Floy looked at him inquiringly, and he said:
“Will you come with me to-night to New York and the lady who wants you
so much, or shall you go to Mrs. Banks?”
“Not to her, though I love her dearly; for, oh! there is danger for me
in her vicinity, since it is the home of Otho Maury, also. No; I must
seek another hiding-place. Oh, sir, you look at me strangely! You do
not understand my trouble, and I can not explain it, for--for--I have a
secret!” cried Floy, incoherently.
She looked down at Otho’s face in alarm, crying:
“Oh, how ghastly he looks! Are you sure he is not really dead?”
“He is not dead, and will be able to devise new deviltry in a few weeks
from now.”
“Then let us hasten away. Who is the lady--the friend you said had
employed you to find me?”
“Have you no suspicion?”
“Not the slightest,” she replied, honestly.
“Did you ever meet a Mrs. Beresford in Maury’s store in New York?”
Floy blushed divinely at the mention of the name of Beresford and
exclaimed:
“Yes; I saw her once. She bought real lace handkerchiefs from me, and
was so sweet and kind I have loved her memory ever since.”
“She admired you very much,” smiled the detective.
“She told me I was pretty--that she liked to look at me,” confessed
Floy, naïvely.
“Yes, that is it; she was charmed with your beauty, Miss Fane, and I
applaud her good taste,” said Landon, admiringly; and continued: “Did
you know that Mrs. Beresford’s only daughter is a great artist?”
“I had not heard anything about her, sir.”
“Well, it is true, and Mrs. Beresford saw that your face was the very
one Miss Alva wanted as a model for a picture of Cupid that she is
painting.”
“Oh!” cried Floy, clasping her hands in wondering delight.
“So she told Miss Alva about you,” continued the detective, “and they
decided to try to secure you for a model; but when they went to the
store--it was the day after the accident--you had disappeared. So they
sent for me to find you.”
He could not understand the wonderful radiance that came upon Floy’s
lovely face while he was speaking, making her beauty almost unearthly.
She was thinking, joyously:
“Oh, how blest I am that I have found favor with _his_ mother--my
darling’s mother--and his gifted sister! They will take me into his
dear home, and I will try to win their love, so that when he comes and
finds me there they will be glad that I am his chosen one.”
“Do you like the plan? Will you come with me to Mrs. Beresford?” asked
Floyd Landon.
“Oh, so gladly--so gladly!” she cried, in a sort of rapture.
“Then let us lose no time in starting. And--hadn’t you better find
some sort of a disguise--a thick veil anyhow--so that you need not be
recognized in going through the town?” he suggested.
Floy pulled open the drawers and found an old-fashioned traveling-wrap
and thick veil and bonnet. She put these on in a hurry, and they left
the house with its grim occupant, Otho Maury, lying silent on the
floor, not yet revived from his long swoon.
No one would have recognized the detective’s prim,
old-fashioned-looking traveling companion as merry little Fly-away
Floy. Her disguising costume was foreign in style, in fact, had been
worn by her mother on her return from England.