Part 8 (2/2)
”Well,” said Florence, gathering her dressing gown about her and springing through the window, ”we have a ladder. Looks like a good one.”
”It _is_ a good one!” she exclaimed a moment later, ”a brand new one.
We'll show it to Timmie. Perhaps it will serve as evidence to trap the rascal.”
”Speaking of rascals,” said Marian a few moments later as they sat looking at one another in silence, ”what do you think is the meaning of all this?”
”Perhaps he came for the blue candlestick,” Lucile suggested.
”How could he?” demanded Florence. ”How would he know we had it? What would he want of it? It's only a curio. Belongs to the museum, I guess.
Anyway, I'll see to-morrow. I'm going to take it to the new museum and show it to one of the curators, a Mr. Cole. I met him at a party on the campus a short while ago.”
Suddenly Lucile sprang to her feet, then rushed to the other end of the room.
”Wha--what's the matter?” demanded Marian.
”Going to prepare some more gas,” Lucile called back over her shoulder.
”Nothing like having a little chemist in the family these days. Gas is almost as useful in times of peace as it was in the days of war.”
Next morning Marian showed the ladder to the aged dry dock keeper.
”No,” he said after examining it carefully, ”I never saw that before.
It's new and not very heavy. Probably bought for the purpose and carried here. You say you didn't see the man's face?”
”Not much of it.”
”Wouldn't recognize him?”
”Probably not.”
”Well, I'll go round and see the folks close to here that sell ladders, but I guess it won't be any use. There's too many places where you can get ladders in a big city like this. He might 'a' stole it too. Mighty queer!” He shook his head as he walked away.
That same day Florence wrapped the blue candlestick carefully in tissue paper, snapped three rubber bands about it, then made her way with it to the surface line where she took a car for down town. She kept a close watch to the right, to the left and back of her for any signs of being followed. She scrutinized the faces of those who entered the car with her and even cast a glance behind the car to see if there chanced to be a taxi following.
Truth was, the events of the last hours had played havoc with her nerves.
The candlestick in her possession was like the presence of some supernatural thing. It haunted her even in the day, as a thought of ghosts in a lonely spot at night might have tormented her.
It was with a distinct sense of relief that, after leaving the car and pa.s.sing over a half mile of board-walk, she entered the ma.s.sive door of the new museum.
For a moment, after entering, she permitted her eyes to roam up and down its vast, high-vaulted corridors, to catch the echo of voices which came murmuring to her from everywhere.
She saw the ma.s.sive pillars, the polished floors, the miles of gla.s.s cases, then a distinct sense of sorrow swept over her, a feeling of pity for the ragged giant of a building out by the lake front which had once housed all these treasures of beauty, antiquity and wealth.
”Temporary! Temporary” kept running through her mind. ”Too hastily built and of poor material. Now it is abandoned to decay. Life is like that.
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