A THEFT IN THE NIGHT
There is no feeling of desolation so complete as that which sweeps over
one who is utterly alone in a great city at night. The desert, the Arctic
wilderness, the heart of the forest, the boundless sea, all these have
their terrors, but for downright desolation give me the heart of a
strange city at night.
Hardly had Lucile covered two blocks on her journey from the book shop
when this feeling of utter loneliness engulfed her like a bank of fog.
Shuddering, she paused to consider, and, as she did so, fancied she
caught the bulk of a shadow disappearing into a doorway to the right of
her.
"Where am I and where am I to go?" she asked herself in a wild attempt to
gather her scattered senses. In vain she endeavored to recall the name of
the street she was on at that moment. Her efforts to recall the route she
had taken in getting there were quite as futile.
"Wish I were in Chicago," she breathed. "The very worst of it is better
than this. There at least I have friends somewhere. Here I have none
anywhere. Wish Florence were here."
At that she caught herself up; there was no use in wishing for things
that could not be. The question was, what did she intend to do? Was she
to seek out a hotel and spend the night there, to resume her search for
the first person in America who had sold the ancient copy of the Angler,
or was she to take the first train back to Chicago? She had a feeling
that she had seen the man she sought and that weeks of search might not
reveal him again; yet she disliked going back to Frank Morrow with so
little to show for his hundred dollars invested.
"Anyway," she said at last with a shudder, "I've got to get out of here.
Boo! it seems like the very depths of the slums!"
She started on at a brisk pace. Having gone a half block she faced about
suddenly; she fancied she heard footsteps behind her. She saw nothing but
an empty street.
"Nerves," she told herself. "I've got to get over that. I know what's the
matter with me though; I haven't eaten for hours. I'll find a restaurant
pretty soon and get a cup of coffee."
There is a strange thing about our great cities; in certain sections you
may pass a half dozen coffee shops and at least three policemen in a
single block; in other sections you may go an entire mile without seeing
either. Evidently, eating places, like policemen, crave company of their
own kind. Lucile had happened upon a policeless and eat-shopless section
of New York. For a full twenty minutes she tramped on through the fog,
growing more and more certain at every step that she was being followed
by someone, and not coming upon a single person or shop that offered her
either food or protection.
Suddenly she found herself in the midst of a throng of people. A movie
theater had disgorged this throng. Like a sudden flood of water, they
surrounded her and bore her on. They poured down the street to break up
into two smaller streams, one of which flowed on down the street and the
other into a hole in the ground. Having been caught in the latter stream,
and not knowing what else to do, eager for companionship of whatever
sort, the girl allowed herself to be borne along and down into the hole.
Down a steep flight of steps she was half carried, to be at last
deposited on a platform, alongside of which in due time a train of
electric cars came rattling in.
"The subway," she breathed. "It will take me anywhere, providing I know
where I want to go."
Just as she was beginning to experience a sense of relief from contact
with this flowing mass of humanity she was given a sudden shock. To the
right of her, through a narrow gap in the throng, she recognized a face.
The gap closed up at once and the face disappeared, but the image of it
remained. It was the face of the man she had seen in the shop, he of the
birthmark on his chin.
"No doubt of it now," she said half aloud. "He _is_ following me." Then,
like some hunted creature of the wild, she began looking about her for a
way of escape. Before her there whizzed a train. The moving cars came to
a halt. A door slid open. She leaped within. The next instant the door
closed and she was borne away. To what place? She could not tell. All she
knew was that she was on her way.
Quite confident that she had evaded her pursuer, she settled back in her
seat to fall into a drowsy stupor. How far she rode she could not tell.
Having at last been roused to action by the pangs of hunger, she rose and
left the car. "Only hope there is some place to eat near," she sighed.
Again she found herself lost in a jam; the legitimate theaters were
disgorging their crowds. She was at this time, though she did not know
it, in the down town district.
Her right hand was disengaged; in her left she carried a small leather
bag. As she struggled through the throng, she experienced difficulty in
retaining her hold on this bag. Of a sudden she felt a mighty wrench on
its handle and the next instant it was gone. There could be no mistaking
that sudden pull. It had been torn from her grasp by a vandal of some
sort. As she turned with a gasp, she caught sight of a face that vanished
instantly, the face of the man with the birthmark on his chin.
Instantly the whole situation flashed through her mind; this man had been
following her to regain possession of one or both of the books which at
this moment reposed in her coat pocket. He had made the mistake of
thinking these books were in the bag. He would search the bag and then--
She reasoned no further; a car door was about to close. She dashed
through it at imminent risk of being caught in the crush of its swing and
the next instant the car whirled away.
"Missed him that time," she breathed. "He will search the bag. When he
discovers his mistake it will be too late. The bird has flown. As to the
bag, he may keep it. It contains only a bit of a pink garment which I can
afford to do without, and two clean handkerchiefs."
Fifteen minutes later when she left the car she found herself in a very
much calmer state of mind. Convinced that she had shaken herself free
from her undesirable shadow, and fully convinced also that nothing now
remained but to eat a belated supper and board the next train for her
home city, she went about the business of finding out what that next
train might be and from what depot it left.
Fortunately, a near-by hotel office was able to furnish her the
information needed and to call a taxi. A half hour later she found
herself enjoying a hot lunch in the depot and at the same time mentally
reveling in the soft comfort of "Lower 7" of car 36, which she was soon
to occupy.