E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Adventure Stories for Girls
THE CRIMSON THREAD
by
ROY J. SNELL
The Reilly & Lee Co.
Chicago
Printed in the United States of America
Copyright, 1925
by
The Reilly & Lee Co.
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Two Hours Before Midnight 7
II Crimson with a Strand of Purple 23
III A New Mystery 36
IV The Picture Girl 52
V "Come and Find Me" 67
VI The Iron Ring 80
VII Cordie's Mad Flight 93
VIII The Diamond-Set Iron Ring 109
IX Her Double 136
X Cordie's Strange Ride 153
XI As Seen from the Stairway 167
XII Silver Gray Treasure 175
XIII Lucile's Dream 181
XIV The Newspaper Picture 187
XV "With Contents, If Any" 192
XVI A Great Day 205
XVII An Icy Plunge 215
XVIII The Mystery Lady's New Role 229
XIX Meg Wields a Belaying Pin 234
XX The Great Moment 246
XXI The Man in Gray 254
XXII The Finish 263
XXIII Meg's Secret 271
XXIV Three Questions 277
XXV What the Brown Bag Held 294
THE CRIMSON THREAD
CHAPTER I
TWO HOURS BEFORE MIDNIGHT
Starting back with a suppressed exclamation of surprise on her lips,
Lucile Tucker stared in mystification and amazement. What was this
ghost-like apparition that had appeared at the entrance to the long dark
passage-way? A young woman's face, a face of beauty and refinement,
surrounded by a perfect circle of white. In the almost complete darkness
of the place, that was all Lucile could see. And such a place for such a
face--the far corner of the third floor of one of the largest department
stores in the world. At that very moment, from somewhere out of the
darkness, came the slow, deep, chiming notes of a great clock telling off
the hour of ten. Two hours before midnight! And she, Lucile, was for a
moment alone; or at least up to this moment she had thought herself
alone.
What was she to make of the face? True, it was on the level with the top
of the wrapper's desk. That, at least, was encouraging.
"That white is a fox skin, the collar to some dark garment that blends
completely with the shadows," Lucile told herself reassuringly.
At that moment a startling question sent her shrinking farther into the
shadows. "If she's a real person and not a spectre, what is she doing
here? Here, of all places, at the hour of ten!"
That was puzzling. What had this lady been doing in that narrow passage?
She could not be a member of the working force of the store. No sales
person would come to work in such a superb garment as this person wore.
Although Lucile had been employed in the book department for but ten
days, she had seen all those who worked here and was certain enough that
no such remarkably beautiful face could have escaped her notice.
"She--why she might be anything," Lucile told herself. "A--thief--a
shoplifter. Perhaps she stole that very cape--or whatever it is she
wears. Perhaps--"
Suddenly her heart gave a leap. Footsteps were approaching. The next
instant she saw a second face appear in the narrow line of light which
the street lights cast through the window.
"Laurie Seymour," she breathed.
Laurie was the new man in the department. He had been working at the
boys' and girls' books for only three days, yet Lucile liked him, liked
him tremendously. He was so friendly, even-tempered and different. And he
seemed a trifle mysterious.
"Mysterious," she mused, "perhaps here's the mystery answered."
It certainly did seem so, for after the apparition in white had whispered
a word or two, Laurie looked at her strangely for a second, drew from his
pocket a slip of paper and handing it to her, quickly vanished into the
shadows. The next instant the apparition vanished, too. Again Lucile
found herself alone in the far corner of the mammoth store, surrounded by
darkness.
Perhaps you have been wondering what Lucile and Laurie were doing in the
great store at this hour. Since the doors are closed at six o'clock, you
have no doubt thought of the entire place as being shrouded in darkness
and utterly deserted. These were the days of the great rush of sales that
comes before Christmas. That evening eight thousand books had been
trucked into the department to be stowed away on or under tables and
shelves. Twenty sales persons had been given "pass outs"; which meant
that they might pass _in_ at seven o'clock and work until ten. They had
worked like beavers; making ready for the rush that would come on the
morrow.
Now the great bulk of the work had been done. More than half of the
workers had chirped a cheery "Good-night" and had found their way down a
marble stairway to the ground floor and the street. Lucile had been sent
by "Rennie," the head sales-lady of juveniles, to this dark section for
an armful of books. Here in this dark corner a part of Laurie's true
character had, uninvited, come to her.
"He gave her his pass-out," she said to herself. "With that she can leave
the building with her stolen goods."
For a second, as she thought of this, she contemplated following the
mystery woman and bringing her back.
"But that," she told herself, "would be dangerous. That passage is a
hundred feet long and only four feet wide; then it turns sharply and goes
two hundred feet farther. She may carry a knife; such women do. In that
place she could murder me and no one would know until morning.
"Of course," she reflected, "there's the other end of the passage where
it comes out at the offices. She must leave the passage there if she does
not come back this way. I might call the watchmen. They could catch her.
It's a perfect trap; she's like a mouse in a boot. But then--"
She paused in her mad rush of thought. What proof had she that this
beautiful creature was a thief? What indeed? And what right had she to
spy upon her and upon Laurie? Truth was, she had none at all. She was a
sales person, not a detective. Her job was that of putting books on
shelves and tables and selling them; her immediate task that of taking an
armful of books to Rennie. Her simple and sole duty lay just there. Then,
too, in the short time she had known Laurie Seymour, she had come to like
him.
"He might be innocent of any real wrong," she reasoned. "If I go
blundering into things I may be serving a friend badly indeed."
"But," she was brought up short by a sudden thought, "if he gave her his
pass-out, how's he to leave the building?"
How indeed? In a great store such as this, where hundreds of thousands of
dollars worth of rare jewels and much silver and gold are kept and where
princely furs and priceless old paintings are on display, it is necessary
to maintain a constant vigil against thieves. "Pass-outs" are given to
all employees who enter or leave the store after closing hours. It was
true enough that without his pass-out, Laurie could not get by the
eagle-eyed guard who kept constant vigil at the only door where the
employees were permitted to pass out to the street.
"But the books," she murmured, starting up, "Rennie will be waiting."
Rennie, whose real name was Miss Renton, appeared to be in no hurry.
Having become interested in writing down lists of books that were to be
ordered in the morning, she had so far forgotten the girl as to exclaim
as she came up:
"Why, Lucile! I thought you had gone! Now, dearie, just put those books
down right there. We can take care of them before the rush begins in the
morning. Run along now and get your coat. You must go home. It's past
ten, less than two hours till midnight!"
"Yes, but--"
Lucile checked herself just in time. She had been about to say that she
was afraid to go for her coat. And indeed she was, for was it not hanging
on the wall in that narrow passage at the door of which the mystery lady
had appeared?
"But it wouldn't do to tell," she thought, "I--I've got to go alone."
Go she did, but with much fear and trembling.
She might have spared herself all this trembling, for there was no one in
the dark passage.
But what was this? The row of coat hooks were all empty save one, her
own, and on that hook--what could it mean?--on that hook hung not her own
too frankly thin and threadbare coat, but a magnificent thing of midnight
blue and white. It was the cape with the white fox collar worn by the
mystery woman.
Even as her hand touched the fox skin she knew it was far more costly
than she had thought.
"It's over my coat," she breathed. "I've only to leave it."
This, she found, was not true. _Her coat had vanished._ The cape had been
left in its stead and, as if to further perplex and alarm her, the
midnight blue unfolded, revealing a superb lining of Siberian squirrel.
"Oh!" Lucile exclaimed as her trembling fingers dropped to her side and
she fled the place.
One consoling thought flashed across her mind. Rennie had not yet left
for the night. Rennie, the tall and slim, with a thread of gray in her
black hair, who had been in the department for no one knew how
long--Rennie would know what to do. The instant she was told all that had
happened she would say what the very next step must be.
"The instant she is told," Lucile whispered to herself. Then suddenly she
realized that she did not wish to tell all she had seen.
"Not just yet, at any rate," she told herself. "I'm not supposed to have
seen it. I want time to think. I'll tell Rennie only what I am supposed
to know--that my coat has been taken and this cape left in its stead."
Rennie showed little surprise on hearing the story. "Someone has probably
taken the wrong coat," she said.
"But that's not possible!" Lucile laughed at the very thought.
"Why?"
"I'll show you," and she dashed back for the cape.
As Rennie saw the magnificent creation, she gasped with astonishment;
then began to murmur something about fairy princesses looking after poor
girls and leaving them gorgeous garments.
"You can't go home without a wrap," she told Lucile. "They say there's a
regular blizzard outside. You'll simply have to wear it home."
Taking the garment from Lucile's hands, she placed it upon her shoulders
with a touch that was half caress. Then, having fastened it under
Lucile's chin, she stood back to exclaim:
"Why, dearie, you look charming!"
"But--but how am I to get out of the building with it? No one will
believe that a mere sales girl owns a cape like this. It's new. Probably
it's been stolen."
"Stolen!" exclaimed Rennie. "What nonsense!
"Besides," she added in a quieter tone, "it's not quite new. The strings
that hold it together at the throat are worn a little smooth and there's
the least bit of a soil at the bottom. You wait ten minutes for me and
we'll go out together. I know the watchman. I'll take you out under my
wing."
Greatly relieved by these words and intent on making the most of her wait
by having a good general look at the room, Lucile sauntered away to the
left where she was soon lost from sight behind tables, stacks of books,
and massive pillars.
Since she had worked here but ten days, the charm of the place had not
yet worn off. The books, row on row of them, fascinated her. Here was a
wealth of learning that no one could hope to appropriate in a lifetime.
To the right of her was poetry, thousands of volumes; to the left, books
on travel, thousands more; and before her new fiction, tens of thousands.
Who would not envy her? It was a great place for one who loved books.
With a feeling of sorrow she thought of the time when she must leave all
this wealth; when she must say goodbye to the wonderful friends she had
already formed here. In two short weeks she would be going back to the
University. Since she was dependent upon her own resources for her
support--and since for one who specialized in English there was quite as
much to be learned about books by selling as by reading them--her head
professor had quite readily granted her a month's leave of absence that
she might come down here to assist in meeting the Christmas rush.
"Ah yes," she breathed, "it will be of the past in two more weeks. But in
two weeks much may happen. Think of what happened to-night! Think--"
She was brought up short by a sound. Had it been a footstep? She could
not make sure for the floor was heavily carpeted. Instantly she became
conscious of the darkness that surrounded her like a shroud. Before her
loomed the dim outlines of the elevator cages. Distorted by the uncertain
light, these seemed the cells of some gloomy prison. Far off to the right
was a great rotunda. From the rail that surrounded this, when the lights
were on, one might gaze upward to dizzy heights and downward to dizzier
depths. Now she thought of that awe inspiring vault as if it were some
deep and mysterious cave.
"Oh--ooo!" Lucile gasped. "This place gets spookier every moment. I'll go
back to--"
Even as she spoke she caught a sound to her right. Impelled by sheer
curiosity, she took a dozen steps in that direction.
Suddenly she started back. Against the wall a light had flashed on for a
second and in that second she had caught sight of a face--the face of
Laurie Seymour.
Again the light came on. This time the flash was a little longer. She saw
his face clearly. On his finely cut features there was such a smile as
suggests anticipation of amusing adventure.
In one hand he held the flashlight. Under his arm was a bundle of
corrugated paper such as is used in wrapping books for mailing. He was
standing by a square opening in the wall. Lucile knew in a vague sort of
way where that opening led. Books that had been wrapped were dropped in
there. A circular spiral chute, some three feet in diameter, wormed its
way like an auger hole down from this point to the sub-basement where was
located the shipping room.
Even as she thought this through she saw Laurie swing his feet across the
opening. Then, just as the light flashed out, she again saw that amused
grin. The next second there came the sound of some heavy object gliding
downward.
"He--he went down the chute!" she gasped. "He'll be killed!"
How long she stood there, petrified with surprise and dread, she could
not have told. It could not have been many seconds but it seemed an hour.
At last the end came, a sickening thud sounding faint and far away.
Without uttering a sound, but with heart beating wildly and feet flying
at almost superhuman speed, the girl raced across the room and down a
flight of broad marble stairs.
"I must find him. He is hurt. Perhaps he is killed!" she kept repeating
to herself.
Down one flight; down two; three; four, she sped.
And then, in the darkness of this vast shipping room, she paused to
listen.
Not a sound. She may as well have been alone in the catacombs of Egypt or
the Mammoth Cave.
"Must be this way," she breathed.
Truth was, she had lost her sense of direction. She was not sure which
way to go. She took a dozen steps forward. Finding herself confronted by
a dark bulk, she started walking round it. Having paused to think, she
found fear gripping at her heart. When she tried to retrace her steps she
discovered that the stairs had apparently vanished. She was lost.
"Lost!" she whispered. "Lost in the subbasement of this great building at
night!" Even as she thought this there came to her, faint and far
distant, yet very distinct, the even tread of footsteps.
"It's not Laurie. He doesn't walk like that. It--it's--" her heart stood
still, "it's a watchman! And here I am dressed in this magnificent
garment which does not belong to me. Somehow I must get back to the third
floor and to Rennie! But how? How!"