The Crimson Thread Part 12

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 pa.s.s-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: "d.i.c.k, you old darling. Dear old d.i.c.k. You knew me, d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k 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--d.i.c.k, 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: "d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k. 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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, d.i.c.k, 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.