The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  Rennie, whose real name was Miss Renton, appeared to be in no hurry. Having become interested in writing down lists of books that were to be ordered in the morning, she had so far forgotten the girl as to exclaim as she came up:

  “Why, Lucile! I thought you had gone! Now, dearie, just put those books down right there. We can take care of them before the rush begins in the morning. Run along now and get your coat. You must go home. It’s past ten, less than two hours till midnight!”

  “Yes, but—”

  Lucile checked herself just in time. She had been about to say that she was afraid to go for her coat. And indeed she was, for was it not hanging on the wall in that narrow passage at the door of which the mystery lady had appeared?

  “But it wouldn’t do to tell,” she thought, “I—I’ve got to go alone.”

  Go she did, but with much fear and trembling.

  She might have spared herself all this trembling, for there was no one in the dark passage.

  But what was this? The row of coat hooks were all empty save one, her own, and on that hook—what could it mean?—on that hook hung not her own too frankly thin and threadbare coat, but a magnificent thing of midnight blue and white. It was the cape with the white fox collar worn by the mystery woman.

  Even as her hand touched the fox skin she knew it was far more costly than she had thought.

  “It’s over my coat,” she breathed. “I’ve only to leave it.”

  This, she found, was not true. Her coat had vanished. The cape had been left in its stead and, as if to further perplex and alarm her, the midnight blue unfolded, revealing a superb lining of Siberian squirrel.

  “Oh!” Lucile exclaimed as her trembling fingers dropped to her side and she fled the place.

  One consoling thought flashed across her mind. Rennie had not yet left for the night. Rennie, the tall and slim, with a thread of gray in her black hair, who had been in the department for no one knew how long—Rennie would know what to do. The instant she was told all that had happened she would say what the very next step must be.

  “The instant she is told,” Lucile whispered to herself. Then suddenly she realized that she did not wish to tell all she had seen.

  “Not just yet, at any rate,” she told herself. “I’m not supposed to have seen it. I want time to think. I’ll tell Rennie only what I am supposed to know—that my coat has been taken and this cape left in its stead.”

  Rennie showed little surprise on hearing the story. “Someone has probably taken the wrong coat,” she said.

  “But that’s not possible!” Lucile laughed at the very thought.

  “Why?”

  “I’ll show you,” and she dashed back for the cape.

  As Rennie saw the magnificent creation, she gasped with astonishment; then began to murmur something about fairy princesses looking after poor girls and leaving them gorgeous garments.

  “You can’t go home without a wrap,” she told Lucile. “They say there’s a regular blizzard outside. You’ll simply have to wear it home.”

  Taking the garment from Lucile’s hands, she placed it upon her shoulders with a touch that was half caress. Then, having fastened it under Lucile’s chin, she stood back to exclaim:

  “Why, dearie, you look charming!”

  “But—but how am I to get out of the building with it? No one will believe that a mere sales girl owns a cape like this. It’s new. Probably it’s been stolen.”

  “Stolen!” exclaimed Rennie. “What nonsense!

  “Besides,” she added in a quieter tone, “it’s not quite new. The strings that hold it together at the throat are worn a little smooth and there’s the least bit of a soil at the bottom. You wait ten minutes for me and we’ll go out together. I know the watchman. I’ll take you out under my wing.”

  Greatly relieved by these words and intent on making the most of her wait by having a good general look at the room, Lucile sauntered away to the left where she was soon lost from sight behind tables, stacks of books, and massive pillars.

  Since she had worked here but ten days, the charm of the place had not yet worn off. The books, row on row of them, fascinated her. Here was a wealth of learning that no one could hope to appropriate in a lifetime. To the right of her was poetry, thousands of volumes; to the left, books on travel, thousands more; and before her new fiction, tens of thousands. Who would not envy her? It was a great place for one who loved books.

  With a feeling of sorrow she thought of the time when she must leave all this wealth; when she must say goodbye to the wonderful friends she had already formed here. In two short weeks she would be going back to the University. Since she was dependent upon her own resources for her support—and since for one who specialized in English there was quite as much to be learned about books by selling as by reading them—her head professor had quite readily granted her a month’s leave of absence that she might come down here to assist in meeting the Christmas rush.

  “Ah yes,” she breathed, “it will be of the past in two more weeks. But in two weeks much may happen. Think of what happened tonight! Think—”

  She was brought up short by a sound. Had it been a footstep? She could not make sure for the floor was heavily carpeted. Instantly she became conscious of the darkness that surrounded her like a shroud. Before her loomed the dim outlines of the elevator cages. Distorted by the uncertain light, these seemed the cells of some gloomy prison. Far off to the right was a great rotunda. From the rail that surrounded this, when the lights were on, one might gaze upward to dizzy heights and downward to dizzier depths. Now she thought of that awe inspiring vault as if it were some deep and mysterious cave.

  “Oh—ooo!” Lucile gasped. “This place gets spookier every moment. I’ll go back to—”

  Even as she spoke she caught a sound to her right. Impelled by sheer curiosity, she took a dozen steps in that direction.

  Suddenly she started back. Against the wall a light had flashed on for a second and in that second she had caught sight of a face—the face of Laurie Seymour.

  Again the light came on. This time the flash was a little longer. She saw his face clearly. On his finely cut features there was such a smile as suggests anticipation of amusing adventure.

  In one hand he held the flashlight. Under his arm was a bundle of corrugated paper such as is used in wrapping books for mailing. He was standing by a square opening in the wall. Lucile knew in a vague sort of way where that opening led. Books that had been wrapped were dropped in there. A circular spiral chute, some three feet in diameter, wormed its way like an auger hole down from this point to the sub-basement where was located the shipping room.

  Even as she thought this through she saw Laurie swing his feet across the opening. Then, just as the light flashed out, she again saw that amused grin. The next second there came the sound of some heavy object gliding downward.

  “He—he went down the chute!” she gasped. “He’ll be killed!”

  How long she stood there, petrified with surprise and dread, she could not have told. It could not have been many seconds but it seemed an hour. At last the end came, a sickening thud sounding faint and far away.

  Without uttering a sound, but with heart beating wildly and feet flying at almost superhuman speed, the girl raced across the room and down a flight of broad marble stairs.

  “I must find him. He is hurt. Perhaps he is killed!” she kept repeating to herself.

  Down one flight; down two; three; four, she sped.

  And then, in the darkness of this vast shipping room, she paused to listen.

  Not a sound. She may as well have been alone in the catacombs of Egypt or the Mammoth Cave.

  “Must be this way,” she breathed.

  Truth was, she had lost her sense of direction. She was not sure which way to go. She took a dozen steps forward. Finding herself confronted by a dark bulk, she started walking round it. Having paused to think, she found fear gripping at her heart. When she tried to retrace her steps she discovered tha
t the stairs had apparently vanished. She was lost.

  “Lost!” she whispered. “Lost in the subbasement of this great building at night!” Even as she thought this there came to her, faint and far distant, yet very distinct, the even tread of footsteps.

  “It’s not Laurie. He doesn’t walk like that. It—it’s—” her heart stood still, “it’s a watchman! And here I am dressed in this magnificent garment which does not belong to me. Somehow I must get back to the third floor and to Rennie! But how? How!”

  CHAPTER II

  CRIMSON WITH A STRAND OF PURPLE

  Panic, an unbelievable terror ten times stronger than her will, seized Lucile and bore her fleetly down a dark, unknown aisle. The very thought of being discovered by a watchman unknown to her, mingled with the sensation of the fear of darkness, had driven her well-nigh frantic.

  “The cape,” she whispered to herself. “I must not be found with the cape!”

  Had she but possessed the power to reason quietly, she might have known that the watchman, searching for an explanation of her strange conduct, would, upon her suggesting it, take her back to the third floor and Rennie. Not being in full possession of these powers, she abandoned herself to panic. Snatching the cape from her shoulders she thrust it under her arm and plunged on into the darkness.

  In the deeper shadows she saw dim forms looming up before her. Some seemed giants ready to reach out and grasp her; some wild creatures poised to fall upon her from the dark.

  Now she tripped and went sprawling. As she sprang to her feet she caught the gleam of a light. Thinking it the watchman’s flashlight, she was away like the wind.

  At last pausing for breath, she listened. At first she heard only the beating of her own heart. Then, faint and far away, came the mellow chimes of the great clock announcing the arrival of half past ten.

  “Half past ten!” she whispered in consternation. “Rennie will leave. The place will be in darkness and I shall be lost! What shall I do?”

  Again she caught a faint gleam of light. Watching it for a moment, and seeing that it was steady and constant, she dared to creep toward it.

  Drawing nearer, she saw that it came drifting down an elevator shaft from some place a long way above.

  “The elevator is there. The door is open!” she said to herself in surprise. “And there is no one in it.”

  Just then, as she strained her ears to listen, she caught again that heavy, even tread of the watchman.

  Our nerves are strange masters. A great general is thrown into panic at sight of a cat; a woman of national fame goes into convulsions at sight of rippling water on the sea. As for Lucile, at that moment nothing could have so overthrown her whole mental balance as that steady tramp-tramp of the watchman.

  This time it drove her to the most curious action. As a wild animal, driven, winded, cornered, will sometimes dash into the very trap that has been set for him, so this girl, leaping forward, entered the elevator cage.

  Had there been more time, it may have been that her scattered wits returning would have told her that here, where the dim light set out her whole form in profile, was the most dangerous spot of all.

  Before she had time to think of this the elevator gave a sudden lurch and started upward.

  Nothing could have been more startling. Lucile had never seen an elevator ascend without an operator at the levers and she naturally believed it could not be done; yet here she was in the cage, going up.

  It was as if some phantom hand were in control. Darkness and silence rendered it more spectral. The ever increasing speed shot terror to her very heart. Sudden as had been the start, so sudden was the stop.

  Thrown to the floor and all but knocked unconscious, she slowly struggled to her feet. What did it mean? What was to be the end of this terrible adventure?

  As she looked before her she saw that the car had stopped about three feet above some floor. The doors to that floor were shut. The catches, however, were within her reach. Should she attempt to open them and make a leap for it?

  Had she but known it, those doors were supposed to open only when the cage was level with the floor. But the infinite power that tempers the wind to the shorn lamb sometimes tampers with man-made doors. As if by magic, the doors swung back at her touch and with a leap she was out and away.

  Then, gripping her madly beating heart, she paused to consider. She was free from the elevator, but where was she? Her situation seemed more desperate than before. She had not counted the floors that sped by her. She did not know whether she was on the sixth or the tenth floor.

  Reason was beginning to come into its own. With a steadier stride she took a turn about the place. Putting out a hand, she touched first this object, then that.

  “Furniture,” she said at last. “Now on what floor is furniture sold?”

  She did not know.

  Coming at last to a great overstuffed davenport, she sat down upon it. Feeling its drowsy comfort after her hot race, she was half tempted to stretch herself out upon it, to spread the splendid cape over her, and thus to spend the night.

  “It won’t do,” she decided resolutely. “Every extra moment I spend here makes it worse.”

  At that she rose and looked about her. Over to the right was a broad stretch of pale light.

  “It’s the moonlight falling through the great skylight of the rotunda,” she breathed.

  Instantly she began making her way in that direction. Arrived at the railing, she looked down. She was high up. The very thought of the dizzy depth below made her feel faint; yet, fighting against this faintness, she persisted in looking down until she had established the fact that she was on the sixth floor. There remained then but to descend three flights of stairs to find the blessed third floor and, perhaps, Rennie.

  She was not long in descending. Then, such a silent cry of joy as escaped her lips as she saw Rennie’s light still dimly burning in the far corner.

  Slipping on the cape, the better to hide the dust and dirt she had collected from many falls, she at last tiptoed up close to the desk where Rennie was working.

  “Hello, dearie,” said Rennie, smiling up at her through her thick glasses. “Ready to go? In just one moment.”

  Lucile caught her breath in astonishment. Then the truth burst upon her. The whole wild adventure through which she had been driven at lightning speed had consumed but half an hour. So intent upon her work had dear old Rennie been that she had not noted the passing of time.

  Some three minutes later, arm in arm, they were making their way down the dark and gloomy marble stairs; and a moment later, having safely passed the guard, they were out on the deserted street.

  The instant they passed through the door they were caught in a great whirl of wind and snow that carried them half the way to State Street before they could check their mad gait. For Rennie, who was to take the surface line, this was well enough; but for Lucile it meant an additional half block of beating her way back to her station on the “L.”

  With a screamed “Good-night” that was caught up and carried away by the storm, she tore herself away and, bending low, leaped full into the teeth of the gale.

  A royal battle ensued. The wind, seeming to redouble its fury at sight of a fresh victim, roared at her, tore at her, then turning and twisting, appeared to shake her as some low born parent shakes his child. Snow cut her face. The blue cape, wrapping about her more than once, tripped her for a near fall.

  “But it’s warm! Oh, so warm!” she breathed. Then, even in the midst of all this, she asked herself the meaning of all this strange mystery of the night, and, of a sudden, the sight of Laurie stepping into that tortuous chute flashed back upon the screen of her memory.

  Stopping stock still to grasp a post of the elevated’s steel frame, she steadied herself and tried to think. Should she turn back? Should she make one more attempt to rescue Laurie from whatever plight he may have gotten himself into?

  For a moment, swaying like a dead leaf on a tree, she clung there.
/>
  “No! No!” she said at last, “I wouldn’t go back there tonight! Not for worlds!” She made one desperate leap across the street and was the next moment beating her way up the steel stairway to the elevated.

  Once aboard the well heated train, with the fur lined cape adding its cozy warmth to her chilled and weary body, she relaxed for the first time to think in a quiet way of the night’s affair.

  A careful review of events convinced her that she had behaved in quite a wild and insane manner at times, but that on the whole the outcome was quite satisfactory. Certainly she could not have been expected to return home without a wrap on a night such as this. Surely she had had nothing whatever to do with Laurie’s giving away his pass-out, nor of his flinging himself so recklessly down the parcel chute. He was almost a stranger to her. Why, then, should she concern herself with the outcome of an affair which he had clearly entered into of his own free will?

  On this last point she could not feel quite comfortable, but since the elevated train was hurling her homeward and since she could not, had she used her utmost will-power, have driven herself back into that great darkened store, and since there was no likelihood of her being admitted without a pass, she concluded that she must still be moving in the path of destiny.

  In strange contrast to the wild whirling storm outside, she found her room a cozy nook of comfort. After throwing off her street clothes and going through a series of wild gymnastics that came very near to flying, she drew on her dream robe, threw a dressing gown across her shoulders then sank into a great overstuffed chair. There, curled up like a squirrel in a nest of leaves, she gave herself over to cozy comfort and to thoughts.

  She had arrived at a very comforting one—which was that since she had worked until ten this night she need not report for duty until twelve the next day—when a spot of color caught her eye. A tiny flash of crimson shone out from a background of midnight blue. The midnight blue was the rare cape which she had hung against the wall.

  “Wonder what that touch of scarlet means?” she whispered drowsily. Immediately she thought of Hawthorne’s “Scarlet Letter.” She shuddered at the thought. She had dreamed bad dreams for weeks after reading that book.