CHAPTER XXII
Shirley's sense of direction had always been keen. Even as a child shecould tell her way home when others were lost. It was some minutes,however, before she suddenly became aware that the car was being drivenin an entirely different direction from the place she had just left Mr.Barnard. For a moment she looked around puzzled, thinking the man wasmerely taking another way around, but a glance back where the whitedome of the Capitol loomed, palace-like, above the city, made her surethat something was wrong. She looked at the buildings they werepassing, at the names of the streets--F Street--they had not been onthat before! These stores and tall buildings were all new to her eyes.Down there at the end of the vista was a great building all columns.Was that the Treasury and were they merely seeing it from anotherangle? It was all very confusing, but the time was short, why had theman not taken the shorter way?
She looked at her small wrist watch anxiously and watched eagerly forthe end of the street. But before the great building was reached thecar suddenly curved around a corner to the right,--one block,--a turnto the left,--another turn,--a confusion of new names and streets! NewYork Avenue! Connecticut Avenue! Thomas Circle! The names spun by sofast she could read but few of them, and those she saw she wanted toremember that she might weave them into her next postal. She openedher bag, fumbled for her little silver pencil in the pocket of her coatand scribbled down the names she could read as she passed, on the backof the bundle of postal cards, and without looking at her writing. Shedid not wish to miss a single sight. Here were rows of homes, pleasantand palatial, some of them even cozy. The broad avenues wereenchanting, the park spaces, the lavish scattering of noble statues.Bah the time was hastening by and they were going farther and fartherfrom the station and from the direction of the offices where she hadbeen. She twisted her neck once more and the Capitol dome loomed softand blended in the distance. A thought of alarm leaped into her mind.She leaned forward and spoke to the driver:
"You understood, didn't you, that I am to return to the office whereyou took me with the gentleman?"
The man nodded.
"All right, lady. Yes, lady!" And the car rushed on, leaping out uponthe beautiful way and disclosing new beauties ahead. For a few minutesmore Shirley was distracted from her anxiety in wondering whether thegreat buildings on her right belonged to any of the embassies or not.And then as the car swerved and plunged into another street and dartedinto a less thickly populated district, with trees and vacant lotsalmost like the country, alarm arose once more and she looked wildlyback and tried to see the signs; but they were going faster still nowupon a wide empty road past stretches of park, with winding drives andcharming views, and a great stone bridge to the right, arching over adeep ravine below, a railroad crossing it. There were deer parksfenced with high wire, and filled with the pretty creatures.Everything went by so fast that Shirley hardly realized that somethingreally must be wrong before she seemed to be in the midst of a strangeworld aloof.
"I am sure you have made a mistake!" The girl's clear voice cutthrough the driving wind as they rushed along. "I must go back rightaway to that office from which you brought me. I must go _at once_ orI shall be too late for my train! The gentleman will be very angry!"She spoke in the tone that always brought instant obedience from theemployees around the office building at home.
But the driver was stolid. He scarcely stirred in his seat to turntoward her. His thick voice was brought back to her on the breeze:
"No, lady, it's all right, lady! I had my orders, lady! You needn'tto worry. I get you there plenty time."
A wild fear seized Shirley, and her heart lifted itself as was itshabit, to God. "Oh, my Father! Take care of me! Help me! Show mewhat to do!" she cried.
Thoughts rushed through her brain as fast as the car rushed over theground. What was she up against? Was this man crazy or bad? Was heperhaps trying to kidnap her? What for? She shuddered to look thethought in the face. Or was it the notes? She remembered the men inthe office and what they had said about keeping still and"spying-enemies." But perhaps she was mistaken. Maybe this man wasonly stupid, and it would all come out right in a few minutes. But no,she must not wait for anything like that. She must take no chance.The notes were in her keeping. She must put them where they would besafe. No telling how soon she would be overpowered and searched ifthat was what they were after. She must hide them, and she must thinkof some way to send word to Mr. Barnard before it was toe late. Notelling what moment they would turn from the main road and she behidden far from human habitation. She must work fast. What could shedo? Scream to the next passer-by? No, for the car was going too fastfor that to do any good, and the houses up this way seemed all to beisolated, and few people about. There were houses on ahead beyond thepark. She must have something ready to throw out when they came tothem. "Oh God! Help me think what to do!" she prayed again, and thenlooking down at her bag she saw the postal cards. Just the thing!Quickly she scribbled, still holding her hand within the bag so thather movements were not noticeable:
"Help! Quick! Being carried off! Auto! Connecticut Ave.! Park.Deer. Stone bridge. Phone Mr. Clegg. Don't tell mother! Shirley."
She turned the card over, drew a line through her mother's name andwrote Carol's in its place. Stealthily she slipped the card up hersleeve, dropped her hand carelessly over the side of the car for amoment, let the card flutter from her fingers, and wrote another.
She had written three cards and dropped them in front of houses beforeit suddenly occurred to her that even if these cards should be pickedup and mailed it would be sometime before they reached theirdestination and far too late for help to reach her in time. Her heartsuddenly went down in a swooning sickness and her breath almost wentfrom her. Her head was reeling, and all the time she was trying totell herself that she was exaggerating this thing, that probably theman would slow up or something and it would all be explained. Yes, hewas slowing up, but for what? It was in another lonely spot, and outfrom the bushes there appeared, as if by magic, another man, aqueer-looking man with a heavy mustache that looked as if it didn'tbelong to him. He stood alertly waiting for the car and sprang intothe front seat without waiting for it to stop, or even glancing back ather, and the car shot forward again with great leaps.
Shirley dropped out the two cards together that she had just writtenand leaned forward, touching the newcomer on the arm.
"Won't you please make this driver understand that he is taking me tothe wrong place?" she said with a pleasant smile. "I must get back toan office two or three blocks away from the Treasury Buildingsomewhere. I must turn back at once or I shall miss my appointment andbe late for my train. It is quite important. Tell him, please, I willpay him well if he will get me back at once."
The stranger turned with an oily smile.
"That's all right, Miss. He isn't making any mistake. We're takingyou right to Secretary Baker's country home. He sent for your man,Mr.---- What's his name? I forget. Barnard? Oh, yes. He sent forMr. Barnard to come out there, sent his private car down for him; andMr. Barnard, he left orders we should go after you and bring you along.It's something they want to change in those notes you was taking.There was a mistake, and the Secretary he wanted to look after thematter himself."
Shirley sat back with a sudden feeling of weakness and a fear she mightfaint, although she had never done such a thing in her life. She wasnot deceived for an instant now, although she saw at once that she mustnot let the man know it. The idea that Secretary Baker would pause inthe midst of his multiplicity of duties to look into the details of asmall article of manufacture was ridiculous! It was equally impossiblethat Mr. Barnard would have sent strangers after her and let her becarried off in this queer way. He had been most particular that sheshould be looked after carefully. She was horribly to blame that shehad allowed herself to be carried back at all until Mr. Barnard himselfappeared; and yet, was she? That surely had been the page from theoffice
who came with the message? Well, never mind, she was in for itnow, and she must do her best while there was any chance to doanything. She must drop all those postals somehow, and she must hidethose notes somewhere, and perhaps write some others,--fake ones. Whatshould she do first?
"Father, help me! Show me! Oh, don't let me lose the notes! Pleasetake care of me!" Again and again her heart prayed as her hand workedstealthily in her bag, while she tried to put a pleasant smile upon herface and pretend she was still deceived, leaning forward and speakingto the strange man once more:
"Is Secretary Baker's home much farther from here?" she asked, feelingher lips draw stiffly in the frozen smile she forced. "Will it takelong?"
"'Bout ten minutes!" the man answered graciously, with a peculiar looktoward the driver. "Nice view 'round here!" he added affably with aleering look of admiration toward her.
Shirley's heart stood still with new fear, but she managed to make herwhite lips smile again and murmur, "Charming!"
Then she leaned back again and fussed around in her bag, ostentatiouslybringing out a clean handkerchief, though she really had been detachingthe pages which contained the notes from her loose-leaf note-book.There were not many of them, for she always wrote closely in smallcharacters. But where should she hide them? Pull the lining away fromthe edge of her bag and slip them inside? No, for the bag would be thefirst place they would likely search, and she could not poke the liningback smoothly so it would not show. If she should try to drop the tinypages down her neck inside her blouse, the men would very likely seeher. Dared she try to slip the leaves down under the linen robe thatlay over her lap and put them inside her shoe? She was wearing plainlittle black pumps, and the pages would easily go in the soles, threeor four in each. Once in they would be well hidden, and they would notrattle and give notice of their presence; but oh, what a terrible riskif anything should happen to knock off her shoe, or if they should tryto search her! Still she must take some risk and this was the safestrisk at hand. She must try it and then write out some fake notes,giving false numbers and sizes, and other phraseology. Or stay!Wasn't there already something written in that book that would answer?Some specifications she had written down for the Tillman-BrooksCompany. Yes, she was sure. It wasn't at all for the same articles,nor the same measurements, but only an expert would know that. Sheleaned down quite naturally to pick up her handkerchief and deftlymanaged to get five small leaves slipped into her right shoe. Itoccurred to her that she must keep her keepers deceived, so she askedonce more in gracious tones:
"Would it trouble you any to mail a card for me as soon as possibleafter we arrive? I am afraid my mother will be worried about my delayand she isn't well. I suppose they have a post office out this way."
"Sure, Miss!" said the man again, with another leering smile that madeher resolve to have no further conversation than was absolutelynecessary. She took out her fountain pen and hurriedly wrote:
"Detained longer than I expected. May not get back to-night. S. H.,"and handed the card to the man. He took it and turned it over, all tooevidently reading it, and put it in his pocket. Shirley felt that shehad made an impression of innocence by the move which so far was good.She put away her fountain pen deliberately, and managed in so doing tomanipulate the rest of the leaves of notes into her left shoe. Somehowthat gave her a little confidence and she sat back and began to wonderif there was anything more she could do. Those dropped postals wereworse than useless, of course. Why had she not written an appeal towhoever picked them up? Suiting the action to the thought she wroteanother postal card--her stock was getting low, there were but two moreleft.
"For Christ's sake send the police to help me! I am being carried offby two strange men! Shirley Hollister."
She marked out the address on the other side and wrote: "To whoeverpicks this up." She fluttered it to the breeze cautiously; but herheart sank as she realized how little likelihood there was of its beingpicked up for days perhaps. For who would stop in a car to notice abit of paper on the road? And there seemed to be but few pedestrians.If she only had something larger, more attractive. She glanced at herbelongings and suddenly remembered the book she had brought with her toread, one of the new novels from the cottage, a goodly sized volume ina bright red cover. The very thing!
With a cautious glance at her keepers she took up the book as if toread, and opening it at the flyleaf began to write surreptitiously muchthe same message that had been on her last postal, signing her name andhome address and giving her employers' address. Her heart was beatingwildly when she had finished. She was trying to think just how sheshould use this last bit of ammunition to the best advantage. Shouldshe just drop it in the road quietly? If only there were some way tofasten the pages open so her message would be read! Her handkerchief!Of course! She folded it cornerwise and slipped it in across the pagesso that the book would fall open at the fly leaf, knotting the ends onthe back of the cover. Every moment had to be cautious, and she mustremember to keep her attitude of reading with the printed pagescovering the handkerchief. It seemed hours that it took her, herfingers trembled so. If it had not been for the rushing noise of windand car she would not have dared so much undiscovered, but apparentlyher captors were satisfied that she still believed their story aboutgoing to Secretary Baker's country house, for they seemed mainlyoccupied in watching to see if they were pursued, casting anxiousglances back now and then, but scarcely noticing her at all.
Shirley had noticed two or three times when a car had passed them thatthe men both leaned down to do something at their feet to the machineryof the car. Were they afraid of being recognized? Would this perhapsgive her a chance to fling her book out where it would be seen bypeople in an oncoming car? Oh, if she but had the strength and skillto fling it _into_ a car. But of course that was impossible withoutattracting the attention of the two men. Nevertheless, she must trywhat she could do.
She lifted her eyes to the road ahead and lo, a big car was bearingdown upon them! She had almost despaired of meeting any more, for theroad was growing more and more lonely and they must have come manymiles. As soon as the two men in front of her sighted the car, theyseemed to settle in their seats and draw their hats down a littlefarther over their eyes. The same trouble seemed to develop with themachinery at their feet that Shirley had noticed before, and theybobbed and ducked and seemed to be wholly engrossed with their ownaffairs.
Shirley's heart was beating so fast that it seemed as though it wouldsuffocate her, and her hand seemed powerless as it lay innocentlyholding the closed book with the knotted handkerchief turned down outof sight; but she was girding herself, nerving herself for one greatlast effort, and praying to be guided.
The big car came on swiftly and was about to pass, when Shirley halfrose and hurled her book straight at it and then sank back in her seatwith a fearful terror upon her, closing her eyes for one brief second,not daring to watch the results of her act,--if there were to be anyresults.
The men in the front seat suddenly straightened up and looked around.
"What's the matter?" growled the man who had got in last in quite adifferent tone from any he had used before. "What you tryin' to putover on us?"
Shirley gasped and caught at her self-control.
"I've dropped my book," she stammered out wildly, "Could you stop longenough to pick it up? It was borrowed!" she ended sweetly as if byinspiration, and wondering at the steadiness of her tone when blood waspounding so in her throat and ears, and everything was black beforeher. Perhaps--oh, perhaps they would stop and she could cry out to thepeople for help.
The man rose up in his seat and looked back. Shirley cast onefrightened glance back, too, and saw in that brief second that theother car had stopped and someone was standing up and looking back.
"Hell! No!" said her captor briefly, ducking down in his seat. "_Lether out!_" he howled to the driver, and the car broke into a gallopingstreak, the wheels hardly seeming to touch the ground,
the tonneaubounding and swaying this way and that. Shirley had all she could doto keep in her seat. At one moment she thought how easy it would be tospring from the car and lie in a little still heap at the roadside.But there were the notes! She must not abandon her trust even for sofearful an escape from her captors. Suddenly, without warning, theyturned a sharp curve and struck into a rough, almost unbroken road intothe woods, and the thick growth seemed to close in behind them and shutthem out from the world.
Shirley shut her eyes and prayed.