The Motor Maids by Rose, Shamrock and Thistle Part 10

Nancy opened her eyes sleepily.

"Where? What?" she began. "Why, Billie, what is the matter? Are you ill?" She sat up quickly, suddenly noticing that her friend's face had turned perfectly white.

"Nancy!" gasped Billie. "Oh, Nancy! Nancy!"

"For heaven's sake, what is it, Billie?" cried the other, reduced to an irritability from nervousness and fear, which was most unusual with her.

"Our clothes, Nancy, our dresses and coats and hats,-they are gone,"

gasped Billie, "and these are left in their places."

She held up two old, black, bedraggled skirts, one with an immense brown patch on the front and the other with a jagged tear.

"Nancy, we are among thieves. We must get away as fast as we can. In the name of goodness, get out of that bed and hurry up."

With that, Billie stepped into the old garment and pinned it around her waist.

Nancy did not need another warning; in two minutes she stood before her friend, the very picture of a beggar girl. Even in her misery, Billie could not keep from smiling faintly at the sight of Nancy Brown, always so neatly and coquettishly dressed, in this strange attire.

"Thank heavens, they left us our pumps," whispered the young girl, slipping on her shoes with a feeling of relief.

"Take them off and carry them," whispered Billie. "We don't want to make a sound. By the way, what time is it?"

She slipped her hand under her pillow for her watch. It was gone with their brooches and a locket of Nancy's which they had tied in the handkerchief.

"I might have known that woman was a thief," she whispered, "with those fishy, shifting little eyes. Come on quickly. The sooner we get out of here, the better."

Carrying their shoes in their hands, they tripped cautiously into the hallway. In all the house there was not a sound, and the creaking of their door as they closed it seemed to their excited nerves as loud as the report of a pistol. But they safely cleared one flight of stairs and paused, startled by a long ray of light streaming into the dark hallway through the keyhole of a door leading to a front bedroom. They had just time to crouch in the shadow of the landing when the door was opened quickly and the figure of a man stood silhouetted on the sill.

"Tweedledum is the next, is he?" said a voice within.

"Yes," answered the man in the doorway.

"Who's the man?"

"O'Connor, of course. He'll not be sorry."

"But he's a little young. Has he been told?"

"He will be, soon."

"Good night, or rather good morning. It's been an all-night affair,"

said the voice inside.

"Good day," said the other, and whistling softly, his hands thrust into his pockets, he strolled down the steps of the lodging house without noticing two dark figures pressed against the wall in the shadow of the landing. They waited until they heard the door slam, and then started once more on their journey downstairs. The conversation they had overheard was hardly intelligible to them, except for the name O'Connor.

But of course there were thousands of O'Connors in the world.

Nevertheless Billie stored that interview away in her mind. For some reason she could not forget it, and the words began, subconsciously, to take a meaning deeper than she knew. To Nancy they meant nothing at all, and she forgot them in the advent of more important matters.

One more flight of steps and they stood on the second floor. As they reached the landing, a bell in a neighboring tower clanged out the hour.

It was five o'clock. They must lose no time. The occupants of a poor lodging house might be stirring in another half hour if not sooner.

In the room by which the two girls were pa.s.sing at that moment, there was a sound of hurried footsteps. The door opened slightly and a querulous voice called:

"Do hurry. You are always slower when you know I'm suffering. I don't know what I ever did to have such a plain, ungrateful child!"

Involuntarily, the girls paused and listened. Only a few days ago, had they not heard that same querulous voice?

"Oh, yes," they could remember its saying, "I always stay at the very best places and go with the very best people. Dear Marie-Jeanne is like her mother. She only cares for aristocratic society."

But was it possible, in this den of thieves? The door opened wider. Some one in a long cape appeared and a girl's voice said:

"Do be quiet, mother, I'm going as fast as I can."

Closing the door with an impatient bang, Marie-Jeanne stepped into view.

She was about to pa.s.s by the two beggar girls who faced her in the half-darkness. There were many strange people in this house. She never inquired into their business and they never inquired into hers. It was the etiquette of the place. Poor Marie-Jeanne had no curiosity about the other lodgers. She was only thankful that the house was quiet, for whatever schemes were hatched or secrets hidden in Miss Felicia Rivers'

abode, it was done without noise. Marie-Jeanne, therefore, without turning one curious glance at the poor beggar maids, was hurrying past when Billie seized her arm.

"Don't cry out, Marie-Jeanne," she whispered, "but help us."

"I have no money. I am almost as poor as you. Don't stop me, please. I'm in a hurry."

"Marie-Jeanne, don't you know us?" whispered Nancy.

The young girl stared into their faces with wide-eyed amazement.

"Billie! Nancy!" she gasped. "Am I dreaming?"

"No," answered Billie. "I wish you were. We've had a dreadful time, Marie-Jeanne. Let us go out of this place first, before that woman wakes up."

"What woman?"

"Miss Felicia Rivers."

Marie-Jeanne started.

"I'm very much afraid of her," she said. "So is mother."

The three girls crept down the last flight of steps and out into the foggy morning. But not until they had reached the nearest pharmacy did Billie and Nancy tell the tale of their adventures to their friend.

"But why did you choose Miss Felicia Rivers of all names?" she demanded, when they had finished.

"Because it sounded like the name of a woman. Cousin Helen had written to for lodgings."

"Good heavens," exclaimed Marie-Jeanne, "what poor memories you have! It wasn't Felicia Rivers. It was Let.i.tia Lake."

Let.i.tia Lake! What tricks one's memories play! While the sleepy all-night drug clerk filled the prescription, they looked up Miss Let.i.tia Lake in the directory. There it was, staring them in the face, and instantly that name and address were so indelibly graven on their memories that neither Billie nor Nancy will forget it to her dying day.

"How are we to get there, now we do know the address?" demanded Nancy.

"We don't know the way."