by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XXXI FLORENCE MEETS THE LADY IN BLACK
The great hour came at last. "To-night," Jeanne had whispered, "'TheMagic Curtain' will unfold before thousands! Will it be a success?"
The very thought that it might prove a failure turned her cold. Thehappiness of her good friends, Angelo, Swen and Marjory Dean was atstake. And to Jeanne the happiness of those she respected and loved wasmore 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 thetime required. This was not of her own planning. There was a mysteryabout this; a voice had called her on the telephone requesting her toarrive early.
"Now I am here," she murmured, "and the place is half dark. Who can haverequested it? What could have been the reason?"
Still another mystery. Florence was with her. And she was to remain. Aplace had been provided for her in the box usually occupied by RosemaryRobinson and her family.
"Of course," she had said to Florence, "they know that we had somethingto do with the discovery of the magic curtain. It is, perhaps, because ofthis that you are here."
Florence had smiled, but had made no reply.
At this hour the great auditorium was silent, deserted. Only from behindthe drawn stage curtain came a faint murmur, telling of last minutepreparations.
"'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 berich or very, very poor."
"The Magic Curtain." Surely it had been given a generous amount ofpublicity. Catching a note of the unusual, the mysterious, the uncanny inthis production, the reporters had made the most of it. An entire page ofthe Sunday supplement had been devoted to it. A crude drawing of thecurtains, pictures of Hop Long Lee, of Angelo, Swen, Marjory Dean, andeven Jeanne were there. And with these a most lurid story purporting tobe the history of this curtain of fire as it had existed through the agesin 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 areporter's tale. In this she did not quite succeed. For her the magiccurtain contained more than a suggestion of terror.
She was thinking of all this when an attendant, hurrying up the orchestraaisle, paused beneath her and called her name, the only name by which shewas known at the Opera House:
"Pierre! Oh, Pierre!"
"Here. Here I am."
Without knowing why, she thrilled to her very finger tips. "Is it forthis 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! Hermasquerade had been discovered. She was to be thrown out of the OperaHouse.
"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 herbreath. It was the great sculptor, Fernando Tiffin.
"This man," the director repeated, after she had recovered from hersurprise, "tells me that you know the score of this new opera, 'The MagicCurtain.'"
"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 atthe Robinson home. She has fallen from a horse. She will not be able toappear to-night. Fernando Tiffin tells me that you are prepared to assumethe 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 slendershoulders, the little French girl seemed about to sink to the floor.Fortunately at that instant her eyes caught the calm, reassuring gaze ofthe great sculptor. "I have said you are able." She read this meaningthere.
"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, thecue that was to bid her come dancing forth upon a great stage, thegreatest in the world. And looking down upon her, quick to applaud or toblame, were the city's thousands.
In the meantime, in her seat among the boxes, Florence had met with anunusual experience. A mysterious figure had suddenly revealed herself asone of Petite Jeanne's old friends. At the same time she had halfunfolded some month-old mysteries.
Petite Jeanne had hardly disappeared through the door leading to thestage 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 faceof 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 oldfriend. Many of her most thrilling adventures had been encountered in thepresence of this lady of the police.
"So it was you!" she exclaimed in a low whisper. "You are Jeanne's ladyin 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 aguardian of her trail on many an occasion.
"And now!" Her figure grew tense, like that of a springing tiger. "Now Iam about to come to the end of a great mystery. You can help me. That iswhy 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. Yourecall 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; runningaway. Had it not been for me, she would have gone to jail. I had seenthrough her masquerade at once. 'This,' I said to myself, 'is PetiteJeanne. 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 thepearls and the thief. I think I have accomplished this; at least I havefound the pearls. As I said, you can help me. You know the people livingon that curious man-made island?"
"I--" Florence was thunderstruck.
Aunt Bobby! Meg! How could they be implicated? All this she said toherself 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 willgo, and Rosemary. Perhaps Jeanne, too. You will be ready? That is all fornow.
"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 inwhich, as the juggler, she tripped out upon the Opera House stage. Morethan three thousand people had assembled in this great auditorium to seeand hear their favorite, the city's darling, Marjory Dean, perform in hermo
st famous role. She was not here. They would know this at once. Whatwould the answer be?
The answer, after perfunctory applause, was a deep hush of silence. Itwas as if the audience had said: "Marjory Dean is not here. Ah, well, letus see what this child can do."
Only her tireless work under Miss Dean's direction saved Jeanne fromutter collapse. Used as she was to the smiling faces and boisterousapplause 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 ofbuoyancy. This, at first. But as the act progressed she took a tight gripon herself and throwing herself into the part, seemed to shout at thedead 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, thencrept away alone to clench her small hands hard in an endeavor to keepback the tears and to pray as she had never prayed before, that MarjoryDean might arrive prepared to play her part before the curtain went up onthe second act.
But now a strange thing was happening. From one corner of the house therecame a low whisper and a murmur. It grew and grew; it spread and spreaduntil, like a fire sweeping the dead grass of the prairies, it had passedto 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 seenthere the light opera favorite of a year before. A thousand people inthat audience had known and loved her in those good dead days that weregone.
When Jeanne, having waited and hoped in vain for the appearance of herfriend and benefactor, summoned all the courage she possessed, and oncemore stepped upon the stage, she was greeted by such a round of applauseas she had never before experienced--not even in the good old days ofyesteryear.
This vast audience had suddenly taken her to its heart. How had this comeabout? Ah, well, what did it matter? They were hers, hers for one shorthour. She must make the most of this golden opportunity.
That which followed, the completing of the "Juggler," the opening of "TheMagic Curtain," the complete triumph of this new American opera, willalways remain to Jeanne a beautiful dream. She walked and danced, shesang and bowed as one in a dream.
The great moment of all came when, after answering the fifth curtain callwith her name, "Petite Jeanne! Petite Jeanne!" echoing to the vaultedceiling, 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 withiron legs. It was in a gymnasium. Rosemary pushed me off. Truly it didnot hurt at all."
"A frame-up!" Jeanne stared.
"Yes, a frame-up for a good cause. 'The Magic Curtain' was yours, notmine. You discovered it. It was through your effort that this littleopera was perfected. It was yours, not mine. Your golden hour."
"My golden hour!" the little French girl repeated dreamily. "But not everagain. Not until I have sung and sung, and studied and studied shall Iappear 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 afresh little American opera and a future star. His vast audience has goneaway happy. What more could he ask?"
What more, indeed?
But what is this? Florence is at Jeanne's side. What is she saying? "Theythink they have discovered the whereabouts of Rosemary's pearls. On theisland." 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! Rightaway!
They were all tumbling helter-skelter into the big town car, Jeanne,Florence, Rosemary, Jaeger, the "lady cop" and even Marjory Dean, when adapper little man approached the car to ask for Petite Jeanne.
"She is here," the "lady cop" informed him. Indeed she was, and wedged inso tight it was difficult to move.
"Ah! At last!" the little man sighed. "May I speak with her? It has beenmy 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 noobjections, took his place beside the chauffeur.
"And mystery still pursued her," Florence whispered to herself, as shestudied the back of the little Frenchman's head.
Jeanne was crowded in between Rosemary and the "lady cop." As Rosemary'sarm stole about her, still conscious of her dress suit and hermasquerade, she moved uneasily.
"It's all right, little French girl," Rosemary whispered. "I have knownall the time that you were Petite Jeanne and not Pierre.
"All the same," she added, "I have enjoyed this little play at life quiteas 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, thenacross the wind-blown, sandy island.
The car came to a stop at the entrance to the path that led to AuntBobby'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 andwill do so if she believes she is being attacked."
Fortunately there was no trouble about securing an entrance. The strangepair had not yet retired. At the sound of Florence's voice they threwwide the door. At sight of her numerous company, however, they appearedready to slam it shut again.
"Just a little lark." Florence reassured them. "We have come all the wayfrom 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 livingroom, "this lady here," she nodded at the "lady cop," "has a curiousnotion about that birthday package of yours, Meg. She believes itcontains 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 beyour own. Think what that will mean."
"But I have waited all this time!" Meg protested. "And to-morrow is mybirthday."
Florence glanced hastily at her watch. She smiled. "Not to-morrow, butto-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 theblack 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 seizeher string of pearls and clasp them about her neck.
"A thousand dollars, Meg!" It was Aunt Bobby who spoke. "They said athousand. That will settle all our troubles for many a day."
"And there will be more, much more." The "lady cop" began carefullygathering up the scattered jewels. "All these were stolen. There will beother rewards, and that which is never claimed may be sold."
"That dark-faced one thought he had chosen a safe place to hide it!" Meglaughed.
"He was close pressed by the police," the "lady cop" explained. "It washis one chance. And he lost; which was right enough."
"And now," came in a polite tone from the corner, "if I may have a wordwith Petite Jeanne?" It was the little F
renchman. "But where is she? I donot 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 aresole heir to a great castle in France. It is known as '_Le NeufChateau_.' But it is truly very old and carries with it a broad estate."
"A castle!" Jeanne seemed undecided whether to shout or weep. "A greatcastle for poor little me?"
"Ah, my child," the Frenchman put in quickly, "it will not benecessary--it is quite unnecessary for you to reside there. Indeed, atthis moment it is rented, for an unheard of rental, to a rich Americanwho fancies castles and is fond of following the hounds."
"Then," exclaimed Jeanne, "I shall accept! I shall return to my beautifulParis. And there, forever and ever, I shall study for the opera. Is itnot 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 theshadows of her closet. "Good-bye Pierre," she whispered. "You brought mefear and sorrow, hope, romance, a better understanding of life, and,after that, a brief moment of triumph. I wonder if it is to be farewellforever or only adieu for to-day."
And now, my reader, it is time to draw the magic curtain. And what ofthat curtain? Up to this moment you know quite as much as I do. It wasused in but one performance of the opera that bears its name. It was thenwithdrawn by its owner. Not, however, until a stage-property curtain,produced with the aid of tiny copper wires, strips of asbestos andcolored ribbons, had been created to take its place. The secret of theoriginal magic curtain is still locked in the breast of its orientalcreator.
The dark-faced one has not, so far as I know, been apprehended. Perhapshe fled to another city and has there met his just fate. Why he hauntedthe trail of the page of the opera, Pierre, is known to him alone, andthe doer of dark deeds seldom talks.
And so the story ends. But what of the days that were to follow? Did thatlittle company indeed journey all the way to Paris? And did they findmystery and great adventure in Jeanne's vast castle? Did Jeanne tire ofstudying opera "forever and ever" and did she return to America? Or didour old friend, Florence, forgetting her blonde companion of manymysteries, go forth with others to seek adventure? If you wish thesequestions answered you must read our next volume, which is to be knownas: _Hour of Enchantment_.
* * * * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
--Obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment. Non-standard spellings and dialect were left unchanged.