Part 22 (1/2)

He approached the young woman, but before he reached her a well-dressed young man accosted her. They exchanged a few words, and the fellow evidently gave her a direction, looking at a paper which she clutched in her nervous hand. The man walked quickly out of the building toward the street. Unseen by Burke, he whispered something to another nattily attired loiterer, an elderly man, who started toward the ”car stop.”

As Burke rounded the big pillar of the station entrance the man again addressed the country girl.

”There's your car, sis,” he said, with a smile. Bobbie looked at him sharply.

There was something evil lurking in that smooth face, and the fellow stared impudently, with the haunting flicker of a scornful smile in his eyes, as he met the gaze of the policeman.

The country girl hurried toward the north-bound Madison Avenue car, which she boarded, with several other pa.s.sengers. Among them was the gray-haired man who had received the mysterious message.

Burke watched the car disappear, and then turned to look at the smiling young man, who lit a cigarette, flicking the match insolently near the policeman's face.

”Move on, you,” said Burke, and the young man shrugged his shoulders, leisurely returning to the waiting room of the station.

Burke was puzzled.

”I wonder what that game was? Maybe I stopped him in time. He looks like a cadet, I'll be bound. Well, I haven't time to stand around here and get a reprimand for starting on a wild-goose chase.”

So Burke returned to the station house and started out on his rounds.

Had he taken the same car as the country girl, however, he would have understood the curious manoeuvre of the young man with the smile.

When the girl had ridden almost to the end of the line she left the car at a certain street. The elderly gentleman with the neat clothes and the fatherly gray hair did so at the same time. She walked uncertainly down one street, while he followed, without appearing to do so, on the opposite side. He saw her looking at the slip of paper, while she struggled with her bandboxes. He casually crossed over to the same side of the thoroughfare.

”Can I direct you, young lady?” he politely asked.

He was such a kind-looking old gentleman that the girl's confidence was easily won.

”Yes, sir. I'm looking for the Young Women's Christian a.s.sociation. I thought it was down town, but a gentleman in the depot said it was on that street where I got off. I don't see it at all. They're all private houses, around here. You know, I've never been in New York City before, and I'm kinder green.”

”Well, well, I wouldn't have known it,” said her benefactor. ”The Y.W.C.A. is down this street, just in the next block. You'll see the sign on the door, in big white letters. I've often pa.s.sed it on my way to church.”

”Oh, thank you, sir,” and the country girl started on her quest once more, with a firmer grip on the suitcase and the bandboxes.

Sure enough, on the next block was a brownstone building--more or less dilapidated in appearance, it is true--just as he had prophesied.

There were the big white letters painted on a sign by the door. The girl went up the steps, rang the bell, and was admitted by a tousled, smirking negress.

”Is this here the Y.W.C.A.?” she asked nervously.

”Ya.s.sim!” replied the darkie. ”Come right in, ma'am, and rest yoh bundles.”

The girl stepped inside the door, which closed with a click that almost startled her. She backed to the door and put her hand on the k.n.o.b. It did not turn!

”Are you _sure_ this is the Y.W.C.A.?” she insisted. ”I thought it was a great big building.”

”Oh, yas, lady; dis is it. Yoh all don't know how nice dis buildin' is ontel you go through it. Gimme yoh things.”

The negress s.n.a.t.c.hed the suitcase from the girl's hand and whisked one of the bandboxes from the other.

”Here, you let go of that grip. I got all my clothes in there, and I don't think I'm in the right place.”