CHAPTER XXV WHAT THE BROWN BAG HELD
At the precise moment that the four companions in the great city hotelrose to offer each other their Christmas greetings, Florence and Megstood over the fascinating bag which had cost Florence so much worry andtrouble. As Florence felt in her purse for the key she found herselfwondering for the hundredth time what it might contain.
"Christmas, my Christmas secret," she whispered. Then, as she felt thekey within her grasp, she turned resolutely to the task. Although she hadlooked forward to this hour with pleasure, now it seemed to holdsomething of a feeling of fear. She was opening a bag which had belongedto another. What might it not contain?
With trembling fingers she broke the seal which had so long andfaithfully hidden the secret. Then, with a steadier hand, she insertedthe key.
For a full moment after that she stood there in silence. She was sayingto herself over and over again: "There is nothing, nothing, nothing inthere that I shall care for. Nothing, nothing, nothing."
Thus fortified against disappointment, she at last turned the key, pulledthe flap and threw the bag wide open.
The first look brought a glimpse of a bit of negligee. Nothing soexciting in this.
"Well anyway," sighed Florence, "it--wasn't a man's bag. It could nothave belonged to that--that man."
"No," said Meg, "it couldn't."
One by one Florence removed the few articles of clothing that had beenpacked in the bag. These were of fine texture and well made. But beneaththese was something to bring an exclamation to her lips.
Putting out her hand, she lifted to view a roll of silk cloth, of royalblue, and of such thinness and fineness as she had seldom seen in all herlife.
"Yards and yards of it," she breathed, throwing it before her in bright,billowy waves.
"And look!" cried Meg. "Batik!"
It was true; beneath the silk was a bolt of batik. This Meg took to thelight and examined it with great care.
"It's genuine," she whispered at last. "Not the sham stuff that is madein American factories, but the kind that dark faced women dye with greatskill and much labor, dipping again and again in colors such as we knownothing of."
Florence examined the cloth, then spread it over the back of a chair.Then she sat down. There was a puzzled look on her face.
"It's very beautiful," she mused. "One could not hope to buy a moreperfect present, sight unseen, but I'm wondering why a man should bewilling to trace me down at infinite pains and then follow me in the faceof danger and in the teeth of a storm for the sake of getting possessionof two rolls of cloth. That seems strange."
"Does seem odd," said Meg. "But wait! Here's something else." She drewtwo long pasteboard tubes from the bottom of the bag.
"What do you suppose?" whispered Florence. Inserting one finger in thefirst tube she twisted it about, then began drawing it out. A roll ofpapers appeared.
"Papers," she whispered. "Probably important papers; deeds, stocks andbonds, perhaps."
Imagine her surprise when, having drawn the papers out and partlyunrolled them, she found them to be pictures.
"Pictures!" she exclaimed in disgust. "And only printed pictures atthat."
"But such wonderful pictures!" exclaimed Meg, holding one out to view.
It was indeed a wonderful picture, one of those vague, misty things thatcame out of the great war. This one was of a smoke clouded cannon in theforeground, belching black smoke and fire, and in the midst of the smoke,forming herself out of it, a most beautiful black-haired woman, her eyesburning, her hands clawing, leaping straight at the enemy.
"It _is_ a wonderful picture," said Florence when they had gazed at it insilence for a time. "But after all, it is only a print, and can't beworth much. I still don't see----"
"Tell you what," Meg broke in, "let's unroll them all and weight themdown on the floor with books so we can have a good look."
"Good idea," said Florence, beginning to unroll one.
It was truly a remarkable collection of pictures which at length carpetedthe floor. War pictures, all of them, and all displaying that strongspiritual interpretation which was so common in pictures of those times.A French airplane falling in flames and beneath it an angel waiting tobear away the soul of the brave aviator; the American flag drifting inthe clouds and seen from afar by a French soldier in the trenches; suchwere the themes.
"Don't you think they're grand?" said Meg.
"Yes," Florence responded, "but after all, they are only prints of thework of some great master. 'Veny LeCarte'" she read at the bottom of one."I believe, yes, they're all by the same man."
For some time they sat there in silence. They were at last about to risewhen there came a light rap at their door.
"Let me in," came from outside. "I saw the light in the room as I waspassing and thought I'd come up to say 'Good morning and MerryChristmas.'" It was Lucile.
"Merry Christmas yourself," exclaimed Florence, throwing wide the door."Come in."
"This is Meg, Lucile; and Meg, that's Lucile," she smiled.
"But Florence, where in the world did you get those marvelous etchings?"exclaimed Lucile after she shook hands with Meg. "And why do you carpetyour floor with them? I nearly stepped on one."
"Etch--etchings!" stammered Florence. "They're mine--at least I boughtthem."
"Bought them! You? You bought them!" Lucile stared incredulous. Then,bending over, she read the name at the bottom of one. After that her eyesroved from picture to picture.
"Veny LeCarte," she murmured as if in a dream. "And she says she boughtthem!" She dropped weakly into a chair.
"Florence," she said at last, "do you know who Veny LeCarte was?"
"N-o."
"Well, I'll tell you. He was one of the most famous artists of France. Hemade etchings of the war. No one could surpass him. And unlike his fellowartists, who allowed a hundred copies to be made from each plate, heallowed but twenty. Then the plates were destroyed. He made thesepictures. You have nearly all of them. And then he went away to the war,and was killed.
"Since that time his etchings have been much prized and have broughtfabulous prices. Oh, Florence, tell me how you got them! Surely, surelyyou didn't buy them!"
"I did," said Florence unsteadily, hardly knowing whether to laugh orcry, "but I bought them in a strange way. I'll tell you about it." Thenshe told Lucile the whole story.
"And those pictures," she said at the end, "are the reason that mandogged my footsteps. It had not been his bag. He had not owned thepictures, but some way he had learned that the pictures were in this bag.He had meant to buy the bag, but arrived too late."
The hour was late. What did that matter? To-morrow was Christmas.Florence set about brewing some cocoa, and over the cups the girlsengaged in such a talk fest as they had not enjoyed for months.Everything that had happened to Lucile during those eventful weeks, fromthe first night to the last, had to be told. The wonderful cape, with itswhite fox collar, must be displayed. The gold coins must be jingled andjangled. Meg's story must be told all over again.
After that, problems yet unsolved must be discussed. Was the hawk-eyedman who had attempted to gain possession of Florence's bag the same onewho had attempted to kidnap Cordie?
"That question," said Lucile to Florence, "can only be settled by yougoing down to the police station and looking at him."
"In that case, it will never be answered," said Florence, with a shudder.
Would a romance spring up between the rich girl Cordie and the gallantyoung policeman, Patrick O'Hara? Who could tell? So the conversationrambled on until early morning. At last Lucile hurried away and Meg andFlorence prepared for three winks.
As Florence, with Meg by her side, was drifting off to sleep, she heardMeg say:
"To-morrow I must go back to the ship."
"Indeed you'll not," she roused up to protest. "You'll stay right hereto-morrow and every day. And you're going to school, too. I need you toguard al
l my--my treasure."
How the pictures came to be in the bag which Florence had purchased atthe sale, will probably always remain a secret. Perhaps the one who leftthe bag did not realize the value of the etchings. Who knows what mayhave been the reason? But they were truly valuable, and Florence learnedthis for certain on the following Monday. Later she sold them to a dealerfor a good round sum. This money went far, not only to smooth the road toher own education, but to enable her to give Meg many a lift along theway.
The Roy J. Snell Books
Mr. Snell is a versatile writer who knows how to write stories that willplease boys and girls. He has traveled widely, visited manyout-of-the-way corners of the earth, and being a keen observer has foundmaterial for many thrilling stories. His stories are full of adventureand mystery, yet in the weaving of the story there are little threadsupon which are hung lessons in loyalty, honesty, patriotism and rightliving.
Mr. Snell has created a wide audience among the younger readers ofAmerica. Boy or girl, you are sure to find a Snell book to your liking.His works cover a wide and interesting scope.
Here are the titles of the Snell Books:
_Mystery Stories for Boys_
1. Triple Spies 2. Lost in the Air 3. Panther Eye 4. The Crimson Flash 5. White Fire 6. The Black Schooner 7. The Hidden Trail 8. The Firebug 9. The Red Lure 10. Forbidden Cargoes 11. Johnny Longbow 12. The Rope of Gold 13. The Arrow of Fire 14. The Gray Shadow 15. Riddle of the Storm 16. The Galloping Ghost 17. Whispers at Dawn; or, The Eye 18. Mystery Wings 19. Red Dynamite 20. The Seal of Secrecy 21. The Shadow Passes 22. Sign of the Green Arrow
_The Radio-Phone Boys' Series_
1. Curlie Carson Listens In 2. On the Yukon Trail 3. The Desert Patrol 4. The Seagoing Tank 5. The Flying Sub 6. Dark Treasure 7. Whispering Isles 8. Invisible Wall
_Adventure Stories for Girls_
1. The Blue Envelope 2. The Cruise of the O'Moo 3. The Secret Mark 4. The Purple Flame 5. The Crimson Thread 6. The Silent Alarm 7. The Thirteenth Ring 8. Witches Cove 9. The Gypsy Shawl 10. Green Eyes 11. The Golden Circle 12. The Magic Curtain 13. Hour of Enchantment 14. The Phantom Violin 15. Gypsy Flight 16. The Crystal Ball 17. A Ticket to Adventure 18. The Third Warning
* * * * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text is in the public domain in the country of publication.
--Obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment; non-standard spellings and dialect were left unchanged.
--Promotional material was moved to the end of the book, and the list of books in the three series was completed using other sources.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends