“If that was really Charlie Reid,” she said tensely, “then I might just as well bid good-bye right now to my peace of mind, Helen. Before long it will be gone entirely, broken into a thousand pieces.”
“Which—your peace of mind or Charlie?” asked Helen flippantly.
She came and sat beside Ruth and patted her hand in a manner that was meant to be soothing and only served at the moment to irritate the harassed young director.
Ruth drew her hand away as gently as she could and with a resigned gesture put back a lock of hair that had become dislodged.
“You can laugh all you like, Helen,” she sighed. “But I can tell you, Sol Bloomberg is nothing to laugh at, and if he has set his little hound on my trail, it behooves Miss Ruth Fielding to watch her step!”
“I’ll trust you for that,” said Helen.
Seeing that Ruth was really disturbed she did her best to mend the situation.
“Perhaps it wasn’t Charlie Reid after all,” she suggested, though in her heart she was almost sure that it was. She, at least, had obtained a fairly good view of the man’s face. “It was dim in the station, anyway, and Charlie Reid has a rather ordinary type of face. I suppose there are thousands of them scattered all over the world.”
But despite Helen’s loyal attempts to get her friend’s mind off the subject, that day was completely spoiled for Ruth.
It was decided by the two girls, at Ruth’s suggestion, that they should say nothing concerning their suspicions to the boys just then.