THROUGH THE WINDOW
"Come!" Florence whispered, as the door of the ancient barracks swung
open and they tiptoed out into the night. "We must find out what those
men are doing. This place was built in memory of the past for the good of
the public. Generous-hearted people have loaned the rare treasures that
are stored here. They must not be lost."
Skirting the buildings, gliding along the shadows, they made their way
past the powder-magazine all built of stone, moved onward the length of a
log building that loomed in the dark, dashed across a corner and arrived
at last with wildly beating hearts at the corner of the building from
which the feeble, flickering light still shone.
"Now!" Florence breathed, gripping her breast in a vain attempt to still
the wild beating of her heart. "Not a sound! We must reach that window."
Leading the way, she moved in breathless silence, a foot at a time along
the dark wall. Now she was twenty feet from the window, now ten, now--.
She paused with a quick intake of breath. Did she hear footsteps? Were
they coming out? And if they did?
Flattening herself against the wall, she drew Jeanne close to her. A
moment passed. Her watch ticked loudly. From some spot far away a hound
baying the moon gave forth a long-drawn wail.
Two minutes passed, three, four.
"They--they're not coming out."
Taking the trembling hand of the little French girl in her own, she once
more led her forward.
And now they were at the window, peering in with startled eyes.
What they saw astonished them beyond belief.
Crouching on the floor, lighted only by a flashlight lantern, was a grown
boy and a hunchbacked man. The boy at that moment was in the act of
dumping the contents of a large bag upon the log floor of the building.
"Loot!" whispered Florence.
"But why do they pour it out?"
Florence placed two fingers on her companion's lips.
That the articles had not been taken from the fort they realized at once,
for the boy, holding up a modern lady's shoe with an absurdly high heel,
gave forth a hoarse laugh.
There were other articles, all modern; a spectacle-case with broken
lenses inside but gold rims still good, another pair of glasses with horn
rims that had not been broken; and there were more shoes.
And, most interesting of all, there were several purses. That the strange
pair regarded these purses with the greatest interest was manifested by
the manner in which they had their heads together as the first was
opened.
Shaking the contents into his huge fist, the hunchback picked out some
small coins and handed them to the boy. A glittering compact and a folded
bill he thrust into the side pocket of his coat. The boy frowned, but
said not a word. Instead he seized upon a second pocket-book and prepared
to inspect it for himself.
"Pickpockets!" Jeanne whispered. "They have been working on that helpless
throng. Now they have come here to divide their loot."
Florence did not answer.
The crouching boy was about to open the second purse, the hunchback
making no protest, when to the girls there came cause for fresh anxiety.
From the far side of the enclosure there came the rattle of chains.
"Someone else," Florence whispered, "and at this hour of the night. But
they cannot harm us," came as an after-thought. "The chain is fastened on
the inside." She was thankful for this, but not for long.
"But how did these get in?" Petite Jeanne pointed to the crouching pair
within.
"Let's get out!" Jeanne pleaded. "This is work for an officer. We can
send one."
"Someone is at the gate," Florence reminded her.
Then there happened that which for the moment held them glued to the
spot. Having thrust a hand into the second purse, a small one, well worn,
the crouching boy drew forth an object that plainly puzzled him. He held
it close to the light. As he did so, Florence gave vent to an involuntary
gasp.
"The cameo! The lost cameo!" she exclaimed half aloud. "It must belong to
our little old lady of the merry-mad throng."
At the same instant there came from behind her a man's gruff voice in
angry words:
"Here, you! What you doing? Why do you lock the gate? Thought you'd keep
me out, eh?
"But I fooled you!" the voice continued. "I scaled the palisades."
Instantly there came sounds of movement from within. The crouching
figures were hastily stuffing all that pile back into the sack and at the
same time eagerly looking for an avenue of escape.
Florence caught the gleam of a star on the newcomer's coat.
"Oh, please!" she pleaded. "We have taken nothing, meant no harm. The
storm--
"But please, officer," her tone changed, "that pair within have been
doing something, perhaps robbing. They have a precious cameo that belongs
to a dear old lady. Please don't let them escape."
In answer to this breathless appeal the officer made no reply. Instead he
strode to the window, looked within, then rapped smartly on the sash with
his club. At the same time he pointed to his star.
The strange intruders could not fail to understand. They shouldered their
sack and came forth meekly enough.
"You come with me, all of you!" the officer commanded. "Let's get this
thing straight.
"Now then," he commanded, after they had crossed the enclosure in silence
and he had lighted a large lamp in a small office-like room, "dump that
stuff on the floor."
"I want to tell ye," the hunchback grumbled, "that we hain't no thieves,
me an' this boy. We hain't. We--"
"Dump it out!" The officer's tone was stern.
The hunchback obeyed. "We found this, we did; found all of it."
"Ye-s, you found it!" The officer bent over to take up a purse. He opened
it and emptied a handful of coins on the table at his side.
"Purses!" he exclaimed. "How many?" He counted silently. "Seven of 'em
and all full of change. And you found 'em! Tell that to the judge!"
"Honest, we found them." The grown boy dragged a ragged sleeve across his
eyes. "We was down to the Jubilee. People was always crushin' together
and losin' things in the scramble, shoes and purses an' all this." He
swept an arm toward the pile. "So we just stayed around until they was
gone. Then we got 'em."
"And you thought because you found 'em they were yours?"
"Well, ain't they?" The hunchback grew defiant.
"Not by a whole lot!" The officer's voice was a trifle less stern. "If
you find a purse or any other thing on the street, if it's worth the
trouble, you're supposed to turn it in, and you leave your name. If it's
not called for, you get it back. But you can't gather things up in a sack
and just walk off. That don't go.
"See here!" He held up a tiny leather frame taken from the purse he had
emptied. "That's a picture of an old lady with white hair; somebody's
mother, like as not. What's it worth to you? Not that!" He snapped his
fingers. "But to the real owner it's a precious possession."
"Yes, yes," Florence broke in eagerly, "and there's a ragged little purse
in that pile that contains a dear old lady's only real possession, a
cameo."
"How'd you know that?" The officer turned sharply upon her.
"We saw it in his hand." She held her ground, nodding at the boy. "We
were with the lady, helping her out of the crush, when she lost it."
"You--you look like that kind," the officer said slowly, studying her
face. "I--I'm going to take a chance. Got her address?"
"Yes, yes," eagerly.
"Give it to me."
"Here. Write it down."
"Good. Now then, you pick out the purse and show me this thing you call a
cameo. Never heard of one before, but if it's different from everything
else I've seen it must be one of them cameos."
"Oh tha-thank you!" Florence choked. She had made a promise to the little
old lady. Now the promise was near to fulfillment.
The purse was quickly found and the cameo exposed to view.
"That's a cameo all right," the officer grinned. "It's nothing else I
ever saw. You take it to her and may God bless you for your interest in
an old lady."
Florence found her eyes suddenly dimmed.
"As for you!" The officer's tone grew stern once more as he turned to the
marauding pair. "You give me your names and tell me where you live. I'll
just keep all this stuff as it is, and turn it in. If any of it remains
unclaimed we'll let you know."
Glad to know that they were not to be sent to jail for a misdemeanor they
had committed in ignorance, the strange pair gave their names and place
of residence and then disappeared into the shadows whence they had come.
The officer, whose duty it was to keep an eye on lake shore property,
escorted the girls to the street car line, then bade them good-night.
There were times when the little French girl could not sleep. On
returning to her room, she found that, despite the lateness of the hour,
her nerves were all a-tingle, her eyes wide and staring.
Long after Florence had retired for the night, she lay rolled in a soft,
woolly blanket, huddled up in a great chair before the fire.
At first, as she stared at the fire she saw there only a confusion of
blurred impressions. In time these impressions took form and she saw much
of her own life spread out before her. The opera, its stage resplendent
with color, light and life; the boxes shrouded in darkness; these she
saw. The great estate, home of Rosemary Robinson, was there, and the
glowing magic curtain that appeared to burn but was not consumed; these
were there too.
As in a dream she heard voices: The lady in black spoke, Jaeger, the
detective, and Rosemary. She seemed to catch the low murmur of the
hunchback and that boy of his; heard, too, the sharp call of the man with
the evil eye.
"All this," she said aloud, "fits in somehow. 'There is a destiny that
shapes our ends, rough hew them how we may.' If I could see it all as it
is to be when all is finished they would all have their places, their
work to do, the little old lady, the crushing throng, the hooters, yes,
even the one with the dark face and evil eye: all these may serve me in
the end.
"Serve me. Poor little me!" She laughed aloud, and, blazing with a merry
crackle, the fire appeared to laugh back.