CHAPTER XVI A STRANGE TREASURE
In the meantime, the girl from Kansas who had found a home on MaxwellStreet had made a rather wonderful discovery and found herself well onthe road to adventure.
At the moment Johnny and the two young detectives arrived at the streetof the "House of Magic," far away on Maxwell Street Grace Krowl wasstaring into the friendly eyes of a white-haired book seller and saying,"Do--do you think it is val--valuable?"
"Valuable!" Frank Morrow, the genial, white-haired proprietor of thelittle book shop on Peoria, just off Maxwell Street, stared at her overhis glasses. "Valuable! My child, if that signature is genuine it ispriceless." For the second time he held a ponderous volume, an ancientBible with hand-tooled leather cover, to the light and read aloud:
"'As a token of gratitude for a great service done to our nation and tothe crown.
Her Majesty, the Queen,
Elizabeth.'"
"If that signature is genuine," he repeated, "and I have little doubt ofit, this book is worth thousands of dollars."
"Thing is," Grace sighed, "to find the rightful owner."
"Rightful owner!" Frank Morrow stared at her. Nida McFay, his assistant,joined in the stare. "Rightful owner!" Morrow repeated. "_You_ are therightful owner. Your uncle bought that horsehair trunk at auction forthree dollars. You purchased it from him for double that amount. ThisBible was in the trunk. It is yours. The law will uphold you."
"Yes. But is the law always right? Is there not a law higher than man'slaw?" Grace's tone was deeply serious.
"That," said Frank Morrow, rather bluntly, "is for you to decide."
"Decide," she thought, "all I've done since I came to Chicago has been todecide, de--"
She broke off to stare at the door of the book shop. It had been quietlyopened. A tall man stood there. He was well-dressed, far too well forMaxwell Street. He was neither young nor old. His features were regular.He seemed quite a gentleman. Then the girl got a look into his eyes. Sheshuddered. They were hard as steel.
Next instant she was staring at Nida McFay. Her face had gone ashy white.She was grasping the table as if about to fall.
When she was able to look again at the door, Grace found it closed. Theman had vanished.
"It--it's as if I had not seen him," she told herself. One look at Nida,who was very white, told her that for the time at least it was betterthat the man should remain unseen.
"Whatever you do," Frank Morrow was saying--he had not seen thestranger--"you should guard this Bible with great care. Beyond doubt, itwas given by Queen Elizabeth as a token of great esteem to someProtestant bishop. Someone doubtless inherited this Bible containing theQueen's signature and brought it to America. Where has it been since? Whoknows? Enough that it is here and that many a collector of rare bookswould, even in these times, pay a king's ransom to possess it. So guardit with care!"
"The Bi--Bible. Oh, yes." The girl put her hands upon it.
That Bible had come from the little horsehair trunk she had saved fromher uncle's purchase at an express auction.
She had taken the trunk to her room, but in her excitement over othermatters had failed to open it at her first opportunity.
After looking at it a long time next day, without prying off the lock andpeeking inside, she had decided that she must, if possible, have it forher very own. So she asked her uncle to sell her the trunk.
"What!" he exclaimed, "you have opened that little trunk? You have founda diamond, or maybe some stocks and bonds? Now you want to buy it for alittle." His small, hard eyes gleamed.
"No." She had held her ground. "I have not opened it. You may go and seethat it is still locked. But I--I like the trunk and I--I'm sure I shouldhave loved its owner. That--that's why I want to buy it."
"All right." He had smiled broadly. "But I must have a profit. Sixdollars. You may have it for that. I will take it from your pay.
"But, my child--" He had laid a hand gently on her arm. "You must not dothese things. They make you soft. And soft you must not be in thisbusiness."
Nevertheless, she had remained "soft." She had purchased the trunk "withcontents, if any." She had picked the lock with a hairpin and had spentthree happy, tearful hours poring over its contents. The person who lostthe trunk was named Emily Anne Sheldon. She had two sisters. Theirpictures were all there.
"The sweetest little old ladies one may ever hope to see," Grace hadassured herself. "What a shame that this trunk should have been lost!"
There were bundles of letters tied with faded ribbons. The letters werelike a beautiful song, sung at sunset. "If only the whole world were likethese three dear old ladies," she had sighed.
The blankets in that trunk were of finest wool, and very old. Perhapsthey had been hand-woven. She could not tell. There was a blue and whitebedspread that was hand-woven, she was sure of that. "And it's worthseveral times what I paid for the trunk," she told herself. "But I won'tsell it. I'll get in touch with Emily Anne and send it all back for aChristmas present."
In the very bottom of the trunk she had found the ancient family Bible.For a long time she had left it there. Then she had decided to show it toFrank Morrow and his assistant, Nida McFay, and here she was. And FrankMorrow was telling her it was worth many hundreds of dollars!
"Wr--wrap it up." She all but shuddered at thought of the wealth she wasabout to bear away under her arm. "Wrap it up and I'll take it home."
Now wondering at Nida's sudden fear at sight of the stranger, and nowpuzzling over the problem of the apparently priceless book, Grace leftthe store to walk slowly down Maxwell Street.
At once her mind was filled with a hundred thoughts. "This," shewhispered, "is my crowded hour." And indeed, since that strange day whenshe had walked into her uncle's unusual store and had begun a fight forher few possessions, every hour had seemed crowded.
There was the mysterious "Whisperer" and his strange visits at dawn. Howdid his whisper come to her? She had tried in every way to trap him, butwith no success. Did he indeed talk to her "down a beam of light" fromthe window of a skyscraper a mile away? And could he see that far too? Itseemed preposterous. And yet--
Drew Lane had visited the store three times. Always he wore the jauntyclothes of a college boy. But once she had gripped his arm and found ithard as steel. He was a man, no mistaking that, and a city detective ofthe highest type. Was he the Whisperer? It seemed absurd to suspect him."We all whisper alike," she had told herself.
So, quite unconscious of her surroundings, she walked on, thinking hard.She had covered two blocks when of a sudden she felt a hand on her armand heard in a low, chilling tone:
"Just a moment, please."
Next instant she found herself looking into the face of the man who, ahalf hour before, had so frightened Nida McFay.
Never in all her life had she wanted so much to scream. The preciousBible was still under her arm. Those cold eyes were fixed upon her.
Ten seconds of thought assured her that she was in no immediate danger.The shops were still open. She was surrounded by friends. In her briefstay on the street she had made many friends. Max Schmalgemeire, thebaker, stood in his door; so too did Mamma Lebed, who sold geese. PeterRapport was turning his hot dogs. Even Madam Jakolev, the gypsyfortune-teller, whom she strongly suspected of carrying a dagger up hersleeve, was a welcome sight at that moment.
"I merely wanted to ask you a question." The man was polite enough. "Doyou know," his words were distinct and cold, "this girl Nida McFay is apolice character?"
"Po--Police?" Grace stared.
"Practically that. Frank Morrow's is the only place she could sell booksin this city. He is stubborn, foolhardy. Just thought I'd warn you. I amJ. Templeton Semp, a detective."
He tipped his hat and was gone, leaving Grace with a sinking sensation atthe pit of her stomach.
"A police character!" she whispered. "How could she be?"
r />
She was to hear more of Nida next morning, for the "Whisperer" was to bewith her once more at dawn.