“Cordie,” prompted the girl.
“It’s all right, Cordie,” Patrick O’Hara grinned, “I’ll not run away. Duty calls me, though. I must ride up a block and back again. I—I’ll make it snappy. Be back before you are.”
Touching Dick with his spurless heel and patting him gently on the neck, he went trotting away.
Five minutes later, the lump of sugar ceremony having been performed to the complete satisfaction of both Dick and Cordie, the girls hurried away to the scenes of their daily labors.
This little drama made a profound impression upon Lucile. For one thing, it convinced her that in spite of her expensive and stylish lingerie, Cordie was indeed a little country girl. “For,” Lucille told herself, “that horse, Dick, came from the country. All horses do. He’s been a pet of Cordie’s back there on the farm. His owner, perhaps her own father, has sold him to some city dealer. And because he is such a thoroughbred and such a fine up-standing beauty, he has been made a police horse. I don’t blame her for loving him. Anyone would. But it shows what a splendid, affectionate girl she is.
“I’m sort of glad,” she told herself a moment later, “that she’s gotten acquainted with that young officer, Patrick O’Hara. He seems such a nice sort of boy, and then you can never tell how soon you’re going to need a policeman as a friend; at least it seems so from what happened last night.”
She might have shuddered a little had she known how prophetic these thoughts were. As it was, she merely smiled as she recalled once more how her impetuous little companion had raced across the streets to throw her arms about the neck of a horse ridden by a strange policeman.
“I wonder,” she said finally, “I do wonder why Cordie does not confide in me? Oh well,” she sighed, “I can only wait. The time will come.”
Had she but known it, Cordie had reasons enough; the strangest sort of reasons, too.
It was in the forenoon of that same day that a rather surprising thing happened, a thing that doubled the mystery surrounding the attractive young salesman, Laurie.
Lucile was delivering a book to a customer. Laurie was waiting at the desk for change and at the same time whispering to Cordie, when of a sudden his eyes appeared ready to start from his head as he muttered:
“There’s Sam!”
The next instant, leaving wrapped package, change and customer, he disappeared as if the floor had dropped from beneath him.
“Where’s Laurie?” Cordie asked a moment later. “His customer’s waiting for her change.”
Though Lucile didn’t know where he was, she was quite sure he would not return, at least he would not until a certain short, broad-shouldered man, who carried a large brief case and stood talking to Rennie, had left the section. She felt very sure that Laurie wished to escape meeting this man.
“That man must be Sam,” Lucile thought to herself as she volunteered to complete Laurie’s sale. “Now I wonder what makes him so much afraid of that man!
“He looks like a detective,” she thought to herself as she got a better look at him. “No, he smiles too much for that. Must be a salesman trying to get Rennie to buy more books.”
The conversation she overheard tended to confirm this last.
“Make it a thousand,” he said with a smile.
“I won’t do it!” Rennie threw her hands up in mock horror.
“Oh! All right,” Sam smiled. “Anything you say.”
Having been called away by a rush of customers, Lucile had quite forgotten both Laurie and Sam when she came suddenly upon the large brief case which Sam had carried. It was lying on her table.
“Whose is that?” a voice said over her shoulder. “That’s Sam’s, confound him! He’s always leaving things about. Now he’ll have to come back for it and I’ll—”
“Who’s Sam?” Lucile asked.
She turned about to receive the answer. The answer did not come. For a second time that day Laurie had vanished.
CHAPTER IX
HER DOUBLE
“Two more shopping days before Christmas,” Lucile read these words in the paper on the following morning as she stepped into the elevator which was to take her to a day of strenuous labor. She read them and sighed. Then, of a sudden, she started and stared. The cause of this sudden change was the elevator girl.
“Why, Florence!” she exclaimed half incredulous. “You here?”
“Sure. Why not?” smiled the big, athletic looking girl who handled the elevator with skill.
“Well, I didn’t know—”
“Didn’t know I needed the money badly enough,” laughed Florence. “Well, I do. Seems that one is always running out of cash, especially when it comes near to Christmas. I was getting short, so I came down here and they gave me this job. Thought I could stand the rush I guess,” she smiled as she put one arm about her former chum in a bear-like embrace.
If you have read our other books, The Cruise of the O Moo and The Secret Mark, you will remember that these two girls had been the best of chums. But a great University is a place of many changes. Their paths had crossed and then they had gone in diverging ways. Now they were more than pleased to find that, for a time, they were employed in the same store.
“Speaking of Christmas,” said Florence, “since I haven’t any grand Christmas surprises coming from other people, I’ve decided to buy myself a surprise.”
“How can you do that?” asked Lucile, a look of incredulity on her face.
“Why, you see—”
“Here’s my floor. See you later.” Lucile sprang from the elevator and was away.
“It’s nice to meet old friends,” the elevator girl thought to herself as she went speeding up the shaft, “especially when the holiday season is near. I must try to see more of Lucile.”
Running an elevator in a department store is a dull task. Little enough adventure in that, you might say, except when your cable begins to slip with a full load on board. But Florence was destined to come under the spell of mystery and to experience thrilling adventure before her short service as an elevator girl came to an end.
Mystery came leaping at her right out of the morning. She left her car in the basement and went for a drink. She was gone but a second. When she came back the elevator door was closed and the cage cables in motion.
“Gone!” she whispered. “I never heard of such a thing. Who could have taken it?
“Might have been the engineer taking it for a testing trip,” she thought after a few seconds of deliberation. “But no, that doesn’t seem probable. He’d not be down this early. But who could it be? And why did they do it?”
If the disappearance of her car had been startling, the thing she witnessed three minutes later was many times more so.
With fast beating heart she saw the shadow of the car move down from fifth floor to fourth, from fourth to third, then saw the car itself cover the remaining distance to the basement.
Her knees trembled with excitement and fear as she watched the cage in its final drop. The excitement was born of curiosity; the fear was that this should mean the last of her position. She had never been discharged and this gave her an unwonted dread of it.
The car came to a stop at the bottom. Three passengers got off and one got on, and the car shot upward again. And Florence did nothing but stand there and stare in astonishment!
Had she seen a ghost, a ghost of herself? What had happened? Her head was in a whirl. The girl at the lever was herself. Broad shoulders, large hands, round cheeks, blue eyes, brown hair, even to freckles that yielded not to winters indoors. It was her own self, to the life.
“And yet,” she reasoned, “here I am down here. What shall I do?”
As she faced the situation more calmly, she realized that the girl driving her car must be her double, her perfect double. She remembered reading somewhere that everyone in the world had a double. And here was hers. But why had her double made up her hair in her exact fashion, donned an elevator girl’s uniform and taken her elevator from her?
>
“That is what I must find out,” she told herself.
“There’s no use making a scene by jumping in and demanding my cage,” she reasoned, after a moment’s reflection. “I’ll just get on as a passenger and ride up with her.”
There was something of a thrill in this affair. She was beginning to enjoy it.
“It’s—why, it’s fairly mysterious,” she breathed.
In spite of all, she found herself anticipating the next move in the little drama. Driving an elevator was frightfully dull business. Going up and down, up and down; answering innumerable questions all day long about the location of silks, shoes, baby rattle, nutmeg graters, boxing gloves, garters and fly-swatters—this was a dull task that tended to put one to sleep. And often enough, after her noon luncheon, she actually had to fight off sleep. But here, at last, was a touch of mystery, romance and adventure.
“My double,” she breathed. “I’ll find out who she is and why she did this, or die in the attempt.”
Again the cage moved downward.
This time, as the last customer moved out of the door, she stepped in. Moving to the back of the car, she stood breathlessly waiting for the next move of her mysterious double.
The move did not come at once; in fact she had to wait there in the back of the car a surprisingly long time. The girl at the lever—her double—had poise, this was easy enough seen, and she had operated an elevator before, too. She brought the cage to its position at each floor with an exactness and precision that could but be admired.
The cage filled at the first floor. It began to empty at the third. By the time they had reached the eleventh, only two passengers, beside Florence, remained in the back of the car. Only employees went beyond the eleventh; the floors above were stock rooms.
The girl at the lever threw back a fleeting glance. Florence thought she was about to speak, but she did not.
The car went to the thirteenth landing. There two people got off and three got on. Florence remained. The car dropped from floor to floor until they were again in the basement. Once more the mysterious double gave Florence a fleeting glance. She did not speak. Florence did not move from her place in the corner. The car rose again. To Florence the situation was growing tense, unbearable.
Again the car emptied. At the eleventh floor Florence found herself in the car alone with her double. This gave her a strange, frightened feeling, but she resolutely held her place.
“Say!” exclaimed the girl, turning about as the car moved slowly upward. “Let me run your car, will you? Take my place, won’t you? You won’t have a thing to do. It—it’ll be a lark.” As she said all this in a whisper there was a tense eagerness on her face that Florence could not miss.
“But—but your car?” she managed to whisper back.
“Haven’t any. Don’t go on until tomorrow. Here’s my locker key. Get—get my coat and furs and hat out and wear them. Stay in the store—Book Section and Rest Room. All you have to do.
“Only,” she added as an afterthought, “if someone speaks to you, tells you something, you say, ‘Oh! All right.’ Just like that. And if they ask you what you said, you repeat. That’s all you’ll have to do.”
“Oh, but I can’t—”
“It isn’t anything bad,” the other girl put in hastily. There was a sort of desperate eagerness about the tense lines of her face. They were nearing the thirteenth floor. “Not a thing that’s bad—nor—nor anything you wouldn’t gladly do yourself. I—I’ll explain some time. On—only do it, will you?”
They had reached the thirteenth floor. She pressed the key in Florence’s reluctant hand.
A tall man, with an arm load of socks in bundles, got on the car. He looked at Florence. He looked at her double. Then he stared at both of them. After that his large mouth spread apart in a broad grin as he chuckled:
“Pretty good. Eh?”
Three minutes later Florence found herself in a kind of daze, standing at the tenth floor landing, staring down at her steadily dropping car.
“Oh, well,” she whispered, shaking herself out of her daze, “sort of a lark, I suppose. No harm in it. Might as well have a half day off.” With that she turned and walked toward the locker room.
The coat and hat she took from the mysterious one’s locker were very plain and somewhat worn, not as good as her own. But the fur throw was a thing to marvel at; a crossed fox, the real thing, no dyed imitation, and so richly marked with gray that it might easily be taken for a silver gray.
“Some strange little combination,” she breathed as she threw the fur about her neck and started once more for the elevator.
As a proof of the fact that she was carrying out her share of the compact, she waited for her own elevator. The strange girl shot her a quick smile as she entered and another as she got off on the third floor where was the rest room and book section.
“Seems terribly queer to be walking around in another girl’s clothes,” she whispered to herself as she drifted aimlessly past rows of people resting in leather cushioned chairs. “Especially when that other girl is someone you’ve spoken to but once in your life. I wonder—I do wonder why I did it?”
She meditated on this question until she had reached the book section.
“It was the look in her eyes; an eager, haunted look. She’s all right, I’d swear to that, and she’s in some sort of trouble that’s not all her own fault. Trouble,” she mused. “Part of our reason for being here in the world is that we may help others out of trouble. I—I guess I’m glad I did it.”
Of this last she could not be sure. She had sometimes been mistaken, had bestowed confidence and assistance on persons who were unworthy. Should this girl prove to be such a person, then she might be helping her to get away with some unlawful act. And she might lose her position, too.
“Oh well,” she sighed at last, “it’s done. I’ll lose my memory of it here among the books.” To one who is possessed of a real love for books, it is a simple task to forget all else in a room where there are thousands of them. So completely did Florence forget that she soon lost all consciousness of the role she was playing, and when a rough looking man with a seafaring roll to his walk came marching toward her she could do nothing but stare at him. And when he said, “Howdy Meg,” she only stared the harder.
“The train leaves at eleven thirty,” he said, twisting his well worn cap in his nervous fingers.
“The—the—” she hesitated. Then of a sudden the words of the girl came back to her.
“Oh! All right,” she said in as steady a tone as she could command.
“What say?” asked the man.
“I said ‘Oh, all right.’”
“Right it is, then,” he said and, turning about, disappeared behind a pile of books.
With her head in a whirl, the girl stood and stared after him.
“The train leaves at eleven thirty,” she whispered. It was a few minutes past ten now. Should she go and tell the girl? She had not been instructed in this regard. What sort of an affair was this she was getting into, anyway? Was this girl hiding from her people, attempting to run away? The man had looked rough enough, but he had looked honest, too.
She had wandered about the place in uncertainty for another half hour. Then a kindly faced women, in a sort of uniform and a strange hat with gold lettered “Seaman’s Rest” on its band, accosted her.
“Why, Meg!” she exclaimed. “You still here? The train leaves at eleven-thirty.”
There it was again. This time she did not forget.
“Oh! All right!” she exclaimed and turning hurried away as if to make a train.
An hour later, still very much puzzled and not a little worried, she returned to the locker room, took off the borrowed clothes, gave the wonderful fox fur a loving pat, deposited it with the coat and hat, then locked the door.
After that she went to her own locker, put on her wraps preparatory to going to lunch, then walked over to the elevator.
A moment’s wait brough
t her car to her. The other girl was still operating skillfully. Florence pressed the locker key into the girl’s hand and stepped to the back of the car. Five minutes later she found herself in the crisp air of a midwinter day.
“And to think,” she whispered to herself, “that I’d do that for a total stranger.”
As she ate her lunch a resolve, one of the strongest she had ever made, formed itself in her mind. She would become acquainted with her mysterious double and would learn her secret.
“The train leaves at eleven-thirty,” she mused. “Well, wherever it might have been going, it’s gone.” She glanced at the clock which read twelve-fifteen.
And then, of a sudden, all thought of the other girl and her affairs was blotted out by a resolve she had made that very morning. This was Friday. Day after tomorrow was Christmas. She wanted a surprise on Christmas. She had started to tell Lucile about it that morning, but while just in the middle of the story the elevator had reached the Book Department and Lucile had hurried away. Soon after came the strange experience of meeting her double and Florence had quite forgotten all about it until this very minute.
“Have to provide my own surprise,” she said to herself, while thinking it through. “But how am I to surprise myself?”
This had taken a great deal of thinking, but in the end she hit upon the very thing. Her old travelling bag had gone completely to pieces on her last trip. Her father had sent her fifteen dollars for the purchase of a new one. She had the money still. She would buy a travelling bag with a surprise in it.
Only a few days before, a friend had told her how this might be done. Every great hotel has in its store room a great deal of baggage which no one claims; such as hat boxes, trunks, bags and bundles. Someone leaves his baggage as security for a bill. He does not return. Someone leaves his trunk in storage. He too disappears. Someone dies. In time all this baggage is sold at an auctioneer’s place to the highest bidders. They have all been sealed when placed in the store room, and here they are, trunks, bundles and bags, all to be sold with “contents if any.”
“With contents if any.” Florence had read that sentence over many times as she finished scanning the notice of an auction that was to be held that very afternoon and night.
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 99