A STRANGE TREASURE
In the meantime, the girl from Kansas who had found a home on Maxwell
Street had made a rather wonderful discovery and found herself well on
the road to adventure.
At the moment Johnny and the two young detectives arrived at the street
of the "House of Magic," far away on Maxwell Street Grace Krowl was
staring into the friendly eyes of a white-haired book seller and saying,
"Do--do you think it is val--valuable?"
"Valuable!" Frank Morrow, the genial, white-haired proprietor of the
little book shop on Peoria, just off Maxwell Street, stared at her over
his glasses. "Valuable! My child, if that signature is genuine it is
priceless." For the second time he held a ponderous volume, an ancient
Bible with hand-tooled leather cover, to the light and read aloud:
"'As a token of gratitude for a great service done to our nation and to
the crown.
Her Majesty, the Queen,
Elizabeth.'"
"If that signature is genuine," he repeated, "and I have little doubt of
it, this book is worth thousands of dollars."
"Thing is," Grace sighed, "to find the rightful owner."
"Rightful owner!" Frank Morrow stared at her. Nida McFay, his assistant,
joined in the stare. "Rightful owner!" Morrow repeated. "_You_ are the
rightful owner. Your uncle bought that horsehair trunk at auction for
three dollars. You purchased it from him for double that amount. This
Bible was in the trunk. It is yours. The law will uphold you."
"Yes. But is the law always right? Is there not a law higher than man's
law?" Grace's tone was deeply serious.
"That," said Frank Morrow, rather bluntly, "is for you to decide."
"Decide," she thought, "all I've done since I came to Chicago has been to
decide, de--"
She broke off to stare at the door of the book shop. It had been quietly
opened. A tall man stood there. He was well-dressed, far too well for
Maxwell Street. He was neither young nor old. His features were regular.
He seemed quite a gentleman. Then the girl got a look into his eyes. She
shuddered. They were hard as steel.
Next instant she was staring at Nida McFay. Her face had gone ashy white.
She was grasping the table as if about to fall.
When she was able to look again at the door, Grace found it closed. The
man had vanished.
"It--it's as if I had not seen him," she told herself. One look at Nida,
who was very white, told her that for the time at least it was better
that the man should remain unseen.
"Whatever you do," Frank Morrow was saying--he had not seen the
stranger--"you should guard this Bible with great care. Beyond doubt, it
was given by Queen Elizabeth as a token of great esteem to some
Protestant bishop. Someone doubtless inherited this Bible containing the
Queen's signature and brought it to America. Where has it been since? Who
knows? Enough that it is here and that many a collector of rare books
would, even in these times, pay a king's ransom to possess it. So guard
it with care!"
"The Bi--Bible. Oh, yes." The girl put her hands upon it.
That Bible had come from the little horsehair trunk she had saved from
her uncle's purchase at an express auction.
She had taken the trunk to her room, but in her excitement over other
matters had failed to open it at her first opportunity.
After looking at it a long time next day, without prying off the lock and
peeking inside, she had decided that she must, if possible, have it for
her very own. So she asked her uncle to sell her the trunk.
"What!" he exclaimed, "you have opened that little trunk? You have found
a diamond, or maybe some stocks and bonds? Now you want to buy it for a
little." His small, hard eyes gleamed.
"No." She had held her ground. "I have not opened it. You may go and see
that it is still locked. But I--I like the trunk and I--I'm sure I should
have loved its owner. That--that's why I want to buy it."
"All right." He had smiled broadly. "But I must have a profit. Six
dollars. You may have it for that. I will take it from your pay.
"But, my child--" He had laid a hand gently on her arm. "You must not do
these things. They make you soft. And soft you must not be in this
business."
Nevertheless, she had remained "soft." She had purchased the trunk "with
contents, if any." She had picked the lock with a hairpin and had spent
three happy, tearful hours poring over its contents. The person who lost
the trunk was named Emily Anne Sheldon. She had two sisters. Their
pictures were all there.
"The sweetest little old ladies one may ever hope to see," Grace had
assured herself. "What a shame that this trunk should have been lost!"
There were bundles of letters tied with faded ribbons. The letters were
like a beautiful song, sung at sunset. "If only the whole world were like
these three dear old ladies," she had sighed.
The blankets in that trunk were of finest wool, and very old. Perhaps
they had been hand-woven. She could not tell. There was a blue and white
bedspread that was hand-woven, she was sure of that. "And it's worth
several times what I paid for the trunk," she told herself. "But I won't
sell it. I'll get in touch with Emily Anne and send it all back for a
Christmas present."
In the very bottom of the trunk she had found the ancient family Bible.
For a long time she had left it there. Then she had decided to show it to
Frank Morrow and his assistant, Nida McFay, and here she was. And Frank
Morrow was telling her it was worth many hundreds of dollars!
"Wr--wrap it up." She all but shuddered at thought of the wealth she was
about to bear away under her arm. "Wrap it up and I'll take it home."
Now wondering at Nida's sudden fear at sight of the stranger, and now
puzzling over the problem of the apparently priceless book, Grace left
the store to walk slowly down Maxwell Street.
At once her mind was filled with a hundred thoughts. "This," she
whispered, "is my crowded hour." And indeed, since that strange day when
she had walked into her uncle's unusual store and had begun a fight for
her few possessions, every hour had seemed crowded.
There was the mysterious "Whisperer" and his strange visits at dawn. How
did his whisper come to her? She had tried in every way to trap him, but
with no success. Did he indeed talk to her "down a beam of light" from
the window of a skyscraper a mile away? And could he see that far too? It
seemed preposterous. And yet--
Drew Lane had visited the store three times. Always he wore the jaunty
clothes of a college boy. But once she had gripped his arm and found it
hard as steel. He was a man, no mistaking that, and a city detective of
the highest type. Was he the Whisperer? It seemed absurd to suspect him.
"We all whisper alike," she had told herself.
So, quite unconscious of her surroundings, she walked on, thinking hard.
She had covered two blocks when of a sudden she felt a hand on her arm
and heard in a low, chilling tone:
"Just a moment, please."
Next instant she found herself looking into the face of the man who, a
half hour before, had so frightened Nida McFay.
Never in all her life had she wanted so much to scream. The precious
Bible was still under her arm. Those cold eyes were fixed upon her.
Ten seconds of thought assured her that she was in no immediate danger.
The shops were still open. She was surrounded by friends. In her brief
stay on the street she had made many friends. Max Schmalgemeire, the
baker, stood in his door; so too did Mamma Lebed, who sold geese. Peter
Rapport was turning his hot dogs. Even Madam Jakolev, the gypsy
fortune-teller, whom she strongly suspected of carrying a dagger up her
sleeve, was a welcome sight at that moment.
"I merely wanted to ask you a question." The man was polite enough. "Do
you know," his words were distinct and cold, "this girl Nida McFay is a
police character?"
"Po--Police?" Grace stared.
"Practically that. Frank Morrow's is the only place she could sell books
in this city. He is stubborn, foolhardy. Just thought I'd warn you. I am
J. Templeton Semp, a detective."
He tipped his hat and was gone, leaving Grace with a sinking sensation at
the pit of her stomach.
"A police character!" she whispered. "How could she be?"
She was to hear more of Nida next morning, for the "Whisperer" was to be
with her once more at dawn.