SHOWING THE IMPORTANCE OF A GOLF BAG
It must now be revealed (since this is a straightforward tale) that
the stolen five thousand pounds was all this time snugly reposing in
a most unlikely hiding place which Hester, with quick
resourcefulness, had hit upon when she saw the guard approaching. At
that moment the purse was hidden in her dress, but she knew she could
not keep it there; a search would certainly be made, and--where could
she hide it? What could she do with it?
The guard turned the handle of the carriage door and there came for
Hester a moment of sickening despair as she realized her desperate
peril; then, in a flash of inspiration, unseen by the others, she did
the one thing that could save her: she dropped the bishop's purse
into the open mouth of Betty Thompson's golf bag.
Now the bottom of a golf bag is about the last spot on earth where
anyone would expect to find a missing purse; yet, as devotees of this
sport will agree, a more admirable place of concealment could
scarcely be imagined. Far down in a jumble of heavy clubs the purse
lies unseen by the keenest eye and beyond reach of the longest arm.
To search the bottom of a golf bag would involve taking out all the
clubs and turning the bag upside down, but who would do that? Who
would go exploring for stolen treasure in so battered and so
innocently open a receptacle?
All of which, in the first emergency, favored Hester, but now, with
the danger past, made it difficult for her to carry out her plan.
How was she to get the purse? There it was, almost within reach of
her fingers, yet tantalizingly out of reach. It was maddening to
think that, with so great a prize so nearly won; she might still lose
everything simply because a stupid, flimsy barrier of canvas and
leather stood in her way.
The Storm girl concentrated all her faculties on this new problem,
and thrilled with the exhilaration of a brilliant coup almost
accomplished. There was no more question of scruples or regrets.
She had made the break and must see the thing through. A rather neat
piece of work so far, but the hardest part remained. The crisis
would come when the train reached London. Good old Charing Cross
Station!
As she studied the situation, searching desperately for some master
move, Hester talked to Betty, letting the conversation drift as the
latter pleased and keeping sweetly to her attitude of virtue injured
but resigned; also showing the most touching, almost tearful,
gratitude (not all assumed) for Betty's kindness. Glibly she spun a
hard-luck story of loneliness and friendlessness and the
disappointing result of her efforts to be a nursery governess. Betty
was deeply interested, very sorry, and finally offered her protegé
five pounds, which Hester at first refused, but finally, rather
shamefacedly, accepted, thinking it more in character to do so. She
would certainly send back that five pounds and fifty with it, once
she had gotten safely away with the five thousand.
Yes, but that was the point. How was she going to do it? How could
she get the purse? If she could only think of something. She must
think of something. There was not a moment to lose. Even now they
were roaring into London city, and--suddenly the inspiration came--it
was a chance, the only chance, and Hester took it.
Rising from their seats they gathered up their belongings. The
dark-eyed girl slipped over her shoulders a brilliant red cloak, the
red being of so striking a shade that Betty remembered it afterward.
Then very simply and naturally Hester turned to her benefactress.
"Let me help you with your things. I have only this little bundle.
There!" and without more ado she took the golf bag.
"Thanks!" smiled Betty. "You must come to see me while you are in
England. I'll give you my card. Well, here we are!"
With grinding wheels the train drew up in Charing Cross station, and
amid a great slamming of doors the passengers swarmed out and made
their way briskly down the long platform. Betty went first,
explaining to her friend that, in all probability, no one would meet
her, owing to their change of train, yet searching in the crowd for
some familiar face. Hester searched faces, too, for she knew that
word of the robbery must have been telegraphed ahead to London, and
as they passed through narrow gates in the iron barrier that
separated the tracks from the station proper her heart was pounding
furiously, although her face showed only a sweet and trusting smile.
No one stopped them here, and with a sigh of relief Hester followed
on, trying to quiet the rattle of the golf clubs and gradually
lagging behind her eager friend.
Now, just before them, rose the circle of a wide newsstand, beyond
which were two exits, one on either side of the station. Betty was
moving toward the left-hand exit and here, in a second, Hester saw
her opportunity. Sheltered by the newsstand, she had only to steer
quickly toward the right-hand exit and then, before Betty could even
suspect that she was missing, make her getaway into the myriad
streets of London. It was too easy and the girl was already gloating
over the trick as finally turned when her heart froze within her, for
there at the corner of the newsstand were the cold gray eyes she knew
so well fixed pitilessly on her. Grimes of Scotland Yard!
It was a critical moment for Hester. Had she weakened by the quiver
of an eyelash, had she started ever so slightly, the detective would
have taken her there and then, for he remembered her well and the
suspicious circumstances of that sable cloak episode. But she,
schooled in self-control, swept on serenely without a sign of
recognition. Grimes turned and followed her.
"Caught with the goods," muttered the girl, and faint with fear but
unfaltering, she swung back to the left in Betty's wake, for here now
was her only hope of safety. Grimes was close behind.
As they reached the street, Betty nodded for a taxicab and gave her
things to a chauffeur, who came forward eagerly. Then, seating
herself on the cushions, she turned pleasantly to Hester.
"It was good of you to carry that heavy bag. I'll take it in
here--that's right. Remember I'm at the Savoy for a day or two with
Mr. Hiram Baxter. And here is our address in Surrey. There." And,
smiling most cordially, she gave Hester her card.
"Hiram Baxter! The American millionaire!" reflected Grimes, puzzled,
but still confident.
"You'll come to see me, won't you?" called the fair young woman as
the taxicab rolled away.
"Yes," answered Hester, her dark eyes glowing on the ravished golf
bag. "I'll come."
Then, with quiet self-possession, she turned and her eyes met Grimes.
"Ah, little one!" he chuckled, roughly familiar.
"How dare you speak to me!" she protested with such an air of
well-bred anger that he drew back, hesitating.
"Excuse me, but--haven't I seen you before?" he stammered.
Hester swept him with a scornful glance. "I thought an American lady
was safe from insult in the streets of London," she said, and before
he had recovered from his astonishment she had entered a waiting
hansom and was gone.