CHAPTER XX SOMEONE VANISHES
Poor red devil! He surely was in for it!
What a pity that anyone so jolly, so full of the froth and bubble oflife, should find any hard spots on his joyous glide through life! Pityor no pity, he was in for it!
He was soft from too much eating, too much drinking and too many goodtimes. There was jazz in his blood, plenty of it. But one cannot defendone's self with the jittering rhythm of jazz. Hugo, the red devil, wentdown and came up again. He went down and was soundly beaten by thismysterious intruder. He roared for help, but there was no help near. Hehad chosen a lonely spot for his promenade. In the end he beganwhimpering like a baby. Then the intruder left him. And as he left, Hugofancied he heard him mutter, "You take what you want." He was, however,too dazed and befuddled to tell truly whether he had heard aright or no.
When Danby Force came to claim Florence for the last dance of theevening, he was surprised to find an unaccustomed wealth of color in hercheeks. He fancied too that she seemed agitated and quite unusuallyexcited. Her breath seemed to come with a little catch.
He said nothing about it and soon they were floating across the floor tothe music of the old but ever beautiful waltz, "Over the Waves."
"Ah," Florence whispered as, like light row boats on moonlit waters theyglided on and on, "how beautiful! Nothing could be more wonderful. Iwish it might go on forever."
Danby Force did not answer. A slight tightening of the hand was his onlyreply.
"But look!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Your knuckles are bleeding!"
"It's nothing," she laughed. "I can't make the silly things stop."Deftly she twisted her handkerchief about the offending knuckles. Thenthe dance went on.
"I fell upon something rather rough and bad," she said after a time inquite an absent-minded manner.
"Have you found our spy?" Danby Force asked, after thanking her for hisgood time when the dance was over.
"Not yet." Suddenly Florence felt very weary.
"I'm working on it. There's a hunchback German and two dark-faced ladiesand a little fellow like an ape who rakes leaves. It must be one ofthese."
"But may not be," he said quietly. "You will do well to keep right onlooking."
"Now what did he mean by that?" she asked herself after he was gone."Does he suspect someone else, someone who has not even caught myattention? Perhaps I'm not much good as a lady cop after all."
With that she entered the little cottage that for the time was her home.
The instant she entered her room she shot an anxious look toward Verna'sbed. Then she heaved a sigh of relief. Verna was sleeping peacefully. Asingle tear that glistened on her cheek detracted not one whit from herbeauty.
The big girl smiled as her eyes fell upon the crumpled fairy's wingsthat lay upon a chair. "Wings all crumpled but the fairy's safe,tha--thank God!" She choked a little over these last words.
For a long time after her light was out, she lay in her bed looking atthe moon shining through her window. Had one been present who could seein the dark, he might have found her lips smiling. Florence was large,too large and strong for a girl. Many a time she had shed bitter tearsover this. Many a time too she had looked upon her slim and willowysisters and felt her heart burn with envy. But tonight as she stirredbeneath the covers, as she sensed the glorious strength of her arms, herlimbs, her whole superb body, she was filled with such a warmth ofgladness as one does not soon forget.
"Thank you, God!" she whispered. "Thanks for making me big and strong!"At that she fell asleep.
And tomorrow was another day.
Back in Chicago the night was not over for the little French girl. Toher unutterable surprise, she had discovered among the dancing girls ofthe Ballet Russe the dark lady who she believed was the industrial spy.At once Jeanne had stepped from her place and vanished.
How she managed to make her way unchallenged to the wings of the stage,she will never quite know. Enough that she at last was there, nor,unless carried away by the heels, would she budge from the place untilshe had gotten one good look at that mysterious lady.
"And after that," she told herself, "I shall call the police."
By the time she had made her way to the wings of the stage, the lastproduction of the evening, "The Beautiful Blue Danube," had begun.Nothing ever done by the Ballet Russe is more charming than the BlueDanube. The music and dancing were so lovely that for a space of timeJeanne quite forgot her mission. But not for long. Soon her eyes wereupon the dancing girls. As, swinging and swaying, rising on tip-toe,seeming to float in air, they approached her, she caught her breath,then whispered: "It is this one. No, that one--or that one."
In the end, to her great disappointment, she discovered that it was notone of them all. They all had perfect ears.
What had happened? Had she been mistaken? Impossible. Had she beentricked? This was possible.
"But no," she thought to herself. "That dark lady will come on later. Inthis picture she has a separate part."
So, standing on tip-toe, longing every second to throw away her purplecape and join the dancers, she watched and waited--waited in vain for,when the curtain fell, no dark lady with a torn ear had appeared uponthe stage.
Then of a sudden someone said, "Well! How did you get here?"
"I am a dancer," Jeanne replied quick-wittedly. "Perhaps after a while Ishall be given a chance to try my skill."
"Perhaps, and again perhaps not." The tall, dark man looked at herdoubtfully. But Jeanne, in her gown of many silver beads and her purplecape, was very charming. Few could resist her. So she stayed.
"But tell me!" she exclaimed. "There was one of the dancing girls I haveknown. She was third in the Fire-Bird. Where is she?"
"Ah yes." The tall, dark man shrugged. "Where is she? She is gone."
"Gone?" Jeanne felt her knees sink. "She is gone?"
"Ah yes, Mademoiselle. She came as a substitute to this country with us.She has been away. Tonight she comes back. She asks that she may dance.She is very clever, that one. We say, 'You may dance.' You have seen,she danced very well. And now she is gone." He spread his hands wide.
"But where has she gone?" Jeanne demanded eagerly.
The tall, dark man spread his hands wider still. "Who knows? Not oneamong us here. We are through at this city. She will not come back here.Shall we see her again? Who can say? She is a queer one, that dancer."
"Yes," Jeanne murmured low, "she is a queer one."
At that she made her way from the fast clearing house out into the cool,damp night. She had wanted to dance on that broad stage. She wanted todance no more. The dark lady had appeared before her very eyes. Now shewas gone. She, Petite Jeanne, had failed.