CHAPTER XXVIII FLORENCE CRASHES IN
At that moment Florence was involved in an affair which threatened tobring her brief career to a tragic end.
It had begun innocently enough. The back of a man's head, seen in acrowd, had interested her. She had made a study of men's heads. "There'sas much character to be read in the back of one's head as in one's face,"a psychologist had said to her. Doubting his statement, she had taken upthis study to disprove his theory. She had ended by believing. For trulyone may read in the carriage of the head stubbornness, indecision, mentaland physical weakness; yes, and a capacity for crime.
It was this last, revealed in the neck of the man in the throng, that hadset her on his trail.
She had not long to wait for confirmation. At a turn in the street theman offered her a side view. At once she caught her breath. This man wasdark of visage. He had an ugly red scar on his chin.
"Jeanne's shadow!" she whispered to herself. "And such a shadow!" Sheshuddered at the very thought.
For this young man was not unknown to her. Not ten days before, in acrowded police court he had been pointed out to her as one of the mostdangerous of criminals. He was not, at this time, in custody. Just why hewas there she had not been told. Though suspected of many crimes, he hadbeen detected in none of them.
"And it is he who has been dogging Jeanne's footsteps!" she muttered. "Imust warn her.
"He, too, it was, who sank the package in Snowball's net. Meg's birthdaypresent." She smiled. Then she frowned. "I must warn her. It may be abomb. Stranger discoveries have been made."
For a moment she considered another theory regarding the package. Amoment only--then all this was driven from her mind. Drama was in themaking, real drama from life. The evil-eyed one had paused before adoorway. He had remained poised there for a moment like a bird of prey:then the prey appeared, or so it seemed to Florence.
A short, foreign-appearing man with a military bearing all but came to aposition of salute before the dark one of the evil eye. That one essayeda smile which, to the girl, seemed the grin of a wolf.
The short man appeared not to notice. He uttered a few words, waved hishands excitedly, then turned as if expecting to be led away.
"A Frenchman," Florence thought. "Who else would wave his arms sowildly?"
Then a thought struck her all of a heap. "This is Jeanne's littleFrenchman, the one who bears a message for her, who has come all the wayfrom France to deliver it."
At once she became wildly excited. She had notions about that message.Strangely fantastic notions they were; this she was obliged to admit. Butthey very nearly drove her to committing a strange act. In a moment moreshe would have dashed up to the little Frenchman. She would undoubtedlyhave seized him by the arm and exclaimed:
"You are looking for Petite Jeanne. Come! I will lead you to her!"
This did not happen. There was a moment of indecision. Then, before hervery eyes, the dark one, after casting a suspicious glance her way,bundled his prey into a waiting taxi and whisked him away.
"Gone!" Consternation seized her. But, suddenly, her mind cleared.
"What was that number?" She racked her brain. Tom Howe, the youngdetective who had pointed out the dark-faced one, had given her thestreet number believed to be his hangout.
"One, three," she said aloud. "One, three, six, four, Burgoyne Place.That was it!
"Oh, taxi! Taxi!" She went dashing away after a vacant car.
Having overtaken the cab, she gave the driver hasty instructions, andthen settled back against the cushions.
Her head was in a whirl. What was it she planned to do? To follow adangerous criminal? Alone? To frustrate his plans single-handed? Thething seemed tremendous, preposterous.
"Probably not going to his haunt at all. May not be his haunt."
Pressing her hands against her temples, she closed her eyes. For a spaceof several moments she bumped along.
Then she straightened up. The cab had ceased its bumping. They wererolling along on smooth paving. This was not to be expected.
"Driver! Driver!" she exclaimed, sliding the glass window to one sidewith a bang. "Where are we?"
"Kinzie and Carpen."
"Oh, oh!" She could have wept. "You're going north. The address I gaveyou is south."
"It can't be, Miss."
"It is!"
"Then I'm wrong."
"Of course! Turn about and go south to 2200. Then I'll tell you the way."
Once again they glided and jolted along. In the end they pulled up beforea stone building. A two-story structure that might once have been amansion, it stood between two towering warehouses.
"That's the place. There's the number."
She hesitated. Should she ask the driver to remain? "No, they'll see himand make a run for it." She had thought of a better way. She paid him andas if frightened by his surroundings he sped away.
"Not a moment to lose!" she whispered. Some sixth sense seemed to tellher that this was the place--that the dark one and his victim wereinside.
Speeding to a corner where a boy cried his papers, she thrust half adollar into his hand, and whispered a command:
"Bring a policeman to that house!" She poked a thumb over her shoulder.
"You'll need three of 'em!" the boy muttered, as he hurried away. She didnot hear. She was speeding back.
"Now!" she breathed, squaring her shoulders.
Up the stone steps, a thrust at the doorbell. Ten seconds. No answer. Avigorous thump. A kick. Still no response.
Examining the door, she found it to be a double one.
"Rusty catches. Easy!
"But then?"
She did not stand on ceremony. Stepping back a pace, she threw her sturdyform against the door. It gave way, letting her into a hallway. To theright of the hallway was a door.
A man was in the act of springing at her when someone from behindexclaimed:
"Wait! It's a frail!"
The words appeared to upset the other's plans, or at least to halt themfor a second.
During that second the girl plunged head foremost. Striking himamidships, she capsized him and took all the wind from his sail in oneand the same instant.
She regained her balance just in time to see a long, blue gun beingleveled at her. It was in the hand of the evil-eyed one.
Not for naught had she labored in the gymnasium. Before the gun flashed,it went whirling through space, crashed a window and was gone.
As for the evil-eyed one, he too vanished. At the same moment threestolid policemen came stamping in. The newsboy had done yeoman duty.
The offender who had been overturned by Florence was duly mopped up. Theevil-eyed one was sought in vain. Groaning in a corner was the shortFrenchman.
His arms were bound behind him in a curious fashion; in fact they were sobound by ropes and a stick that his arms might have been twisted fromtheir sockets, and this by a few simple turns of that stick.
"Kidnappin' an' torture!" said one of the police, standing the capturedoffender on his feet. "You'll get yours, Mike."
"It was Blackie's idea," grumbled the man.
"And where's Blackie?"
The man shrugged.
"Left you to hold the bag. That's him. Anyway, now we got it on him,we'll mop him up! Blamed if we don't! Tim, untie that man." He noddedtoward the little Frenchman.
"Now then," the police sergeant commanded, "tell us why you let 'em takeyou in."
"They--they told me they would take me to a person known as PetiteJeanne."
"Pet--Petite Jeanne!" Florence could have shouted for joy. "And have youmoney for her, a great deal of money?"
"No, Miss." The little man stared at her.
Florence wilted. Her pet dream had proven only an illusion. "At anyrate," she managed to say after a time, "when the police are through withyou I'll take you to her lodgings. I am her friend and pal."
The little man looked at her distrustfully. He had put
his confidence intwo American citizens that day, and with dire results.
"We'll see about that later." The police sergeant scowled.
"I think--" His scowl had turned to a smile when, a few moments later,after completing his investigation and interrogating Florence, he turnedto the Frenchman. "I think--at least it's my opinion--that you'll be safeenough in this young lady's company.
"If she'd go to the trouble of hirin' a taxi and followin' you, thenbreakin' down a door and riskin' her life to rescue you from a bloodypair of kidnappers and murderers, she's not goin' to take you far fromwhere you want to go."
"I am overcome!" The Frenchman bowed low. "I shall accompany her with thegreatest assurance."
So, side by side, the curious little Frenchman and the girl marched away.
"But, Mademoiselle!" The Frenchman seemed dazed. "Why all this lateunpleasantness?"
"Those two!" Florence threw out her arms. "They'd have tortured you todeath. They thought, as I did, that you were in possession of money, agreat deal of money."
"In France," the man exclaimed in evident disgust, "we execute such men!"
"In America," Florence replied quietly, "we mostly don't. And what apity!
"The elevated is only three blocks away." She took up a brisk stride."We'll take it. I hate taxis. Drivers never know where you want to go.Outside the Loop, they're lost like babes in the wood."
A taxi might indeed have lost both Florence and the polite littleFrenchman. Under Florence's plan only the Frenchman was lost. And this,to her, was just as bad, for she _did_ want Petite Jeanne to meet thisman and receive the message from him, even though the message was not tobe delivered in the form of bank notes.
It was the little man's extreme politeness that proved his undoing. Inthe Loop they were obliged to change trains. Florence had waited for theright train, and then had invited him to go before her, when, with a liftof his hat, he said, bowing:
"After you, my dear Mademoiselle!"
This was all well enough. But there were other Madams and Mademoisellesboarding that train.
Again and yet again the little man bowed low. When at last the gatesbanged and the train rattled on its way, Florence found to herconsternation that she was alone.
"We left him there bowing!" There was a certain humor in the situation.But she was disappointed and alarmed.
Speeding across the bridge at the next station, she boarded a secondtrain and went rattling back. Arrived at her former station, she found notrace of the man.
"He took another train. It's no use." Her shoulders drooped. "All thatand nothing for it."
Her dejection lasted but for a moment.
"To-morrow," she murmured. "It is not far away. And on the morrow thereis ever something new."