THE TREASURE CHEST
That night, just as the clock was striking twelve, an interesting company
gathered in Petite Jeanne’s parlor. The lady cop was there. So, too, was
Sun-Tan Tillie. Minus her faded bathing suit, looking quite stunning in a
new dress of dark green, her big eyes shining with interest, Tillie sat
in a corner. Close beside her was the “poor little rich girl,” who once
had pledged her parents’ rubies, and lost. She knew Tillie and, without
having the least notion what it was all about, had come at her request.
Petite Jeanne and Florence completed the company.
A tale was to be told. Secrets, they hoped, were to be revealed. With her
taste for the dramatic, Petite Jeanne had insisted that the affair be
carried off in the grand manner.
Electric lights were off. Shades were down. Four flickering candles
furnished faint illumination for the room. On the very center of the rug
rested the mysterious oriental trunk which had caused many a palpitation
of the heart. It gave off a pungent odor of the forest.
“But how did you get it?” the lady cop exclaimed, on seeing it. “When I
learned that the gamblers did not take it on their flight, I gave it up.
Thought it was burned in their cottage.”
Florence held up a hand. It had been Jeanne’s decree that she should tell
the story. “You will remember,” Florence began, “that it was my good
fortune to be permitted to pour a few quarts of water from the lungs of a
gypsy child.”
“In other words, you saved her life,” suggested the lady cop.
“Something like that. The gypsies are a loyal and grateful people. I have
always known that. From the time I saved her child’s life, that gypsy
mother had it in mind to repay the service. She has done it. Three nights
ago she told me the answer to the riddles that have vexed our minds and
lost us sleep. Yes, she even told me where I would find the three
oriental rubies, which were so unfairly taken from Miss Erie.”
“The—the rubies!” The Erie girl sprang to her feet.
Tillie pulled her down. “Wait!” she whispered.
At that moment Florence felt her heart sink to her shoes. What if, for
once, the uncanny knowledge of the gypsy woman had failed? What if the
three rubies were, after all, irrevocably lost?
“The die is cast,” she told herself sternly. “I must go on.”
“You will recall,” she said, turning to the lady cop, “that on the night
when we first entered your cabin we, Petite Jeanne and I, had just had
our rowboat swamped by some reckless, or willfully wicked people in a
speed boat.”
The lady cop nodded.
“You thought they had been after you. I thought it was the reckless prank
of some rich young people. You were right. The boat was driven by one of
the younger gamblers. His pal and two gypsies were on board. They
suspected you; meant to drown you. They got us instead. And that’s that.”
Florence sighed.
“Now the trunk.” Everyone moved forward. “Not so fast,” she cautioned. “I
am going to account for its presence here.
“You thought—” again she turned to the lady cop, “that the gamblers got
your trunk. They meant to. They were a few hours late. Tillie and I got
it the night before.”
“You?” There was incredulity in the lady cop’s eyes.
“That’s once when a prank turned out well,” Florence smiled. “Tillie and
I meant to fill it with balsam tips and return it. We have. See!”
She threw up the lid of the trunk, and at once the air of the room was
heavy with the natural perfume of the forest.
“We kept the trunk till now,” she said quietly. “And that’s that.
“And now we come to our big night, Tillie’s and mine, the night we were
kidnapped.
“In this instance there were three possibilities. It might have been a
prank indulged in by reckless young people. The gamblers may have done
it, or the gypsies. Tillie thought it was the work of the gamblers.
Because she came upon a gypsy feast that night, Jeanne blamed the
gypsies. They were both right.
“By this time the two rather striking young gypsy girls had learned who
Jeanne was. They had hated her in France. They hated her still. They
could not get at her. She stayed in the cabin. They proposed to take out
their spite on her friends. The gamblers hated Tillie. They combined
forces and prepared to show us a rough time. Well,” she ended grimly,
“they succeeded.
“After cutting our boat loose, they came ashore to prepare a meal and eat
it. It was this feast that Jeanne’s bear interrupted. They fled.”
“And all this,” said Petite Jeanne, coming out from among pillows in a
dark corner, “goes to prove that we owe a most humble apology to my
beloved Green Eyes and to her friends of the Erie cottage. We suspected
you of pranks which were quite impossible for you to perform.” She spoke
the last to Miss Erie.
“Oh, that’s quite all right!” The rich girl’s tone was friendly. “We do
not expect to be entirely understood. We were taught by my father when we
were very young that to take advantage of others because of wealth or
power is the act of a coward. That there are such rich cowards, one can’t
deny. We hope they are very few.”
Jeanne beamed her thanks for this speech. “But, Florence!” she cried
suddenly. “This does not explain the green eyes I saw in the deserted
lumber camp that night.”
“You must work out your own solution for that.” Again Florence smiled.
“Some wild creature was hiding there, or you were having a case of
nerves. Our gypsy friend knew a surprising lot. She did not know
everything. No more could she tell what caused the fire on Gamblers’
Island.”
“But—but the rubies!” exclaimed Miss Erie, as the story seemed about to
end.
“That,” said Florence, true to Jeanne’s dramatic conception, “is to be
the last touch. According to our gypsy friend’s story the three rubies
are supposed to have been hidden in some secret pocket of this ancient
trunk, and there they should be still.”
“The trunk!” “The trunk!” “Trunk!” came from the lips of Tillie, the lady
cop and the Erie girl all at once.
“We will now proceed to find out.” Florence’s voice took on a
business-like tone. “Jeanne, a blanket. We’ll dump these balsam tips in
it and tie up the corners.”
When the trunk seemed empty, all crowded around.
Lighted only by candles, Florence began prodding and thumping with a
chisel until at last she brought forth a hollow sound. A section of the
trunk’s false bottom was pried up, and then they started back. For, in
that dim light, small eyes appeared to gleam up at them.
The spell lasted for but a moment. Then Florence’s hand went down and
came out full of gems.
“A regular treasure chest!” There was awe in the lady cop’s voice.
The next instant she had taken something from beneath her coat and was
pinning it on Florence’s breast. It was her detective badge.
“Now,” she exclaimed, “that is where it belongs!”
“No! No!” The girl removed the badge and returned it to its place. “I had
all the luck. It will be quite different in the future.”
“Who knows?” said the lady cop quite soberly.
The trunk proved to be the hiding place for a noteworthy collection of
gems. The police had taken it in a raid and, quite ignorant of its value,
had sold it. Some of the jewels were returned to their rightful owners.
Several remained unclaimed. So Florence, Petite Jeanne, Tillie, and the
lady cop are all richer by a jewel or two; while the “poor little rich
girl” regained her standing in her family by returning the much prized
bauble to its place in the collection.
The gypsy drama, with Petite Jeanne playing a leading role, enjoyed a
long run. In the meantime, Florence was not idle. Fresh adventures came
to her. Was the lady cop one of her companions? Was Petite Jeanne? Was
Tillie? Did Betty come back? You will find the answer to all these
questions in our next book, to be entitled _The Golden Circle_.