A LEAF FROM THE PAST
At Patience's door she paused. It stood partly open, and peeping in she
saw that her friend was alone. Rapping softly, she announced with a
laugh, "The Honorable Grace Harlowe."
"Enter without further ceremony," was the quick reply. "To what do I owe
my good fortune?"
"To the absence of your roommate," answered Grace dryly. "Where is she?"
"At the library. She left the house directly after dinner to look up a
number of references. She is infinitely more industrious than I."
"The Semper Fidelis crowd are going down to that new motion picture
theatre to see 'Les Miserables.' We want you to go with us," invited
Grace, looking relieved at having been able to deliver the invitation so
easily.
"Let me think. Is there any reason why I can't go? I have a hazy
recollection of having something else on hand to-night, but I can't
remember what it is."
"Is it anything about lessons?" asked Grace.
"No." Patience glanced perplexedly about her. "I can't recall it. It
isn't anything of importance or I certainly would have no difficulty in
remembering it. Perhaps it will come to me suddenly."
"I must make the round of the house and ask the other girls. Be ready
and downstairs, within the next fifteen minutes."
By the time Grace had collected the Semper Fidelis girls of Wayne Hall,
Arline had returned with the other members of the club, and the party
set out for the theatre. Grace walked with Anne and Patience, who,
unable to remember any other engagement, had dismissed the disturbing
thought from her mind and prepared to enjoy her evening.
At the entrance of the theatre, the party halted for a moment while
Arline bought the tickets. Grace looked interestedly about her. Even in
quiet, staid old Overton she derived an active pleasure from scanning
the faces of the passersby. She tried to read their thoughts from their
expressions, and her habit of observation had on more than one occasion
proved of value to her.
"All right," called Arline, holding up the tickets. "Come on."
Grace turned her eyes toward Arline, then some unaccountable influence
caused her to turn her head and glance again in the direction of the
street. A roughly-dressed man had stopped on the sidewalk directly in
front of the theatre to stare at one of the gayly colored lithographs.
Grace stopped short, seized with a peculiar feeling of apprehension. Why
was the face of this man so familiar to her? Surely she had seen it
somewhere under decidedly unpleasant circumstances. Was it at Overton
she had seen him? No, it was further back than that.
During the first part of Hugo's famous novel, which had been filmed to
perfection, Grace was obsessed with the question: "Where have I seen
him?" The stranger's face haunted her. It was a low-browed, sullen face.
She could not keep her mind on the story that was being unfolded on the
screen. She watched the ill-fated Jean Valjean being led off to prison
for stealing a loaf of bread almost without seeing him. It was not until
the scene where, bruised in spirit and prison-warped, Jean steals the
good priest's candlesticks and makes off with them, that full
remembrance came to Grace. Now she knew why that face was strangely
familiar. The man she had seen was none other than "Larry, the
Locksmith." In her mind's eye Grace saw him sitting in the court room
with humped shoulders, his eyes bent fiercely upon her, as she related
what she had seen with her face pressed close to the window pane of the
haunted house. It had all happened during her senior year at high
school. To Grace it seemed but yesterday since she had given the
testimony that sent Henry Hammond's accomplice to prison for a term of
seven years in the state penitentiary. Seven years! It had been only
four years since that memorable occasion. Perhaps the man had been
released earlier for good behavior, or perhaps--Grace's heart beat a
trifle faster--he had escaped.
She paid but scant attention to the rest of the performance, and when
Jean had died in the arms of his devoted foster daughter, the lights had
appeared, and the crowd began filing out of the theatre, she scanned it
eagerly. There was no sign of the disturbing face of "Larry, the
Locksmith."
The little company of girls made their way to the street, discussing the
merits of the various actors who had portrayed so admirably the roles
assigned to them. Arline, feeling rather ashamed of her brusque refusal
to countenance Kathleen West as a possible member of the club, slipped
her arm through Grace's, saying contritely, "I am awfully sorry I was so
cross, Grace."
Grace, whose mind was still fully occupied with the thought of the man
she had good reason to recognize, did not answer. Arline glanced
reproachfully at her, then withdrew her arm from Grace's with an
offended suddenness that caused Grace to cry apologetically: "Please
pardon me, Arline. What did you say?"
Arline, however, was now thoroughly incensed. She had apologized, and
Grace had not even taken the trouble to listen. Without answering, save
by an angry flash of her blue eyes, she walked on rapidly, overtaking
the Emerson twins, who were heading the little procession. Grace sprang
impulsively forward. Then, as Arline slipped between the twins,
laughingly taking hold of an arm of each, Grace fell back, deciding that
she would say nothing. She would write Arline a note that very night.
True to her resolve, the note was written and sent. At the end of a week
she had received no answer. Later she was greeted with a cold "good
afternoon" and a stiff little bow when she chanced to encounter Arline
on the campus. Remembering Arline's stubborn stand in regard to Ruth
during their sophomore year, Grace knew the dainty little girl's
resentment to be very real and lasting. She was also reasonably sure
that not even Ruth was aware of their estrangement. She wished she had
not seen that disturbing face. She wondered if she had been mistaken. No
doubt there were men in the world who bore a strong resemblance to
"Larry, the Locksmith." She blamed herself entirely for Arline's
withdrawal of friendship. If she had only heard and accepted the
apology! It was humiliating indeed to make an earnest apology to
unhearing ears.
"It serves you right, Grace Harlowe," she reflected, coming into the
living room late one afternoon. "I'm not sorry for you. I hope Arline
won't be too haughty at the club meeting to-morrow. It is such a shame.
I wanted to propose the 'Famous Fiction' dance as a Semper Fidelis
merry-making this year, and I can never talk enthusiastically of it
knowing she disapproves. Of course, I'll pretend I don't care, but it
hurts, just the same."
With a sigh Grace reached for the evening paper which lay on the library
table. She glanced over the headlines without any special interest until
a single sentence in large black type caused her to stare, then give
voice to a surprised, "I knew it!" The headline read, "Larry, the
Locksmith, Still at Large."
Grace sat down heavily in the nearest chair, the newspaper still
clutched in one hand. She had not been mistaken. The man for whom the
authorities were searching was the man she had seen in front of the
moving picture theatre. It was evident that he had very little fear of
being recognized in Overton, or he would not have risked appearing in
the streets of the college town. "He must have friends here, who are
sheltering him," sprang into her mind, "or he may be passing through the
town. The question is, ought I to make my discovery known to the
police?"
"Here you are!" called a familiar voice, "I've been looking for you."
Patience Eliot entered the living room, and seated herself opposite
Grace. "Do you remember my saying when you asked me to go to the theater
that I had a faint recollection of having another engagement last
night?"
Grace nodded.
"My faint recollection was perfectly correct. I had promised to go for a
walk with Kathleen, and consequently she wouldn't speak to me when I
came in last night. She wouldn't accept my humble apologies. Just when I
thought I was making a little progress with her, too. I am the most
unfortunate mortal," sighed Patience. "I know she imagines I did it
purposely."
Patience's recital of her woes brought back the subject of Arline's
displeasure to Grace's mind, and when, a little later, the two girls
went upstairs arm in arm, the important question of whether or not to
inform the Overton police of her discovery had slipped, for the time
being, from Grace's mind.