XII
THE HORIZONTAL PANEL
Following Mrs. Sands, O'Reilly left the door between the two rooms open;but Beverley stepped quickly back and closed it.
"She's grand, the darling!" thought Clo. "Trust her to forget nothing.Her shutting that door proves how she counts on me."
The girl was deadly tired, and her head ached, yet she struggled up asthe door clicked. O'Reilly had brought in her hat and dropped it on atable. There was no hat-pin, but Clo crushed the soft toque down overher masses of red hair, and hoped she was not untidy enough to beconspicuous. Unsteadily she tottered to another door--the door that ledinto the corridor. This faced a narrower passage to the kitchen anddomestic offices of the flat. Clo would have to take that way because,if she ventured into the lift and showed herself in the hall below, theporter might take alarm. He might fear that Mrs. Sands' protegee wastrying to escape for some sly purpose of her own, and refuse to let hergo till he had telephoned upstairs.
In a quaint outside pocket of her new frock Clo had put the purse givenher by Beverley. Through her adventures she had remembered to make sureoccasionally that it had not dropped out. Now she opened the purse,selecting two ten-dollar bills and two of five dollars.
"That ought to do for 'em all," she said, "even if the lot are at home."And, money in hand, she ventured to the kitchen door. Only the chef anda woman assistant were at work.
"I'm Clo Riley, the girl Mrs. Sands has been good to," she eagerlyexplained. "I'm well again, and I have to go out. Mrs. Sands has avisitor, and I don't like to disturb them. Will you let me down yourway?" So speaking she laid a ten-dollar bill and a five-dollar bill sideby side on a table. She made no reference to the money, nor any gestureindicating it; nor did the others appear to see it.
The chef escorted her in silence to the servants' elevator. There was abutton to push, and down the girl went, rejoiced at passing anotherstage of her journey. Five minutes more, and she was in a taxi, tearingback to the Dietz Hotel.
This time she marched boldly to a lift in a long row of half a dozen."Fifteenth floor, please," she said, as if she owned the hotel; and wastaken up without question. "Thanks to my swell clothes!" she thought."Not far would I get in this place if I had on my old black!"
Armed with O'Reilly's key Clo threaded her way through several corridorsand arrived at the door of his suite. Her fingers shook so that shecould not find the lock, and as she fumbled for it, the door of anadjoining suite opened. The nerve-tried girl started as if she had beenshot, and dropped the key on the carpet.
"Silly fool!" she scolded herself as she stooped to retrieve it, and tohide her face. If only the people (she knew by the voices they were manand woman) would pass before she had to look up! But they were in nohurry to pass. They had paused in front of their own door, and weretalking in low tones--about her, Clo was sure!
In a big hotel, the chances were ten to one against their knowingO'Reilly. Raising her head, she tried to eye the pair with airyarrogance.
"I mustn't seem to care," she thought, and tried to wither them with alook before again attacking the keyhole. The woman was beautiful, aglorious, dark creature, gorgeously dressed and jewelled. But oddly itwas the man who riveted Clo's attention, the man whose eyes gave thegirl an electric shock. He was a tall, lanky, middle-aged individual,with auburn hair and a close-cut red beard streaked with gray. He walkedwith shoulders bent, and had no distinction, despite his well-cutevening clothes. But from under a pair of beetling black brows thereflashed a light which took Clo's breath away. She didn't know what tomake of his look. It was as if she'd been struck by lightning.
"My goodness, after all he must be a friend of O'Reilly's!" she feared.Even that supposition wasn't enough to account for the flash.Frightened, she slid the key into the lock, and almost falling into theroom slammed the door behind her. She did not need to lock it, forwithout a key it could not be opened from the outside.
"I can hold the fort a few minutes now, whatever happens!"
In the corridor John Heron and his wife lingered in front of their owndoor.
"Well, if that's not the queerest thing I ever saw or heard of!" Heronexclaimed.
Coming out of their suite, they had caught an impressionist glimpse of afigure in white bent over the keyhole, then the figure had stooped forthe dropped key, and mechanically they had paused in surprise.
"I wonder if she's made a mistake in the room?" Mrs. Heron hadwhispered, and Heron had returned:
"Yes, I think that must be so. She'll find it out and go somewhere else.O'Reilly isn't----"
There he had stopped short when the girl raised her head to face them;and when she presently vanished into his friend's room like a whirlwind,he neither finished his sentence nor answered his wife.
"What's the matter, Jack?" Mrs. Heron asked. "How odd you look!"
("Jack" was not a nickname that suited Heron, but his wife thought itdebonair.)
"Why don't you speak?" she persisted.
"I was thinking," Heron said at last.
"Thinking what we ought to do?" his wife caught him up. "Shall we knockand ask O'Reilly if he's ready to go down with us?"
"No. We can't do that."
"I suppose not. But weren't you going to say it isn't like O'Reilly tohave a girl calling on him in his rooms?"
"I don't remember what I was going to say," he snubbed her. "It doesn'tmatter, anyhow. After all, why shouldn't he? What is it to us?"
"Well, I feel queer about it," objected Dolores Heron. "The creature maybe a hotel thief?"
"Nonsense!" fumed the man. "The girl was a child--sixteen or seventeen.We can't mix ourselves up in such an affair. Let's mind our ownbusiness."
"You needn't be so cross. I haven't done anything," Dolores reproachedhim. They went down together, and sat side by side on a rose-colouredbrocade sofa in the immense salon generally known as the "hall." Not oneof the ladies present was handsomer than Mrs. Heron, not one had morebeautiful jewels or a more perfect dress, and all the men openly admiredher--except her own husband.
Upstairs the girl in question was making the most of every moment. Thequeer little key attached to O'Reilly's watch couldn't belong to thedesk, still, there might be a box inside the desk which it would fit.Clo searched everywhere and everything. At last, it seemed that nothingwas left to try, when suddenly she recalled a paragraph in a newspaper.She had seen it in a Sunday Supplement. Why, yes, Miss Blackburne, thepearl-stringer, had given her the paper that Sunday long ago at Yonkers,to read on the journey home. The paragraph described the up-to-datefeature added to some important hotel. Small safes had been placed inthe walls of rooms for the benefit of guests, each key being differentin design from every other. Clo could not remember the name of the hotelreferred to. Perhaps it was this one. If not, the Dietz wasn't likely tolet a rival get ahead of it. The girl stared at the wall. Any one ofthose panels might conceal a safe! There were lots of panels ofdifferent sizes, painted a soft gray and edged with delicate whitemouldings. To test each would take hours (unless she had luck and hit onthe right one first) for there might be a spring hidden in the flowerypattern of the moulding. But--it was to the left side of the room thatO'Reilly had flung his anxious glance. She would begin, and hoped toend, her work on the left side. A few minutes spent in thinking out thesituation, however, might save many minutes by and by. About thosepanels, for instance? Which were the most likely to hide a secret?
A frieze or skirting-board of gray painted wood ran round the room to aheight of three feet above the pink-carpeted floor. Above this frieze,distributed at regular intervals, were large plaster panels, two on eachside of the room, forming backgrounds for gold-framed, coloured prints;and between these were small, narrow panels, ornamented withconventional flower designs. Beneath and above the latter were panelsstill smaller, placed horizontally, and outlined with white curlicuesand flutings. They were about four inches in height by ten inches inlength; and on the left side of the wall there were two.
"Just the right size for
nice big jewel boxes," Clo thought. "And thelower one's just the right height to open without stretching up. If Iwere putting a safe into a wall that's the place I'd choose!"
She passed her finger round the edge of one, the white-fluted edge,rather like the decoration of a fancy cake. Nothing happened. No springclicked. She tried the other with the same result, then stooddisappointed, only to return to the attack with new inspiration.
"I bet it pulls out!" she told herself. And--oh, joy, oh triumph!--itdid pull out as she pressed her sharp little nails under the whitefluting. The whole thing came away from the wall like the loose side ofa box, having been kept in place by thin prongs of metal. Behind thiscover was a steel or iron door of practically the same dimensions as thepanel. It also was painted gray, and showed a tiny keyhole like a slitmade with a pair of sharp scissors.
Clo deposited the cover close by on the desk, where it would be withinreach if wanted in a hurry. Then she inserted the key attached toO'Reilly's watch. It slipped into place. It turned. It opened the smalliron door, and Clo peered into the aperture. In the receptacle lay apile of greenbacks held together with a paper band. There was also anenvelope, but not the envelope the girl had pictured. It was larger,longer, wider, and thicker. It seemed to be made of coarse linen, andinstead of the dainty gold seals with the monogram there were fiveofficial-looking red ones. Clo's heart contracted. It seemed too bad tobe true. But there was plenty of space in this envelope to contain theother, as well as its contents.
"I'll have to open the thing and look," Clo half decided. But if shedid, how could she make sure of what she wished to know? If the envelopewith the gold seals had been removed, she had no means of recognizingthe documents it had contained.
She took the linen envelope from the safe, and turned it over. Upon theother side was an address, written in a strong, peculiar hand: "JustinO'Reilly, care of The Manager, Columbian Bank, New York City," she read.
There was just one reason to believe that the envelope contained Mrs.Sands' papers; Clo's own strong, instinctive conviction.
Tentatively she pressed one of the seals. It cracked across. Anotherwent the same way, and as she touched the third there came a sound oftalking outside the door. "Open it for me with your pass-key, please," aman said. It was O'Reilly's voice.