“We can wait for you, Arden,” Sim answered. “It’s not so very late, and it’s only beginning to snow. You might not get a cab handy.”
“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” Arden objected. “I want to take my time. Besides, you’ve got the top down, and Moselle will be worried. You go along and I’ll come later,” she insisted, pulling her collar up closer around her neck.
Sim finally agreed and turned toward the village, where she dropped Arden at the corner nearest the library, so she wouldn’t have to turn around. Sim was not yet an expert driver and often went blocks out of her way to avoid turning. Arden stood at the corner and waved goodbye as her friends continued on their way. The corner drugstore was brilliantly lighted, and the usual group of men was hanging about the entrance, leaning up against the window, talking and laughing. They were the least desirable element in the town, lazy and shiftless and, somehow, they always gathered together.
Titus Ellery was in this group, Arden noticed, as she hurried along. A thin man, unshaven and carelessly dressed, Arden gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye. His booming voice rang out on the night air, for he made no effort to control it, and Arden could not help hearing him say:
“Swears he don’t know a thing about it. But there’s a chance to pick up some easy money. If we can do it. Thing is to find the stuff. It’s around there some place, I’ll bet. That old Mrs. Howe ain’t as dumb as she looks. You got the job all right, Nick?”
Arden started. Could she stop and learn some more, or would they become suspicious and stop talking? She thought suddenly of a plan and, entering the store, bought some powder she did not need, emerging just in time to hear the man called “Nick” laugh rancorously and say: “That Callahan’s got his job cut out for him. Every darky in Pentville’s scared to death. I didn’t have no trouble gettin’ him to hire me.”
“Good!” exclaimed Ellery. “Then tomorrow——”
But Arden could linger no longer and so continued reluctantly down the street to the library, although she was now anxious to get back and tell the others what she had heard. She reasoned nothing could be done that night, so she would try again to locate the books in which she hoped to find important details.
It was almost closing time when she reached the library, and the place was deserted except for a young girl putting books back on the shelves.
Arden approached her. “Are you Betty Howe?” she asked impulsively.