The Magic Curtain Part 30

"Kidnappin' an' torture!" said one of the police, standing the captured offender 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 nodded toward the little Frenchman.

"Now then," the police sergeant commanded, "tell us why you let 'em take you in."

"They--they told me they would take me to a person known as Pet.i.te Jeanne."

"Pet--Pet.i.te Jeanne!" Florence could have shouted for joy. "And have you money 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 any rate," she managed to say after a time, "when the police are through with you 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 in two 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 turned to the Frenchman. "I think--at least it's my opinion--that you'll be safe enough in this young lady's company.

"If she'd go to the trouble of hirin' a taxi and followin' you, then breakin' down a door and riskin' her life to rescue you from a b.l.o.o.d.y pair of kidnappers and murderers, she's not goin' to take you far from where you want to go."

"I am overcome!" The Frenchman bowed low. "I shall accompany her with the greatest a.s.surance."

So, side by side, the curious little Frenchman and the girl marched away.

"But, Mademoiselle!" The Frenchman seemed dazed. "Why all this late unpleasantness?"

"Those two!" Florence threw out her arms. "They'd have tortured you to death. They thought, as I did, that you were in possession of money, a great 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 a pity!

"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 little Frenchman. Under Florence's plan only the Frenchman was lost. And this, to her, was just as bad, for she _did_ want Pet.i.te Jeanne to meet this man and receive the message from him, even though the message was not to be delivered in the form of bank notes.

It was the little man's extreme politeness that proved his undoing. In the Loop they were obliged to change trains. Florence had waited for the right train, and then had invited him to go before her, when, with a lift of his hat, he said, bowing:

"After you, my dear Mademoiselle!"

This was all well enough. But there were other Madams and Mademoiselles boarding that train.

Again and yet again the little man bowed low. When at last the gates banged and the train rattled on its way, Florence found to her consternation 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 second train and went rattling back. Arrived at her former station, she found no trace of the man.

"He took another train. It's no use." Her shoulders drooped. "All that and nothing for it."

Her dejection lasted but for a moment.

"To-morrow," she murmured. "It is not far away. And on the morrow there is ever something new."

CHAPTER XXIX IT HAPPENED AT MIDNIGHT

Midnight. The lights of Chinatown were dim as four figures made their way to a door marked: "For Members Only."

Jeanne, the foremost of these figures, knew that door. She had entered it before. Yet, as her hand touched the heavy handle, she was halted by a sudden fear. Her face blanched.

Close at her side Marjory Dean, artist and supreme interpreter of life as she was, understood instantly.

"Come, child. Don't be afraid. They are a simple people, these Orientals."

"Yes. Yes, I know." The girl took a tight grip on herself and pressed on through the door. Marjory Dean, Angelo and Swen followed.

At the top of the second stair they were halted by a dark shadow-like figure.

"What you want?"

"Hop Long Lee."

"You come."

The man, whose footsteps made not the slightest sound, led the way.

"Midnight," Jeanne whispered to herself. "Why did I say midnight?" It was always so. Ever she was desiring mystery, enchantment at unheard-of hours. Always, when the hour came she was ready to turn back.

"The magic curtain." She started. A second dark figure was beside her.

"You wished to see?"

"Y-yes."

"You shall see. I am Hop Long Lee.