne had taken and the events which -must immediately follow that move, she trembled. - -"It's all too absurd, anyway," she told herself. "She wants to be an -opera singer, so she dresses herself up like a boy and becomes an usher. -What good could possibly come of that?" - -All the time she was thinking this she realized that her objections were -futile. Petite Jeanne believed in Fate. Fate would take her where she -wished to go. - -"If she wished to marry the President's son, she'd become a maid in the -White House. And then--" Florence paused. She dared not say that Petite -Jeanne would not attain her end. Up to this moment Jeanne had surmounted -all obstacles. Adopted by the gypsies, she had lived in their camps for -years. She had inherited their fantastic attitude toward life. For her -nothing was entirely real, and nothing unattainable. - -"But to-morrow night!" Florence shuddered. The little French girl meant -to don her dress suit and as Pierre Andrews return to her post as usher -in the boxes of that most magnificent of all opera houses. - -"A necklace worth thousands of dollars was stolen." She reviewed events. -"Petite Jeanne was near. When they looked for her, she had vanished. She -stole the necklace. What could be more certain than this? She stole it! -They will say that. They'll arrest her on sight. - -"She stole it." She repeated the words slowly. "Did she?" - -The very question shocked her. Petite Jeanne was no thief. This she knew -right well. She had no need to steal. She still had a little money in the -bank. Yet, as a means to an end, had she taken the necklace, intending -later to return it? - -"No! No!" she whispered aloud. "Jeanne is reckless, but she'd never do -that! - -"But where is the necklace? Who did take it?" For a time she endeavored -to convince herself that the precious string of pearls, having become -unclasped, had slipped to the floor, that it had been discovered and even -now was in its youthful owner's possession. - -"No such luck." She prodded the fire vigorously. "In the end fortune -smiles upon us. But in the beginning, nay, nay! - -"And to-morrow evening--" She rose to fling her splendid arms wide. -"To-morrow my little friend walks in, after many brave detectives have -spent the day in a vain search for her, and says quite nonchalantly: - -"'There you are, madame. Shall I remove your sable coat? Or will you wear -it? And will you have the chair, so? Or so? _Voila!_' - -"Who can say it is not going to be dramatic? Drama in real life! That's -what counts most with Jeanne. Oh, my dear little Jeanne! What an adorable -peck of trouble you are!" - -And all the time, quite lost in the big, eager, hungry world that waited -just outside her window, the little French girl lay among her pink -eiderdown quilts and slept the sleep of the just. - -The cold gray dawn of the morning after found Petite Jeanne considerably -shaken in her mind regarding the outcome of this, her latest adventure. - -"Will they truly arrest me?" she asked herself as, slipping into a heavy -robe, she sought the comfort of an early fire. "And if they arrest me, -what then?" She shuddered. She had once visited a police court in this -very city. An uninviting place it had been, too. With judge and lawyers -alternately laughing and storming at crestfallen individuals who stood, -some quite bewildered, others with an air of hopelessness about them, -with two women weeping in a corner, and with an ill-smelling, ogling -group of visitors looking on, the whole place had depressed her beyond -words. - -"Am I to stand there to be stared at? Will the lawyers and the judge make -a joke of my misfortune?" She stamped her little foot angrily. "No! No! -Nevair! They shall not! - -"And yet," she thought more soberly, "I must go back. I truly must! - -"Oh, why did I run away? Why did I not say: 'Search me if you must. You -will see that I do not have your necklace!' - -"But no!" She flushed. "As Petite Jeanne I might be searched. But as -Pierre. Ah, no! No!" - -A cup of steaming coffee revived her spirits; but for a few hours only. -Then the dull, drab day bore down upon her with greater force than ever. - -And indeed it was no sort of day to enliven spirits and bolster up -courage. Gray skies, gray streets, gray fog, dripping walls of great -buildings, these were all about her. And in the end a slow, weepy, -drizzling rain began to fall. - -There is but one way to endure such a day. That is to don storm rubbers, -raincoat and an old hat, and defy it. Defy it Petite Jeanne did. And once -in the cool damp of it all, she found relief. - -She wandered on and on. The fog grew thicker. Clouds hung dark and low. -Lights began to appear. Yet it was not night. - -Of a sudden, as she wandered aimlessly on, she became conscious of an -astonishing fact: numbers of people were hurrying past her. A strange -proceeding on a drab day when men prefer to be indoors. But strangest of -all, each one of these individuals was shorter than Petite Jeanne -herself. And the little French girl was far from tall. - -"How extraordinary!" she murmured under her breath. "It is as if I were -some half-grown Gulliver in the land of the Pygmies." - -She knew this was pure fancy. But who were these people? A look into one -storm-clad, bemuffled face told her the answer: - -"Orientals. But where can they be going? They must have come from many -places." - -The question absorbed her attention. It drove trouble from her mind. She -followed the one whose face she had scrutinized. In time she saw him dart -up a short flight of stairs to enter a door on which were inscribed the -words: "Members Only." - -Other figures appeared. One and all, they followed in this one's wake. - -As Jeanne looked up she saw that the three-story building was possessed -of a highly ornamented front. Strange and grotesque figures, dragons, -birds of prey, great, ugly faces all done in wood or metal and painted in -gaudy colors, clustered in every available niche. - -Suddenly she was seized with a desire to follow these little men. - -"But no!" she whispered. "They would never allow me to pass." - -She looked for the street number. There was none. She walked a few paces -to the left. - -"Seven, three, seven," she read aloud. She gave a sudden start. She knew -this location. Only three blocks away was a costumer's shop. For a dollar -or two this costumer would turn her into any sort of person she might -choose to be, a pirate, an Eskimo, yes, even a Chinaman. That was his -business. At once Jeanne was on her way to that shop. - -In an astonishingly short time she was back; or at least some person -answering her description as to height, breadth of shoulders, glove -number, etc., was coming down the street. But was it Jeanne? Perhaps not -one of her best friends could have told. Certainly in the narrow hallway -of that mysterious building, which little men were still entering, her -nationality was not challenged. To these mysterious little people, who -were gathering for who knows what good or evil reason, she was for the -moment an Oriental. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - A LIVING STATUE - - -In the meantime Florence, too, had gone for a walk in the rain. The -discovery she made that day was destined to play a very large part in her -immediate future. - -Florence by nature belonged to the country, not to the city. Fate had, by -some strange trick, cast her lot in the city. But on every possible -occasion she escaped to quiet places where the rattle and bang of city -life were gone and she might rest her weary feet by tramping over the -good, soft, yielding earth. - -Since their rooms were very near the heart of the city, at first thought -it might seem impossible for her to reach such a spot of tranquility -without enduring an hour-long car ride. - -This was not true. The city which had for so long been Florence's home is -unique. No other in the world is like it. Located upon a swamp, it turned -the swamp first into a garden, then into a city where millions live in -comfort. Finding a stagnant river running into the lake, it turned the -river about and made it a swift one going from the lake. Lacking islands -upon its shore-line, this enterprising metropolis proceeded to build -islands. A brisk twenty-minute walk brought Florence to one of these -islands. - -This island at that time, though of a considerable size, was quite -incomplete. In time it was to be a place where millions would tread. At -that moment, save for one dark, dome-shaped building at its north end, it -was a place of desolation, or so it seemed to Florence. - -At either end the land rose several feet above the surface of the lake. -In the center it was so low that in time of storm waves dashed completely -over it. - -Since the island had been some years in building a voluntary forest which -might better, perhaps, be called a jungle, had sprung up on its southern -extremity. Beyond this jungle lay the breakwater where in time of storm -great waves mounted high and came crashing down upon heaps of limestone -rocks as large as small houses. - -To the left of this jungle, on the side facing the lake, was a narrow, -sandy beach. It was toward this beach that Florence made her way. There -she hoped to spend an hour of quiet meditation as she promenaded the -hard-packed sand of the beach. Vain hope. Some one was there before her. - - * * * * * * * * - -Petite Jeanne had entered many strange places. None was more strange nor -more fantastically beautiful than the one she found within the four walls -of that dragon-guarded building in the heart of a great city. - -Playing the role of an American born Chinese lady, she passed the -attendant and climbed two flights of stairs unmolested. - -As she reached the top of the second flight she found her feet sinking -deep in the thick pile of an Oriental rug. One glance about her and she -gripped at her heart to still it. - -"It is a dream!" she told herself. "There is no place like this." - -Yet she dared not distrust her senses. Surely the lovely Chinese ladies, -dressed in curious Chinese garments of matchless silk, gliding silently -about the place, were real; so, too, was the faint, fragrant odor of -incense, and the lamps that, burning dimly, cast a shadow of purple and -old rose over all. - -"Dragons," she murmured, "copper dragons looking as old as time itself. -Smoke creeps from their nostrils as if within them burned eternal fire. -Lamps made of three thousand bits of glass set in copper. Banners of -silk. Pictures of strange birds. Who could have planned all this and -brought it into being? - -"And there," she whispered, as she dared a few steps across the first -soft-carpeted space, "there is an altar, an altar to a god wholly unknown -to me. The ladies are kneeling there. Suppose they invite me to join -them!" At once she felt terribly frightened. She sank deep in the -shadows. She was playing the part of a Chinese lady, yet she knew nothing -of their religion. And this appeared to be a temple. - -She was contemplating flight when a sound, breaking in upon her -attention, caused her to pause. From somewhere, seemingly deep down and -far away, came the dong-dong of a gong. Deep, serene, melodious, it -seemed to call to her. A simple, impulsive child of nature, she murmured: - -"It calls. I shall go." - -Turning her back to the broad stairs that led down and away to the cool, -damp, outer air, she took three steps downward on a narrow circular -staircase which led, who could tell where? - -Smoke rose from the spaces below, the smoke of many incense burners. - -Pausing there, she seemed about to turn back. But again came the deep, -melodious, all but human call of the gong. Moving like one in a trance, -she took three more steps downward and was lost from sight. - - * * * * * * * * - -The person who had disturbed Florence's hoped-for hour of solitude on the -island beach was a girl. Yet, as Florence first saw her, she seemed less -a living person than a statue. Tanned by the sun to a shade that matched -the giant rock on which she stood, clad only in a scant bathing suit that -in color matched her skin, standing rigid, motionless, she seemed a thing -hewn of stone to stand there forever. - -Yet, even as Florence looked on entranced, she flung her arms high, gave -vent to a scream that sent gulls scurrying from rocky roosts, and then, -leaping high, disappeared beneath the dull surface of the water. - -That scream, together with the deft arching of her superb body as she -dove, marked her as one after Florence's own kind. Gone was her wish for -solitude. One desire possessed her now: to know this animated statue of -the island. - -"Where does she live?" she asked herself. "How can she dare to visit this -desolate spot alone?" - -Even as she asked this question, the girl emerged from the water, shook -back her tangled hair, drew a rough blue overall over her dripping -bathing suit, and then, leaping away like a wild deer, cleared the -breakwater at a bound and in a twinkling lost herself on a narrow path -that wound through the jungle of low willows and cottonwoods. - -"She is gone!" Florence exclaimed. "I have lost her!" Nevertheless, she -went racing along the beach to enter the jungle over the path the girl -had taken. She had taken up a strange trail. That trail was short. It -ended abruptly. This she was soon enough to know. - - - - - CHAPTER V - THE SECRET PLACE - - -Petite Jeanne was a person of courage. Times there had been when, as a -child living with the gypsies of France, she had believed that she saw a -ghost. At the heart of black woods, beneath a hedge on a moonless night -some white thing lying just before her had moved in the most -blood-chilling fashion. Never, on such an occasion, had Jeanne turned to -flee. Always, with knees trembling, heart in her throat, she had marched -straight up to the "ghost." Always, to be sure, the "ghost" had vanished, -but Jeanne had gained courage by such adventures. So now, as she glided -down the soft-carpeted, circular staircase with the heavy odor of incense -rising before her and the play of eerie green lights all about her, she -took a strong grip on herself, bade her fluttering heart be still, and -steadily descended into the mysterious unknown. - -The scene that met her gaze as at last she reached those lower levels, -was fantastic in the extreme. A throng of little brown people, dressed in -richest silks, their faces shining strangely in the green light, sat in -small circles on rich Oriental rugs. - -Scattered about here and there all over the room were low pedestals and -on these pedestals rested incense burners. Fantastic indeed were the -forms of these burners: ancient dragons done in copper, eagles of brass -with wings spread wide, twining serpents with eyes of green jade, and -faces, faces of ugly men done in copper. These were everywhere. - -As Jeanne sank silently to a place on the floor, she felt that some great -event in the lives of these people was about to transpire. They did not -speak; they whispered; and once, then again, and yet again, their eyes -strayed expectantly to a low stage, built across the far end of the room. - -"What is to happen?" the girl asked herself. She shuddered. To forget -that she was in a secret place at the very heart of a Chinese temple -built near the center of a great city--this was impossible. - -"I shouldn't be here," she chided herself. "Something may happen to me. I -may be detained. I may not be able to reach the Opera House in time. And -then--" - -She wondered what that would mean. She realized with a sort of shock that -she was strangely indifferent to it all. Truth was, events had so shaped -themselves that she was at that moment undecided where her own best good -lay. She had ventured something, had begun playing the role of a boy. She -had done this that she might gain a remote end. The end now seemed very -remote indeed. The perils involved in reaching that end had increased -four-fold. - -"Why go back at all?" she asked herself. "As Pierre I can die very -comfortably. As Petite Jeanne I can live on. And no one will ever know. I -am--" - -Her thoughts were interrupted, not by a sound nor a movement, but by a -sudden great silence that had fallen, like a star from the sky at night, -upon the assembled host of little people. - -Petite Jeanne was not a stranger to silence. She had stood at the edge of -a clearing before an abandoned cabin, far from the home of any living man -just as the stars were coming out, when a hush had fallen over all; not a -leaf had stirred, not a bird note had sounded, and the living, breathing -world had seemed far away. She had called that silence. - -She had drifted with idle paddle in a canoe far out upon the glimmering -surface of Lake Huron. There, alone, with night falling, she had listened -until every tiniest wavelet had gone to rest. She had heard the throb of -a motor die away in the distance. She had felt rather than heard the -breath of air stirred by the last lone seagull on his way to some rocky -ledge for rest. She had at last listened for the faintest sound, then had -whispered: - -"This is silence." - -It may have been, but never had a silence impressed her as did the -silence of this moment as, seated there on the floor, far from her -friends, an uninvited guest to some weird ceremony, she awaited with -bated breath that which was to come. - -She had not long to wait. A long tremulous sigh, like the tide sweeping -across the ocean at night, passed over the motionless throng; a sigh, -that was all. - -But Petite Jeanne? She wished to scream, to rise and dash out of the room -crying, "Fire! Fire!" - -She did not scream. Something held her back. Perhaps it was the sigh, and -perhaps the silence. - -The thing that was happening was weird in the extreme. On the stage a -curtain was slowly, silently closing. No one was near to close it. It -appeared endowed with life. This was not all. The curtain was aflame. -Tongues of fire darted up its folds. One expected this fire to roar. It -did not. Yet, as the little French girl, with heart in throat and finger -nails cutting deep, sat there petrified, flames raced up the curtain -again and yet again. And all the time, in great, graceful folds, it was -gliding, silently gliding from the right and the left. - -"Soon it will close," she told herself. "And then--" - -Only one thought saved Jeanne from a scream that would have betrayed her; -not a soul in that impassive throng had moved or spoken. It was borne in -upon her that here was some form of magic which she did not know. - -"It's a magic curtain." These words, formed by her lips were not so much -as whispered. - -But now from a dark corner of the stage a figure appeared. A weird -stooping figure he was, clothed all in white. He moved toward the curtain -with slow, halting steps. He seemed desirous of passing between the folds -of the curtain before the opening; yet a great fear appeared to hold him -back. - -At this moment there came to Jeanne's mind words from a very ancient -book: - -"_Draw not nigh hither. Put off thy shoes from thy feet._" - -"The burning bush!" she whispered. "It burned but was not consumed; a -magic bush. This is a magic curtain." - -"_Remove thy shoes._" - -She seemed to hear someone repeat these words. - -Her hands went to her feet. They were fully clad. A quick glance to right -and left assured her that not another person in the room wore shoes. - -"My shoes will betray me!" Consternation seized her. One look backward, a -stealthy creeping toward the soft-carpeted stair, another stealthy move -and she was on her way out. - -But would she make it? Her heart was in her throat. A quarter of the way -up she was obliged to pause. She was suffocating with fear. - -"I must be calm," she whispered. "I must! I must!" Of a sudden life -seemed a thing of solemn beauty. Somehow she must escape that she might -live on and on. - -Once again she was creeping upward. Did a hand touch her foot? Was -someone preparing to seize her? With an effort, she looked down. No one -was following. Every eye was glued upon the magic curtain. The curtain -was closed. The white-robed figure had vanished. What had happened? Had -he passed through? Had the curtain consumed him? She shuddered. Then, -summoning all her courage, she leaped up the stairs, glided silently -across the room above, and passed swiftly on until she gained the open -air. - -Then how she sped away! Never had she raced so swiftly and silently as -now. - -It was some time before she realized how futile was her flight. No one -pursued her. - -In time she was able to still her wildly beating heart. Then she turned -toward home. - -Once she stopped dead in her tracks to exclaim: "The magic curtain! Oh! -Why did I run away?" - -Then, as another mood seized her, she redoubled her pace. Florence, she -hoped, awaited her with a roaring fire, a cup of hot chocolate and a good -scolding. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - THE WOMAN IN BLACK - - -By the time she reached the doorway that led to her humble abode, Petite -Jeanne was in high spirits. The brisk walk had stirred her blood. Her -recent adventure had quickened her imagination. She was prepared for -anything. - -Alas, how quickly all this vanished! One moment she was a heroine -marching forth to face that which life might fling at her; the next she -was limp as a rag doll. Such was Petite Jeanne. The cause? - -The room she entered was dark; chill damp hung over the place like a -shroud. Florence was not there. The fire was dead. Cheer had passed from -the place; gloom had come. - -Jeanne could build a fire. This is an art known to all wanderers, and she -had been a gypsy. But she lacked the will to put her skill to the test, -so, quite in despair, she threw herself in a chair and lay there, looking -for all the world like a deserted French doll, as she whispered to -herself: - -"What can it matter? Life is without a true purpose, all life. Why should -one struggle? Why not go down with the tide? Why--" - -But in one short moment all this was changed. The door flew open. -Florence burst into the room and with her came a whole gust of fresh lake -air, or so it seemed to Jeanne. - -"You have been to the island!" she exclaimed, as she became a very -animated doll. - -"Yes, I have been there." Excitement shone from the big girl's eyes. "And -I have made a surprising discovery. But wait. What ails the fire?" - -"There is no fire." - -"But why?" - -Jeanne shrugged. "One does not know," she murmured. - -Seizing the antiquated wood-hamper that stood by the hearth, Florence -piled shavings and kindling high. Then, after scratching a match, she -watched the yellow flames spread as shadows began dancing on the wall. - -"You have been surrendering to gloom," she said reprovingly. "Don't do -it. It's bad for you. Where there is light there is hope. And see how our -fire gleams!" - -"You speak truth, my friend." Jeanne's tone was solemn. - -"But tell me." Her mood changed. "You have met adventure. So have I." Her -eyes shone. - -"Yes." Florence was all business at once. "But take a look at the clock. -There is just time to rush out for a cup of tea, then--" - -"Then I go to jail," replied Jeanne solemnly. "Tell me. What does one -wear in jail?" - -"You are joking," Florence replied. "This is a serious affair. But, since -you will go, it will not help to be late. We must hurry." - -A moment later, arm in arm, they passed from the outer door and the dull -damp of night swallowed them up. - -When, a short time later, Petite Jeanne, garbed as Pierre Andrews, stole -apprehensively through the entrance to the great opera house, her -ever-fearful eyes fell upon two men loitering just within. - -The change that came over one of these, a tall, dark young man with a -steely eye, as he caught sight of Jeanne was most astonishing. Turning -square about like some affair of metal set on wheels, he appeared about -to leap upon her. Only a grip on his arm, that of his more stocky -companion, appeared to save the girl. - -"Watch out!" the other counseled savagely. "Think where you are!" - -On the instant the look in those steely eyes changed. The man became a -smiling wolf. - -"Hey there, boy!" he called to Jeanne. - -But Jeanne, in her immaculate suit of black, gave but one frightened -backward look, and then sped for the elevator. - -Her heart was doing double time as she saw the elevator door silently -close. - -"Who could that man be?" she questioned herself breathlessly. "He can't -have been a detective. They do not stand on ceremony. He would be here by -my side, with a hand on my arm. But if not a detective, what then?" She -could form no answer. - -In the meantime, the dark, slim man was saying to the stocky one: - -"Can you beat it? You can't! Thought he'd cut for good! My luck. But no! -Here he is, going back." - -"What do you care?" the other grumbled. "They'll take him, and that's the -end of it. Come on outside." His eyes strayed to the corner. A -deep-chested man whose coat bulged in a strange way was loitering there. -"Air's bad in here." - -They passed out into the night. And there we leave them. But not for -long. Men such as these are found in curious places and at unheard-of -hours. - -But Jeanne? With her heart stilled for a brief period of time, she rose -to the floor above, only to be thrown into a state of mind bordering on -hysteria at thought of facing the ordeal that must lie just before her. - -Seeking a dark corner, she closed her eyes. Allowing her head to drop -forward, she stood like one in prayer. Did she pray, or did she but -surrender her soul and body to the forces of nature all about her? Who -can say but that these two are the same, or at least that their effect is -the same? However that may be, it was a changed Jeanne who, three minutes -later, took up her post of duty in the boxes, for hers was the air of a -sentry. Her movements were firm and steady, the look upon her face as -calm as the reflection of the moon upon a still pool at midnight. - -That which followed was silent drama. Throughout it all, not a word was -spoken, no, not so much as whispered. The effect was like a thing of -magic. Jeanne will never erase those pictures from her memory. - -Scarcely had she taken her place at the door leading to the box than the -great magnate, J. Rufus Robinson, and his daughter, she of the lost -pearls, appeared. Jeanne caught her breath as she beheld the cape of -green velvet trimmed with white fur and the matchless French gown of -cream colored silk she wore. There was no lack of jewels despite the lost -pearls. A diamond flashed here, a ruby burned there, yet they did not -outshine the smile of this child of the rich. - -"I am seeing life," Jeanne whispered to herself. "I must see more of it. -I must! I just must!" - -Yet, even as she whispered these words she thought of the bearded man -with those luminous eyes. She had asked him if all this was life--this -wealth, this pomp and circumstance. And he had replied quite calmly: "It -is a form of life." - -At that instant Jeanne thought of impending events that hung over her -like a sword suspended by a hair, and shuddered. - -Assisting the millionaire's daughter to remove her wrap, she carried it -to the cloak-room at the back, then assisted the pair to arrange their -chairs. This done, she stepped back, a respectful distance. - -While this was being done, a man, gliding forward with silent unconcern, -had taken a place in the shadows at the back of the box. Deeper in the -shadows stood a woman in black. Jeanne did not see the woman. She did see -the man, and shuddered again. He, she realized, was the detective. - -As she turned her back, the detective moved, prepared without doubt to -advance upon her. But a curious thing happened. The woman in the shadows -darted forward. Touching the arm of the rich young lady, she pointed at -Jeanne and nodded her head. The girl in turn looked at the detective and -shook her head. Then both the detective and the woman in black lost -themselves in the shadows at the back of the box. - -All this was lost to Jeanne. Her back had been turned. Her mind had been -filled by a magic panorama, a picture of that which was to pass across -the opera stage that night. Thus does devotion to a great art cause us to -forget the deepest, darkest trouble in our lives. - -All during that long evening Petite Jeanne found herself profoundly -puzzled. Why was nothing said to her regarding the pearls? Why was she -not arrested? - -"They have been found," she told herself at last. Yet she doubted her own -words, as well she might. - -Two incidents of the evening impressed her. As she left the box during an -intermission the rich girl turned a bright smile full upon her as she -said: - -"What is your name?" - -Caught off her guard, the little French girl barely escaped betraying her -secret. The first sound of "Jeanne" was upon her lips when of a sudden, -without so much as a stammer or blush, she answered: - -"Pierre Andrews, if you please." - -"What a romantic name." The girl smiled again, then passed on. - -"Now why did she do that?" Jeanne's head was in a whirl. - -Scarcely had she regained her composure when a voice behind her asked: -"Are you fond of the opera?" - -"Oh, yes! Yes, indeed I am." She turned about. - -"Then you may see much of it this season." The mysterious woman in black -was already turned about. She was walking away. Jeanne did not see her -face, yet there was that about her voice, a depth, a melodious resonance, -a something, that thrilled her to the very tips of her slender toes. - -"Will wonders never end?" she asked herself, and found no answer. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - DREAMS OF OTHER DAYS - - -Petite Jeanne left the opera house that night in a brown study. She was -perplexed beyond words. The necklace had not been found. She had made -sure of that when, between the second and third act, she had discovered -on a bulletin board of the lobby a typewritten notice of the loss and an -offer of a reward for the return of the pearls. - -"If the pearls had been found that notice would have been taken down," -she assured herself. "But if this is true, why did I go unmolested? One -would suppose that at least I would be questioned regarding the affair. -But no!" She shrugged her graceful shoulders. "They ask me nothing. They -look and look, and say nothing. Oh, yes, indeed, they say: 'What is your -name?' That most beautiful rich one, she says this. And the dark one who -is only a voice, she says: 'Do you like the opera?' She asks this. And -who is she? I know that voice. I have heard it before. It is very -familiar, yet I cannot recall it. If she is here again I shall see her -face." - -Having thus worked herself into a state of deep perplexity that rapidly -ripened into fear, she glided, once her duties were done, down a narrow -aisle, across the end of the stage where a score of stage hands were busy -shifting scenes, then along a narrow passage-way, with which, as you will -know from reading _The Golden Circle_, she was thoroughly familiar. From -this passageway she emerged upon a second and narrower stage. - -This was the stage of the Civic Theatre. The stage was dark. The house -was dark. Only the faintest gleam of light revealed seats like ghosts -ranged row on row. - -How familiar it all seemed to her. The time had been when, not many -months back, she had stood upon that stage and by the aid of her -God-given gift, had stirred the audience to admiration, to laughter and -to tears. - -As she stood there now a wave of feeling came over her that she could not -resist. This stage, this little playhouse had become to her what home -means to many. The people who had haunted those seats were _her_ people. -They had loved her. She had loved them. But now they were gone. The house -was dark, the light opera troop was scattered. She thought she knew how a -mother robin must feel as she visits her nest long after the fledglings -have flown. - -Advancing to the center of the stage, she stretched her arms wide in mute -appeal to the empty seats. But no least whisper of admiration or -disapproval came back to her. - -A moment she stood thus. Then, as her hands dropped, her breast heaved -with one great sob. - -But, like the sea, Jeanne was made of many moods. "No! No!" She stamped -her small foot. "I will not come back to this! I will not! The way back -is closed. Only the door ahead is open. I will go on. - -"Grand Opera, this is all now. This is art indeed. Pictures, music, -story. This is Grand Opera. Big! Grand! Noble! Some day, somehow I shall -stand upon that most wonderful of all stages, and those people, those -thousands, the richest, the most learned, the most noble, they shall be -my people!" - -Having delivered this speech to the deserted hall, she once again became -a very little lady in a trim black dress suit, seeking a way to the outer -air and the street that led to home. - -She had come this way because she feared that the slender, dark-faced -stranger who had accosted her earlier in the evening would await her at -the door. - -"If he sees me he will follow," she told herself. "And then--" - -She finished with a shudder. - -In choosing this way she had counted upon one circumstance. Nor had she -counted in vain. As she hurried down the dark aisle toward the back of -the theatre which was, she knew, closed, she came quite suddenly upon a -man with a flashlight and time clock. - -"Oh, Tommy Mosk!" she exclaimed in a whisper. "How glad I am that you are -still here!" - -The watchman threw his light upon her face. - -"Petite Jeanne!" he exclaimed. "But why the masquerade?" Tommy belonged -to those other days and, with the rest, had come to love the simple, -big-hearted little light opera star. "Petite Jeanne! But why--" - -"Please don't make me tell." She gripped his arm. "Only let me out, and -see me safe into a taxi. And--and--" She put a finger to her lips. "Don't -whisper a word." - -"I--it's irregular, but I--I'll do it," he replied gallantly. - -Jeanne gave his arm another squeeze and they were away. - -Three minutes later, still dressed as Pierre, the usher, she was huddled -on the broad seat of a taxi, speeding for home. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - AN ISLAND MYSTERY - - -When Florence, whose work as physical director required her attention -until late hours three nights in the week, arrived, she found the little -French girl still dressed as Pierre, curled up in a big chair shuddering -in the cold and the dark. - -"Wh-what's happened?" She stared at her companion in astonishment. - -"N-n-nothing happened!" wailed Petite Jeanne. "That is why I am so very -much afraid. They have said not one word to me about the pearls. They -believe I have them. They will follow me, shadow me, search this place. -Who can doubt it? Oh, _mon Dieu_! Such times! Such troubles! - -"And yes!" she cried with a fresh shudder. "There is the slim, dark-faced -one who is after me. And how can I know why?" - -"You poor child!" Florence lifted her from the chair as easily as she -might had she been a sack of feathers. "You shall tell me all about it. -But first I must make a fire and brew some good black tea. And you must -run along and become Petite Jeanne. I am not very fond of this Pierre -person." She plucked at the black coat sleeve. "In fact I never have -cared for him at all." - -Half an hour later the two girls were curled up amid a pile of rugs and -cushions before the fire. Cups were steaming, the fire crackling and the -day, such as it had been, was rapidly passing into the joyous realm of -"times that are gone," where one may live in memories that amuse and -thrill, but never cause fear nor pain. - -Jeanne had told her story and Florence had done her best to reassure her, -when the little French girl exclaimed: "But you, my friend? Only a few -hours ago you spoke of a discovery on the island. What was this so -wonderful thing you saw there?" - -"Well, now," Florence sat up to prod the fire, "that was the strangest -thing! You have been on the island?" - -"No, my friend. In the fort, but not on the island." - -"Then you don't know what sort of half wild place it is. It's made of the -dumping from a great city: cans, broken bricks, clay, everything. And -from sand taken from the bottom of the lake. It's been years in the -making. Storms have washed in seeds. Birds have carried in others. Little -forests of willow and cottonwood have sprung up. The south end is a -jungle. A fit hide-out for tramps, you'd say. All that. You'd not expect -to find respectable people living there, would you?" - -"But how could they?" - -"That's the queer part. They could. And I'm almost sure they do. Seems -too strange to be true. - -"And yet--" She prodded the fire, then stared into the flames as if to -see reproduced there pictures that had half faded from her memories. "And -yet, Petite Jeanne, I saw a girl out there, quite a young girl, in -overalls and a bathing-suit. She was like a statue when I first saw her, -a living statue. She went in for a dip, then donned her overalls to dash -right into the jungle. - -"I wanted to see where she went, so I followed. And what do you think! -After following a winding trail for a little time, I came, just where the -cottonwoods are tallest, upon the strangest sort of dwelling--if it was a -dwelling at all--I have ever seen." - -"What was it like?" Jeanne leaned eagerly forward. - -"Like nothing on land or sea, but a little akin to both. The door was -heavy and without glass. It had a great brass knob such as you find on -the cabin doors of very old ships. And the windows, if you might call -them that, looked like portholes taken from ships. - -"But the walls; they were strangest of all. Curious curved pillars rose -every two or three feet apart, to a considerable height. Between these -pillars brick walls had been built. The whole was topped by a roof of -green tile." - -"And the girl went in there?" - -"Where else could she have gone?" - -"And that was her home?" - -"Who could doubt it?" - -"America--" Jeanne drew a long breath. "Your America is a strange place." - -"So strange that even we who have lived here always are constantly -running into the most astonishing things. - -"Perhaps," the big girl added, after a brief silence, "that is why -America is such a glorious place to live." - -"But did you not endeavor to make a call at this strange home?" asked -Jeanne. - -"I did. Little good it did me! I knocked three times at the door. There -was no answer. It was growing dark, but no light shone from those -porthole windows. So all I could do was to retrace my steps. - -"I had gone not a dozen paces when I caught the sound of a half -suppressed laugh. I wheeled about, but saw no one. Now, what do you make -of that?" - -"It's a sweet and jolly mystery," said Jeanne. "We shall solve it, you -and I." - -And in dreaming of this new and apparently harmless adventure, the little -French girl's troubles were, for the time being at least, forgotten. She -slept soundly that night and all her dreams were dreams of peace. - -But to-morrow was another day. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - CAUGHT IN THE ACT - - -And on that new day, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds -after a storm, there came to Jeanne an hour of speechless joy. - -Having exercised as ever her gift of friendship to all mankind, she was -able, through her acquaintance with the watchman, to enter the opera -house when she chose. There was only one drawback to this; she must enter -always as Pierre and never as Petite Jeanne. - -Knowing that some sort of rehearsal would be in progress, she garbed -herself in her Pierre costume and repaired to the place which to her, of -all places on earth, seemed the home of pure enchantment--the opera. - -Even now, when the seats were clothed like ghosts in white sheets, when -the aisles, so often adorned with living models all a-glitter with silks -and jewels, and echoing with the sound of applause and laughter, were -dark and still, the great hall lost none of its charm. - -As she tripped noiselessly down the foyer where pillars cut from some -curious stone flanked her on every side and priceless chandeliers hung -like blind ghosts far above her head, she thought of the hundreds who had -promenaded here displaying rich furs, costly silks and jewels. She -recalled, too, the remark of that strangely studious man with a beard: - -"It is a form of life." - -"I wonder what he meant?" she said half aloud. "Perhaps some day I shall -meet him again. If I do, I shall ask him." - -But Jeanne was no person to be living in the past. She dreamed of the -future when only dreams were at her command. For her the vivid, living, -all-entrancing _present_ was what mattered most. She had not haunted the -building long before she might have been found curled up in a seat among -the dark shadows close to the back row on the orchestra floor. She had -pushed the white covering away, but was still half hidden by it; she -could be entirely hidden in a second's time if she so willed. - -Behind and above her, black chasms of darkness, the boxes and balconies -loomed. Before her the stage, all dark, seemed a mysterious cave where a -hundred bandits might hide among the settings of some imposing scene. - -She did not know the name of the opera to be rehearsed on this particular -afternoon. Who, then, can describe the stirring of her blood, the -quickening of her heart-beats, the thrill that coursed through her very -being when the first faint flush of dawn began appearing upon the scene -that lay before her? A stage dawn it was, to be sure; but very little -less than real it was, for all that. In this matchless place of amusement -shades of light, pale gray, blue, rosy red, all come creeping out, and -dawn lingers as it does upon hills and forests of earth and stone and -wood. - -Eagerly the little French girl leaned forward to catch the first glimpse -of that unknown scene. Slowly, slowly, but quite surely, to the right a -building began looming out from that darkness. The trunk of a tree -appeared, another and yet another. Dimly a street was outlined. One by -one these objects took on a clearer line until with an impulsive -movement, Jeanne fairly leaped from her place. - -"It is France!" she all but cried aloud. "My own beloved France! And the -opera! It is to be 'The Juggler of Notre Dame'! Was there ever such -marvelous good fortune!" - -It was indeed as if a will higher than her own had planned all this, for -this short opera was the one Jeanne had studied. It was this opera, as -you will remember from reading _The Golden Circle_, that Jeanne had once -witnessed quite by chance as she lay flat upon the iron grating more than -a hundred feet above the stage. - -"And now I shall see Marjory Dean play in it once more," she exulted. -"For this is a dress rehearsal, I am sure of that." - -She was not long in discovering that her words were true. Scarcely had -the full light of day shone upon that charming stage village, nestled -among the hills of France, than a company of peasants, men, women and -children, all garbed in bright holiday attire, came trooping upon the -stage. - -But what was this? Scarcely had they arrived than one who loitered behind -began shouting in the most excited manner and pointing to the road that -led back to the hills. - -"The juggler is coming," Jeanne breathed. "The juggler of Notre Dame." -She did not say Marjory Dean, who played the part. She said: "the -juggler," because at this moment she lived again in that beautiful -village of her native land. Once again she was a gypsy child. Once more -she camped at the roadside. With her pet bear and her friend, the -juggler, she marched proudly into the village to dance for pennies before -the delighted crowd in the village square. - -What wonder that Petite Jeanne knew every word of this charming opera by -heart? Was it not France as she knew it? And was not France her native -land? - -Breathing deeply, clutching now and then at her heart to still its wild -beating, she waited and watched. A second peasant girl followed the first -to the roadside. She too called and beckoned. Others followed her. And -then, with a burst of joyous song, their gay garments gleaming like a bed -of flowers, their faces shining, these happy villagers came trooping -back. And in their midst, bearing in one hand a gay, colored hoop, in the -other a mysterious bag of tricks, was the juggler of Notre Dame. - -"It is Marjory Dean, Marjory herself. She is the juggler," Jeanne -whispered. She dared not trust herself to do more. She wanted to leap to -her feet, to clap her hands and cry: "Ray! Ray! Ray! _Vive! Vive! Vive!_" - -But no, this would spoil it all. She must see this beautiful story -through to its end. - -So, calming herself, she settled back to see the juggler, arrayed in his -fantastic costume, open his bag of tricks. She saw him delight his -audience with his simple artistry. - -She watched, breathless, as a priest, coming from the monastery, rebuked -him for practicing what he believed to be a sinful art. She suffered with -the juggler as he fought a battle with his soul. When he came near to the -door of the monastery that, being entered, might never again be -abandoned, she wished to rise and shout: - -"No! No! Juggler! Stay with the happy people in the bright sunshine. Show -them more of your art. Life is too often sad. Bring joy to their lives!" - -She said, in reality, nothing. When at last the curtain fell, she was -filled with one desire: to be for one short hour the juggler of Notre -Dame. She knew the words of his song; had practiced his simple tricks. - -"Why not? Sometime--somewhere," she breathed. - -"Sometime? Somewhere?" She realized in an instant that no place could be -quite the same to her as this one that in all its glories of green and -gold surrounded her now. - -When the curtain was up again the stage scene remained the same; but the -gay peasants, the juggler, were gone. - -After some moments of waiting Jeanne realized that this scene had been -set for the night's performance, that this scene alone would be rehearsed -upon the stage. - -"They are gone! It is over!" How empty her life seemed now. It was as if -a great light had suddenly gone out. - -Stealing from her place, she crept down the aisle, entered a door and -emerged at last upon a dark corner of the stage. - -For a moment, quite breathless, she stood there in the shadows, watching, -listening. - -"There is no one," she breathed. "I am alone." - -An overpowering desire seized her to don the juggler's costume, to sing -his songs, to do his tricks. The costume was there, the bag of tricks. -Why not? - -Pausing not a second, she crept to the center of the stage, seized the -coveted prizes, then beat a hasty retreat. - -Ten minutes later, dancing lightly and singing softly, she came upon the -stage. She was there alone. Yet, in her mind's eye she saw the villagers -of France, matrons and men, laughing lovers, dancing children, all before -her as, casting her bag upon the green, she seized some trifling baubles -and began working her charms. - -For her, too, the seats were not dark, covered empties, but filled with -human beings, filled with the light and joy of living. - -Of a sudden she seemed to hear the reproving words of the priest. - -Turning about, with sober face, she stood before the monastery door. - -And then, like some bird discovered in a garden, she wanted to run away. -For there, in very life, a little way back upon the vast stage, stood all -the peasants of the opera. And in their midst, garbed in street attire, -was Marjory Dean! - -"Who are you? How do you dare tamper with my property, to put on my -costume?" Marjory Dean advanced alone. - -There was sternness in her tone. But there was another quality besides. -Had it not been for this, Jeanne might have crumpled in a helpless heap -upon the stage. As it was, she could only murmur in her humblest manner: - -"I--I am only an usher. See!" She stripped off the juggler's garb, and -stood there in black attire. "Please do not be too hard. I have harmed -nothing. See! I will put it all back." This, with trembling fingers, she -proceeded to do. Then in the midst of profound silence, she retreated -into the shadows. - -She had barely escaped from the stage into the darkness of the opera pit -when a figure came soft-footedly after her. - -She wished to flee, but a voice seemed to whisper, "Stay!" - -The word that came ten seconds after was, "Wait! You can't deceive me. -You are Petite Jeanne!" - -It was the great one, Marjory Dean, who spoke. - -"Why, how--how could you know?" Jeanne was thrown into consternation. - -"Who could not know? If one has seen you upon the stage before, he could -not be mistaken. - -"But, little girl," the great one's tone was deep and low like the mellow -chimes of a great clock, "I will not betray you. - -"You did that divinely, Petite Jeanne. I could not have done it better. -And you, Jeanne, are much like me. A little make-up, and there you are, -Petite Jeanne, who is Marjory Dean. Some day, perhaps, I shall allow you -to take my place, to do this first act for me, before all this." She -spread her arms wide as if to take in a vast audience. - -"No!" Jeanne protested. "I could never do that. Never! Marjory Dean, -I--no! No!" - -She broke off to stare into the darkness. No one was there! - -"I could almost believe I imagined it," she told herself. - -"And yet--no! It was true. She said it. Marjory Dean said that!" - -Little wonder, then, that all the remaining hours of that day found on -her fair face a radiance born, one might say, in Heaven. - -Many saw that face and were charmed by it. The little rich girl saw it as -Jeanne performed her humble duties as Pierre. She was so taken by it -that, with her father's consent, she invited Pierre to visit her at her -father's estate next day. And Pierre accepted. And that, as you well may -guess, leads to quite another story. - - - - - CHAPTER X - THE ONE WITHIN THE SHADOWS - - -Having accepted an invitation from a daughter of the rich, Jeanne was at -once thrown into consternation. - -"What am I to wear?" she wailed. "As Pierre I can't very well wear pink -chiffon and satin slippers. And of course evening dress does not go with -an informal visit to an estate in mid-afternoon. Oh, why did I accept?" - -"You accepted," Florence replied quietly, "because you wish to know all -about life. You have been poor as a gypsy. You know all about being poor. -You have lived as a successful lady of the stage. You were then an -artist. Successful artists are middle class people, I should say. But -your friend Rosemary is rich. She will show you one more side of life." - -"A form of life, that's what he called it." - -"Who called it?" - -"A man. But what am I to wear?" - -"Well," Florence pondered, "you are a youth, a mere boy; that's the way -they think of you. You are to tramp about over the estate." - -"And ride horses. She said so. How I love horses!" - -"You are a boy. And you have no mother to guide you." Florence chanted -this. "What would a boy wear? Knickers, a waist, heavy shoes, a cap. You -have all these, left from our summer in the northern woods." - -Why not, indeed? This was agreed upon at once. So it happened that when -the great car, all a-glitter with gold and platinum trimmings, met her -before the opera at the appointed hour, it was as a boy, perhaps in -middle teens, garbed for an outing, that the little French girl sank deep -into the broadcloth cushions. - -"Florence said it would do," she told herself. "She is usually right. I -do hope that she may be right this time." - -Rosemary Robinson had been well trained, very well trained indeed. The -ladies who managed and taught the private school which she attended were -ladies of the first magnitude. As everyone knows, the first lesson to be -learned in the school of proper training is the art of deception. One -must learn to conceal one's feelings. Rosemary had learned this lesson -well. It had been a costly lesson. To any person endowed with a frank and -generous nature, such a lesson comes only by diligence and suffering. If -she had expected to find the youthful Pierre dressed in other garments -than white waist, knickers and green cap, she did not say so, either by -word, look or gesture. - -This put Jeanne at her ease at once; at least as much at ease as any girl -masquerading as a boy might be expected to achieve. - -"She's a dear," she thought to herself as Rosemary, leading her into the -house, introduced her in the most nonchalant manner to the greatest -earthly paradise she had ever known. - -As she felt her feet sink deep in rich Oriental rugs, as her eyes feasted -themselves upon oil paintings, tapestries and rare bits of statuary that -had been gathered from every corner of the globe, she could not so much -as regret the deception that had gained her entrance to this world of -rare treasures. - -"But would I wish to live here?" she asked herself. "It is like living in -a museum." - -When she had entered Rosemary's own little personal study, when she had -feasted her eyes upon all the small objects of rare charm that were -Rosemary's own, upon the furniture done by master craftsmen and the -interior decorated by a real artist, when she had touched the soft -creations of silk that were curtains, drapes and pillows, she murmured: - -"Yes. Here is that which would bring happiness to any soul who loves -beauty and knows it when he sees it." - -"But we must not remain indoors on a day such as this!" Rosemary -exclaimed. "Come!" She seized her new friend's hand. "We will go out into -the sunshine. You are a sun worshipper, are you not?" - -"Perhaps," said Jeanne who, you must not forget, was for the day Pierre -Andrews. "I truly do not know." - -"There are many sun worshippers these days." Rosemary laughed a merry -laugh. "And why not? Does not the sun give us life? And if we rest -beneath his rays much of the time, does he not give us a more abundant -life?" - -"See!" Pierre, catching the spirit of the hour, held out a bare arm as -brown as the dead leaves of October. "I _am_ a sun worshipper!" - -At this they went dancing down the hall. - -"But, see!" Rosemary exclaimed. "Here is the organ!" She threw open a -door, sprang to a bench, touched a switch here, a stop there, then began -sending out peals of sweet, low, melodious music. - -"A pipe organ!" Jeanne exclaimed. "In your home!" - -"Why not?" Rosemary laughed. "Father likes the organ. Why should he not -hear it when he chooses? It is a very fine one. Many of the great masters -have been here to play it. I am taking lessons. In half an hour I must -come here for a lesson. Then you must become a sun worshipper. You may -wander where you please or just lie by the lily pond and dream in the -sun." - -"I am fond of dreaming." - -"Then you shall dream." - -The grounds surrounding the great house were to the little French girl a -land of enchantment. The formal garden where even in late autumn the rich -colors of bright red, green and gold vied with the glory of the Indian -Summer sunshine, the rock garden, the pool where gold-fish swam, the -rustic bridge across the brook, and back of all this the primeval forest -of oak, walnut and maple; all this, as they wandered over leaf-strewn -paths, reminded her of the forests and hedges, the grounds and gardens of -her own beloved France. - -"Truly," she whispered to herself, "all this is worth being rich for. - -"But what a pity--" Her mood changed. "What a pity that it may not belong -to all--to the middle class, the poor. - -"And yet," she concluded philosophically, "they have the parks. Truly -they are beautiful always." - -It was beside a broad pool where lily pads lay upon placid waters that -Jeanne at last found a place of repose beneath the mellow autumn sun, to -settle down to the business of doing her bit of sun worship. - -It was truly delightful, this spot, and very dreamy. There were broad -stretches of water between the clusters of lily pads. In these, three -stately swans, seeming royal floats of some enchanted midget city, -floated. Some late flowers bloomed at her feet. Here bees hummed -drowsily. A dragon fly, last of his race, a great green ship with bulging -eyes, darted here and there. Yet in his movements there were suggestions -of rest and dreamy repose. The sun was warm. From the distance came the -drone of a pipe organ. It, too, spoke of rest. Jeanne, as always, had -retired at a late hour on the previous night. Her head nodded. She -stretched herself out upon the turf. She would close her eyes for three -winks. - -"Just three winks." - -But the drowsy warmth, the distant melody, the darting dragon fly, seen -even in her dreams, held her eyes tight closed. - -As she dreamed, the bushes not five yards away parted and a face peered -forth. It was not an inviting face. It was a dark, evil-eyed face with a -trembling leer about the mouth. Jeanne had seen this man. He had called -to her. She had run away. That was long ago, before the door of the -opera. She did not see him now. She slept. - -A little bird scolding in a tree seemed eager to wake her. She did not -wake. - -The man moved forward a step. Someone unseen appeared to move behind him. -With a wolf-like eye he glanced to right and left. He moved another step. -He was like a cat creeping upon his prey. - -"Wake up, Jeanne! Wake up! Wake! Wake! Wake up!" the little bird scolded -on. Jeanne did not stir. Still the sun gleamed warm, the music droned, -the dragon fly darted in her dreams. - -But what is this? The evil-eyed one shrinks back into his place of -hiding. No footsteps are heard; the grass is like a green carpet, as the -master of the estate and his wife approach. - -They would have passed close to the sleeping one had not a glance -arrested them. - -"What a beautiful boy!" whispered the lady. "And see how peacefully he -sleeps! He is a friend of Rosemary, a mere child of the opera. She has -taken a fancy to him." - -"Who would not?" the man rumbled low. "I have seen him at our box. There -was the affair of the pearls. He--" - -"Could a guilty person sleep so?" - -"No." - -"Not upon the estate of one he has robbed." - -"Surely not. Do you know," the lady's tone became deeply serious, "I have -often thought of adopting such a child, a boy to be a companion and -brother to Rosemary." - -Could Jeanne have heard this she might well have blushed. She did not -hear, for the sun shone on, the music still droned and the dragon fly -darted in her dreams. - -The lady looked in the great man's eyes. She read an answer there. - -"Shall we wake him and suggest it now?" she whispered. - -Ah, Jeanne! What shall the answer be? You are Pierre. You are Jeanne. - -But the great man shakes his head. "The thing needs talking over. In a -matter of so grave importance one must look carefully before one moves. -We must consider." - -So the two pass on. And once again Jeanne has escaped. - -And now Rosemary comes racing down the slope to discover her and to waken -her by tickling her nose with a swan's feather. - -"Come!" she exclaims, before Jeanne is half conscious of her -surroundings. "We are off for a canter over the bridle path!" Seizing -Jeanne's hand, she drags her to her feet. Then together they go racing -away toward the stables. - -The remainder of that day was one joyous interlude in Petite Jeanne's not -uneventful life. Save for the thought that Rosemary believed her a boy, -played with her and entertained her as a boy and was, perhaps, just a -little interested in her as a boy, no flaw could be found in this -glorious occasion. - -A great lover of horses since her days in horse-drawn gypsy vans, she -gloried in the spirited brown steed she rode. The day was perfect. Blue -skies with fleecy clouds drifting like sheep in a field, autumn leaves -fluttering down, cobwebs floating lazily across the fields; this was -autumn at its best. - -They rode, those two, across green meadows, down shady lanes, through -forests where shadows were deep. Now and again Rosemary turned an -admiring glance upon her companion sitting in her saddle with ease and -riding with such grace. - -"If she knew!" Jeanne thought with a bitter-sweet smile. "If she only -knew!" - -"Where did you learn to ride so well?" Rosemary asked, as they alighted -and went in to tea. - -"In France, to be sure." - -"And who taught you?" - -"Who but the gypsies?" - -"Gypsies! How romantic!" - -"Romantic? Yes, perhaps." Jeanne was quick to change the subject. She was -getting into deep water. Should she begin telling of her early life she -must surely, sooner or later, betray her secret. - -"Rich people," she thought, as she journeyed homeward in the great car -when the day was done, "they are very much like others, except when they -choose to show off. And I wonder how much they enjoy that, after all. - -"But Rosemary! Does she suspect? I wonder! She's such a peach! It's a -shame to deceive her. Yet, what sport! And besides, I'm getting a little -of what I want, a whole big lot, I guess." She was thinking once more of -Marjory Dean's half-promise. - -"Will she truly allow me to be her understudy, to go on in her place when -the 'Juggler' is done again?" She was fairly smothered by the thought; -yet she dared to hope--a little. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - A DANCE FOR THE SPIRITS - - -When Jeanne arrived at the rooms late that night, after her evening among -the opera boxes, she found a half burned out fire in the grate and a -rather amusing note from Florence on the table: - -"I am asleep. Do not disturb me." This is how the note ran. - -She read the note and smiled. "Poor, dear, big Florence," she murmured. -"How selfish I am! She works hard. Often she needs rest that she does not -get. Yet I am always hoping that she will be here to greet me and to -cheer me with jolly chatter and something warm to drink." - -Still in this thoughtful mood, she entered her chamber. She did not -switch on the light at once, but stood looking out of the window. -Somewhat to her surprise, she saw a dark figure lurking in the shadows -across the street. - -"Who could it be?" she whispered. - -She had little hope of solving this problem when an automobile light -solved it for her and gave her a shock besides. The light fell full upon -the man's face. She recognized him instantly. - -"Jaeger!" She said the name out loud and trembled from head to foot. - -Jaeger was the detective who haunted the boxes at the opera. - -"He is shadowing me!" She could not doubt this. "He believes I stole -those pearls. Perhaps he thinks he can catch me trying them on. Not much -chance of that." She laughed uneasily. "It is well enough to know you are -innocent; but to convince others, that is the problem." - -She thought of the lady in black. "If only I could see her, speak to -her!" She drew the shades, threw on the light and disrobed, still in a -thoughtful mood. She was remembering the voice of that lady. - -There was something hauntingly familiar about that voice. It brought to -her mind a feeling of forests and rippling waters, the scent of balsam -and the song of birds. Yet she could not tell where she had heard it -before. - -Joan of Arc was Jeanne's idol. Once as a child, wandering with the -gypsies, she had slept within the shadows of the church where Joan -received her visions. At another time she had sat for an entire forenoon -dreaming the hours away in the chamber that had once been Joan's own. -Yet, unlike Joan, she did not love wearing the clothes of a boy. She was -fond of soft, clinging, silky things, was this delicate French child. So, -dressed in the silkiest of all silks and the softest of satin robes, she -built herself a veritable mountain of pillows before the fire and, -sinking back into that soft depth, proceeded to think things through. - -To this strange girl sitting at the mouth of her cave made of pillows, -the fire on the hearth was a magic fire. She prodded it. As it blazed -red, she saw in it clearly the magic curtain. She felt again the thrill -of this mysterious discovery. Once more she was gazing upon strange -smoking images, bronze eagles, giants' heads, dragons. She smelled the -curious, choking incense. And again the feeling of wild terror seized -her. - -So real was the vision that she leaped to her feet, sending the soft -walls of her cave flying in every direction. - -Next instant she was in complete possession of her senses. "Why am I -afraid?" she asked herself. "Why was I afraid then? It is but a stage -setting, some Oriental magic." - -A thought struck her all of a heap. "Stage setting! That's it!" she -exclaimed in a low whisper. "Why not? What a wonderful setting for some -exotic little touch of Oriental drama! - -"I must return to that place. I must see that Magic Curtain once more." -She rearranged the door to her cave. "I must take someone with me. Why -not Marjory Dean?" - -The thought pleased her. She mused over it until the fire burned low. - -But with the dimming of the coals her spirits ebbed. As she gazed into -the fire she seemed to see a dark and evil face leering at her, the man -who had called to her at the opera door. - -Had she seen that same face staring at her on that other occasion when -she slept in the sun on the Robinson estate, she might well have -shuddered more violently. As it was, she asked but a single question: -"Who is he?" - -She threw on fuel. The fire flamed up. Once more she was gay as she heard -Marjory Dean whisper those magic words: - -"You did that divinely, Petite Jeanne. I could not have done it better. -Some day, perhaps, I shall allow you to take my place." - -"Will you?" she cried, stretching her arms wide. "Oh! Will you, Marjory -Dean?" - -After this emotional outburst she sat for a long time quite motionless. - -"I wonder," she mused after a time, "why this desire should have entered -my heart. Why Grand Opera? I have done Light Opera. I sang. I danced. -They applauded. They said I was marvelous. Perhaps I was." Her head fell -a little forward. - -"Ambition!" Her face was lifted to the ceiling. "It is ambition that -drives us on. When I was a child I danced in the country lanes. Then I -must go higher, I must dance in a village; in a small city; in a large -city; in Paris. That so beautiful Paris! And now it must be Grand Opera; -something drives me on." - -She prodded the fire and, for the last time that night, it flamed high. - -Springing to her feet she cast off her satin robe to go racing across the -floor in the dance of the juggler. Low and clear, her voice rose in a -French song of great enchantment. For a time her delicate, elf-like form -went weaving in and out among the shadows cast by the fire. Then, all of -a sudden, she danced into her chamber. The show, given only for spirits -and fairies, was at an end. - -"To-morrow," she whispered low, as her eyes closed for sleep, "to-morrow -there is no opera. I shall not see Marjory Dean, nor Rosemary, nor those -dark-faced ones who dog my steps. To-morrow? Whom shall I see? What -strange new acquaintance shall I make; what adventures come to me?" - - - - - CHAPTER XII - THE LOST CAMEO - - -In spite of the fact that the Opera House was dark on the following -night, adventure came to Petite Jeanne, adventure and excitement -a-plenty. It came like the sudden rush of an ocean's wave. One moment she -and Florence were strolling in a leisurely manner down the center of -State Street; the next they were surrounded, completely engulfed and -carried whither they knew not by a vast, restless, roaring, surging sea -of humanity. - -For many days they had read accounts of a great autumn festival that was -to occur on this night. Having never witnessed such a fete, save in her -native land, Petite Jeanne had been eager to attend. So here they were. -And here, too, was an unbelievable multitude. - -Petite Jeanne cast a startled look at her companion. - -Florence, big capable Florence, smiled as she bent over to speak in the -little French girl's ear. - -"Get in front of me. I'll hold them back." - -"But why all this?" Petite Jeanne tried to gesture, only to end by -prodding a fat man in the stomach. - -"This," laughed Florence, "is Harvest Jubilee Night. A city of three -million invited all its citizens to come down and enjoy themselves in six -city blocks. Bands are to play. Radio stars are to be seen. Living models -will be in all the store windows. - -"The three million are here. They will hear no bands. They will see no -radio stars, nor any living models either. They will see and hear only -themselves." - -"Yes. And they will feel one another, too!" the little French girl cried, -as the crush all but pressed the breath from her lungs. The look on her -face was one of pure fright. Florence, too, was thinking serious -thoughts. That which had promised only a bit of adventure in the -beginning bade fair to become a serious matter. Having moved down the -center of a block, they had intended turning the corner. But now, caught -in the tremendous crush of humanity, by the thousands upon thousands of -human beings who thronged the streets, carried this way and that by -currents and counter-currents, they were likely to be carried anywhere. -And should the crush become too great, they might well be rendered -unconscious by the vise-like pressure of the throng. - -This indeed was Harvest Jubilee Night. The leading men of this city had -made a great mistake. Wishing to draw thousands of people to the trading -center of the city, they had staged a great fete. As Florence had said, -men and women of note, actors, singers, radio stars were to be found on -grand stands erected at every street crossing. All this was wonderful, to -be sure! Only one fact had been lost sight of: that hundreds of thousands -of people cannot move about freely in the narrow space of six city -blocks. - -Now, here were the laughing, shouting, crowding, groaning, weeping -thousands. What was to come of it all? Petite Jeanne asked herself this -question, took one long quivering breath, then looked up at her stout -companion and was reassured. - -"We came here for a lark," she told herself. "We must see it through. - -"I only hope," she caught her breath again, "that I don't see anyone in -this crowd who makes me trouble. Surely I cannot escape him here!" She -was thinking of the dark-faced man with the evil eye. - -"Keep up courage," Florence counseled. "We'll make it out of here safe -enough." - -But would they? Every second the situation became more tense. Now they -were carried ten paces toward Wabash Avenue; now, like some dance of -death, the crowd surged backward toward Dearborn Street. And now, caught -in an eddy, they whirled round and round. - -In such a time as this the peril is great. Always, certain persons, -deserting all caution, carried away by their own exuberance, render -confusion worse confounded. Bands of young men, perhaps from high school -or college, with hands on shoulders, built up flying wedges that shot -through the crowd like bullets through wood. - -Just such a group was pressing upon the stalwart Florence and all but -crushing the breath out of her, when for the first time she became -conscious of a little old lady in a faded shawl who fairly crouched at -her feet. - -"She's eighty if a day," she thought, with a sudden shock. "She'll be -killed unless-- - -"Petite Jeanne," she screamed, "there are times when human beings have -neither eyes, ears nor brains. They can always feel. You have sharp -elbows. Use them now to the glory of God and for the life of this dear -old lady in her faded shawl." - -Suiting actions to her own words, she kicked forth lustily with her -square-pointed athletic shoe. The shoe made contact with a grinning -youth's shins. The look of joy on the youth's face changed to one of -sudden pain. He ceased to shove and attempted a retreat. One more -grinning face was transformed by an elbow thrust in the stomach. This one -doubled up and did his best to back away. - -Jeanne added her bit. As Florence had said, her elbows were sharp and -effective. - -In an incredibly short time there was space for breathing. One moment the -little old lady, who was not five feet tall and did not weigh ninety -pounds, was in peril of her life; the next she was caught in Florence's -powerful arms and was being borne to safety. And all the time she was -screaming: - -"Oh! Oh! Oh! It is gone! It is lost! It is lost!" - -"Yes," Florence agreed, as she dropped her to the curbing, well out of -the crush, "you have lost a shoe. But what's a shoe? You would have lost -your life. And, after all, how is one to find a shoe in such a place of -madness?" - -The little old lady made no answer. She sat down upon the curb and began -silently to sob while her slight body rocked from side to side and her -lips whispered words that could not be heard. - -"Was there ever such another night?" Petite Jeanne cried, in real -distress. She was little and quick, very emotional and quite French. - -"We came here for a gay time," she went on. "And now, see how it is! We -have been tossed about from wave to wave by the crowd, which is a sea, -and now it has washed us ashore with a weeping old lady we have never -seen before and may never see again." - -"Hush!" Florence touched her lips. "You will distress her. You came here -to find joy and happiness. Joy and happiness may be found quite as often -by serving others less fortunate than ourselves as in any other way. We -will see if this is not true. - -"Come!" She placed gentle hands beneath the bent form of the little, old -lady on the curb. "Come, now. There is a bright little tea room right -over there. A good cup of black tea will cheer you. Then you must tell us -all about it." - -A look of puzzled uncertainty gave way to a smile on the wrinkled face as -this strange derelict of the night murmured: - -"Tea. Yes, yes, a good cup of black tea." - -The tea room was all but deserted. On this wild night of nights people -did not eat. Vendors of ice cream sandwiches found no customers. Baskets -of peanuts were more likely to be tumbled into the street than eaten. The -throng had indeed become a wild, stormy sea. And a stormy sea neither -eats nor sleeps. - -"Tell me," said Florence, as the hot tea warmed the white-haired one's -drowsy blood, "why did you weep at the loss of a shoe?" - -"A shoe?" The little old lady seemed puzzled. She looked down at her -feet. "A shoe? Ah, yes! It is true. One shoe is gone. - -"But it is not that." Her voice changed. Her dull blue eyes took on fresh -color. "I have lost more--much more. My purse! Money? No, my children. A -little. It is nothing. I have lost my cameo, my only treasure. And, oh, I -shall never see it again!" She began wringing her hands and seemed about -to give way once more to weeping. - -"Tell us about it," Petite Jeanne put in eagerly. "Perhaps we can help -you." - -"Tell you? Help me?" The old eyes were dreamy now. "My cameo! My one -great treasure. It was made in Florence so many, many years ago. It was -my own portrait done in onyx, pink onyx. I was only a child, sixteen, -slight and fair like you." She touched Jeanne's golden hair. "He was -young, romantic, already an artist. He became very famous when he was -older. But never, I am sure, did he carve such a cameo, for, -perhaps--perhaps he loved me--just a little. - -"But now!" This was a cry of pain. "Now it is gone! And I have kept it -all these long years. I should not have come to-night. I had not been to -the heart of the city for ten years. But this night they told me I was to -see 'Auld Sandy' himself. He's on the radio, you know. He sings old -Scotch songs so grandly and recites Burns' poems with so much feeling. I -wanted to see him. I did not dare leave the cameo in my poor room. My -cameo! So I brought it, and now-- - -"But you said you would help me." Once again her face brightened. - -"Yes." Florence's tone was eager, hopeful. "We will help you. Someone -will find your purse. It will be turned in. The police will have it. We -will get it for you in the morning. Only give us your address and we will -bring it, your treasure, your cameo." - -"Will you?" - -Florence heard that cry of joy, and her heart smote her. Could they find -it? - -They wrote down the little old lady's address carefully; then escorting -her to the elevated platform, they saw her safely aboard a train. - -"Now why did I do that?" Florence turned a face filled with consternation -to Petite Jeanne. "Why did I promise so much?" - -She was to wonder this many times during that night of mysterious and -thrilling adventure. - -"Let us go back," said Petite Jeanne. "See! The trains are loaded with -people returning home. The crowd must not be so great. The little lady's -purse must have been kicked about; but we may yet find it." - -"That," replied Florence, "would seem too good to be true. Yes, let us go -back. We must not hope too much, for all that. Many are going, but others -are coming. Surely this is one wild night in a great city." - -And so it was. Hardly had they descended the iron steps to the street and -walked half a block than the waves of humanity were upon them again. - -"The tide is set against us." Florence urged her companion into the -momentary security of a department store entrance. There, from a vantage -point of safety, they watched the crowds surging by. They were at a point -where the pressure of the throng was broken. It was interesting to study -the faces of those who emerged into a place of comparative quiet. Some -were exuberant over the struggle they had waged and won, others crushed. -Here was one in tears and there was one who had fainted, being hurried -away by others to a place of first aid. - -"They are poor," Petite Jeanne murmured. "At least they are not rich, nor -even well-to-do. They are working people who came for a good time. Are -they having it? Who can tell? Surely, never before have they seen so many -people. And perhaps they never will see so many again. To-morrow they -will talk. How they will talk of this night's adventure! As for me," she -sighed, "I prefer a quiet place beneath the stars." - -"Do you?" Florence spoke up quickly. "Then we will go to just such a -place." - -"Surely not in this great city." - -"Ten minutes by elevated train, ten minutes walk after that, and we are -there. Come! We can never hope to reach the spot where the cameo was -lost. Come!" - -Nor did she fail to make good her promise. Twenty minutes later they were -walking in a spot where, save for the low swish of water against rocks, -silence reigned supreme. - -"How strange! How fascinating! What stillness!" Petite Jeanne gripped her -companion's arm hard. "Here are silence, starlight, moonlight, grass -beneath one's feet and the gleam of distant water in our eyes." - -"Yes." Florence's tone was low like the deep notes of a cello. "And only -a short time ago, perhaps a year ago, the waters of the lake lay ten feet -deep at the very spot on which we stand. Such is the wondrous achievement -of man when inspired by a desire to provide a quiet place for a weary -multitude. This is 'made land' a park in the making. Great squares of -limestone were dumped in the lake. With these as a barrier to hold back -the onrush of the lake waters, men have hauled in sand, clay, ashes, all -the refuse of a great city. Nature has breathed upon that ugly pile of -debris. The sun has caressed it, the wind smoothed it, rain beat down -upon it, birds brought seeds, and now we have soft earth, grass, flowers, -a place of beauty and quiet peace." - -The place they had entered is strange. A great city, finding itself -cramped for breathing space, has reached out a mighty hand to snatch land -from the bottom of the lake. Thirty blocks in length, as large as an -ordinary farm, this space promises to become, in the near future, a place -of joy forever. - -At the time of our story it was half a field of tangled grass and half a -junk pile. As the two girls wandered on they found themselves flanked on -one side by a tumbled line of gigantic man-made boulders and on the other -by a curious jumble of waste. Steel barrels, half rusted away, lay among -piles of cement blocks and broken plaster. - -"Come," said Florence, "let us go out upon the rocks." - -A moment of unsteady leaping from spot to spot, and they sat looking out -on a band of gold painted across the waters by the moon. - -"How still it is!" Jeanne whispered. "After all the shouting of the -throng, I feel that I may have gone suddenly deaf." - -"It _is_ still," Florence replied. "No one here. Not a soul. Only you and -I, the moon and the night." - -And yet, even as she spoke, a sudden chill gripped her heart. She had -caught a sound. Someone was among the rocks close at hand; there could be -no mistaking that. Who could it be? - -Her heart misgave her. Had she committed a dangerous blunder? She had -been here before, but never at night. The city, with all its perils, its -evil ones, was but a few steps away. As she listened she even now caught -indistinctly the murmur of it. Someone was among the rocks. He might be -advancing. Who could it be, at this hour of the night? - -Strangely enough at this instant one thought entered her mind: "Nothing -must happen to me. I have a sacred duty to perform. I have pledged myself -to return that priceless cameo to that dear little old lady." - -At the same instant the light from a distant automobile, making a turn on -the drive, fell for a space of seconds upon the tumbled pile of rocks. It -lit up not alone the rocks but a face; a strangely ugly face, not ten -paces away. - -One second the light was there. The next it was gone. And in that same -second the moon went under a cloud. The place was utterly dark. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - A NYMPH OF THE NIGHT - - -Florence had never seen the face lit up there in the night; yet it struck -fear to her heart. What must we say, then, of Petite Jeanne? For this was -the face of one who, more than any others, inspired her with terror. He -it had been who called after her at the door of the opera, he who had -looked out from the bushes as she slept in the sun. At sight of him now, -she all but fell among the rocks from sheer panic. - -As for Florence, she was startled into action. They were, she suddenly -realized, many blocks from any human habitation, on a deserted strip of -man-made shore land lighted only by stars and the moonlight. And at this -moment the moon, having failed them, had left the place black as a tomb. - -With a low, whispered "Come!" and guided more by instinct than sight, she -led Jeanne off the tumbled pile of rocks and out to the path where grass -grew rank and they were in danger at any moment of tripping over pieces -of debris. - -"Who--who was that?" - -Florence fancied she heard the little French girl's heart beating wildly -as she asked the question. - -"Who can tell? There may be many. See! Yonder, far ahead, is a light." - -The light they saw was the gleam of a camp fire. In this desolate spot it -seemed strangely out of place; yet there is that about fire and light -that suggests security and peace. How often in her homeland had Petite -Jeanne felt the cozy warmth of an open fireplace and, secure from all -danger, had fallen asleep in the corner of a gypsy's tent. How often as a -child had Florence, in a cane-seated rocker, sat beside the humble -kitchen stove to hear the crackle of the fire, to watch its glow through -its open grate and to dream dreams of security and peace. - -What wonder, then, that these two bewildered and frightened ones, at -sight of a glowing fire, should leap forward with cries of joy on their -lips? - -Nor were they destined to disappointment. The man who had built that fire -loved its cheerful gleam just as they did, and for the very same reason: -it whispered to him of security and peace. - -He was old, was this man. His face had been deeply tanned and wrinkled by -many a sun. His hair was snow white. A wandering philosopher and -preacher, he had taken up his abode in a natural cavern between great -rocks. He welcomed these frightened girls to a place of security by his -fireside. - -"Probably nothing to frighten you," he reassured them. "There are many of -us sleeping out here among the rocks. In these times when work is scarce, -when millions know not when or where they are to eat and when, like our -Master, many of us have nowhere to lay our heads, it will not seem -strange that so many, some by the aid of a pile of broken bricks and some -with cast-off boards and sheet-iron, should fashion here homes of a sort -which they may for a brief time call their own. - -"Of course," he added quickly, "all too soon this will be a thing of the -past. Buildings will rise here and there. They are rising even now. Three -have been erected on these very shores. Scores of buildings will dot them -soon. Palm trees will wave, orange trees blossom, grass and flowers will -fringe deep lagoons where bright boats flash in the sun. All this will -rise as if by magic and our poor abodes built of cast-off things will -vanish, our camp fires gleam no more." His voice trailed off into -nothingness. For a time after that they sat there silent, staring at the -fire. - -"That," said Florence, speaking with some effort, "will be too bad." - -"No, I suppose not." The old man's voice was mellow. "It's going to be a -Fair, a great Exposition. Millions of eager feet will tramp over the very -spot where we now sit in such silence and peace. They are to call it the -'Century of Progress.' Progress," he added dreamily. "Progress. That is -life. There must be progress. Time marches on. What matter that some are -left behind? - -"But, see!" His tone changed. "Great clouds are banking up in the west. -There will be a storm! My poor shelter does well enough for me. For you -it will not suffice. - -"You will do well to go forward," he advised, as they sprang to their -feet. "It is a long way back over the path you have come. If you go -forward it is only a matter of a few blocks to a bridge over the railroad -tracks. And across that bridge you will find shelter and a street car to -carry you home." - -As he stood there by the fire, watching their departure, he seemed a -heroic figure, this wandering philosopher. - -"Surely," Florence whispered to herself, "it is not always the rich, the -famous, the powerful who most truly serve mankind." - -Once more she was reminded of the little old lady and her one treasure, -the priceless cameo fashioned by skilled and loving fingers so many years -ago. - -"And I promised to return it to her!" This thought was one almost of -despair. - -"And yet," she murmured, "I made that promise out of pure love. Who knows -how Providence may assist me?" - -There appeared to be, however, little time for thoughts other than those -of escape from the storm. Their hurried march south began at once. - - * * * * * * * * - -As for the man who had so inspired them with terror, the one of the evil -eye, he had not followed them. There is some reason to doubt that he so -much as saw them. Had his attention been directed toward them, it seems -probable that he would have passed them by as unknown to him and quite -unimportant for he, as we must recall, knew Jeanne only as the boy usher, -Pierre. - -Truth was, this young man, who would have laughed to scorn any suggestion -that his home might be found in this tumbled place, was engaged in a -special sort of business that apparently required haste; for, after -passing down the winding path at a kind of trotting walk, he hastened -past a dark bulk that was a building of some size, turned to the right, -crossed a temporary wooden bridge to come out at last upon the island -which was also a part of the city's "made land." It was upon this island -that Florence, a few evenings before, had discovered the mysterious girl -and the more mystifying house that was so much like a ship, and yet so -resembled a tiny church. - -Even while the two girls talked to the ragged philosopher, this evil-eyed -one with the dark and forbidding face had crossed the island and, coming -out at the south end, had mounted the rock-formed breakwater where some -frame-like affair stood. - -At the far end of the frame was a dark circle some twenty feet in -diameter. This circle was made of steel. It supported a circular dip-net -for catching fish. There was a windlass at the end of the pole supporting -the net. By unwinding the windlass one might allow the net to sink into -the water. If luck were with him, he might hope to draw it up after a -time with a fair catch of perch or herring. - -All day long this windlass might be heard screaming and creaking as it -lifted and lowered the net. For the present it was silent. The fisherman -slept. Not so this dark prowler. - -The man with the evil eye was not alone upon the rocks that night, though -beyond a shadow of a doubt he believed himself to be. Off to the left, at -a distance of forty yards, a dark figure, bent over in a position of -repose and as still as the rocks themselves, cast a dark shadow over the -near-by waters. Did this figure's head turn? Who could say? Certainly the -man could not, for he believed himself alone. However, he apparently did -not expect to remain unmolested long, for his eyes were constantly -turning toward the barren stretch of sand he had crossed. - -His movements betrayed a nervous fear, yet he worked rapidly. Having -searched about for some time, he located a battered bucket. This he -filled with water. Bringing it up, he threw the entire contents of the -bucket upon the windlass. Not satisfied with this, he returned for a -second bucket of water and repeated the operation. - -Satisfied at last, he drew a package wrapped in black oilcloth from -beneath his coat and tossed it to the center of the dangling net. Then -with great care lest the rusty windlass, for all the careful soaking he -had given it, should let out a screeching complaint, he quietly lowered -the net into the lake. The water had done its work; the windlass gave -forth no sound. - -After this he turned and walked slowly away. - -He was some fifty feet from the windlass, busy apparently in -contemplating the dark clouds that threatened to obscure the moon, when -almost at the same instant two causes for disturbance entered his not -uneventful life. From the direction of the lake came a faint splash. At -the brow of the little ridge over which he had passed to reach this spot, -two men had appeared. - -That the men were not unexpected was at once evident. He made no attempt -to conceal himself. That the splash puzzled him went without question. He -covered half the distance to the breakwater, then paused. - -"Poof! Nothing! Wharf rat, perhaps," he muttered, then returned to his -contemplation of the clouds. Yet, had he taken notice before of that -silent figure on the rocks, he might now have discovered that it had -vanished. - -The two men advanced rapidly across the stretch of sand. As they came -close there was about their movements an air of caution. At last one -spoke: - -"Don't try anything, Al. We got you." - -"Yeah?" - -"Yes. And the goods are on you!" - -"Yeah?" - -The dark, evil-eyed one who was apparently known as Al, stood his ground. - -The moon lost itself behind a cloud. The place went dark. Yet when the -moon reappeared, bringing out the gleam of an officer's star upon the -breast of one of the newcomers, he stood there motionless. - -"Will you hand it over, or shall we take you in?" It was the man with the -star who spoke. - -"You've got nothing on me!" Al threw open his coat. "Look me over." - -"We will. And then--" - -"Yeah? And then?" - -"We'll see." - -At that instant, all unseen, a dripping figure emerged from the water -close to the submerged fishing net. It was the figure that, but a short -half hour before had rested motionless upon the rocks; a slender girl -whose figure was for a second fully outlined by a distant flash of -lightning. She carried some dark object beneath her right arm. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - THE DISAPPEARING PARCEL - - -In the meantime Florence and Jeanne were making the best of their -opportunity to leave the "made land." They hoped to cross the bridge and -reach the car line before the threatened storm broke. Petite Jeanne was -terribly afraid of lightning. Every time it streaked across the sky she -gripped her strong companion's arm and shuddered. - -It was impossible to make rapid progress. From this point the beaten path -disappeared. There were only scattered tracks where other pedestrians had -picked their way through the litter of debris. - -Here Florence caught her foot in a tangled mass of wire and all but fell -to the ground; there Jeanne stepped into a deep hole; and here they found -their way blocked by a heap of fragments from a broken sidewalk. - -"Why did we come this way?" Petite Jeanne cried in consternation. - -"The other was longer, more dangerous. Cheer up! We'll make it." Florence -took her arm and together they felt their way forward through the -darkness that grew deeper and blacker at every step. - -Rolling up as they did at the back of a city's skyscrapers, the mounting -clouds were terrible to see. - -"The throng!" Petite Jeanne's heart fairly stopped beating. "What must a -terrific thunderstorm mean to that teaming mass of humanity?" - -Even at her own moment of distress, this unselfish child found time for a -compassionate thought for those hundreds of thousands who still thronged -the city streets. - -As for the crowds, not one person of them all was conscious that a -catastrophe impended. Walled in on every side by skyscrapers, no -slightest glance to the least of those black clouds was granted them. -Their ears filled by the honk of horns, the blare of bands and the shouts -of thousands, they heard not one rumble of distant thunder. So they -laughed and shouted, crowded into this corner and that, to come out -shaken and frightened; but never did one of them say, "It will storm." - -Yet out of this merry-mad throng two beings were silent. A boy of sixteen -and a hunchback of uncertain age, hovering in a doorway, looked, marveled -a little, and appeared to wait. - -"When will it break up?" the boy asked out of the corner of his mouth. - -"Early," was the reply. "There's too many of 'em. They can't have much -fun. See! They're flooding the grandstands. The bands can't play. They'll -be going soon. And then--" The hunchback gave vent to a low chuckle. - - * * * * * * * * - -After snatching a pair of boy's strap-overalls from the rocks the girl, -who had emerged from the water beside the submerged net, with the dark -package under her arm hurried away over a narrow path and lost herself at -once in the tangled mass of willows and cottonwood. - -She had not gone far before a light appeared at the end of that trail. - -Seen from the blackness of night, the structure she approached took on a -grotesque aspect. With two small round windows set well above the door, -it seemed the face of some massive monster with a prodigious mouth and -great gleaming eyes. The girl, it would seem, was not in the least -frightened by the monster, for she walked right up to its mouth and, -after wrapping her overalls about the black package which still dripped -lake water, opened the door, which let out a flood of yellow light, and -disappeared within. - -Had Florence witnessed all this, her mystification regarding this child -of the island might have increased fourfold. - -As you already know, Florence was not there. She was still with Petite -Jeanne on the strip of "made land" that skirted the shore. They were more -than a mile from the island. - -They had come at last to a strange place. Having completely lost their -way in the darkness, they found themselves of a sudden facing a blank -wall. - -A strange wall it was, too. It could not be a house for, though made of -wood, this wall was composed not of boards but of round posts set so -close together that a hand might not be thrust between them. - -"Wh--where are we?" Jeanne cried in despair. - -"I don't know." Florence had fortified her mind against any emergency. "I -do know this wall must have an end. We must find it." - -She was right. The curious wall of newly hewn posts did have an end. They -were not long in finding it. Coming to a corner they turned it and again -followed on. - -"This is some enclosure," Florence philosophized. "It may enclose some -form of shelter. And, from the looks of the sky, shelter is what we will -need very soon." - -"Yes! Yes!" cried her companion, as a flare of lightning gave her an -instant's view of their surroundings. "There is a building looming just -over there. The strangest sort of building, but a shelter all the same." - -Ten minutes of creeping along that wall in the dark, and they came to a -massive gate. This, too, was built of logs. - -"There's a chain," Florence breathed as she felt about. "It's fastened, -but not locked. Shall we try to go in?" - -"Yes! Yes! Let us go in!" A sharp flash of lightning had set the little -French girl's nerves all a-quiver. - -"Come on then." There was a suggestion of mystery in Florence's tone. "We -will feel our way back to that place you saw." - -The gate swung open a crack. They crept inside. The door swung to. The -chain rattled. Then once more they moved forward in the dark. - -After a time, by the aid of a vivid flash, they made out a tall, narrow -structure just before them. A sudden dash, and they were inside. - -"We--we're here," Florence panted, "but where are we?" - -"Oo--o! How dark!" Petite Jeanne pressed close to her companion's side. -"I am sure there are no windows." - -"The windows are above," whispered Florence. A flash of lightning had -revealed an opening far above her head. - -At the same instant she stumbled against a hard object. - -"It's a stairway," she announced after a brief inspection. "A curious -sort of stairway, too. The steps are shaped like triangles." - -"That means it is a spiral stairway." - -"And each step is thick and rough as if it were hand-hewn with an axe. -But who would hew planks by hand in this day of steam and great -sawmills?" - -"Let's go up. We may be able to see something from the windows." - -Cautiously, on hands and knees, they made their way up the narrow -stairway. The platform they reached and the window they looked through a -moment later were quite as mysterious as the stairway. Everywhere was the -mark of an axe. The window was narrow, a mere slit not over nine inches -wide and quite devoid of glass. - -Yet from this window they were to witness one of God's greatest wonders, -a storm at night upon the water. - -The dark clouds had swung northward. They were now above the surface of -the lake. Blackness vied with blackness as clouds loomed above the water. -Like a great electric needle sewing together two curtains of purple -velvet for a giant's wardrobe, lightning darted from sky to sea and from -sea to sky again. - -"How--how marvelous! How terrible!" Petite Jeanne pressed her companion's -arm hard. - -"And what a place of mystery!" Florence answered back. - -"But what place _is_ this?" Jeanne's voice was filled with awe. "And -where are we?" - -"This," Florence repeated, "is a place of mystery, and this is a night of -adventure. - -"Adventure and mystery," she thought to herself, even as she said the -words. Once more she thought of the cameo. - -"I promised to return it to-morrow. And now it seems I am moving farther -and farther from it." - -Had she but known it, the time was not far distant when, like two bits of -flotsam on a broad sea, she and the lost cameo would be drifting closer -and closer together. And, strange as it may seem, the owner of the cameo, -that frail, little, old lady, was to play an important part in the lives -of Petite Jeanne and Florence. - - * * * * * * * * - -In the meantime the two officers and the man of the evil eye were playing -a bit of drama all their own on the sand-blown desert portion of the -island. - -"You'll have to come clean!" the senior officer was saying to the man -whom he addressed as Al. - -"All you got to do is search me. You'll find nothing on me, not even a -rod." The man stood his ground. - -"Fair enough." With a skill born of long practice, the veteran detective -went through the man's clothes. - -"You've cached it," he grumbled, as he stood back empty-handed. - -"I'm not in on the know." The suspicion of a smile flitted across the -dark one's face. "Whatever you're looking for, I never had it." - -"No? We'll look about a bit, anyway." - -The officers mounted the breakwater to go flashing electric lanterns into -every cavity. As the boom of thunder grew louder they abandoned the -search to go tramping back across the barren sand. - -Left to himself, Al made a pretense of leaving the island, but in reality -lost himself from sight on the very brush-grown trail the nymph of the -lake had taken a short time before. - -"Well, I'll be--!" he muttered, as he brought up squarely before the -structure that seemed a monster's head, whose eyes by this time were -quite sightless. The light had blinked off some moments before. - -After walking around the place twice, he stood before the door and lifted -a hand as if to knock. Appearing to think better of this, he sank down -upon the narrow doorstep, allowed his head to fall forward, and appeared -to sleep. - -Not for long, however. Foxes do not sleep in the night. Having roused -himself, he stole back over the trail, crept to the breakwater, lifted -himself to a point of elevation, and surveyed the entire scene throughout -three lightning flashes. Then, apparently satisfied, he made his way to -the windlass he had left an hour or two before. He repeated the process -of drowning the complaining voice of the windlass and then, turning the -crank, rapidly lifted the dripping net from the bottom of the lake. - -With fingers that trembled slightly, he drew a small flashlight from his -pocket to cast its light across the surface of the net. - -Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he flashed the light once again, -and then stood there speechless. - -What had happened? The meshes of that net were fine, so fine that a dozen -minnows not more than two inches long struggled vainly at its center. Yet -the package he had thrown in this net was gone. - -"Gone!" he muttered. "It can't have floated. Heavy. Heavy as a stone. And -I had my eyes on it, every minute; all but--but the time I went down that -trail. - -"They tricked me!" he growled. He was thinking now of the policemen. "But -no! How could they? I saw them go, saw them on the bridge. Couldn't have -come back. Not time enough." - -At this he thrust both hands deep in his pockets and went stumping away. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - STRANGE VOICES - - -As for Florence and Jeanne, they were still hidden away in that riddle of -a place by the lake shore on "made land." - -A more perplexing place of refuge could not have been found. What was it? -Why was it here? Were there men about the place within the palisades? -These were the questions that disturbed even the stout-hearted Florence. - -They were silent for a long time, those two. When at last Jeanne spoke, -Florence started as if a stranger had addressed her. - -"This place," said Petite Jeanne, "reminds me of a story I once read -before I came to America. In my native land we talked in French, of -course, and studied in French. But we studied English just as you study -French in America. - -"A story in my book told of early days in America. It was thrilling, oh, -very thrilling indeed! There were Indians, real red men who scalped their -victims and held wild war dances. There were scouts and soldiers. And -there were forts all built of logs hewn in the forest. And in these forts -there were--" - -"Fort," Florence broke in, "a fort. Of course, that is what this is, a -fort for protection from Indians." - -"But, Indians!" Jeanne's tone reflected her surprise. "Real live, wild -Indians! There are none here now!" - -"Of course not!" Florence laughed a merry laugh. "This is not, after all, -a real fort. It is only a reproduction of a very old fort that was -destroyed many years ago, old Fort Dearborn." - -"But I do not understand. Why did they put it here?" Petite Jeanne was -perplexed. - -"It is to be part of the great Fair, the Century of Progress. It was -built in order that memories of those good old frontier days might be -brought back to us in the most vivid fashion. - -"Just think of being here now, just we alone!" Florence enthused. "Let us -dream a little. The darkness is all about us. On the lake there is a -storm. There is no city now; only a village straggling along a stagnant -stream. Wild ducks have built their nests in the swamps over yonder. And -in the forest there are wild deer. In the cabins by the river women and -children sleep. But we, you and I, we are sentries for the night. Indians -prowl through the forest. The silent dip of their paddles sends their -canoes along the shallow water close to shore. - -"See! There is a flash of light. What is that on the lake? Indian canoes? -Or floating logs? - -"Shall we arouse the garrison? No! No! We will wait. It may be only logs -after all. And if Indians, they may be friendly, for this is supposed to -be a time of peace, though dark rumors are afloat." - -Florence's voice trailed away. The low rumble of thunder, the swish of -water on a rocky shore, and then silence. - -Petite Jeanne shook herself. "You make it all so very real. Were those -good days, better days than we are knowing now?" - -"Who can tell?" Florence sighed. "They seem very good to us now. But we -must not forget that they were hard days, days of real sickness and real -death. We must not forget that once the garrison of this fort marched -forth with the entire population, prepared to make their way to a place -of greater safety; that they were attacked and massacred by the -treacherous red men. - -"We must not forget these things, nor should we cease to be thankful for -the courage and devotion of those pioneers who dared to enter a -wilderness and make their homes here, that we who follow after them might -live in a land of liberty and peace." - -"No," Petite Jeanne's tone was solemn, "we will not forget." - - * * * * * * * * - -In the meantime the pleasure-seeking throng, all unconscious of the storm -that had threatened to deluge them, still roamed the streets. Their -ranks, however, were thinning. One by one the bands, which were unable to -play because of the press, and might not have been heard because of the -tumult, folded up their music and their stands and instruments and, like -the Arabs, "silently stole away." The radio stars who could not be seen -answered other calls. Grandstands were deserted, street cars and elevated -trains were packed. The great city had had one grand look at itself. It -was now going home. - -And still, lurking in the doorway, the grown boy in shabby clothes and -the hunchback lingered, waiting, expectant. - -"It won't be long now," the hunchback muttered. - -"It won't be long," the other echoed. - - * * * * * * * * - -Petite Jeanne, though a trifle disappointed by the dispelling of the -mystery of their immediate surroundings, soon enough found herself -charmed by Florence's vivid pictures of life in those days when Chicago -was a village, when the Chicago River ran north instead of south, and -Indians still roamed the prairies in search of buffaloes. - -How this big, healthy, adventure-loving girl would have loved the life -they lived in those half forgotten days! As it was, she could live them -now only in imagination. This she did to her heart's content. - -So they lingered long, these two. Seated on a broad, hand-hewn bench, -looking out over the dark waters, waiting in uncertainty for the possible -return of the storm that, having spent its fury in a vain attempt to -drown the lake, did not return, they lived for the most part in the past, -until a clock striking somewhere in the distance announced the hour of -midnight. - -"Twelve!" Petite Jeanne breathed in great surprise. "It will not rain -now. We must go." - -"Yes." Florence sprang to her feet. "We must go at once." - -The moon was out now; the storm had passed. Quietly enough they started -down the winding stairs. Yet startling developments awaited them just -around the corner. - -In the meanwhile on the city streets the voice of the tumult had died to -a murmur. Here came the rumble of a passing train; from this corner came -the sound of hammers dismantling grandstands that the morning rush might -not be impeded. Other than these there was no sign that a great city had -left its homes and had for once taken one long interested look at itself -only to return to its homes again. - -As Florence and Jeanne stepped from the door of the blockhouse they were -startled by the sound of voices in low but animated conversation. - -"Here, at this hour of the night!" At once Florence was on the defensive. -The fort, she knew, was not yet open to the public. Even had it been, -located as it was on this desolate stretch of "made land," it would be -receiving no visitors at midnight. - -"Come!" she whispered. "They are over there, toward the gate. We dare not -try to go out, not yet." - -Seizing Jeanne by the hand, she led her along the dark shadows of a wall -and at last entered a door. - -The place was strange to them; yet to Florence it had a certain -familiarity. This was a moment when her passion for the study of history -stood her in good stead. - -"This is the officers' quarters," she whispered. "There should be a door -that may be barred. The windows are narrow, the casements heavy. Here one -should be safe." - -She was not mistaken. Hardly had they entered than she closed the door -and let down a massive wooden bar. - -"Now," she breathed, "we are safe, unless--" - -She broke short off. A thought had struck her all of a heap. - -"Unless what?" Jeanne asked breathlessly. - -"Unless this place has a night watchman. If it has, and he finds us here -at this hour of the night we will be arrested for trespassing. And then -we will have a ride in a police wagon which won't be the least bit of -fun." - -"No," agreed Jeanne in a solemn tone, "it won't." - -"And that," whispered Florence, as she tiptoed about examining things, -"seems to be about what we are up against. I had thought the place a mere -unfurnished wooden shell. That is the way the blockhouse was. But see! At -the end of this room is a fireplace, and beside it are all sorts of -curious cooking utensils, great copper kettles, skillets of iron with -yard-long handles and a brass cornhopper. Coming from the past, they must -be priceless." - -"And see! There above the mantel are flintlock rifles," Jeanne put in. -"And beside the fireplace are curious lanterns with candles in them. How -I wish we could light them." - -"We dare not," said Florence. "But one thing we can do. We can sit in -that dark corner where the moon does not fall, and dream of other days." - -"And in the meantime?" Jeanne barely suppressed a shudder. - -"In the meantime we will hope that the guard, if there be one, goes out -for his midnight lunch and that we may slip out unobserved. Truly we have -right enough to do that. We have meant no harm and have done none." - -So, sitting there in the dark, dreaming, they played that Florence was -the youthful commander of the fort and that the slender Jeanne was his -young bride but recently brought into this wilderness. - -"The wild life and the night frighten you," Florence said to Jeanne. "But -I am young and strong. I will protect you. Come! Let us sit by the fire -here and dream a while." - -Jeanne laughed a low musical laugh and snuggled closer. - -But, for Jeanne, the charm of the past had departed. Try as she might, -she could not overcome the fear that had taken possession of her upon -realizing that they were not alone. - -"Who can these men be?" she asked herself. "Guards? Perhaps, and perhaps -not." - -She thought of the dark-faced man who so inspired her with fear. "We saw -him out there on the waste lands," she told herself, as a chill coursed -up her spine. "It is more than probable that he saw us. He may have -followed us, watching us like a cat. And now, at this late hour, when a -piercing scream could scarcely be heard, like a cat he may be ready to -spring." - -In a great state of agitation she rose and crept noiselessly toward the -window. - -"Come," she whispered. "See yonder! Two men are slinking along before -that other log building. One is stooped like a hunchback. He is carrying -a well-filled sack upon his back. Surely they cannot be guards. - -"Can it be that this place is left unguarded, and that it is being -robbed?" - -Here was a situation indeed. Two girls in this lonely spot, unguarded and -with such prowlers about. - -"I am glad the door is b-barred." Jeanne's teeth chattered. - -Having gone skulking along the building across the way, the men entered -and closed the door. Two or three minutes later a wavering light appeared -at one of the narrow windows. - -"Perhaps they are robbing that place of some precious heirlooms!" -Florence's heart beat painfully, but she held herself in splendid -control. - -"This buil-building will be next!" Jeanne spoke with difficulty. - -"Perhaps. I--I think we should do something about it." - -"But what?" - -"We shall know. Providence will guide us." Florence's hand was on the -bar. It lifted slowly. - -What was to happen? They were going outside, Jeanne was sure of that. But -what was to happen after that? She could not tell. Getting a good grip on -herself, she whispered bravely: - -"You lead. I'll follow." - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - THROUGH THE WINDOW - - -"Come!" Florence whispered, as the door of the ancient barracks swung -open and they tiptoed out into the night. "We must find out what those -men are doing. This place was built in memory of the past for the good of -the public. Generous-hearted people have loaned the rare treasures that -are stored here. They must not be lost." - -Skirting the buildings, gliding along the shadows, they made their way -past the powder-magazine all built of stone, moved onward the length of a -log building that loomed in the dark, dashed across a corner and arrived -at last with wildly beating hearts at the corner of the building from -which the feeble, flickering light still shone. - -"Now!" Florence breathed, gripping her breast in a vain attempt to still -the wild beating of her heart. "Not a sound! We must reach that window." - -Leading the way, she moved in breathless silence, a foot at a time along -the dark wall. Now she was twenty feet from the window, now ten, now--. -She paused with a quick intake of breath. Did she hear footsteps? Were -they coming out? And if they did? - -Flattening herself against the wall, she drew Jeanne close to her. A -moment passed. Her watch ticked loudly. From some spot far away a hound -baying the moon gave forth a long-drawn wail. - -Two minutes passed, three, four. - -"They--they're not coming out." - -Taking the trembling hand of the little French girl in her own, she once -more led her forward. - -And now they were at the window, peering in with startled eyes. - -What they saw astonished them beyond belief. - -Crouching on the floor, lighted only by a flashlight lantern, was a grown -boy and a hunchbacked man. The boy at that moment was in the act of -dumping the contents of a large bag upon the log floor of the building. - -"Loot!" whispered Florence. - -"But why do they pour it out?" - -Florence placed two fingers on her companion's lips. - -That the articles had not been taken from the fort they realized at once, -for the boy, holding up a modern lady's shoe with an absurdly high heel, -gave forth a hoarse laugh. - -There were other articles, all modern; a spectacle-case with broken -lenses inside but gold rims still good, another pair of glasses with horn -rims that had not been broken; and there were more shoes. - -And, most interesting of all, there were several purses. That the strange -pair regarded these purses with the greatest interest was manifested by -the manner in which they had their heads together as the first was -opened. - -Shaking the contents into his huge fist, the hunchback picked out some -small coins and handed them to the boy. A glittering compact and a folded -bill he thrust into the side pocket of his coat. The boy frowned, but -said not a word. Instead he seized upon a second pocket-book and prepared -to inspect it for himself. - -"Pickpockets!" Jeanne whispered. "They have been working on that helpless -throng. Now they have come here to divide their loot." - -Florence did not answer. - -The crouching boy was about to open the second purse, the hunchback -making no protest, when to the girls there came cause for fresh anxiety. -From the far side of the enclosure there came the rattle of chains. - -"Someone else," Florence whispered, "and at this hour of the night. But -they cannot harm us," came as an after-thought. "The chain is fastened on -the inside." She was thankful for this, but not for long. - -"But how did these get in?" Petite Jeanne pointed to the crouching pair -within. - -"Let's get out!" Jeanne pleaded. "This is work for an officer. We can -send one." - -"Someone is at the gate," Florence reminded her. - -Then there happened that which for the moment held them glued to the -spot. Having thrust a hand into the second purse, a small one, well worn, -the crouching boy drew forth an object that plainly puzzled him. He held -it close to the light. As he did so, Florence gave vent to an involuntary -gasp. - -"The cameo! The lost cameo!" she exclaimed half aloud. "It must belong to -our little old lady of the merry-mad throng." - -At the same instant there came from behind her a man's gruff voice in -angry words: - -"Here, you! What you doing? Why do you lock the gate? Thought you'd keep -me out, eh? - -"But I fooled you!" the voice continued. "I scaled the palisades." - -Instantly there came sounds of movement from within. The crouching -figures were hastily stuffing all that pile back into the sack and at the -same time eagerly looking for an avenue of escape. - -Florence caught the gleam of a star on the newcomer's coat. - -"Oh, please!" she pleaded. "We have taken nothing, meant no harm. The -storm-- - -"But please, officer," her tone changed, "that pair within have been -doing something, perhaps robbing. They have a precious cameo that belongs -to a dear old lady. Please don't let them escape." - -In answer to this breathless appeal the officer made no reply. Instead he -strode to the window, looked within, then rapped smartly on the sash with -his club. At the same time he pointed to his star. - -The strange intruders could not fail to understand. They shouldered their -sack and came forth meekly enough. - -"You come with me, all of you!" the officer commanded. "Let's get this -thing straight. - -"Now then," he commanded, after they had crossed the enclosure in silence -and he had lighted a large lamp in a small office-like room, "dump that -stuff on the floor." - -"I want to tell ye," the hunchback grumbled, "that we hain't no thieves, -me an' this boy. We hain't. We--" - -"Dump it out!" The officer's tone was stern. - -The hunchback obeyed. "We found this, we did; found all of it." - -"Ye-s, you found it!" The officer bent over to take up a purse. He opened -it and emptied a handful of coins on the table at his side. - -"Purses!" he exclaimed. "How many?" He counted silently. "Seven of 'em -and all full of change. And you found 'em! Tell that to the judge!" - -"Honest, we found them." The grown boy dragged a ragged sleeve across his -eyes. "We was down to the Jubilee. People was always crushin' together -and losin' things in the scramble, shoes and purses an' all this." He -swept an arm toward the pile. "So we just stayed around until they was -gone. Then we got 'em." - -"And you thought because you found 'em they were yours?" - -"Well, ain't they?" The hunchback grew defiant. - -"Not by a whole lot!" The officer's voice was a trifle less stern. "If -you find a purse or any other thing on the street, if it's worth the -trouble, you're supposed to turn it in, and you leave your name. If it's -not called for, you get it back. But you can't gather things up in a sack -and just walk off. That don't go. - -"See here!" He held up a tiny leather frame taken from the purse he had -emptied. "That's a picture of an old lady with white hair; somebody's -mother, like as not. What's it worth to you? Not that!" He snapped his -fingers. "But to the real owner it's a precious possession." - -"Yes, yes," Florence broke in eagerly, "and there's a ragged little purse -in that pile that contains a dear old lady's only real possession, a -cameo." - -"How'd you know that?" The officer turned sharply upon her. - -"We saw it in his hand." She held her ground, nodding at the boy. "We -were with the lady, helping her out of the crush, when she lost it." - -"You--you look like that kind," the officer said slowly, studying her -face. "I--I'm going to take a chance. Got her address?" - -"Yes, yes," eagerly. - -"Give it to me." - -"Here. Write it down." - -"Good. Now then, you pick out the purse and show me this thing you call a -cameo. Never heard of one before, but if it's different from everything -else I've seen it must be one of them cameos." - -"Oh tha-thank you!" Florence choked. She had made a promise to the little -old lady. Now the promise was near to fulfillment. - -The purse was quickly found and the cameo exposed to view. - -"That's a cameo all right," the officer grinned. "It's nothing else I -ever saw. You take it to her and may God bless you for your interest in -an old lady." - -Florence found her eyes suddenly dimmed. - -"As for you!" The officer's tone grew stern once more as he turned to the -marauding pair. "You give me your names and tell me where you live. I'll -just keep all this stuff as it is, and turn it in. If any of it remains -unclaimed we'll let you know." - -Glad to know that they were not to be sent to jail for a misdemeanor they -had committed in ignorance, the strange pair gave their names and place -of residence and then disappeared into the shadows whence they had come. - -The officer, whose duty it was to keep an eye on lake shore property, -escorted the girls to the street car line, then bade them good-night. - -There were times when the little French girl could not sleep. On -returning to her room, she found that, despite the lateness of the hour, -her nerves were all a-tingle, her eyes wide and staring. - -Long after Florence had retired for the night, she lay rolled in a soft, -woolly blanket, huddled up in a great chair before the fire. - -At first, as she stared at the fire she saw there only a confusion of -blurred impressions. In time these impressions took form and she saw much -of her own life spread out before her. The opera, its stage resplendent -with color, light and life; the boxes shrouded in darkness; these she -saw. The great estate, home of Rosemary Robinson, was there, and the -glowing magic curtain that appeared to burn but was not consumed; these -were there too. - -As in a dream she heard voices: The lady in black spoke, Jaeger, the -detective, and Rosemary. She seemed to catch the low murmur of the -hunchback and that boy of his; heard, too, the sharp call of the man with -the evil eye. - -"All this," she said aloud, "fits in somehow. 'There is a destiny that -shapes our ends, rough hew them how we may.' If I could see it all as it -is to be when all is finished they would all have their places, their -work to do, the little old lady, the crushing throng, the hooters, yes, -even the one with the dark face and evil eye: all these may serve me in -the end. - -"Serve me. Poor little me!" She laughed aloud, and, blazing with a merry -crackle, the fire appeared to laugh back. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - STARTLING REVELATIONS - - -The circular fishing net, which had for so unusual a purpose been lowered -into the lake at the dead of night and brought up later, quite empty, -belonged to a youth, known among his acquaintances as "Snowball." -Snowball was black, very black indeed. - -When Snowball arrived at his net next morning he found a white man -sitting by his windlass. This young man's eye had a glint of blue steel -in it that set the black boy's knees quivering. - -"That your net?" The stranger nodded toward the lake. - -"Yaas, sir!" - -"Deep down there?" - -"Tol'able deep. Yaas, sir." - -"Swim?" - -"Who? Me? Yaas, sir." - -"Here." The man slipped a bill between two boards and left it fluttering -there. "Skin off and dive down there. Black package down there. See? -Bring it up. See?" - -"Yaas, sir. Oh, yas, yas, sir." There surely was something strange about -the glint of those eyes. - -Snowball struggled out of his few bits of loose clothing and, clad only -in trunks, disappeared beneath the surface of the lake. - -A moment later he came to the surface. - -"Got it?" Those eyes again. - -"N--no, sir." The black boy's teeth chattered. "Nothin' down there. Not -nothin' at all." - -"Go down again. You got poor eyes!" The man made a move. Snowball -disappeared. - -He came up again sputtering. "Hain't nothin'. Tellin' y' th' truth, sir. -Just nothin' at all." - -The stranger made a threatening move. Snowball was about to disappear -once more, when a shrill laugh came rippling across the rocks. - -The man turned, startled, then frowned. - -"What's pleasing you, sister?" He addressed this remark to a slim girl in -a faded bathing suit, seated on a rock a hundred feet away. - -"Snowball's right." The girl laughed again. "Nothing down there. Nothing -at all." - -The man gave her a quick look, then sprang to his feet. The next instant -he was scrambling over the rocks. - -When he arrived at the spot where the girl had been, she was nowhere to -be seen. It was as if the lake had swallowed her up; which, perhaps it -had. - -Apparently the man believed it had, for he sat down upon the rocks to -wait. Ten minutes passed. Not a ripple disturbed the surface. - -He looked toward the windlass and the net. Snowball, too, had vanished. - -"Crooks!" he muttered. "All crooks out here!" - -At that, after picking his way across the breakwater, he took to the -stretches of sand and soon disappeared. - - * * * * * * * * - -When, later that same day, Petite Jeanne started away, bent on the joyous -business of returning a lost cameo to a dear old lady, she expected to -come upon no fresh mystery. - -"Certainly," she said to Florence, who, because of her work, could not -accompany her, "in the bright light of day one experiences no thrills." -Surprise came to her all the same. - -She had reached the very street crossing at which she was to alight -before she realized that the address the little old lady had given was in -Chinatown. - -"Surprise number one," she murmured. "A white lady living in Chinatown. I -can't be wrong, for just over there is the temple where I saw the magic -curtain." If other evidence were lacking, she had only to glance at the -pedestrians on the street. Nine out of every ten were Chinese. - -For a moment she stood quite still upon the curb. Perhaps her experience -on that other occasion had inspired an unwarranted fear. - -"For shame!" She stamped her small foot. "This is broad day! Why be -afraid?" - -Surprise number two came to her upon arriving at the gate of the place -she sought. No dingy tenement this. The cutest little house, set at the -back of a tiny square of green grass, flanked a curious rock garden where -water sparkled. The whole affair seemed to have been lifted quite -complete from some Chinese fairy book. - -"It's the wrong address." Her spirits drooped a little. - -But no. One bang at the gong that hung just outside the door, and the -little old lady herself was peeping through a narrow crack. - -"Oh! It is you!" she exclaimed, throwing the door wide. "And you have my -cameo!" - -"Yes," Jeanne smiled, "I have your cameo." - -Because she was French, Jeanne was not at all disturbed by the smothering -caress she received from the old lady of this most curious house. - -The next moment she was inside the house and sinking deep in a great heap -of silky, downy pillows. - -"But, my friend," she exclaimed, as soon as she had caught her breath -after a glance about the room where only Oriental objects, dragons, -curious lanterns, silk banners, and thick mats were to be found, "this is -Chinatown, and you are not Oriental!" - -"No, my child. I am not." The little lady's eyes sparkled. "But for many -years my father was Consul to China. I lived with him and came to know -the Chinese people. I learned to love them for their gentleness, their -simplicity, their kindness. They loved me too a little, I guess, for -after my father died and I came to America, some rich Chinese merchants -prepared this little house for me. And here I live. - -"Oh, yes," she sighed contentedly, "I do some translating for them and -other little things, but I do not have a worry. They provide for me. - -"But this!" She pressed the cameo to her lips. "This comes from another -time, the long lost, beautiful past when I was a child with my father in -Venice. That is why I prize it so. Can you blame me?" - -"No! No!" The little French girl's tone was deeply earnest. "I cannot. I, -too, have lived long in Europe. France, my own beautiful France, was my -childhood home. - -"But tell me!" Her tone took on an excited note. "If you know so much of -these mysterious Chinese, you can help me. Will you help me? Will you -explain something?" - -"If I can, my child. Gladly!" - -"A few days ago," the little French girl leaned forward eagerly, "I saw -the most astonishing curtain. It burned, but was not consumed, like the -burning bush." - -"You saw that?" It seemed that the little lady's eyes would pop from her -head. "You saw that? Where?" - -"Over yonder." Jeanne waved a hand. "In that Chinese temple." - -"I--did not--know it--was--here." The little lady spoke very slowly. - -"Then you have seen it!" In her eagerness Jeanne gripped the arms of her -chair hard. "Tell me! What is it? How is it done? Could one borrow it?" - -"Borrow it? My child, you do not know what you are asking! - -"But you--" She lowered her voice to a shrill whisper. "How can you have -seen it?" - -Quite excitedly and with many a gesture, the little French girl told of -her visit to the Chinese temple on that rainy afternoon. - -"Oh, my child!" The little lady was all but in tears as she finished, -tears of excitement and joy. "My dear child! You cannot know what you -have done, nor how fortunate you are that you escaped unharmed." - -"But this is America, not China!" Jeanne's tone showed her amazement. - -"True, my child. But every great American city is many cities in one. On -the streets you are safe. When you pry into the secrets of other people, -that is quite another matter." - -"Secrets!" - -"The Chinese people seem to be simple, kindly, harmless folks. So they -are, on the street. But in their private dealings they are the most -secretive people in the world. - -"That temple you visited!" It was her turn to lean far forward. "That is -more than a temple. It is a place of business, a chamber of commerce and -the meeting place of the most powerful secret society the Chinese people -have ever known, the Hop Sing Tong." - -"And that meeting, the magic curtain--" Jeanne's eyes went wide. - -"That was beyond doubt a secret meeting of the Tong. You came uninvited. -Because of the darkness you escaped. You may thank Providence for that! -But never, never do that again!" - -"Then," Jeanne's tone was full of regret, "then I may never see the magic -curtain again." - -"O, I wouldn't say that." The little lady smiled blandly. "Seeing the -magic curtain and attending the meeting of a secret society are two -different matters. The Chinese people are very kind to me. Some of the -richest Chinese merchants--" - -"Oh! Do you think you could arrange it? Do you think I might see it, two -or three friends and I?" - -"It might be arranged." - -"Will you try?" - -"I will do my best." - -"And if it can be, will you let me know?" Jeanne rose to go. - -"I will let you know." - -As Jeanne left the room, she found herself walking in a daze. - -"And to think!" she whispered to herself, "that this little old lady and -her lost cameo should so soon begin to fit into the marvelous pattern of -my life." - -She had wonderful dreams, had this little French girl. She would see the -magic curtain once more. With her on this occasion should be Marjory -Dean, the great opera star, and her friend Angelo who wrote operas. When -the magic curtain had been seen, an opera should be written around it, an -Oriental opera full of mystery; a very short opera to be sure but an -opera all the same. - -"And perhaps!" Her feet sped away in a wild fling. "Perhaps I shall have -a tiny part in that opera; a very tiny part indeed." - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - THEY THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT - - -The opera presented that night was Wagner's _Die Valkyre_. To Petite -Jeanne, the blithesome child of sunshine and song, it seemed a trifle -heavy. For all this she was fascinated by the picture of life as it might -have been lived long before man began writing his own history. And never -before had she listened to such singing. - -It was in the last great scene that a fresh hope for the future was borne -in upon her. In the opera, Brunhilde having, contrary to the wishes of -the gods, interceded for her lover Sigmund, she must be punished. She -pleads her own cause in vain. At last she asks for a special punishment: -that she be allowed to sleep encircled by fire until a hero of her people -is found strong enough to rescue her. - -Her wish is granted. Gently the god raises her and kisses her brow. -Slowly she sinks upon the rock while tongues of flame leap from the -rocks. Moment by moment the flames leap higher until the heroine is lost -from sight. - -It was at the very moment when the fires burned fiercest, the orchestra -played its most amazing strains, that a great thought came to Jeanne. - -"I will do it!" she cried aloud. "How wonderful that will be! We shall -have an opera. The magic curtain; it shall be like this." - -Then, realizing that there were people close at hand, she clapped a hand -to her lips and was silent. - -A moment more and the strains of delectable music died away. Then it was -that a man touched Jeanne's arm. - -"You are French." The man had an unmistakable accent. - -"Yes, monsieur." - -"I would like a word with you." - -"Yes, yes. If you will please wait here." As Pierre, in a dress suit, -Jeanne still had work to do. - -Her head awhirl with her bright new idea, her eyes still seeing red from -the fires that guarded Brunhilde, she hurried through with her humble -tasks. Little wonder that she had forgotten the little Frenchman with the -small beard. She started when he touched her arm. - -"Pardon, my son. May I now have a word with you?" - -She started at that word "son," but quickly regained her poise. - -"Surely you may." She was at his command. - -"I am looking," he began at once, "for a little French girl named Petite -Jeanne." - -"Pet--Petite!" The little French girl did not finish. She was trembling. - -"Ah! Perhaps you know her." - -"No, no. Ah, yes, yes," Jeanne answered in wild confusion. - -"You will perhaps tell me where she lives. I have a very important -message for her. I came from France to bring it." - -"From France?" Jeanne was half smothered with excitement. What should she -do? Should she say: "I am Petite Jeanne?" Ah, no; she dared not. Then an -inspiration came to her. - -"You wish this person's address? This Petite Jeanne?" - -"If you will," the man replied politely. - -"Very well. I will write it down." - -Drawing a small silver pencil from her pocket with trembling fingers, she -wrote an address upon the back of a program. - -"There, monsieur. This is it. - -"I think--" She shifted her feet uneasily. "I am sure she works rather -late. If you were to call, perhaps in an hour, you might find her there." - -"So late as this?" The Frenchman raised his eyebrows. - -"I am sure she would not mind." - -"Very well. I shall try. And a thousand thanks." He pressed a coin in her -unwilling hand. The next moment he had vanished. - -"Gone!" she murmured, sinking into a seat. "Gone! And he had an important -message for me! Oh! I must hurry home!" - -Even as she spoke these words she detected a rustle at the back of the -box. Having turned quickly about, she was just in time to see someone -pass into the narrow aisle. It was the lady in black. - -"I wonder if she heard?" Jeanne's heart sank. - -As she left the Opera House the little French girl's spirits were low. - -The lady in black frightened her. "What can she mean, always dogging my -footsteps?" she asked herself as she sought the street. - -"And that dark-faced one? I saw him again to-night by the door. Who is -he? What can he want?" - -There was a little group of people gathered by the door. As she passed -out, she fancied she caught a glimpse of that dark, forbidding face, -those evil eyes. - -With a shudder she sped away. She was not pursued. - -At her apartment she quickly changed into her own plain house dress. -Having lighted the living-room fire, she waited a little for the return -of Florence, who should have been home long before. - -"What can be keeping her?" - -With nervous, uncertain steps, she crossed to her own chamber door. -Having entered, she went to the window. Her room was dark. The street -below was half dark. A distant lamp cast a dim, swaying light. At first -no one was to be seen. Then a single dark figure moved stealthily up the -street. The swaying light caused this person to take on the appearance of -an acrobat who leaped into the air, then came down like a rubber ball. -Even when he paused to look up at the building before him, he seemed to -sway like a drunken sailor. - -"That may be the man." Her pulse quickened. - -A moment more and a car, careering down the street, lighted the man's -face. It did more. It brought into the open for a second another figure, -deeper in the shadows. - -"What a strange pair!" she murmured as she shrank back. - -The man least concealed was the dark-faced one with the evil eye. The -other man was Jaeger, the detective. - -"But they are not together," she assured herself. "Jaeger is watching the -other, and the dark one is watching me." - -Even as she said this, a third person came into view. - -Instantly, by his slow stride, his military bearing, she recognized the -man. - -"It is he!" She was thrown into a state of tumult. "It is my Frenchman." - -But what was this? He was on the opposite side of the street, yet he did -not cross over, nor so much as glance that way. He marched straight on. - -She wanted to rush down the stairs and call to him; yet she dared not, -for were not those sinister figures lurking there? - -To make matters worse, the dark-faced one took to following the -Frenchman. Darting from shadow to shadow, he obviously believed himself -unobserved. False security. Jaeger was on his trail. - -"What does it all mean?" Jeanne asked herself. "Is this little Frenchman -after all but a tool of the police? Does he hope to trap me and secure -the pearls--which I do not have? Or is he with that evil one with the -desperate eyes? Or is it true that he came but now from France and bears -a message for me?" - -Since she could answer none of these questions, she left her room, looked -to the fastening of the outer door, then took a seat by the fire. There -for a long time she tried to read her fortune in the flames, but -succeeded in seeing only a flaming curtain that was not consumed. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - THE UNSEEN EYE - - -Five days passed. Uneventful days they were for Petite Jeanne; yet each -one was charged with possibilities both wonderful and terrible. She saw -no more of Marjory Dean. What of her promise? Had she forgotten? - -The little old lady of the cameo she visited once. The Chinese gentleman -who might secure for her one more shuddering look at the magic curtain -was out of town. - -Never did she enter the opera at night without casting fearful glances -about lest she encounter the dark-faced man of the evil eye. He was never -there. Where was he? Who was he? What interest could he have in a mere -boy usher of the opera? To these questions the little French girl could -form no answer. - -There were times when she believed him a gypsy, or at least a descendant -of gypsies from France. When she thought of this she shuddered anew. For -in France were many enemies of Bihari's band. And she was one of that -band. - -At other times she was able to convince herself that she had seen this -dark-faced one at the back of the boxes on that night when the priceless -pearls had vanished. Yet how this could be when Jaeger, the detective, -and the mysterious lady in black haunted those same shadows, she could -not imagine. - -Of late Jaeger was not always there. Perhaps he was engaged in other -affairs. It might be that on that very night Jeanne had seen him follow -the dark-faced one, he had made an important arrest. If so, whom had he -apprehended, the dark-faced one or the little Frenchman with a military -bearing? - -Jeanne could not but believe that the little man from France was honest -and sincere, that he truly bore an important message for her. - -"But why then did he not come that night and deliver it?" she said to -Florence. - -"Perhaps he lost his way." - -"Lost his way? How could he? He was here, just across the way." - -"You say two men followed him?" - -"Yes, yes!" - -"Then he may have been frightened off." - -"If so, why did he not return?" - -"Who can say?" - -Ah, yes, who could? Certainly no one, for no one knew the full truth, -which was that in her excitement Jeanne had mixed her numbers and, -instead of presenting him with her own address, had sent him five blocks -down the street where, as one must know, he found no little French girl -named Petite Jeanne. So here is one matter settled, straight off. But -what of the business-like little Frenchman? Did he truly bear a message -of importance? If so, what was the message? And where was the man now? -Not so easy to answer, these questions. - -Jeanne asked herself these questions and many more during these days -when, as Pierre, she served the occupants of the boxes faithfully, at the -same time drinking in all the glory and splendor of music, color and -drama that is Grand Opera at its best. - -A glimpse now and then of the lady in black lurking in deep shadows never -failed to thrill her. Never did she see her face. Not once did there come -to her a single intimation of the position she filled at the opera. As -she felt that unseen eye upon her, Jeanne experienced a strange -sensation. She went hot and cold all over. Then a great calm possessed -her. - -"It is the strangest thing!" she exclaimed to Florence one night. "It is -like--what would you call it?--a benediction. I am dreadfully afraid; yet -I find peace. It is like, shall I say, like seeing God? Should you be -afraid of God if you saw Him?" - -"Yes, I think I might," Florence answered soberly. - -"Yet they say God is Love. Why should one fear Love?" - -"Who knows? Anyway, your friend is not God. She is only a lady in black. -Perhaps she is not Love either. Her true name may be Hate." - -"Ah, yes, perhaps. But I feel it is not so. And many times, oh my friend, -when I _feel_ a thing is so it _is_ so. But when I just think it is true, -then it is not true at all. Is this not strange?" - -"It is strange. But you gypsies are strange anyway." - -"Ah, yes, perhaps. For all that, I am not all gypsy. Once I was not gypsy -at all, only a little French girl living in a little chateau by the side -of the road." - -"Petite Jeanne," Florence spoke with sudden earnestness, "have you no -people living in France?" - -"My father is dead, this I know." The little French girl's head drooped. -"My mother also. I have no brothers nor sisters save those who adopted me -long ago in a gypsy van. Who else can matter?" - -"Uncles and aunts, cousins, grandparents?" - -"Ah, yes." The little French girl's brow clouded. "Now I remember. There -was one--we called her grandmother. Was she? I wonder. We play that so -many things are true, we little ones. I was to see her twice. She was, -oh, so grand!" She clasped her hands as if in a dream. "Lived at the edge -of a wood, she did, a great black forest, in a castle. - -"A very beautiful castle it was to look at on a sunny day, from the -outside. Little towers and spires, many little windows, all round and -square. - -"But inside?" She made a face and shuddered. "Oh, so very damp and cold! -No fires here. No lights there. Only a bit of a brazier that burned -charcoal, very bright and not warm at all. A grandmother? A castle? Ah, -yes, perhaps. But who wants so grand a castle that is cold? Who would -wish for a grandmother who did not bend nor smile? - -"And besides," she added, as she sank into a chair, "she may not have -been my grandmother at all. This was long ago. I was only a little one." - -"All the same," Florence muttered to herself, some time later, "I'd like -to know if that was her grandmother. It might make a difference, a very -great difference." - - - - - CHAPTER XX - A PLACE OF ENCHANTMENT - - -Then came for Petite Jeanne an hour of swiftly passing glory. - -She had arisen late, as was her custom, and was sipping her black coffee -when the telephone rang. - -"This is Marjory Dean." The words came to her over the wire in the -faintest whisper. But how they thrilled her! "Is this Petite Jeanne? Or -is it Pierre?" The prima donna was laughing. - -"It is Petite Jeanne at breakfast," Jeanne answered. Her heart was in her -throat. What was she to expect? - -"Then will you please ask Pierre if it will be possible for him to meet -me at the Opera House stage door at three this afternoon?" - -"I shall ask him." Jeanne put on a business-like tone. For all that, her -heart was pounding madly. "It may be my great opportunity!" she told -herself. "I may yet appear for a brief space of time in an opera. What -glory!" - -After allowing a space of thirty seconds to elapse, during which time she -might be supposed to have consulted the mythical Pierre, she replied -quite simply: - -"Yes, Miss Dean, Pierre will meet you at that hour. And he wishes me to -thank you very much." - -"Sh! Never a word of this!" came over the phone; then the voice was gone. - -Jeanne spent the remainder of the forenoon in a tumult of excitement. At -noon she ate a light lunch, drank black tea, then sat down to study the -score of her favorite opera, "The Juggler of Notre Dame." - -It is little wonder that Jeanne loved this more than any other opera. It -is the story of a simple wanderer, a juggler. Jeanne, as we have said -before, had been a wanderer in France. She had danced the gypsy dances -with her bear in every village of France and every suburb of Paris. - -And Cluny, a suburb of Paris, is the scene of this little opera. A -juggler, curiously enough named Jean, arrives in this village just as the -people have begun to celebrate May Day in the square before the convent. - -The juggler is welcomed. But one by one his poor tricks are scorned. The -people demand a drinking song. The juggler is pious. He fears to offend -the Virgin. But at last, beseeching the Virgin's forgiveness, he grants -their request. - -Hearing the shouts of the crowd, the prior of the monastery comes out to -scatter the crowd and rebuke the singer. He bids the poor juggler repent -and, putting the world at his back, enter the monastery, never more to -wander over the beautiful hills of France. - -In the juggler's poor mind occurs a great struggle. And in this struggle -these words are wrung from his lips: - - "But renounce, when I am still young, - Renounce to follow thee, oh, Liberty, beloved, - Careless fay with clear golden smile! - 'Tis she my heart for mistress has chosen; - Hair in the wind laughing, she takes my hand, - She drags me on chance of the hour and the road. - The silver of the waters, the gold of the blond harvest, - The diamonds of the nights, through her are mine! - I have space through her, and love and the world. - The villain, through her, becomes king! - By her divine charm, all smiles on me, all enchants, - And, to accompany the flight of my song, - The concert of the birds snaps in the green bush. - Gracious mistress and sister I have chosen. - Must I now lose you, oh, my royal treasure? Oh, Liberty, my beloved, - Careless fay of the golden smile!" - -"Liberty ... careless fay of the golden smile." Jeanne repeated these -words three times. Then with dreamy eyes that spanned a nation and an -ocean, she saw again the lanes, the hedges, the happy villages of France. - -"Who better than I can feel as that poor juggler felt as he gave all this -up for the monastery's narrow walls?" she asked. No answer came back. She -knew the answer well enough for all that. And this knowledge gave her -courage for the hours that were to come. - -She met Marjory Dean by one of the massive pillars that adorn the great -Opera House. - -"To think," she whispered, "that all this great building should be -erected that thousands might hear you sing!" - -"Not me alone." The prima donna smiled. "Many, many others and many, I -hope, more worthy than I." - -"What a life you have had!" the little French girl cried rapturously. -"You have truly lived! - -"To work, to dream, to hope," she went on, "to struggle onward toward -some distant goal, this is life." - -"Ah, no, my child." Marjory Dean's face warmed with a kindly smile. "This -is not life. It is but the beginning of life. One does not work long, -hope much, struggle far, before he becomes conscious of someone on the -way before him. As he becomes conscious of this one, the other puts out a -hand to aid him forward. Together they work, dream, hope and struggle -onward. Together they succeed more completely. - -"And then," her tone was mellow, thoughtful, "there comes the time when -the one who had been given the helping hand by one before looks back and -sees still another who struggles bravely over the way he has come. His -other hand stretches back to this weaker one. And so, with someone before -to assist, with one behind to be assisted, he works, dreams, hopes and -struggles on through his career, be it long or short. And this, my child, -is life." - -"Yes, I see it now. I knew it before. But one forgets. Watch me. I shall -cling tightly to your hand. And when my turn comes I shall pray for -courage and strength, then reach back to one who struggles a little way -behind." - -"Wise, brave child! How one could love you!" - -With this the prima donna threw her arm across Jeanne's shoulder and -together they marched into the place of solemn enchantment, an Opera -House that is "dark." - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - FROM THE HEIGHTS TO DESPAIR - - -"To-day," said Marjory Dean, as they came out upon the dimly lighted -stage, "as you will see," she glanced about her where the setting of a -French village was to be seen "we are to rehearse 'The Juggler of Notre -Dame.' And to-day, if you have the courage, you may play the juggler in -my stead." - -"Oh!" Jeanne's breath came short and quick. Her wild heartbeats of -anticipation had not been in vain. - -"But the company!" she exclaimed in a low whisper. "Shall they know?" - -"They will not be told. Many will guess that something unusual is -happening. But they all are good sports. And besides they are all of -my--what is it you have called it?--my 'Golden Circle.'" - -"Yes, yes, your 'Golden Circle.'" - -"And those of our 'Golden Circle' never betray us. It is an unwritten -law." - -"Ah!" Jeanne breathed deeply. "Can I do it?" - -"Certainly you can. And perhaps, on the very next night when the -'Juggler' is done--oh, well, you know." - -"Yes. I know." Jeanne was fairly choking with emotion. - -When, however, half an hour later, garbed as the juggler with his hoop -and his bag of tricks, she came before the troop of French villagers of -the drama, she was her own calm self. For once again as in a dream, she -trod the streets of a beautiful French village. As of yore she danced -before the boisterous village throng. - -Only now, instead of stick and bear, she danced with hoop and bag. - -She was conscious at once that the members of the company realized that -she was a stranger and not Marjory Dean. - -"But I shall show them how a child of France may play her native drama." -At once she lost herself in the character of Jean, the wandering-juggler. - -Eagerly she offered to do tricks with cup and balls, to remove eggs from -a hat. - -Scorned by the throng, she did not despair. - -"I know the hoop dance." - -The children of the troop seized her by the hands to drag her about. And -Jeanne, the lithe Jeanne who had so often enthralled thousands by her -fairy-like steps, danced clumsily as the juggler must, then allowed -herself to be abused by the children until she could break away. - -"What a glorious company!" she was thinking in the back of her mind. "How -they play up to me!" - -"My lords," she cried when once more she was free, "to please you I'll -sing a fine love salvation song." - -They paid her no heed. As the juggler she did not despair. - -As Jeanne, she saw a movement in a seat close to the opera pit. "An -auditor!" Her heart sank. "What if it is someone who suspects and will -give me away!" There was scant time for these thoughts. - -As the juggler she offered songs of battle, songs of conquest, drama. To -all this they cried: - -"No! No! Give us rather a drinking song!" - -At last yielding to their demand she sang: "Hallelujah, Sing the -Hallelujah of Wine." - -Then as the prior descended upon the throng, scattering them like tiny -birds before a gale, she stood there alone, defenseless, as the prior -denounced her. - -Real tears were in her eyes as she began her farewell to the glorious -liberty of hedge and field, river, road and forest of France. - -This farewell was destined to end unfinished for suddenly a great bass -voice roared: - -"What is this? You are not Marjory Dean! Where is she? What are you doing -here?" - -A huge man with a fierce black mustache stood towering above her. She -recognized in him the director of the opera, and wished that the section -of the stage beneath her feet might sink, carrying her from sight. - -"Here I am," came in a clear, cold tone. It was Marjory Dean who spoke. -She advanced toward the middle of the stage. - -Riveted to their places, the members of the company stood aghast. Full -well they knew the fire that lay ever smouldering in Marjory Dean's -breast. - -"And what does this mean? Why are you not rehearsing your part?" - -"Because," Miss Dean replied evenly, "I chose to allow another, who can -do it quite as well, to rehearse with the company." - -"And I suppose," there was bitter sarcasm in the director's voice, "she -will sing the part when that night comes?" - -"And if she did?" - -"Then, Miss Dean, your services would no longer be required." The man was -purple with rage. - -"Very well." Marjory Dean's face went white. "We may as well--" - -But Petite Jeanne was at her side. "Miss Dean, you do not know what you -are saying. It is not worth the cost. Please, please!" she pleaded with -tears in her voice. "Please forget me. At best I am only a little French -wanderer. And you, you are the great Marjory Dean!" - -Reading the anguish in her upturned face, Marjory Dean's anger was turned -to compassion. - -"Another time, another place," she murmured. "I shall never forget you!" - -Half an hour later the rehearsal was begun once more. This time Marjory -Dean was in the stellar role. It was a dead rehearsal. All the sparkle of -it was gone. But it was a rehearsal all the same, and the director had -had his way. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - THE ARMORED HORSE - - -As for Jeanne, once more dressed as Pierre and feeling like just no one -at all, she had gone wandering away into the shadows of the orchestra -floor, when suddenly she started. Someone had touched her arm. - -Until this moment she had quite forgotten the lone auditor seated there -in the dark. Now as she bent low to look into that person's face she -started again as a name came to her lips. - -"Rosemary Robinson!" - -"It is I," Rosemary whispered. "I saw it all, Pierre." She held Jeanne's -hand in a warm grasp. "You were wonderful! Simply magnificent! And the -director. He was beastly!" - -"No! No!" Jeanne protested. "He was but doing his duty." - -"This," Rosemary replied slowly, "may be true. But for all that you are a -marvelous 'Juggler of Notre Dame.' And it is too bad he found out. - -"But come!" she whispered eagerly, springing to her feet. "Why weep when -there is so much to be glad about? Let us go exploring! - -"My father," she explained, "has done much for this place. I have the -keys to every room. There are many mysteries. You shall see some of -them." - -Seizing Jeanne's hand, she led the way along a corridor, down two gloomy -flights of stairs and at last into a vast place where only here and there -a light burned dimly. - -They were now deep down below the level of the street. The roar and -thunder of traffic came to them only as a subdued rumble of some giant -talking in his sleep. - -The room was immense. Shadows were everywhere, shadows and grotesque -forms. - -"Where are we?" Jeanne asked, scarcely able to repress a desire to flee. - -"It is one of the property rooms of the Opera House. What will you have?" -Rosemary laughed low and deep. "Only ask for it. You will find it here. -All these things are used at some time or another in the different -operas." - -As Jeanne's eyes became accustomed to the pale half-light, she realized -that this must be nearly true. In a corner, piled tight in great dark -sections, was a miniature mountain. Standing on edge, but spilling none -of its make-believe water, was a pond where swans were wont to float. - -A little way apart were the swans, resting on great heaps of grass that -did not wither and flowers that did not die. - -In a distant corner stood a great gray castle. Someone had set it up, -perhaps to make sure that it was all intact, then had left it standing. - -"What a place for mystery!" Jeanne exclaimed. - -"Yes, and listen! Do you hear it?" - -"Hear what?" - -"The river. We are far below the river. Listen. Do you not hear it -flowing?" - -"I hear only the rumble of traffic." - -"Perhaps I only imagine it, but always when I visit this place I seem to -hear the river rushing by. And always I think, 'What if the walls should -crumble?'" - -"But they will not crumble." - -"We shall hope not. - -"But see." The rich girl's mood changed. "Here is a charger! Let us mount -and ride!" - -She sprang toward a tall object completely covered by a white cloth. When -the cloth had been dragged off, a great steed all clad in glittering -armor stood before them. - -"Come!" Rosemary's voice rose high. "Here we are! You are a brave knight. -I am a defenseless lady. Give me your hand. Help me to mount behind you. -Then I will cling to you while we ride through some deep, dark forest -where there are dragons and cross-bowmen and all sorts of terrifying -perils." - -Joining her in this spirit of make-believe, Jeanne assisted her to the -back of the inanimate charger. - -Having touched some secret button, Rosemary set the charger in motion. -They were riding now. Swaying from side to side, rising, falling, they -seemed indeed to be passing through some dark and doleful place. As -Jeanne closed her eyes the illusion became quite complete. As she felt -Rosemary clinging to her as she might cling to some gallant knight, she -forgot for the time that she was Petite Jeanne and that she had suffered -a dire disappointment. - -"I am Pierre!" she whispered to herself. "I am a brave knight. Rosemary -loves me." - -The disquieting effect of this last thought awakened her to the realities -of life. Perhaps, after all, Rosemary did love her a little as Pierre. If -this were true-- - -Sliding off the steed, then lifting Rosemary to the floor, she exclaimed: - -"Come! Over yonder is a castle. Let us see who is at home over there." - -Soon enough she was to see. - -The castle was, as all stage castles are, a mere shell; very beautiful -and grand on the outside, a hollow echo within. For all that, the two -youthful adventurers found a certain joy in visiting that castle. There -was a rough stairway leading up through great empty spaces within to a -broad, iron-railed balcony. From this balcony, on more than one night, an -opera lover had leaned forth to sing songs of high enchantment, luring -forth a hidden lover. - -They climbed the stairs. Then Petite Jeanne, caught by the spell of the -place, leaned far out of the window and burst into song, a wild gypsy -serenade. - -Rosemary was leaning back among the rafters, drinking in the sweet -mystery of life that was all about her, when of a sudden the French -girl's song broke off. Her face went white for an instant as she swayed -there and must surely have fallen had not Rosemary caught her. - -"Wha--what is it?" she whispered hoarsely. - -For a space of seconds there came no answer, then a low whisper: - -"Those eyes! I saw them. Those evil eyes. Back of the mountain. They -glared at me." - -"Eyes?" - -"The dark-faced man. He--he frightens me! The way out! We must find it!" - -Roused by her companion's fears, Rosemary led the way on tiptoe down the -stairs. Still in silence they crossed the broad emptiness of the castle, -came to a rear door, tried it, felt it yield to their touch, and passed -through, only to hear the intruder come racing down the stairs. - -"He--he did not see us!" Rosemary panted. "For now we are safe. -This--come this way!" - -She crowded her way between a stairway lying upon its side and a property -porch. Jeanne, whose heart was beating a tattoo against her ribs, -followed in silence. - -"What a brave knight I am!" she told herself, and smiled in spite of her -deathly fears. - -"The way out," Rosemary whispered over her shoulder. "If I only can find -that!" - -A sound, from somewhere behind, startled them into renewed effort. - -Passing through a low forest of property trees, they crossed a narrow -bare space to find themselves confronted by a more formidable forest of -chairs and tables. Chairs of all sorts, with feet on the floor or high in -air, blocked their way. - -As Rosemary attempted to creep between two great piles, one of these -toppled to the floor with a resounding crash. - -"Come!" Her tone was near despair. "We must find the way out!" - -As for Jeanne, she was rapidly regaining her composure. This was not the -only time she had been lost in an Opera House. The Paris Opera had once -held her a prisoner. - -"Yes, yes. The way out!" She took the lead. "I think I see a light, a -tiny red light." - -For a second she hesitated. What was this light? Was it held in the hand -of the unwelcome stranger? Was it an "Exit" light? - -"It's the way out!" she exulted. A quick turn, a sharp cry and she went -crashing forward. Some object had lain in her path. She had stumbled upon -it in the dark. - -What was it? This did not matter. All that mattered were Rosemary and the -way out. - -Where was Rosemary? Leaping to her feet, she glanced wildly about. A move -from behind demoralized her. One more wild dash and she was beneath that -red light. Before her was a door. And at that door, pressing the knob, -was Rosemary. - -Next instant they had crowded through that door. - -But where were they? Narrow walls hemmed them in on every side. - -"It's a trap!" Rosemary moaned. - -Not so Jeanne. She pressed a button. They were in a French elevator. They -went up. - -Up, up they glided. The light of a door came, then faded, then another -and yet another. - -In consternation lest they crash at the top, Jeanne pressed a second -button. They came to a sudden halt. A light shone above them. A second, -slower upward glide and they were before still another door. The door -swung open. Still filled with wild panic, they rushed into a room where -all was dark, and lost themselves in a perfect labyrinth where costumes -by hundreds hung in rows. - -Crowded together, shoulder to shoulder, with scarcely room to breathe, -they stood there panting, waiting, listening. - -Slowly their blood cooled. No sound came to their waiting ears. Still -Jeanne felt Rosemary's heart beating wildly. - -"To her I am a knight," she thought. "I am Pierre." - -Then a thought struck her all of a heap. "Perhaps I am not Pierre to her. -She may suspect. Yes, she may know!" A cold chill gripped her heart. "If -she finds out, what an impostor she will believe me to be! - -"And yet," she thought more calmly, "I have meant no wrong. I only wanted -to be near the opera, to be ready for any great good fortune that might -befall me. - -"Besides, how could she know? Who would tell her? The lady in black? But -how could she know? No! No! My secret is safe. - -"Come!" she whispered a moment later, "I think we have escaped from those -most terrible eyes." - -Creeping out, they made their way along a corridor that welcomed them -with ever-increasing brightness until they stood before a passenger -elevator. A moment later they stood in the clear bright light of late -autumn afternoon. - -Throwing back her chest, the little French girl, who for a moment was -Pierre, drank in three deep breaths, then uttered a long-drawn: - -"Wh-e-w!" - -"This," said Rosemary, extending her hand as she might had she been -leaving a party, "has been delightful. So perfectly wonderful. Let's do -it again sometime. - -"One more thing!" She whispered this. "They have never found my pearls. -But it really does not matter, at least not very much. What are pearls -among friends?" - -Before Petite Jeanne could recover from her surprise she was gone. - -"I suppose," she sighed as she turned to go on her way, "that some people -have many terrible adventures and want none, and some have none but want -many. What a crazy, upside-down world this is, after all." - -She was well on her way home when a question, coming into her mind with -the force of a blow, left her stunned. - -"Why did Rosemary say: 'The pearls have not been found. It does not -matter?' - -"Does she believe I took the pearls?" she asked herself, when she had -partially recovered her poise. "And was she telling me I might keep them? - -"How absurd! And yet, what did she mean? - -"And, after all, how could she help believing that I took them? I ran -away. There has been no explanation. Unless--unless she knows that I am -Petite Jeanne and not Pierre! And how could she know?" - -That night as, once more playing the role of Pierre, she entered the -boxes, she found Jaeger, the detective, in his place. And, lurking deep -in the shadows was the lady in black. She shuddered anew. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - FLORENCE SOLVES A MYSTERY - - -That night, by the light of a fickle moon that ever and anon hid himself -behind a cloud, Florence made her way alone to the shores of that curious -island of "made land" on the lake front. She had determined to delve more -deeply into the mysteries of this island. On this night she was destined -to make an astonishing discovery. - -It was not a promising place to wander, this island. There, when the moon -hid his face, darkness reigned supreme. - -Yet, even at such times as these, she was not afraid. Strong as a man, -endowed with more than the average man's courage, she dared many things. -There were problems regarding that island which needed solving. She meant -to solve them. Besides, the place was gloriously peaceful, and Florence -loved peace. - -She did not, however, love peace alone. She yearned for all manner of -excitement. Most of all she was enchanted by sudden contrast. One moment: -silence, the moon, the stars, placid waters, peace; the next: a sound of -alarm, darkness, the onrush of adventure and unsolved mystery. This, for -Florence, was abundance of life. - -She had come to the island to find peace. But she would also probe into a -mystery. - -As she neared the southern end of the island where stood the jungle of -young cottonwood trees, she paused to look away at the ragged shore line. -There, hanging above the rough boulders, was Snowball's fishing derrick. -Like a slim, black arm, as if to direct the girl's search out to sea, it -pointed away toward black waters. - -"No! No!" Florence laughed low. "Not there. The mystery lies deep in the -heart of this young forest." - -Straight down the path she strode to find herself standing at last before -that challenging door of massive oak. - -"Ah!" she breathed. "At home. They can't deny it." Light was streaming -through the great round eyes above her. - -Her heart skipped a beat as she lifted a hand to rap on that door. What -sort of people were these, anyway? What was she letting herself in for? - -She had not long to wait. The door flew open. A flood of white light was -released. And in that light Florence stood, open-mouthed, speechless, -staring. - -"Wa-all," came in a not unfriendly voice, "what is it y' want?" - -"Aunt--Aunt Bobby!" Florence managed to stammer. - -"Yes, that's me. And who may you be? Step inside. Let me have a look. - -"Florence! My own hearty Florence!" The aged woman threw two stout arms -about the girl's waist. "And to think of you findin' me here!" - -For a moment the air was filled with exclamations and ejaculations. After -that, explanations were in order. - -If you have read _The Thirteenth Ring_, you will remember well enough -that Aunt Bobby was a ship's cook who had cooked her way up and down one -of the Great Lakes a thousand times or more, and that on one memorable -journey she had acted as a fairy godmother to one of Florence's pals. -Florence had never forgotten her, though their journeys had carried them -to different ports. - -"But, Aunt Bobby," she exclaimed at last, "what can you be doing here? -And how did such a strange home as this come into being?" - -"It's all on account of her." Aunt Bobby nodded toward a slim girl who, -garbed in blue overalls, sat beside the box-like stove. "She's my -grandchild. Grew up on the ship, she did, amongst sailors. Tie a knot and -cast off a line with the best of them, she can, and skin up a mast better -than most. - -"But the captain would have it she must have book learnin'. So here we -are, all high and dry on land. And her a-goin' off to school every -mornin'. But when school is over, you should see her--into every sort of -thing. - -"Ah, yes," she sighed, "she's a problem, is Meg!" - -Meg, who might have been nearing sixteen, smiled, crossed her legs like a -man, and then put on a perfect imitation of a sailor contemptuously -smoking a cob pipe--only there was no pipe. - -"This place, do you ask?" Aunt Bobby went on. "Meg calls it the -cathedral, she does, on account of the pillars. - -"Them pillars was lamp-posts once, broken lamp-posts from the boulevard. -Dumped out here, they was. The captain and his men put up the cathedral -for us, where we could look at the water when we liked. Part of it is -from an old ship that sank in the river and was raised up, and part, like -the pillars, comes from the rubbish heap. - -"I do say, though, they made a neat job of it. Meg'll show you her -stateroom after a bit. - -"But now, Meg, get down the cups. Coffee's on the stove as it always was -in the galleys." - -Florence smiled. She was liking this. Here she was finding contrast. She -thought of the richly appointed Opera House where at this moment Jeanne -haunted the boxes; then she glanced about her and smiled again. - -She recalled the irrepressible Meg as she had seen her, a bronze statue -against the sky, and resolved to know more of her. - -As they sat dreaming over their coffee cups, Aunt Bobby began to speak of -the romance of other days and to dispense with unstinting hand rich -portions from her philosophy. - -"Forty years I lived on ships, child." She sighed deeply. "Forty years! -I've sailed on big ones and small ones, wind-jammers and steamers. Some -mighty fine ones and some not so fine. Mostly I signed on freighters -because I loved them best of all. They haul and carry. - -"They're sort of human, ships are." She cupped her chin in her hands to -stare dreamily at the fire. "Sort of like folks, ships are. Some are slim -and pretty and not much use except just to play around when the water's -sparklin' and the sun shines bright. That's true of folks and ships -alike. And I guess it's right enough. We all like pretty things. - -"But the slow old freighter, smelling of bilge and tar, she's good enough -for me. She's like the most of us common workers, carrying things, doing -the things that need to be done, moving straight on through sunshine and -storm until the task is completed and the work is done. - -"Yes, child, I've sailed for forty years. I've watched the moon paint a -path of gold over waters blacker than the night. I've heard the ice -screaming as it ground against our keel, and I've tossed all night in a -storm that promised every minute to send us to the bottom. Forty years, -child, forty years!" The aged woman's voice rose high and clear like the -mellow toll of a bell at midnight. "Forty years I've felt the pitch and -toss, the swell and roll beneath me. And now this!" She spread her arms -wide. - -"The ground beneath my feet, a roof over my head. - -"But not for long, child. Not for long. A few months now, and a million -pairs of feet will tramp past the spot where you now stand. What will -these people see? Not the cathedral, as Meg will call it, nothing half as -grand. - -"And we, Meg and me, we'll move on. Fate will point his finger and we'll -move. - -"Ah, well, that's life for most of us. Sooner or later Fate points and we -move. He's a traffic cop, is Fate. We come to a pause. He blows his -whistle, he waves his arm. We move or he moves us. - -"And, after all," she heaved a deep sigh that was more than half filled -with contentment, "who'd object to that? Who wants to sit and grow roots -like stupid little cottonwood trees?" - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - THE BLACK PACKET - - -"Meg, show Florence your stateroom." Aunt Bobby rose after her soliloquy. -"Mine's more plain-like," she apologized. "The men set a heap of store on -Meg, so they took what was the stateroom of the captain in the balmy days -of that old ship and set it up for Meg, right here on the island. - -"It's all there, walls and cabinet all done in mahogany and gold, wide -berth, and everything grand." - -"It's not like sleeping on the water with a good hull beneath you." Meg's -tone was almost sullen. "Just you wait! I'm going back!" - -Once inside her stateroom her mood changed. It became evident at once -that she was truly proud of this small room with its costly decorations -that had come down from the past. Two great lanterns made of beaten -bronze hung one at the head and one at the foot of her berth. - -"It's wonderful!" Florence was truly impressed. "But this island, it is a -lonely spot. There must be prowlers about." - -"Oh, yes. All the time. Some good ones, some bad." - -"But are you not afraid?" - -"Afraid? No. I laugh at them. Why not? - -"And besides. Look!" Her slender finger touched a secret button. A -cabinet door flew open, revealing two revolvers. Their long blue barrels -shone wickedly in the light. - -"But you couldn't fire them." - -"Oh, couldn't I? Come over some day just before dark, when the waves are -making a lot of noise. I'll show you. - -"You see," she explained, "I must be careful. If the police heard, they'd -come and take them from me. - -"But on board ship!" Her eyes danced. "I could out-shoot them all. You -know how long a freighter is?" - -"Yes." - -"We used that for a shooting range. I could out-shoot all the men. It was -grand! If we missed the target, the bullet went plump into the sea! And -that was all. - -"No," she said thoughtfully as she dropped into a chair, "I'm not afraid. -There was one man, though, who had me almost scared. His face was so -dark! He had such ugly eyes!" - -"Dark face, ugly eyes!" Florence recalled Jeanne's description of the man -who had hounded her footsteps. - -"But I fooled him!" Meg chuckled. "I fooled him twice. And I laughed in -his face, too." - -Rising, she pressed a second button in the wall to reveal still another -secret compartment. "See that!" She pointed to a black packet. "That was -his. It's mine now. - -"I wonder why he put it where he did?" she mused. - -"Where?" - -"In Snowball's net." - -"What?" - -"That's just what he did. I was sitting alone among the rocks at night. -He came out, acting mysterious. He poured two buckets of water on -Snowball's windlass so it wouldn't creak and then he threw this package -into the net and lowered away. - -"It is heavy. Went right to the bottom. I slipped into the water and went -after it. Got it, too. See! There it is! - -"And do you know," her voice fell to an excited whisper, "that's to be my -birthday present to myself. It's to be my surprise." - -"Surprise! Haven't you unwrapped it?" - -"No. Why should I? That would spoil my fun." - -Florence looked at this slim girl in overalls, and smiled. "You surely -are an unusual child!" - -"He came back next day." Meg ignored this last. "He made Snowball dive -down and look for his package. He didn't find it. The man was angry. His -face got blacker than ever, and how his eyes snapped! An ugly red scar -showed on his chin. Then I laughed, and he chased me. - -"I dropped into the water and came up where there is a hole like a sea -grotto. I watched him until he went away. He never came back. So now this -is mine!" Pride of ownership was in her voice. - -"But ought you not to open the package? It may have been stolen. It may -contain valuables, watches, diamonds, pearls." Florence was thinking of -the lost necklace. - -"Ought!" Meg's face was twisted into a contemptuous frown. "Ought! That's -a landlubber's word. You never hear it on a ship. Many things _must_ be -done--hatch battened down, boilers stoked, bells rung. Lots of things -_must_ be done. But nothing merely _ought_ to be done. No! No! I want to -save it for my birthday. And I shall!" - -At that she snapped the cabinet door shut, then led the way out of her -stateroom. - -Ten minutes later Florence was on the dark winding path on her way home. - -"What an unusual child!" she thought. And again, "I wonder who that man -could be? What does that packet contain?" - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - THE BEARDED STRANGER - - -Though that which happened to Jeanne on this very night could scarcely be -called an adventure, it did serve to relieve the feeling of depression -which had settled upon her like a cloud after that dramatic but quite -terrible moment when the irate director had driven her from the stage. It -did more than this; it gave her a deeper understanding of that mystery of -mysteries men call life. - -Between acts she stood contemplating her carefully creased trousers and -the tips of her shiny, patent leather shoes. Suddenly she became -conscious that someone was near, someone interested in her. A sort of -sixth sense, a gypsy sense, told her that eyes were upon her. - -As her own eyes swept about a wide circle, they took in the bearded man -with large, luminous eyes. He was standing quite near. With sudden -impulse, she sprang toward him. - -"Please tell me." Her voice was eager. "Why did you say all this was 'a -form of life'?" - -"That question," the man spoke slowly, "can best be answered by seeing -something other than this. Would you care to go a little way with me?" - -Jeanne gave him a quick look. She was a person of experience, this little -French girl. "He can be trusted," her heart assured her. - -"But I am working." Her spirits dropped. - -"There are extra ushers." - -"Yes--yes." - -"I will have one called." - -"This man has influence here," Jeanne thought a moment later, as, side by -side, they left the building. "Who can he be?" Her interest increased -tenfold. - -"We will go this way." - -They turned west, went over the bridge, crossed the street to the south, -then turned west again. - -"Oh, but this--this is rather terrible!" Jeanne protested. Scarcely five -minutes had passed. They had left the glitter and glory of jewels, rich -silks and costly furs behind. Now they were passing through throngs of -men. Roughly clad men they were, many in rags. Their faces were rough and -seamed, their hands knotted and blue with cold. Jeanne drew her long coat -tightly about her. - -"No one will harm you." Her strange companion took her arm. - -The street setting was as drab as were those who wandered there: cheap -movies displaying gaudy posters, cheaper restaurants where one might -purchase a plate of beans and a cup of coffee for a dime. The wind was -rising. Picking up scraps of paper and bits of straw, it sent them in an -eddy, whirling them round and round. Like dead souls in some lost world, -these bits appeared to find no place to rest. - -"See!" said her companion. "They are like the men who wander here; they -have no resting place." - -Jeanne shuddered. - -But suddenly her attention was arrested by a falling object that was -neither paper nor straw, but a pigeon. - -One glance assured her that this was a young bird, fully grown and -feathered, who had not yet learned to fly. He fluttered hopelessly on the -sidewalk. - -"A beautiful bird," was her thought. "Such lovely plumage!" - -A passer-by with an ugly, twisted face leered up at her as he said: - -"There's something to eat." - -"Some--" - -Jeanne did not finish. To her utter astonishment she saw that a very -short man in a long greasy coat had captured the pigeon, tucked it under -his coat and was making off. - -"He--he won't eat it?" she gasped. - -"Come. We will follow." Her companion hurried her along. - -The short man, with the bird still under his arm, had turned south into a -dark and deserted street. Jeanne shuddered and wished to turn back. Then -she thought of the pigeon. "He is beautiful even now," she whispered. -"What must he be when he gets his second plumage? How proudly he will -strut upon the roof-tops. - -"Tell me truly," she said to her companion, "he would not eat him?" - -There came no answer. - -Having traveled two blocks south, they crossed the street to find -themselves facing a vacant lot. There, amid piles of broken bricks and -rusty heaps of sheet-iron, many camp fires burned. Moving about from fire -to fire, or sitting huddled about them, were men. These were more ragged -and forlorn, if that were possible, than those she had seen upon the -street. - -Then, with the force of a bullet, truth entered the very heart of her -being. These men were derelicts. These piles of broken bricks and rusting -iron were their homes; these camp fires their kitchens. Soon the young -pigeon would be simmering in a great tin can filled with water. - -"Wait!" she cried, leaping forward and seizing the short man by the arm. -"Don't--don't cook him! I will pay you for him. Here! Here is a dollar. -Is that enough? If not, I have another." - -Blinking back at her in surprise, taking in her long coat, her jaunty -cap, the man stared at her in silence. Then, as the bearded man hurried -up, he blinked at him in turn. - -"I didn't mean to eat him," he protested. "Honest I didn't. But if you -want him--" he eyed the dollar bill eagerly "--if you want him, here he -is." - -Thrusting the pigeon into Jeanne's hands, he seized the bill and -muttered: - -"A dollar--a dollar, a whole cartwheel, one big iron man! I didn't know -there was one left in the world!" He seemed about to shed tears. - -As he turned his face up to Jeanne's she noticed that he had but one eye. - -"What's your name?" the bearded one asked. - -"Mostly they call me the one-eyed shrimp." - -Pocketing the money, he walked away. - -"This, too," said the bearded one solemnly, "is a form of life." - -"But why such cruel, cruel contrasts?" In her mind's eye Jeanne was -seeing jewels, silks and furs. There were tears in her voice. - -"To that question no answer has been found," the bearded man answered -solemnly. "The world is very old. It has always been so. Perhaps it is -necessary. It gives contrast. Lights and shadows. We must have them or -nothing could be seen. - -"I am a sculptor, a very poor one, but one nevertheless. Perhaps you may -visit my studio. There you will find things I have done in lovely white -marble, yet the beauty of the marble can only be brought out by shadows. - -"Come! You are cold." He turned Jeanne about. "We will go back to the -Opera House. Always we must be going back." - -Strange as it may seem, Jeanne did not wish to return. That magnificent -palace of art and song had suddenly become abhorrent to her. - -"The contrasts," she murmured, "they are too great!" - -"Yes. There you have discovered a great truth. Come to my studio some -day. I will show you more." The bearded one pressed a card into her hand. -Without looking at it, she thrust it deep into her trousers pocket. - -In silence they returned to the Opera House. Once inside, Jeanne -experienced a miracle. The dark, cold, bitter world outside had vanished. -In her mind, for the moment, not a trace of it remained. For her, now, -there was only light and life, melody, color--romance in fact, and opera -at its best. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - AN EXCITING MESSAGE - - -Petite Jeanne was a sun-worshipper and a fire-worshipper of the best -sort. She worshipped the One Who created fire and Who sends us light to -dispel the gloom of night. The day following her unusual experiences in -the lower regions of the Opera House found her curled up in a big chair. -The chair stood before a large window of their living room. Here she was -completely flooded with light. On bright days, for a space of two hours, -the sunlight always succeeded in finding its way through the labyrinth of -chimneys and skyscrapers, to fall like a benediction upon this -blonde-haired girl. And Jeanne rejoiced in it as a kitten does the warm -spot before the hearth. - -"It's God looking down upon His world," she murmured now. - -"Jeanne," Florence stood in the door of her room, "did that man, the -dark-faced one with the evil eye, did he have a scar on his chin?" - -"Y-e-s. Let me see." She closed her eyes to invite a picture. It came. -"Yes, now I see him as I did only yesterday. Yes, there was a scar." - -"You saw him yesterday?" - -Reluctantly Jeanne turned her face from the sunlight. "I'll tell you -about it. It was exciting, and--and a bit terrible. What can he want?" - -She told Florence about the previous day's adventure. "But why did you -ask about the scar?" It was her turn to ask questions. - -"I was out at the island last night. You'd never dream of the discovery I -made there. But then, you've never seen Aunt Bobby--probably not so much -as heard of her." - -Florence had described her experiences up to the time when Meg invited -her to inspect her stateroom, when the phone rang. - -"I'll answer it." Florence took down the receiver. - -"It's for you," she said, half a minute later. - -With a deep sigh Jeanne deserted her spot in the sun. - -For all that, her face was flushed with excitement when she put the -receiver down. - -"It's the little old lady of the cameo." - -In her excitement she found herself talking in a hoarse whisper. "She has -persuaded Hop Long Lee, the rich Chinaman, to let us see the magic -curtain. Better still, his people will stage a little play for us. They -will use the magic curtain." - -"When?" - -"Next Friday, at midnight." - -"Midnight? What an hour!" - -"Night is best. And what other hour could one be sure of? There is -Marjory Dean. She must see it. And we must find Angelo." - -"Angelo? Have you seen him?" - -"Not for months. He went to New York to make his fortune." - -Angelo, as you will recall, was the youthful dreamer who had created a -fascinating light opera role for Jeanne. - -"But only two days ago," Jeanne went on, "I heard that he had been seen -here in the city." - -"Here? Why does he not give us a ring?" - -"Who knows?" Jeanne shrugged. "For all that, I will find him. He must -come. - -"And to think!" She did a wild fling across the room. "We are to see the -magic curtain. We will weave an opera about it. The opera shall be played -on that so grand stage." - -"By whom?" - -Jeanne did not hesitate. "By Marjory Dean! She will have the leading -role. I shall insist. And why not? Would she not do so much for me? -Truly. And more, much more! - -"As for me!" Again she settled herself in the spot of sunlight. "My time -will come." - -She might have added, "Sooner than you could dream of." She did not. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - DREAMING - - -Angelo must be found. It was he who had written the successful light -opera, _The Gypsy God of Fire_. No other could write as he--or so Jeanne -thought. Yes, he must be found, and that without delay. Friday midnight -would be here before anyone could dream three dreams. - -And where was one to look for him save in his old haunts? "His garret -studio and at night," Jeanne said to Florence, next morning. "To-morrow -we will go." - -"But to-morrow I cannot go. My work keeps me out late." - -"Ah, well, then I shall go alone." - -"Are you not afraid to be on the streets at night?" - -"As Pierre I am afraid. But I shall be Petite Jeanne. As Jeanne I shall -be safe enough." - -Knowing the futility of an argument with this strange child of France, -Florence smiled and went on her way. - -That is how it came about that Jeanne found herself at a late hour -climbing the stairway that led to the garret studio that once had -witnessed so much lightness and gaiety. - -She had expected to find changes. Times were hard. It had come to her, in -indirect ways, that her good friend had met with little success in New -York. But she was scarcely prepared for that which met her gaze as the -door was thrown open by Angelo himself. - -Advancing into the center of the room, she found bare floors where there -had been bright, rich, Oriental rugs. The unique stage, with all its -settings of blue, green, red and gold, was bare. - -"Yes," Angelo spoke slowly, meditatively, as if answering her mood, "they -took my things, one at a time. Fair enough, too. I owed money. I could -not pay. The piano went first, my old, old friend. A battered friend it -was, but its tones were true. - -"And what grand times we had around that piano! Remember?" - -"I remember." Jeanne's tone was low. - -"But don't be sad about it." Angelo was actually smiling. "They took the -piano, the rugs, the desk where I composed your light opera. - -"Ah, yes; but after all, these are but the symbols of life. They are not -life itself. They could not carry away the memory of those days, those -good brave days when we were sometimes rich and sometimes very, very -poor. The memories of those days will be with us forever. And of such -memories as these life, the best of life, is made." - -After some brief, commonplace remarks, came a moment of silence. - -"If you'll excuse me," Swen, Angelo's friend, said, "I will go out to -search for a bit of cheer." - -"Yes, yes. He will bring us cheer. Then he will sing us a song." Jeanne -made a brave attempt at being merry. - -When Swen was gone, Angelo motioned her to a place before the fire. - -"We will not despair. 'Hope springs eternal in the human breast.' The -beautiful spring-time of life will bloom again. - -"And see," he exclaimed, enthusiastic as a boy, "we still have the -fireplace! They could not take that. And there is always wood to be had. -I found this on the beach. It was washed up high in the storm at a spot -where children romp all summer long. Driftwood. Some from a broken ship -and some from who knows where? - -"See how it burns. The flame! The flame!" He was all but chanting now. -"What colors there are! Can you see them? There is red and orange, pink, -purple, blue. All like a miniature magic curtain." - -"Yes, like a magic curtain," Jeanne murmured. - -Then suddenly she awoke from the entrancing spell this remarkable youth -had woven. - -"Ah, yes, but those brave days will return for you!" she cried, springing -to her feet and leaping away in a wild dance. "The magic curtain, it will -bring them back to you!" - -His fine eyes shone as he rose to admire the grace of her rhythmic dance. -"Now you are dreaming." - -"Dreaming?" She stopped dead still. "Perhaps. But my dreams will come -true. Allow me to congratulate you. You are about to become famous. You -will write a grand opera." - -"Ah! The gypsy fortune teller speaks." He still smiled. Nevertheless he -held her hand in a warm clasp. - -"Yes," she agreed, "I am a gypsy, a fortune teller. Well, perhaps. But, -for all that, I only speak of things I have seen. Listen, my good -friend!" Her tone was impressive. "I have seen that which will form the -background for an Oriental opera. Not a long opera, one act perhaps; but -an opera, vivid and living, all the same. And you, my friend, shall write -it." - -"You talk in riddles." He drew her to a seat beside him. "Explain, my -beautiful gypsy." - -"This much I shall tell you, not more. I have seen a magic curtain that -burns but is not consumed. Friday at midnight you shall see it for -yourself. And about it you shall weave a story more fantastic than any -you have yet dreamed." - -"And you shall be the leading lady!" He had caught the spirit of the -hour. "That shall be glory. Glory for me." - -"Ah, no, my friend." Petite Jeanne's head drooped a little. "I am not -known to grand opera. But you shall have a leading lady, such a grand -lady! Marjory Dean! What do you say to that?" - -"You are right." Angelo's tone was solemn. "She is very grand, marvelous -indeed. But, after all, we work best, we write best, we do all things -best for those who love us a little." - -"Ah, you would say that!" Jeanne seized him by the shoulder and gave him -a gentle shake. - -"But see!" she cried when she had regained her composure. "Marjory Dean, -too, is to see the magic curtain. To-morrow at midnight, you shall see -her. And then I am sure she will love you more than a little. Then all -will be more than well. - -"And now see! Here is Swen. He is bringing hot coffee and sweet rolls -stuffed, I am sure, with pineapple and fresh cocoanut. On with the -feast!" - -Angelo produced two ancient plates and three large cups devoid of -handles. They settled themselves comfortably before the hearth to enjoy -such a communion of good spirits as had never been granted them in those -balmy days when purses were lined with gold. - -"What is poverty when one has friends?" Angelo demanded joyously, as at -last he assisted Jeanne to her feet. - -"What, indeed?" Jeanne agreed heartily. - -"Friday at midnight," Angelo said solemnly, as a moment later Jeanne -stood at the doorway. - -"As the clock strikes the hour," she breathed. Then she was gone. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - FLORENCE CRASHES IN - - -At that moment Florence was involved in an affair which threatened to -bring her brief career to a tragic end. - -It had begun innocently enough. The back of a man's head, seen in a -crowd, had interested her. She had made a study of men's heads. "There's -as much character to be read in the back of one's head as in one's face," -a psychologist had said to her. Doubting his statement, she had taken up -this study to disprove his theory. She had ended by believing. For truly -one may read in the carriage of the head stubbornness, indecision, mental -and physical weakness; yes, and a capacity for crime. - -It was this last, revealed in the neck of the man in the throng, that had -set her on his trail. - -She had not long to wait for confirmation. At a turn in the street the -man offered her a side view. At once she caught her breath. This man was -dark of visage. He had an ugly red scar on his chin. - -"Jeanne's shadow!" she whispered to herself. "And such a shadow!" She -shuddered at the very thought. - -For this young man was not unknown to her. Not ten days before, in a -crowded police court he had been pointed out to her as one of the most -dangerous of criminals. He was not, at this time, in custody. Just why he -was there she had not been told. Though suspected of many crimes, he had -been detected in none of them. - -"And it is he who has been dogging Jeanne's footsteps!" she muttered. "I -must warn her. - -"He, too, it was, who sank the package in Snowball's net. Meg's birthday -present." She smiled. Then she frowned. "I must warn her. It may be a -bomb. Stranger discoveries have been made." - -For a moment she considered another theory regarding the package. A -moment only--then all this was driven from her mind. Drama was in the -making, real drama from life. The evil-eyed one had paused before a -doorway. He had remained poised there for a moment like a bird of prey: -then the prey appeared, or so it seemed to Florence. - -A short, foreign-appearing man with a military bearing all but came to a -position of salute before the dark one of the evil eye. That one essayed -a smile which, to the girl, seemed the grin of a wolf. - -The short man appeared not to notice. He uttered a few words, waved his -hands excitedly, then turned as if expecting to be led away. - -"A Frenchman," Florence thought. "Who else would wave his arms so -wildly?" - -Then a thought struck her all of a heap. "This is Jeanne's little -Frenchman, the one who bears a message for her, who has come all the way -from France to deliver it." - -At once she became wildly excited. She had notions about that message. -Strangely fantastic notions they were; this she was obliged to admit. But -they very nearly drove her to committing a strange act. In a moment more -she would have dashed up to the little Frenchman. She would undoubtedly -have seized him by the arm and exclaimed: - -"You are looking for Petite Jeanne. Come! I will lead you to her!" - -This did not happen. There was a moment of indecision. Then, before her -very eyes, the dark one, after casting a suspicious glance her way, -bundled his prey into a waiting taxi and whisked him away. - -"Gone!" Consternation seized her. But, suddenly, her mind cleared. - -"What was that number?" She racked her brain. Tom Howe, the young -detective who had pointed out the dark-faced one, had given her the -street number believed to be his hangout. - -"One, three," she said aloud. "One, three, six, four, Burgoyne Place. -That was it! - -"Oh, taxi! Taxi!" She went dashing away after a vacant car. - -Having overtaken the cab, she gave the driver hasty instructions, and -then settled back against the cushions. - -Her head was in a whirl. What was it she planned to do? To follow a -dangerous criminal? Alone? To frustrate his plans single-handed? The -thing seemed tremendous, preposterous. - -"Probably not going to his haunt at all. May not be his haunt." - -Pressing her hands against her temples, she closed her eyes. For a space -of several moments she bumped along. - -Then she straightened up. The cab had ceased its bumping. They were -rolling along on smooth paving. This was not to be expected. - -"Driver! Driver!" she exclaimed, sliding the glass window to one side -with a bang. "Where are we?" - -"Kinzie and Carpen." - -"Oh, oh!" She could have wept. "You're going north. The address I gave -you is south." - -"It can't be, Miss." - -"It is!" - -"Then I'm wrong." - -"Of course! Turn about and go south to 2200. Then I'll tell you the way." - -Once again they glided and jolted along. In the end they pulled up before -a stone building. A two-story structure that might once have been a -mansion, it stood between two towering warehouses. - -"That's the place. There's the number." - -She hesitated. Should she ask the driver to remain? "No, they'll see him -and make a run for it." She had thought of a better way. She paid him and -as if frightened by his surroundings he sped away. - -"Not a moment to lose!" she whispered. Some sixth sense seemed to tell -her that this was the place--that the dark one and his victim were -inside. - -Speeding to a corner where a boy cried his papers, she thrust half a -dollar into his hand, and whispered a command: - -"Bring a policeman to that house!" She poked a thumb over her shoulder. - -"You'll need three of 'em!" the boy muttered, as he hurried away. She did -not hear. She was speeding back. - -"Now!" she breathed, squaring her shoulders. - -Up the stone steps, a thrust at the doorbell. Ten seconds. No answer. A -vigorous thump. A kick. Still no response. - -Examining the door, she found it to be a double one. - -"Rusty catches. Easy! - -"But then?" - -She did not stand on ceremony. Stepping back a pace, she threw her sturdy -form against the door. It gave way, letting her into a hallway. To the -right of the hallway was a door. - -A man was in the act of springing at her when someone from behind -exclaimed: - -"Wait! It's a frail!" - -The words appeared to upset the other's plans, or at least to halt them -for a second. - -During that second the girl plunged head foremost. Striking him -amidships, she capsized him and took all the wind from his sail in one -and the same instant. - -She regained her balance just in time to see a long, blue gun being -leveled at her. It was in the hand of the evil-eyed one. - -Not for naught had she labored in the gymnasium. Before the gun flashed, -it went whirling through space, crashed a window and was gone. - -As for the evil-eyed one, he too vanished. At the same moment three -stolid policemen came stamping in. The newsboy had done yeoman duty. - -The offender who had been overturned by Florence was duly mopped up. The -evil-eyed one was sought in vain. Groaning in a corner was the short -Frenchman. - -His arms were bound behind him in a curious fashion; in fact they were so -bound by ropes and a stick that his arms might have been twisted from -their sockets, and this by a few simple turns of that stick. - -"Kidnappin' an' torture!" said one of the police, standing the captured -offender on his feet. "You'll get yours, Mike." - -"It was Blackie's idea," grumbled the man. - -"And where's Blackie?" - -The man shrugged. - -"Left you to hold the bag. That's him. Anyway, now we got it on him, -we'll mop him up! Blamed if we don't! Tim, untie that man." He nodded -toward the little Frenchman. - -"Now then," the police sergeant commanded, "tell us why you let 'em take -you in." - -"They--they told me they would take me to a person known as Petite -Jeanne." - -"Pet--Petite Jeanne!" Florence could have shouted for joy. "And have you -money for her, a great deal of money?" - -"No, Miss." The little man stared at her. - -Florence wilted. Her pet dream had proven only an illusion. "At any -rate," she managed to say after a time, "when the police are through with -you I'll take you to her lodgings. I am her friend and pal." - -The little man looked at her distrustfully. He had put his confidence in -two American citizens that day, and with dire results. - -"We'll see about that later." The police sergeant scowled. - -"I think--" His scowl had turned to a smile when, a few moments later, -after completing his investigation and interrogating Florence, he turned -to the Frenchman. "I think--at least it's my opinion--that you'll be safe -enough in this young lady's company. - -"If she'd go to the trouble of hirin' a taxi and followin' you, then -breakin' down a door and riskin' her life to rescue you from a bloody -pair of kidnappers and murderers, she's not goin' to take you far from -where you want to go." - -"I am overcome!" The Frenchman bowed low. "I shall accompany her with the -greatest assurance." - -So, side by side, the curious little Frenchman and the girl marched away. - -"But, Mademoiselle!" The Frenchman seemed dazed. "Why all this late -unpleasantness?" - -"Those two!" Florence threw out her arms. "They'd have tortured you to -death. They thought, as I did, that you were in possession of money, a -great deal of money." - -"In France," the man exclaimed in evident disgust, "we execute such men!" - -"In America," Florence replied quietly, "we mostly don't. And what a -pity! - -"The elevated is only three blocks away." She took up a brisk stride. -"We'll take it. I hate taxis. Drivers never know where you want to go. -Outside the Loop, they're lost like babes in the wood." - -A taxi might indeed have lost both Florence and the polite little -Frenchman. Under Florence's plan only the Frenchman was lost. And this, -to her, was just as bad, for she _did_ want Petite Jeanne to meet this -man and receive the message from him, even though the message was not to -be delivered in the form of bank notes. - -It was the little man's extreme politeness that proved his undoing. In -the Loop they were obliged to change trains. Florence had waited for the -right train, and then had invited him to go before her, when, with a lift -of his hat, he said, bowing: - -"After you, my dear Mademoiselle!" - -This was all well enough. But there were other Madams and Mademoiselles -boarding that train. - -Again and yet again the little man bowed low. When at last the gates -banged and the train rattled on its way, Florence found to her -consternation that she was alone. - -"We left him there bowing!" There was a certain humor in the situation. -But she was disappointed and alarmed. - -Speeding across the bridge at the next station, she boarded a second -train and went rattling back. Arrived at her former station, she found no -trace of the man. - -"He took another train. It's no use." Her shoulders drooped. "All that -and nothing for it." - -Her dejection lasted but for a moment. - -"To-morrow," she murmured. "It is not far away. And on the morrow there -is ever something new." - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - IT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT - - -Midnight. The lights of Chinatown were dim as four figures made their way -to a door marked: "For Members Only." - -Jeanne, the foremost of these figures, knew that door. She had entered it -before. Yet, as her hand touched the heavy handle, she was halted by a -sudden fear. Her face blanched. - -Close at her side Marjory Dean, artist and supreme interpreter of life as -she was, understood instantly. - -"Come, child. Don't be afraid. They are a simple people, these -Orientals." - -"Yes. Yes, I know." The girl took a tight grip on herself and pressed on -through the door. Marjory Dean, Angelo and Swen followed. - -At the top of the second stair they were halted by a dark shadow-like -figure. - -"What you want?" - -"Hop Long Lee." - -"You come." - -The man, whose footsteps made not the slightest sound, led the way. - -"Midnight," Jeanne whispered to herself. "Why did I say midnight?" It was -always so. Ever she was desiring mystery, enchantment at unheard-of -hours. Always, when the hour came she was ready to turn back. - -"The magic curtain." She started. A second dark figure was beside her. -"You wished to see?" - -"Y-yes." - -"You shall see. I am Hop Long Lee. - -"And these are your friends? Ah, yes! Come! You will see!" His hand -touched Jeanne's. She started back. It was cold, like marble. - -They followed in silence. They trod inch-thick rugs. There came no sound -save the tok-tok-tok of some great, slow clock off there somewhere in the -dark. - -"I am not afraid," Jeanne told herself. "I am not going to be afraid. I -have seen all this before." - -Yet, when she had descended the narrow, winding stairs, when a small, -Oriental rug was offered her in lieu of a chair, her limbs gave way -beneath her and she dropped, limp as a rag, to the comforting softness of -the rug. - -That which followed will remain painted on the walls of -never-to-be-forgotten memories. - -Figures, dark, creeping figures, appeared in this dimly lighted room. - -Once again the curtain, a red and glowing thing, crept across the stage. -She gripped Marjory Dean's hand hard. - -Some figures appeared before the curtain. Grotesque figures. They danced -as she had imagined only gnomes and elves might dance. A vast, -many-colored dragon crept from the darkness. With a mighty lashing of -tail, he swallowed the dancers, then disappeared into the darkness from -which he had come. - -"Oh!" Jeanne breathed. Even Marjory Dean, who had witnessed many forms of -magic, was staring straight ahead. - -A single figure appeared on the stage, one all in white. The figure wore -a long, flowing robe. The face was white. - -From somewhere strange music began to whisper. It was like wind sighing -in the trees, the trees in the graveyard at midnight. And this was -midnight. - -Next instant Jeanne leaped straight into the air. Someone had struck a -gong, an Oriental gong. - -Mortified beyond belief, she settled back in her place. - -And now the magic curtain, like some wall of fire, burned a fiercer red. -From the shadows the dragon thrust out his head once more. - -The white-faced figure ceased dancing. The wind in the trees sang on. The -figure, appearing to see the dragon, drew back in trembling fright. - -He approached the fiery curtain, yet his back was ever toward it. There -was yet a space between the two sections of the curtain. The figure, -darting toward this gap, was caught in the flames. - -"Oh!" Jeanne breathed. "He will die in flames!" - -Marjory Dean pressed her hand hard. - -Of a sudden the floor beneath the white figure opened and swallowed him -up. - -Jeanne looked for the dragon. It was gone. The fiery red of the curtain -was turning to an orange glow. - -"Come. You have seen." It was Hop Long Lee who spoke. Once again his -marble-cold hand touched Jeanne's hand. - -Ten minutes later the four figures were once more in the street. - -"Midnight in an Oriental garden," Angelo breathed. - -"That," breathed Marjory Dean, "is drama, Oriental drama. Give it a human -touch and it could be made supreme." - -"You--you think it could be made into a thing of beauty?" - -"Surely. Most certainly, my child. Nothing could be more unique." - -"Come," whispered Jeanne happily. "Come with me. The night is young. The -day is for sleep. Come. We will have coffee by my fire. Then we will -talk, talk of all this. We will create an opera in a night. Is it not -so?" - -And it was so. - -A weird bit of opera it was that they produced that night. Even the -atmosphere in which they worked was fantastic. Candle light, a flickering -fire that now and then leaped into sudden conflagration, mellow-toned -gongs provided by the little lady of the cameo; such were the elements -that added to the fantastic reality of the unreal. - -In this one-act drama the giant paper dragon remained. The flaming -curtain, the setting for some weird Buddhist ceremony, was to furnish the -motif. A flesh and blood person, whose part was to be played by Marjory -Dean, replaced the thing of white cloth and paper that had danced a weird -dance, and became entangled in the fiery curtain. Oriental mystery, the -deep hatred of some types of yellow men for the white race, these entered -into the story. - -In the plot the hero (Marjory Dean), a white boy, son of a rich trader, -caught by the lure of mystery, adventure and tales of the magic curtain, -volunteers to take the place of a rich Chinese youth who is to endure the -trial by fire. - -A very ugly old Chinaman, who holds the white boy in high regard, -learning of his plans and realizing his peril, prepares the trap-door in -the floor beneath the magic curtain. - -When the hour comes for the trial by fire, the white boy, being ignorant -of the secrets that will save him, appears doomed as the flames of the -curtain surround him, consuming the very mask from his face and leaving -him there, his identity revealed in stark reality. - -Then as the rich Chinaman, who has planned the trial, realizes the -catastrophe that must befall his people if the rich youth is burned to -death, prepares to cast himself into the flames, the floor opens to -swallow the boy up, and the curtain fades. - -There is not space here to tell of the motives of love, hate, pride and -patriotism that lay back of this bit of drama. Enough that when it was -done Marjory Dean pronounced it the most perfect bit of opera yet -produced in America. - -"And you will be our diva?" Jeanne was all eagerness. - -"I shall be proud to." - -"Then," Angelo's eyes shone, "then we are indeed rich once more." - -"Yes. Your beautiful rugs, your desk, your ancient friend the piano, they -shall all come back to you." In her joy Jeanne could have embraced him. -As it was she wrung his hand in parting, and thanked him over and over -for his part in this bit of work and adventure. - -"The music," she whispered to Swen, "you will do it?" - -"It is as well as done. The wind whispering in the graveyard pines at -midnight. This is done by reeds and strings. And there are the gongs, the -deep melodious gongs of China. What more could one ask?" - -What more, indeed? - -"And now," said Florence, after she had, some hours later, listened to -Jeanne's recital of that night's affairs, "now that it is all over, what -is there in it all for you?" - -"For me?" Jeanne spread her hands wide. "Nothing. Nothing at all." - -"Then why--?" - -"Only this," Jeanne interrupted her, "you said once that one found the -best joy in life by helping others. Well then," she laughed a little -laugh, "I have helped a little. - -"And you shall see, my time will come." - -Was she right? Does one sometimes serve himself best by serving others? -We shall see. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - A SURPRISE PARTY - - -Time marched on, as time has a way of doing. A week passed, another and -yet another. Each night of opera found Jeanne, still masquerading as -Pierre, at her post among the boxes. Never forgetting that a priceless -necklace had been stolen from those boxes and that she had run away, ever -conscious of the searching eyes of Jaeger and of the inscrutable shadow -that was the lady in black, Jeanne performed her tasks as one who walks -beneath a shadow that in a moment may be turned into impenetrable -darkness. - -For all this, she still thrilled to the color, the music, the drama, -which is Grand Opera. - -"Some day," she had a way of whispering to herself, "some happy day!" Yet -that day seemed indistinct and far away. - -The dark-faced menace to her happiness, he of the evil eye, appeared to -have vanished. Perhaps he was in jail. Who could tell? - -The little Frenchman with the message, too, had vanished. Why had he -never returned to ask Pierre, the usher in the boxes, the correct address -of Petite Jeanne? Beyond doubt he believed himself the victim of a -practical joke. "This boy Pierre knows nothing regarding the whereabouts -of that person named Petite Jeanne." Thus he must have reasoned. At any -rate the message was not delivered. If Jeanne had lost a relative by -death, if she had inherited a fortune or was wanted for some misdemeanor -committed in France, she remained blissfully ignorant of it all. - -Three times Rosemary Robinson had invited her to visit her at her home. -Three times, as Pierre, politely but firmly, she had refused. "This -affair," she told herself, "has gone far enough. Before our friendship -ripens or is blighted altogether, I must reveal to her my identity. And -that I am not yet willing to do. It might rob me of my place in this -great palace of art." - -Thanks to Marjory Dean, the little French girl's training in Grand Opera -proceeded day by day. Without assigning a definite reason for it, the -prima donna had insisted upon giving her hours of training each week in -the role of the juggler. - -More than this, she had all but compelled Jeanne to become her understudy -in the forthcoming one-act opera to be known as "The Magic Curtain." - -At an opportune moment Marjory Dean had introduced the manager of the -opera to all the fantastic witchery of this new opera. He had been taken -by it. - -At once he had agreed that when the "Juggler" was played, this new opera -should be presented to the public. - -So Jeanne lived in a world of dreams, dreams that she felt could never -come true. "But I am learning," she would whisper to herself, "learning -of art and life. What more could one ask?" - -Then came a curious invitation. She was to visit the studios of Fernando -Tiffin. The invitation came through Marjory Dean. Strangest of all, she -was to appear as Pierre. - -"Why Pierre?" she pondered. - -"Yes, why?" Florence echoed. "But, after all, such an invitation! -Fernando Tiffin is the greatest sculptor in America. Have you seen the -fountain by the Art Museum?" - -"Where the pigeons are always bathing?" - -"Yes." - -"It is beautiful." - -"He created that statue, and many others." - -"That reminds me," Jeanne sought out her dress suit and began searching -its pockets, "an artist, an interesting man with a beard, gave me his -card. He told me to visit his studio. He was going to tell me more about -lights and shadows." - -"Lights and shadows?" - -"Yes. How they are like life. But now I have lost his card." - - * * * * * * * * - -Florence returned to the island. There she sat long in the sunshine by -the rocky shore, talking with Aunt Bobby. She found the good lady greatly -perplexed. - -"They've served notice," Aunt Bobby sighed, "the park folks have. All -that is to come down." She waved an arm toward the cottonwood thicket and -the "Cathedral." "A big building is going up. Steam shovels are working -over on the west side now. Any day, now, we'll have to pack up, Meg and -me. - -"And where'll we go? Back to the ships, I suppose. I hate it for Meg. She -ought to have more schoolin'. But poor folks can't pick and choose." - -"There will be a way out," Florence consoled her. But would there? Who -could tell? - -She hunted up Meg and advised her to look into that mysterious package. -"It may be a bomb." - -"If it is, it won't go off by itself." - -"It may be a gun." - -"Don't need a gun. Got two of 'em. Good ones." - -"It may be stolen treasure." - -"Well, I didn't steal it!" Meg turned flashing eyes upon her. And there -for a time the matter ended. - - * * * * * * * * - -Jeanne attended the great sculptor's party. Since she had not been -invited to accompany Marjory Dean, she went alone. What did it matter? -Miss Dean was to be there. That was enough. - -She arrived at three o'clock in the afternoon. A servant answered the -bell. She was ushered at once into a vast place with a very high ceiling. -All about her were statues and plaster-of-paris reproductions of -masterpieces. - -Scarcely had she time to glance about her when she heard a voice, saw a -face and knew she had found an old friend--the artist who had spoken so -interestingly of life, he of the beard, was before her. - -"So this is where you work?" She was overjoyed. "And does the great -Fernando Tiffin do his work here, too?" - -"I am Fernando Tiffin." - -"Oh!" Jeanne swayed a little. - -"You see," the other smiled, putting out a hand to steady her, "I, too, -like to study life among those who do not know me; to masquerade a -little." - -"Masquerade!" Jeanne started. Did he, then, see through her own -pretenses? She flushed. - -"But no!" She fortified herself. "How could he know?" - -"You promised to tell me more about life." She hurried to change the -subject. - -"Ah, yes. How fine! There is yet time. - -"You see." He threw a switch. The place was flooded with light. "The -thing that stands before you, the 'Fairy and the Child,' it is called. It -is a reproduction of a great masterpiece: a perfect reproduction, yet in -this light it is nothing; a blare of white, that is all. - -"But see!" He touched one button, then another, and, behold, the statue -stood before them a thing of exquisite beauty! - -"You see?" he smiled. "Now there are shadows, perfect shadows, just -enough, and just enough light. - -"Life is like that. There must be shadows. Without shadows we could not -be conscious of light. But when the lights are too bright, the shadows -too deep, then all is wrong. - -"Your bright lights of life at the Opera House, the sable coats, the -silks and jewels, they are a form of life. But there the lights are too -strong. They blind the eyes, hide the true beauty that may be beneath it -all. - -"But out there on that vacant lot, in the cold and dark--you have not -forgotten?" - -"I shall never forget." Jeanne's voice was low. - -"There the shadows were too deep. It was like this." He touched still -another button. The beauty of the statue was once more lost, this time in -a maze of shadows too deep and strong. - -"You see." His voice was gentle. - -"I see." - -"But here are more guests arriving. You may not be aware of it, but this -is to be an afternoon of opera, not of art." - -Soon enough Jeanne was to know this, for, little as she had dreamed it, -hers on that occasion was to be the stellar role. - -It was Marjory Dean who had entered. With her was the entire cast of "The -Magic Curtain." - -"He has asked that we conduct a dress rehearsal here for the benefit of a -few choice friends," Miss Dean whispered in Jeanne's ear, as soon as she -could draw her aside. - -"A strange request, I'll grant you," she answered Jeanne's puzzled look. -"Not half so strange as this, however. He wishes you to take the stellar -role." - -"But, Miss Dean!" - -"It is his party. His word is law in many places. You will do your best -for me." She pressed Jeanne's hand hard. - -Jeanne did her best. And undoubtedly, despite the lack of a truly magic -curtain, despite the limitations of the improvised stage, the audience -was visibly impressed. - -At the end, as Jeanne sank from sight beneath the stage, the great -sculptor leaned over to whisper in Marjory Dean's ear: - -"She will do it!" - -"What did I tell you? To be sure she will!" - -The operatic portion of the program at an end, the guests were treated to -a brief lecture on the art of sculpture. Tea was served. The guests -departed. Through it all Jeanne walked about in a daze. "It is as if I -had been invited to my own wedding and did not so much as know I was -married," she said to Florence, later in the day. - -Florence smiled and made no reply. There was more to come, much more. -Florence believed that. But Jeanne had not so much as guessed. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI - FLORENCE MEETS THE LADY IN BLACK - - -The great hour came at last. "To-night," Jeanne had whispered, "'The -Magic Curtain' will unfold before thousands! Will it be a success?" - -The very thought that it might prove a failure turned her cold. The -happiness of her good friends, Angelo, Swen and Marjory Dean was at -stake. And to Jeanne the happiness of those she respected and loved was -more dear than her own. - -Night came quite suddenly on that eventful day. Great dark clouds, -sweeping in from the lake, drew the curtain of night. - -Jeanne found herself at her place among the boxes a full hour before the -time required. This was not of her own planning. There was a mystery -about this; a voice had called her on the telephone requesting her to -arrive early. - -"Now I am here," she murmured, "and the place is half dark. Who can have -requested it? What could have been the reason?" - -Still another mystery. Florence was with her. And she was to remain. A -place had been provided for her in the box usually occupied by Rosemary -Robinson and her family. - -"Of course," she had said to Florence, "they know that we had something -to do with the discovery of the magic curtain. It is, perhaps, because of -this that you are here." - -Florence had smiled, but had made no reply. - -At this hour the great auditorium was silent, deserted. Only from behind -the drawn stage curtain came a faint murmur, telling of last minute -preparations. - -"'The Magic Curtain.'" Jeanne whispered. The words still thrilled her. -"It will be witnessed to-night by thousands. What will be the verdict? -To-morrow Angelo and Swen, my friends of our 'Golden Circle,' will be -rich or very, very poor." - -"The Magic Curtain." Surely it had been given a generous amount of -publicity. Catching a note of the unusual, the mysterious, the uncanny in -this production, the reporters had made the most of it. An entire page of -the Sunday supplement had been devoted to it. A crude drawing of the -curtains, pictures of Hop Long Lee, of Angelo, Swen, Marjory Dean, and -even Jeanne were there. And with these a most lurid story purporting to -be the history of this curtain of fire as it had existed through the ages -in some little known Buddhist temple. The very names of those who, -wrapped in its consuming folds, had perished, were given in detail. -Jeanne had read, had shuddered, then had tried to laugh it off as a -reporter's tale. In this she did not quite succeed. For her the magic -curtain contained more than a suggestion of terror. - -She was thinking of all this when an attendant, hurrying up the orchestra -aisle, paused beneath her and called her name, the only name by which she -was known at the Opera House: - -"Pierre! Oh, Pierre!" - -"Here. Here I am." - -Without knowing why, she thrilled to her very finger tips. "Is it for -this that I am here?" she asked herself. - -"Hurry down!" came from below. "The director wishes to speak to you." - -"The director!" The blood froze in her veins. So this was the end! Her -masquerade had been discovered. She was to be thrown out of the Opera -House. - -"And on this night of all nights!" She was ready to weep. - -It was a very meek Pierre who at last stood before the great director. - -"Are you Pierre?" His tone was not harsh. She began to hope a little. - -"I am Pierre." - -"This man--" The director turned to one in the shadows. Jeanne caught her -breath. It was the great sculptor, Fernando Tiffin. - -"This man," the director repeated, after she had recovered from her -surprise, "tells me that you know the score of this new opera, 'The Magic -Curtain.'" - -"Y-yes. Yes, I do." What was this? Her heart throbbed painfully. - -"And that of the 'Juggler of Notre Dame.'" - -"I--I do." This time more boldly. - -"Surely this can be no crime," she told herself. - -"This has happened," the director spoke out abruptly, "Miss Dean is at -the Robinson home. She has fallen from a horse. She will not be able to -appear to-night. Fernando Tiffin tells me that you are prepared to assume -the leading role in these two short operas. I say it is quite impossible. -You are to be the judge." - -Staggered by this load that had been so suddenly cast upon her slender -shoulders, the little French girl seemed about to sink to the floor. -Fortunately at that instant her eyes caught the calm, reassuring gaze of -the great sculptor. "I have said you are able." She read this meaning -there. - -"Yes." Her shoulders were square now. "I am able." - -"Then," said the director, "you shall try." - -Ninety minutes later by the clock, she found herself waiting her cue, the -cue that was to bid her come dancing forth upon a great stage, the -greatest in the world. And looking down upon her, quick to applaud or to -blame, were the city's thousands. - -In the meantime, in her seat among the boxes, Florence had met with an -unusual experience. A mysterious figure had suddenly revealed herself as -one of Petite Jeanne's old friends. At the same time she had half -unfolded some month-old mysteries. - -Petite Jeanne had hardly disappeared through the door leading to the -stage when two whispered words came from behind Florence's back: - -"Remember me?" - -With a start, the girl turned about to find herself looking into the face -of a tall woman garbed in black. - -Reading uncertainty in her eyes, the woman whispered: "Cedar Point. -Gamblers' Island. Three rubies." - -"The 'lady cop'!" Florence sprang to her feet. She was looking at an old -friend. Many of her most thrilling adventures had been encountered in the -presence of this lady of the police. - -"So it was you!" she exclaimed in a low whisper. "You are Jeanne's lady -in black?" - -"I am the lady in black." - -"And she never recognized you?" - -"I arranged it so she would not. She never saw my face. I have been a -guardian of her trail on many an occasion. - -"And now!" Her figure grew tense, like that of a springing tiger. "Now I -am about to come to the end of a great mystery. You can help me. That is -why I arranged that you should be here." - -"I?" Florence showed her astonishment. - -"Sit down." - -The girl obeyed. - -"Some weeks ago a priceless necklace was stolen from this very box. You -recall that?" - -"How could I forget?" Florence sat up, all attention. - -"Of course. Petite Jeanne, she is your best friend. - -"She cast suspicion upon herself by deserting her post here; running -away. Had it not been for me, she would have gone to jail. I had seen -through her masquerade at once. 'This,' I said to myself, 'is Petite -Jeanne. She would not steal a dime.' I convinced others. They spared her. - -"Then," she paused for a space of seconds, "it was up to me to find the -pearls and the thief. I think I have accomplished this; at least I have -found the pearls. As I said, you can help me. You know the people living -on that curious man-made island?" - -"I--" Florence was thunderstruck. - -Aunt Bobby! Meg! How could they be implicated? All this she said to -herself and was fearful. - -Then, like a bolt from the blue came a picture of Meg's birthday package. - -"You know those people?" the "lady cop" insisted. - -"I--why, yes, I do." - -"You will go there with me after the opera?" - -"At night?" - -"There is need for haste. We will go in Robinson's big car. Jaeger will -go, and Rosemary. Perhaps Jeanne, too. You will be ready? That is all for -now. - -"Only this: I think Jeanne is to have the stellar role to-night." - -"Jeanne! The stellar role? How could that be?" - -"I think it has been arranged." - -"Arranged?" - -There came no answer. The lady in black was gone. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII - SPARKLING TREASURE - - -The strangest moment in the little French girl's career was that in -which, as the juggler, she tripped out upon the Opera House stage. More -than three thousand people had assembled in this great auditorium to see -and hear their favorite, the city's darling, Marjory Dean, perform in her -most famous role. She was not here. They would know this at once. What -would the answer be? - -The answer, after perfunctory applause, was a deep hush of silence. It -was as if the audience had said: "Marjory Dean is not here. Ah, well, let -us see what this child can do." - -Only her tireless work under Miss Dean's direction saved Jeanne from -utter collapse. Used as she was to the smiling faces and boisterous -applause of the good old light opera days, this silence seemed appalling. -As it was, she played her part with a perfection that was art, devoid of -buoyancy. This, at first. But as the act progressed she took a tight grip -on herself and throwing herself into the part, seemed to shout at the -dead audience: "You shall look! You shall hear! You must applaud!" - -For all this, when the curtain was run down upon the scene, the applause, -as before, lacked enthusiasm. She answered but one curtain call, then -crept away alone to clench her small hands hard in an endeavor to keep -back the tears and to pray as she had never prayed before, that Marjory -Dean might arrive prepared to play her part before the curtain went up on -the second act. - -But now a strange thing was happening. From one corner of the house there -came a low whisper and a murmur. It grew and grew; it spread and spread -until, like a fire sweeping the dead grass of the prairies, it had passed -to the darkest nook of the vast auditorium. - -Curiously enough, a name was on every lip; - -"Petite Jeanne!" - -Someone, a fan of other days, had penetrated the girl's mask and had seen -there the light opera favorite of a year before. A thousand people in -that audience had known and loved her in those good dead days that were -gone. - -When Jeanne, having waited and hoped in vain for the appearance of her -friend and benefactor, summoned all the courage she possessed, and once -more stepped upon the stage, she was greeted by such a round of applause -as she had never before experienced--not even in the good old days of -yesteryear. - -This vast audience had suddenly taken her to its heart. How had this come -about? Ah, well, what did it matter? They were hers, hers for one short -hour. She must make the most of this golden opportunity. - -That which followed, the completing of the "Juggler," the opening of "The -Magic Curtain," the complete triumph of this new American opera, will -always remain to Jeanne a beautiful dream. She walked and danced, she -sang and bowed as one in a dream. - -The great moment of all came when, after answering the fifth curtain call -with her name, "Petite Jeanne! Petite Jeanne!" echoing to the vaulted -ceiling, she left the stage to walk square into the arms of Marjory Dean. - -"Why, I thought--" She paused, too astounded for words. - -"You thought I had fallen from a horse. So I did--a leather horse with -iron legs. It was in a gymnasium. Rosemary pushed me off. Truly it did -not hurt at all." - -"A frame-up!" Jeanne stared. - -"Yes, a frame-up for a good cause. 'The Magic Curtain' was yours, not -mine. You discovered it. It was through your effort that this little -opera was perfected. It was yours, not mine. Your golden hour." - -"My golden hour!" the little French girl repeated dreamily. "But not ever -again. Not until I have sung and sung, and studied and studied shall I -appear again on such a stage!" - -"Child, you have the wisdom of the gods." - -"But the director!" Jeanne's mood changed. "Does he not hate you?" - -"Quite the contrary. He loves me. Why should he not? I have found him a -fresh little American opera and a future star. His vast audience has gone -away happy. What more could he ask?" - -What more, indeed? - -But what is this? Florence is at Jeanne's side. What is she saying? "They -think they have discovered the whereabouts of Rosemary's pearls. On the -island." Would she go with them? Most certainly, and at once. But alas, -she has no clothes save those of Pierre, the usher of the boxes. Ah, -well, they must do. She will be ready at once. Yes! Yes! At once! Right -away! - -They were all tumbling helter-skelter into the big town car, Jeanne, -Florence, Rosemary, Jaeger, the "lady cop" and even Marjory Dean, when a -dapper little man approached the car to ask for Petite Jeanne. - -"She is here," the "lady cop" informed him. Indeed she was, and wedged in -so tight it was difficult to move. - -"Ah! At last!" the little man sighed. "May I speak with her? It has been -my privilege to bear a message from France." - -"A message!" Jeanne thrilled to the tips of her toes. - -"I am afraid it is impossible." The "lady cop's" tone was business-like. -"It is late. Our errand is of the greatest importance." - -"So, too, is my message. If you will permit, I shall accompany you." -Looking in the crowded car, he opened the driver's door and, hearing no -objections, took his place beside the chauffeur. - -"And mystery still pursued her," Florence whispered to herself, as she -studied the back of the little Frenchman's head. - -Jeanne was crowded in between Rosemary and the "lady cop." As Rosemary's -arm stole about her, still conscious of her dress suit and her -masquerade, she moved uneasily. - -"It's all right, little French girl," Rosemary whispered. "I have known -all the time that you were Petite Jeanne and not Pierre. - -"All the same," she added, "I have enjoyed this little play at life quite -as much as you." - -With a little sigh of relief Jeanne sank back among the cushions. - -Down the boulevard they sped; across a rattling wooden bridge, then -across the wind-blown, sandy island. - -The car came to a stop at the entrance to the path that led to Aunt -Bobby's "Cathedral." - -"You would do well to let me go first," Florence said to Jaeger and the -"lady cop." "Meg, the girl, has two fine revolvers. She can use them and -will do so if she believes she is being attacked." - -Fortunately there was no trouble about securing an entrance. The strange -pair had not yet retired. At the sound of Florence's voice they threw -wide the door. At sight of her numerous company, however, they appeared -ready to slam it shut again. - -"Just a little lark." Florence reassured them. "We have come all the way -from the opera to a 'Cathedral.'" - -"Well, come in then." Aunt Bobby moved aside to let them pass. - -"You see," said Florence, when they had crowded into the small living -room, "this lady here," she nodded at the "lady cop," "has a curious -notion about that birthday package of yours, Meg. She believes it -contains a pearl necklace of great value." - -"But I--" Meg's face flushed. - -"A reward of a thousand dollars has been offered for its return," the -"lady cop" put in quickly. "If you have recovered it, that reward will be -your own. Think what that will mean." - -"But I have waited all this time!" Meg protested. "And to-morrow is my -birthday." - -Florence glanced hastily at her watch. She smiled. "Not to-morrow, but -to-day." She showed that it was fifteen minutes past twelve. - -With her last objection overruled, Meg produced the mysterious package. -At once a little circle of eager ones gathered about her. - -With trembling hands, she untied the cord. She had all but unrolled the -black wrapping when the package, slipping from her nerveless fingers, -fell to the floor. - -At once there came flashing back to them all manner of color: white, -pink, red and green. - -"Not pearls alone, but diamonds, rubies, sapphires!" the "lady cop" said, -in an awed tone. "What a treasure!" - -At the same time, with a little cry of joy, Rosemary bent over to seize -her string of pearls and clasp them about her neck. - -"A thousand dollars, Meg!" It was Aunt Bobby who spoke. "They said a -thousand. That will settle all our troubles for many a day." - -"And there will be more, much more." The "lady cop" began carefully -gathering up the scattered jewels. "All these were stolen. There will be -other rewards, and that which is never claimed may be sold." - -"That dark-faced one thought he had chosen a safe place to hide it!" Meg -laughed. - -"He was close pressed by the police," the "lady cop" explained. "It was -his one chance. And he lost; which was right enough." - -"And now," came in a polite tone from the corner, "if I may have a word -with Petite Jeanne?" It was the little Frenchman. "But where is she? I do -not see her." - -"Meg," said Jeanne imploringly, "have you a dress to loan me?" - -"Sure have!" - -They disappeared. - -Five minutes later Jeanne reappeared in a blue calico dress. - -"I am Petite Jeanne." She bowed low to the little Frenchman. - -"Ah, yes! So you are. Then it is my pleasure to announce that you are -sole heir to a great castle in France. It is known as '_Le Neuf -Chateau_.' But it is truly very old and carries with it a broad estate." - -"A castle!" Jeanne seemed undecided whether to shout or weep. "A great -castle for poor little me?" - -"Ah, my child," the Frenchman put in quickly, "it will not be -necessary--it is quite unnecessary for you to reside there. Indeed, at -this moment it is rented, for an unheard of rental, to a rich American -who fancies castles and is fond of following the hounds." - -"Then," exclaimed Jeanne, "I shall accept! I shall return to my beautiful -Paris. And there, forever and ever, I shall study for the opera. Is it -not so, Marjory Dean? - -"And you, all of you, shall come to Paris as my guests." - -"Yes, yes, on some bright summer's day," the great prima donna agreed. - -That night--or shall we say morning?--Petite Jeanne arranged "Pierre's" -carefully pressed dress suit upon a hanger and hung it deep in the -shadows of her closet. "Good-bye Pierre," she whispered. "You brought me -fear and sorrow, hope, romance, a better understanding of life, and, -after that, a brief moment of triumph. I wonder if it is to be farewell -forever or only adieu for to-day." - -And now, my reader, it is time to draw the magic curtain. And what of -that curtain? Up to this moment you know quite as much as I do. It was -used in but one performance of the opera that bears its name. It was then -withdrawn by its owner. Not, however, until a stage-property curtain, -produced with the aid of tiny copper wires, strips of asbestos and -colored ribbons, had been created to take its place. The secret of the -original magic curtain is still locked in the breast of its oriental -creator. - -The dark-faced one has not, so far as I know, been apprehended. Perhaps -he fled to another city and has there met his just fate. Why he haunted -the trail of the page of the opera, Pierre, is known to him alone, and -the doer of dark deeds seldom talks. - -And so the story ends. But what of the days that were to follow? Did that -little company indeed journey all the way to Paris? And did they find -mystery and great adventure in Jeanne's vast castle? Did Jeanne tire of -studying opera "forever and ever" and did she return to America? Or did -our old friend, Florence, forgetting her blonde companion of many -mysteries, go forth with others to seek adventure? If you wish these -questions answered you must read our next volume, which is to be known -as: _Hour of Enchantment_. - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - ---Obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment. Non-standard - spellings and dialect were left unchanged. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAGIC CURTAIN*** - - -******* This file should be named 42137.txt or 42137.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/1/3/42137 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -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. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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