"But, Chester," cried Patricia, in fresh alarm, "then I shall be all alone here to-morrow, for Mrs. Quale may not be back till night, and I'm sure Father won't. I suppose I'm silly, but this thing is so dreadfully mysterious and—and uncertain that I'm just as much afraid of it in the daytime as I am at night."
"You just quit worryin' about to-morrow," admonished Chet. "I got a scheme up my sleeve for to-morrow, but you'll hear more about that from me later. All I say about to-morrow is this: go down to breakfast as usual and as early as possible and ask for your mail at the desk before you eat. Then we'll see what to do next."
"But," objected Patricia, once more, "what about poor little Virginie? She is in danger too—and we don't even know where she is or what the danger is. Yet I feel as if we ought to do something about it. It isn't right to leave her, is it, without trying to do a thing—"
"You just leave the little mam'selle's affairs to me too, for to-night, an' don't worry about 'em no further," interrupted the boy. "I ain't got time to tell you all I plan to do, but you can bet your boots I ain't goin' to be idle. Good night, an' don't forget to go to breakfast an' get your mail early!"
And Chester Jackson retired, closing the door behind him.
CHAPTER XI
AN ADVENTUROUS MISSION
The endless night was over at last. Through her windows, which faced east, Patricia noticed that the sky was faintly streaked with pale light, each moment growing more distinct. She had endured almost seven hours of unbroken, nerve-racking suspense, yet nothing alarming had happened. All night she had huddled in a chair by the living-room table, the electric lights full on, even to the farthest wall-bracket, listening breathlessly to the faintest creak or rustle, starting terror-stricken at a sudden flapping of the window-shade, crouching rigid at the slightest footfall outside her door.
Yet the cheering whistle of the war's most popular tune, every hour or so, in the park below, assured her that Chet was true to his promise, even if the loud chugging of his motor-cycle had not likewise informed her of his intermittent presence. He was certainly proving himself a friend, and a staunch one, in this time of her dire need.
With the coming of daylight she turned off the lights and lay down awhile, exhausted by the night's vigil, but she did not sleep. She heard Delia go quietly out soon after six. At seven she prepared to go down to breakfast, and promptly at seven-thirty stopped at the desk in the lounge for her mail, as Chet had directed. She found that she had two letters, one a short note from Mrs. Quale, explaining that she had been called away suddenly to New York by the illness of a niece, but expected to be back that evening, and hoping Patricia had not needed her in the meantime.
"She little knows how much I did need her!" sighed Patricia. "But thank goodness! she's coming back to-night. I couldn't—I simply couldn't go through another night like last!"