Part 12 (2/2)

”A pseudonym, if you please,” she begged. ”We have so many who send us sums of money as friends. Anything will do.”

The Professor glanced around the room.

”What pseudonym shall I adopt?” he ruminated. ”Shall I say that an oak sideboard gives you five hundred dollars? Or a Chippendale sofa? Or,” he added, his eyes resting for a moment upon the little box, ”a black box?”

The two girls from the other side of the table started. Even Quest swung suddenly around. The Professor, as though pleased with his fancy, nodded as his fingers played with the lid.

”Yes, that will do very nicely,” he decided. ”Put me down--'Black Box,'

five hundred dollars.”

The girl took out her book and began to write. The Professor, with a little farewell bow, crossed the room towards Quest. Lenora moved towards the door.

”Let me see you out,” she said to the girl pleasantly. ”Don't you find this collecting sometimes very hard work?”

”Days like to-day,” the girl replied, ”atone for everything. When I think of the good that five hundred dollars will do, I feel perfectly happy.”

Lenora opened the door. Both girls started. Only a few feet away Craig was standing, his head a little thrust forward. For a moment the quiet self-respect of his manner seemed to have deserted him. He seemed at a loss for words.

”What do you want?” Lenora demanded.

Craig hesitated. His eyes were fixed upon the Salvation Army girl. The changes in his face were remarkable. She, however, beyond smiling pleasantly at him, gave no sign of any recognition.

”I was waiting for my master,” Craig explained.

”Why not downstairs?” Lenora asked suspiciously. ”You did not come up with him.”

”I am driving the Professor in his automobile,” Craig explained. ”It occurred to me that if he were going to be long here, I should have time to go and order another tire. It is of no consequence, though. I will go down and wait in the car.”

Lenora stood at the top of the stairs and watched him disappear. Then she went thoughtfully back to her work. The Professor and Quest were talking at the farther end of the room.

”I was in hopes, in great hopes,” the Professor admitted, ”that you might have heard something. I promised to call at Mrs. Rheinholdt's this afternoon.”

Quest shook his head.

”There is nothing to report at present, Mr. Ashleigh,” he announced.

”Dear me,” the Professor murmured, ”this is very disappointing. Is there no clue, Mr. Quest--no clue at all?”

”Not the ghost of one,” Quest acknowledged. ”I am as far from solving the mystery of the disappearance of your skeleton and Mrs. Rheinholdt's necklace, as I have ever been.”

The Professor failed entirely to conceal his disappointment. His tone, in fact, was almost peevish.

”I should have expected this from the regular officials of the law, Mr.

Quest,” he admitted, ”but I must say that in your hands I had hoped--but there, there! Excuse me! I am an old man, Mr. Quest. I am getting a little irritable. Disappointments affect me quickly. I must be patient. I will be patient.”

”There are certain evidences,” Quest remarked, with his eyes upon the black box, ”which seem to point to a new arrival in the criminal world of New York. More than that I cannot tell you. I will simply ask you to believe that I am doing my best.”

”And with that, Mr. Quest, I will be content,” the Professor promised. ”I will now pay my promised call upon Mrs. Rheinholdt. I shall convey to her your a.s.surance that everything that is possible is being done. Good morning, young ladies,” he concluded. ”Good morning, Mr. Quest.”

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