The Crimson Thread Part 21

With a trembling hand, she gripped the latch of a door. It lifted, but the door did not open.

"Locked," she whispered in a tone of despair.

"Try another," was her next thought. She was away like a shot.

Again the latch lifted; again the door refused to budge. She thought she saw a dark figure pa.s.s from pillar to pillar in the place she had just left. She could not see him, but she caught the thud-thud of his feet on the cement platform.

Fighting her way against the wind, racing fast, breathing hard, she battled onward. And all the time something within her was whispering: "It's no use, no use, no use." Yet, setting her teeth hard, she raced on.

The man was gaining, she was sure of that. Yes, now as she looked back she saw him, only some fifty yards behind her.

This drove her to frantic effort. But to no avail. He continued to gain; a yard, two yards, five, ten, twenty.

"It's no use," she panted sobbingly.

And then--she could not believe her eyes--before her, to the right, was an open door.

Like a flash she was inside. Grasping the door she attempted to shut it, but the snow blocked it.

One glance about her showed great dark bulks on every hand.

"Freight," she breathed, "piles of freight. Here--here is a chance yet."

The next instant she was tip-toeing her way softly in and out among the innumerable piles of boxes, bags and crates that extended on and on into the impenetrable darkness.

She ran along as softly as she could, yet each time as she paused she fancied that she caught the stealthy footsteps of that horrible man.

"What does he want? Is it the bag that he wants? Whose bag was it? Was it his? If so, why did he let it get away from him?" These questions kept racing through her brain. Then came another question even more disturbing. Perhaps this man had been unfortunate, had been sick or had lost all his property. It might be that he had returned just in time to miss the opportunity of redeeming this lost possession which contained something he prized, perhaps of great value.

"In that case he is more to be pitied than feared," she thought.

For an instant she contemplated going back to him; yet she dared not.

So, in the end, she continued tip-toeing about. Round a great pile of sacks, filled with sugar or beans, past boxes of tin cans and in and out among ma.s.sive pieces of machinery, she wandered, all the time wondering in a vague sort of way what was to be the end of it all.

The end to her stay in the store-room came with lightning-like rapidity.

She had just tiptoed around a huge steel drum of some sort when all of a sudden there burst upon her ear a deafening roar that shattered the stillness of the place.

The next instant a great black dog leaped at her.

He was not three feet from her when, with an agility that surprised her, she leaped from box top to box top until she found herself ten feet above the floor.

But the dog, who appeared to be an utterly savage beast, could climb too.

She could hear him scrambling and scratching his way up, growling as he came. Her head was in a whirl. What was to be done? Suddenly she realized that just before her, beyond the boxes, was a window. Dragging her bag after her, she succeeded in reaching the window. She found it locked. In her desperation she dropped her bag and began kicking at the sash. With a sudden snap the fastenings gave way. She was caught so unawares that she plunged straight out of the window.

With a b.u.mp that knocked all the wind from her lungs and most of her senses from her head, she landed on something hard. Without being able to help herself, she rolled over once, then fell again. This time, to her surprise and consternation, she did not b.u.mp; she splashed. She sank. She rose. With all her nerves alert, she swam strongly in the stinging lake water. She had fallen from the narrow pier ledge and had landed in the lake.

A white cake of ice loomed up before her. She swam to it and climbed upon it. What was to be done? The thermometer was near zero. She was soaked to the skin, and far from anyone she knew.

"Got--got to get to sh.o.r.e somehow," she s.h.i.+vered. "I'll freeze here, sure. Freeze in no time."

She looked back at the place from which she had come. The window was still open. The dog had stopped barking. She wondered in a vague sort of way what had become of her pursuer.

"And--and my bag," she chattered. "It--it's in there." She was coming almost to hate that bag.

"Can't get up there anyway," was her final comment. It was true; between the water line and the surface of the pier landing was a sheer wall of cement, eight feet high and smooth as gla.s.s.

Her gaze swept a broad circle. Off to her right was a solid ma.s.s of ice which appeared to reach to sh.o.r.e.

"One swim and then I can walk to land," she shuddered.

Two steps forward, a sudden plunge, and again she was in the freezing water.

Once on the ice she dashed away at top speed. It was a race, a race for her life. Already her clothing was freezing stiff.

Here she leaped a chasm of black water; there she tripped over a hole and fell flat; here dodged a stretch of honeycomb ice and raced across a broad level stretch.

Almost before she knew it she was alongside a row of steams.h.i.+ps tied up in a channel close to sh.o.r.e. Then, to her surprise, she caught the gleam of a light in a cabin on the upper deck of the smallest boat tied there.

"There's a rope cable hanging over the side," she told herself. "I--I could climb it. There must be someone up there, and--and a fire. A fire!

Oh, a fire and warmth! I must do it, or I'll freeze.

"Of course they are strangers--a man, two men, maybe a family, but sea folks are kind people, I'm told. They know what it means to be wet and cold. I--I'll risk it."

The next moment, hand over hand, she was making her way up the cable.

Once on deck, she raced along the side until she came to a stair. Up this she sprang, then down the side again until she was at the door of the room where the light still gleamed into the night.

Without a moment's hesitation she banged on the door.

"Who--who's there?" came in a distinctly feminine voice. Florence's heart gave a great throb of joy.

"It's me. Only me," she answered. "You don't know me, but let me in. I fell in the lake. I--I'm free--freezing!"

At once the door flew open and she was dragged inside. Then the door slammed shut.

For a fraction of a moment the two girls stood staring at one another, then as in one voice, they burst out:

"It's you!"

"It's you!"

The girl in the s.h.i.+p's cabin was none other than Florence's double.

There was no time for explaining. The girl began tugging away at her double's frozen garments. Ten minutes later, with her clothing on a line behind the glowing stove, Florence sat wrapped in a blanket by the fire, sipping a cup of cocoa.

For a time she sat looking at the girl who was so marvelously like herself in appearance. Then she said quietly: