THE DIAMOND-SET IRON RING
When Cordie fled from the man of the hawk-like eye and the marble
features she dashed directly into the moving throng of shoppers. In this,
however, she found scant relief. No matter which way she might turn she
felt sure that the man pursued her and would overtake her if she did not
flee faster and faster.
Putting her utmost strength into this flight, she dashed past counters
strewn with goods, round a bank of elevators, through narrow aisles
jammed with shoppers, across a narrow court and again into the throng. At
last, in utter desperation, she fled down a stairway; then another and
another. Little dreaming that she had been descending into the very
depths of the earth, she came up at last with a little suppressed scream
to a place where from out a long row of small iron doors fire gleamed red
as a noonday sun.
Where was she? Surely she had not dreamed there could be such a place as
this in a great department store.
After wavering unsteadily for a moment, she turned, stumbled, righted
herself, and would have gone racing back up the stair had not a heavy
hand fallen upon her shoulder and a gruff, kindly voice said:
"Beg pardon, Miss Cordelia, are you in trouble?"
Surprised at hearing herself called by her own name, she turned about to
find herself staring into the face of James, the bundle man.
For a few seconds she wavered between pause and flight. There was,
however, such a light of kindness in the man's eyes as could not be
questioned. So, stepping back from the stairs, she said:
"Yes, I am in trouble. The--the man; I think he was following me."
"He'd do well not to follow you too far this way, if he meant you any
harm." The bundle man shook his powerful frame, then glanced at the
fires.
"Wha--what are they?" Cordie stammered. "Where are we?"
"Don't you know?" he looked incredulous. "Them's the boilers that heat
the buildin'. I suppose you never wondered before how this huge building
got heated? Well, that's how. Them's the boilers that does it.
"Sometimes I come down here to sit after hours," he half apologized. "The
boys down here that tends to the stokers let me come. I like it. It's the
nearest thing to the sea that one finds about the buildin'. You see, it's
sort of like a ship's hold where the stokers work."
"Oh, you belong to the sea."
"Yes, Miss. I'll tell you about it; but that will do for another time.
You'll be going home. If it's all right, I'll see you safely on your way,
or if you want I'll see you safely home. You need have no fear of me. I'm
old enough to be your father, an' I took a sort of interest in you from
the first. I'd be glad to help you--"
He broke short off to stare at the door through which Cordie had entered.
Framed by the outer darkness, a face had appeared there. However well
shaven and massaged it might be, it was not a pleasing face to look upon
and hawk-like eyes were set in a countenance as expressionless as marble.
"That's him!" whispered James, staring as if his eyes would pop out of
his head. "That's the very man."
The next instant the man disappeared. There was reason enough for this
too, for with every muscle of his face drawn in lines of hate, the
stalwart James had leaped square at the door.
And what of Lucile?
After gazing for a moment in astonishment at the purple curtain with the
touch of crimson shining out from it, (beyond which the Mystery Lady had
disappeared,) she stepped close enough to make sure that same purple
strand ran through the thread. Then she turned and walked out of the
building.
She found herself more mystified than ever. When would all this maze of
mysteries be solved? Why had the Mystery Lady done that? Why the crimson
thread? Why the iron ring? That was the fourth time the crimson thread
had appeared, and this time there could be no doubt but that it had been
she who had held the needle.
Strangely enough, at this moment there flashed through her mind one
sentence in that clipping relating to the lady who called herself the
Spirit of Christmas.
"I am the Spirit of Christmas," she whispered it as she recalled it. "I
am the Spirit of Christmas. Wherever I go I leave my mark which is also
my sign." She wondered vaguely what she could have meant by that.
This lady of the Christmas Spirit had the whole city on tip-toes.
Everyone was looking for her; everyone hoping to come downtown some fine
morning to meet her and to claim her bag of gold. Shoppers gazed into
faces of fellow shoppers to wonder: "Are you the Spirit of Christmas?
Shall I grasp your hand?" News boys, staring up at lady customers who
slipped them pennies for papers, wondered: "Are you the Christmas Lady?"
Every day the paper told how she had been dressed on the previous day,
where she had been and what she had done. One day, in the guise of a
farmer's wife, she had visited the stockyards and had spent hours
wandering through great buildings or on board-walks above the cattle. The
next day found her again among the throngs of shoppers. Here she had
purchased a handkerchief and there a newspaper. She described the clerk
and the newsboy. The clerk and the boy read it and groaned. For them the
great moment had come and was gone forever.
"Who will discover her? When will it be? Who will get the gold?" These
were the questions that were on every tongue.
There could be no doubt but the paper was reaping a golden harvest from
it, for did not everyone in the city buy a paper that they might read of
her latest exploits and to discover where she was to be on that day, and
to dream that this day he might be the lucky one; this day he might hear
the gold coin jingle?
Lucile thought all this through as she hurried back toward the store. At
the same time she chided herself for being so foolish as to miss her
appointment with Cordie for such a wild goose chase. She hoped against
hope that she would find Cordie still waiting.
She found the door closed. As she pressed her face against the glass she
saw but one person near the entrance--the night watchman. Cordie was not
there.
"Gone," Lucile murmured. "I only hope nothing has happened to her."
At that she turned about and raced away to catch an on-coming elevated
train.
* * * * * * * *
As James disappeared through the door of the furnace room of the
department store, Cordie sank down in a chair. The chair was black and
greasy, but she had no thought for that. Indeed, so excited and
frightened was she that for a time she was unable to think clearly about
anything.
When at last the full meaning of the situation had forced its way into
her consciousness, she leaped to her feet, exclaiming:
"Stop him! Stop him! He'll be killed!"
"I bet you he won't," a burly furnace tender smiled quietly. "He's a hard
boiled egg, that boy; muscles like steel and quick as a cat. If anybody
does him in you'll have to give him credit. Y'ought t' see him box. There
ain't a man among us that can touch him."
Somewhat reassured by this glowing description of her companion, the girl
settled back again in her seat. She knew that she was safe enough here
with these rough but kindly men.
As she sat there thinking, there came to her mind a question. Why did
James go into such a fit of anger at sight of the stranger at the door?
"Surely," she told herself, "it could not have been because the man had
been following me. That wouldn't be natural. James scarcely knows me. Why
should he suddenly become such a violent champion of my cause? And
besides, he had no way of knowing that that was the man who was following
me. He did not wait to ask a single question; just whispered: 'That's
him!' and rushed right at him."
"No he didn't do it because of me," she concluded after a few moments of
thought. "He's seen that man before. I wonder when and where. I wonder
what he's done to James?"
Then came another, more startling question. What would James do to the
man if he caught him?
Instantly her keen imagination was at work. Quickening her sense of
hearing, it set her listening to sounds which she told herself were the
dull thud of fist-blows, the sickening rush of a blade as it sped through
the air, a low groan of pain, and then sharper, more distinct, the
pop-pop of an automatic.
In vain she told herself that with the hiss of steam, the dull thud-thud
of revolving grates and the general noises of the boiler-room, it was
quite impossible for her to distinguish sounds ten yards away, and that
in all probability the two men were hundreds of feet away from her, on
some other floor. The illusion still persisted. So certain did she become
that a battle was being fought just outside the door that she found
herself gripping the arms of her chair to keep from crying out.
The nickel-plated clock against the wall had ticked away a full half
hour. The suspense had grown unbearable when of a sudden, with face
grimy, hair tousled, and clothing all awry, James appeared at the door.
"You--you," Cordie started up.
"Yes, miss," James grinned. "I know I look as if I'd come in from a long
and stormy voyage. My deck needs swabbin' down and my sails a furlin',
but I'll be shipshape and ready to take another cruise before the clock
can strike eight bells."
This talk sounded so quaint to the girl that she quite forgot the recent
danger James had been in, and sat staring at him as he thrust his head
into a huge basin of water and proceeded to scrub it with a course brush,
much as one might some huge vegetable.
By the aid of a comb and whisk broom, he succeeded in making himself
presentable.
"Now," he smiled a broad smile, "your Uncle James, once a seaman and now
a land fighter, is ready to pilot you home. What's the port?"
"Sixty-first and Drexel," said Cordie.
"All right. Port 'er bow. We're off."
Concerning his recent combat--if there had been a combat--James said not
a word. Cordie wondered at this, but eager as she was to know the outcome
of the battle, if there had been one, she dreaded quite as much to hear
the whole truth. Visions of an inanimate form, lying bruised and bleeding
in some dark corner of the stair, set her shuddering. So in the end she
asked no question.
Their passage to the upper floor and out of the building was uneventful.
The watchman at the door recognized them and allowed them to pass.
Previous to this time James had seemed quiet and uncommunicative, but now
as they rattled along on the L train he told her many a wild tale of the
sea journeys he had made. In his deep mellow drawl he talked of the whale
ship _Addler_ in northern seas; of Eskimo and polar bear and the gleaming
northern lights; and then he talked of the Cutter _Corwin_ among the palm
shadowed South Sea Islands.
It was with a real feeling of regret that Cordie, hearing her own station
announced, realized that their visit was at an end.
Five minutes later, brimming over with excitement, she burst into
Lucile's room.
"Wait!" exclaimed Lucile as she read in Cordie's eyes the story of some
thrilling experience. "You've had an adventure. So have I. Let's not
spoil 'em in the telling. Let's set the stage for a story. You haven't
had a bite to eat, have you?"
"No--o," Cordie admitted, "not a single bite. I'd forgotten."
"Neither have I. You'll find a loaf of bread and a slice of cream pimento
cheese in the upper dresser drawer. There are some vanilla wafers, too.
You make the sandwiches and I'll have the cocoa piping hot in a minute.
No, I'll tell you, let's dress for it first."
Fifteen minutes later they sat in their bright colored dressing gowns,
sipping the delicious hot beverage and hungrily devouring sandwiches.
"Now," said Lucile after the last sandwich had vanished and fresh cups
had been poured, "now's the time for spinning yarns. You tell yours
first."
With many a gesture and dramatic pause, Cordie told of her startling
discovery, her wild dash through the throng, her descent into the depths
of the earth, and of the strange doings down there beneath the surface of
the city's streets.
"Yes," said Lucile, sipping her chocolate thoughtfully as Cordie's
narrative ended, "that surely was the young man who attempted to carry
you away when you fainted in the Art Museum. Dear little girl, you must
be careful, very careful indeed. You must never be left alone; never!
Never! Even if the Mystery Woman beckons or the Lady of the Christmas
Spirit clinks her gold in my very ears, I will not desert you again."
It was a very warm and friendly hand that Lucile felt tucked into her
own, and a suspiciously husky voice that said:
"Thank you, my dear big sister.
"But," Cordie exclaimed suddenly, "I must not tell them. It would never
do. They wouldn't let me----"
Suddenly checking her speech as if about to unwittingly reveal a secret,
she changed the subject abruptly. "Please tell me of your adventure," she
said.
"My adventure?" smiled Lucile. "Compared with yours, it was no adventure
at all--merely an episode. However, since it throws some light on a
mystery and reveals the whereabouts of a bit of stolen property, I must
tell you about it."
Then, while Cordie leaned back among the cushions, her eyes half closed
as if she were day dreaming, Lucile told of her experience with the
Mystery Lady.
"My iron ring!" exclaimed Cordie, sitting bolt upright as Lucile came to
that part of the story. "My iron ring! The old mischief! I might have
known! I----"
Again Cordie checked herself.
"Might have known what?" asked Lucile.
"Might have known that someone had stolen it, I suppose," finished Cordie
lamely. "Anyway, someone did, didn't they? And isn't it funny that she
should have a diamond set in it? Wouldn't it be a joke to come upon her
wearing it? Wouldn't it, though? I'd march right up and say, 'Lay-d-e-e
give me the ring! You stole it. My precious, my onliest, only iron
ring!'" She threw back her head and laughed.
Lucile joined her in the laugh, and with this forgot for a time that
Cordie had said something very unusual about the ring and the lady who
had taken it. At last Cordie broke the silence:
"James is a very unusual person."
"Yes, he must be."
"Do you suppose he caught that man--the one who had been following me?"
"I hope so, but perhaps not. You say he was all mussed up when he came
back?"
"Uh-huh."
"But not bruised, nor bloody, nor anything like that?"
"No, I guess not--no, not a bit."
"Then probably he didn't. When I got through my wild race about the place
the other night I was good and mussed up, and I hadn't been in a fight
either. It wouldn't be easy to catch anyone in that labyrinth."
Again there was silence for a little while.
"Lucile," whispered Cordie, bending forward eagerly, her face alight with
some strange idea. "James is so mysterious. Do you suppose he could be a
pirate in hiding?"
"A pirate! Why child, there aren't any pirates."
"Not any at all?"
"You don't read about any, do you?"
"You don't read about lots of things. You never read about my wrapping
bundles, did you? But I am, just the same. Everything doesn't get in the
papers. I think it would be wonderful if he turned out to be a real
pirate. You'd think he was one if you heard some of the stories he told
me to-night about the sea."
"All right," laughed her companion, "if you can make him out a pirate, a
nice friendly sort of pirate who is kind to ladies and all that, you're
welcome. But for my part, I'd give a lot more to know what that self
appointed brother of yours has done to James. It must have been something
rather terrible."
"Yes," agreed Cordie, "it surely must."
"Listen!" exclaimed Lucile. "There go the chimes! Ten o'clock, and you
work in the morning!"
Leaping from her chair, she began cleaning up the remnants of their
little feast. Ten minutes later the room was darkened for the night.
Though the room was dark, and though Lucile was tired enough for sleep,
her eyes did not close at once. She was thinking and her thoughts were
not of the most cheerful sort.
The outlook, she was forced to admit, was gloomy enough. She had hoped to
save enough money from her pay at the store to start her in the new term
at school. This hope was fast dwindling away. Her own expenses had been
greater than she had thought they would be. Added to this was the
increase in her room rent due to the presence of Cordie. Her dream that
Cordie was saving money had been blighted only the night before, for on
that night Cordie had brought home the gorgeous dressing gown she had
worn as they sat over the cocoa cups.
"And it must have cost her every penny she possessed," groaned Lucile.
"How extravagant! How--how----"
She wanted to say ungrateful, but could not quite do it. The girl
appeared so impractical, so lovable, so irresponsible, that she could not
find the heart to blame her.
Quickly she switched her thoughts to a more cheering subject--Laurie
Seymour. He had proven such a jolly fellow-worker--so cheerful, so kind
and helpful, so ever ready to bear the heavy burdens--that Lucile had all
but forgotten the fact that he had given his pass-out to the Mystery Lady
on that night when she had in such a surprising manner come into the
possession of the valuable fur lined cape. Equally strange was the fact
that she had come to think of the Mystery Lady in a new way. She found
that she could no longer think of the lady as a thief.
"And yet," she mused, "what could have been her reason for haunting our
store at that hour of the night? Why should she have left the cape?"
The cape. Ah yes, there was vexation enough in that! Too precious to be
worn to work, it had hung for days in Lucile's closet while she had gone
to work all too scantily clad in a sweater and broad scarf. She wished
that she might have her own coat. Poor as it might be, it was at least
her own and it was comfortable.
Next morning, having arrived at the door of the store a full fifteen
minutes before the opening hour, the two girls were enjoying a few
moments of window shopping before the gorgeous windows of State street.
Suddenly, above the rattle of distant elevated trains and the honk of
auto horns, Lucile caught clear and distinct the calling neigh of a
horse.
Wheeling quickly about, she stared around her. True enough, there were
still many horses on the streets of the city, but where before, in the
din and rattle of the streets, had she caught that one clear call of a
horse?
What she saw caused her to start and stare. Cordie was no longer at her
side. Instead she was in imminent danger of being run down by a cab as
she dashed madly across the street toward the spot where, like a statue
in blue, a young policeman sat rigidly erect on his police horse.
The thing the girl did, once she had safely crossed the street, was even
more surprising. Without the least glance at the young policeman, she
threw both arms about the horse's neck and hid her face in his mane.
Far from objecting to this unusual procedure, the horse appeared to
rather enjoy it. As for the stern young minion of the law, he was so
overcome by surprise that he did not alter his statue-like pose by so
much as a movement of a finger.
Lucile flew across the street.
"Cordie! Cordie! What in the world are you doing?" she fairly screamed.
Paying not the least attention to this, Cordie repeated over and over:
"Dick, you old darling. Dear old Dick. You knew me, Dick, you did! You
did!"
This lasted for a full moment. Then, appearing to come to herself, the
girl dropped her hands and stepped back upon the sidewalk.
One glance at the stern young officer, and a quite different emotion
swept over her. Her face turned crimson as she stammered:
"Oh, what have I done? I--I beg--beg your pardon."
"It's all right," grinned the young man, coming to life with a broad
smile. "Friend of yours, I take it?"
"Yes--Oh yes,--a very, very good friend."
"My name's Patrick O'Hara," there was a comradely tone now in the young
officer's voice. "He's a friend of mine too, and a mighty good one.
Shake." Solemnly drawing off his gauntlet, he swung half way out of his
saddle to grasp the girl's hand.
"Thanks. Thanks awfully. Is this--this where you always stay? I--I'd like
to see Dick real often."
"This is my beat; from here to the next cross street and back again. I'm
here every morning from seven to one. We--we--Dick, I mean, will be glad
to see you." The way he smiled as he looked at Cordie's deep colored,
dimpled cheeks, her frank blue eyes, her crinkly hair, said plainer than
words: "Dick won't be the only one who will be glad to see you."
"Lucile," implored Cordie, "I wish you'd do me a favor. I haven't a lump
of sugar for poor old Dick. I can't leave him this way. I--I never have.
Won't you please talk to this--this policeman until I can go to the
restaurant on the corner and get some?"
"It's all right, Miss--Miss----"
"Cordie," prompted the girl.
"It's all right, Cordie," Patrick O'Hara grinned, "I'll not run away.
Duty calls me, though. I must ride up a block and back again. I--I'll
make it snappy. Be back before you are."
Touching Dick with his spurless heel and patting him gently on the neck,
he went trotting away.
Five minutes later, the lump of sugar ceremony having been performed to
the complete satisfaction of both Dick and Cordie, the girls hurried away
to the scenes of their daily labors.
This little drama made a profound impression upon Lucile. For one thing,
it convinced her that in spite of her expensive and stylish lingerie,
Cordie was indeed a little country girl. "For," Lucille told herself,
"that horse, Dick, came from the country. All horses do. He's been a pet
of Cordie's back there on the farm. His owner, perhaps her own father,
has sold him to some city dealer. And because he is such a thorobred and
such a fine up-standing beauty, he has been made a police horse. I don't
blame her for loving him. Anyone would. But it shows what a splendid,
affectionate girl she is.
"I'm sort of glad," she told herself a moment later, "that she's gotten
acquainted with that young officer, Patrick O'Hara. He seems such a nice
sort of boy, and then you can never tell how soon you're going to need a
policeman as a friend; at least it seems so from what happened last
night."
She might have shuddered a little had she known how prophetic these
thoughts were. As it was, she merely smiled as she recalled once more how
her impetuous little companion had raced across the streets to throw her
arms about the neck of a horse ridden by a strange policeman.
"I wonder," she said finally, "I do wonder why Cordie does not confide in
me? Oh well," she sighed, "I can only wait. The time will come."
Had she but known it, Cordie had reasons enough; the strangest sort of
reasons, too.
It was in the forenoon of that same day that a rather surprising thing
happened, a thing that doubled the mystery surrounding the attractive
young salesman, Laurie.
Lucile was delivering a book to a customer. Laurie was waiting at the
desk for change and at the same time whispering to Cordie, when of a
sudden his eyes appeared ready to start from his head as he muttered:
"There's Sam!"
The next instant, leaving wrapped package, change and customer, he
disappeared as if the floor had dropped from beneath him.
"Where's Laurie?" Cordie asked a moment later. "His customer's waiting
for her change."
Though Lucile didn't know where he was, she was quite sure he would not
return, at least he would not until a certain short, broad-shouldered
man, who carried a large brief case and stood talking to Rennie, had left
the section. She felt very sure that Laurie wished to escape meeting this
man.
"That man must be Sam," Lucile thought to herself as she volunteered to
complete Laurie's sale. "Now I wonder what makes him so much afraid of
that man!
"He looks like a detective," she thought to herself as she got a better
look at him. "No, he smiles too much for that. Must be a salesman trying
to get Rennie to buy more books."
The conversation she overheard tended to confirm this last.
"Make it a thousand," he said with a smile.
"I won't do it!" Rennie threw her hands up in mock horror.
"Oh! All right," Sam smiled. "Anything you say."
Having been called away by a rush of customers, Lucile had quite
forgotten both Laurie and Sam when she came suddenly upon the large brief
case which Sam had carried. It was lying on her table.
"Whose is that?" a voice said over her shoulder. "That's Sam's, confound
him! He's always leaving things about. Now he'll have to come back for it
and I'll--"
"Who's Sam?" Lucile asked.
She turned about to receive the answer. The answer did not come. For a
second time that day Laurie had vanished.