CHAPTER II
SHOWING THE IMPORTANCE OF A GOLF BAG
It must now be revealed (since this is a straightforward tale) that the stolen five thousand pounds was all this time snugly reposing in a most unlikely hiding place which Hester, with quick resourcefulness, had hit upon when she saw the guard approaching. At that moment the purse was hidden in her dress, but she knew she could not keep it there; a search would certainly be made, and—where could she hide it? What could she do with it?
The guard turned the handle of the carriage door and there came for Hester a moment of sickening despair as she realized her desperate peril; then, in a flash of inspiration, unseen by the others, she did the one thing that could save her: she dropped the bishop's purse into the open mouth of Betty Thompson's golf bag.
Now the bottom of a golf bag is about the last spot on earth where anyone would expect to find a missing purse; yet, as devotees of this sport will agree, a more admirable place of concealment could scarcely be imagined. Far down in a jumble of heavy clubs the purse lies unseen by the keenest eye and beyond reach of the longest arm. To search the bottom of a golf bag would involve taking out all the clubs and turning the bag upside down, but who would do that? Who would go exploring for stolen treasure in so battered and so innocently open a receptacle?
All of which, in the first emergency, favored Hester, but now, with the danger past, made it difficult for her to carry out her plan. How was she to get the purse? There it was, almost within reach of her fingers, yet tantalizingly out of reach. It was maddening to think that, with so great a prize so nearly won; she might still lose everything simply because a stupid, flimsy barrier of canvas and leather stood in her way.
The Storm girl concentrated all her faculties on this new problem, and thrilled with the exhilaration of a brilliant coup almost accomplished. There was no more question of scruples or regrets. She had made the break and must see the thing through. A rather neat piece of work so far, but the hardest part remained. The crisis would come when the train reached London. Good old Charing Cross Station!
As she studied the situation, searching desperately for some master move, Hester talked to Betty, letting the conversation drift as the latter pleased and keeping sweetly to her attitude of virtue injured but resigned; also showing the most touching, almost tearful, gratitude (not all assumed) for Betty's kindness. Glibly she spun a hard-luck story of loneliness and friendlessness and the disappointing result of her efforts to be a nursery governess. Betty was deeply interested, very sorry, and finally offered her protegé five pounds, which Hester at first refused, but finally, rather shamefacedly, accepted, thinking it more in character to do so. She would certainly send back that five pounds and fifty with it, once she had gotten safely away with the five thousand.
Yes, but that was the point. How was she going to do it? How could she get the purse? If she could only think of something. She must think of something. There was not a moment to lose. Even now they were roaring into London city, and—suddenly the inspiration came—it was a chance, the only chance, and Hester took it.
Rising from their seats they gathered up their belongings. The dark-eyed girl slipped over her shoulders a brilliant red cloak, the red being of so striking a shade that Betty remembered it afterward. Then very simply and naturally Hester turned to her benefactress. "Let me help you with your things. I have only this little bundle. There!" and without more ado she took the golf bag.
"Thanks!" smiled Betty. "You must come to see me while you are in England. I'll give you my card. Well, here we are!"