Now, in her need, these words that the curate had taught her came back to her mind and comforted her. This had been a hard fight with Anton and she had won out. She had rescued the money and would give it back, as she had promised—that was something.
Hester smiled as she pictured Anton's face when he opened the purse. The nerve of the man to think he could get the best of her at a game like that, her own game! "Now put your two little hands outside your cloak and keep 'em there!" Silly Anton! Didn't he know that Hester Storm had worked that trick when she was a twelve-year-old kid sneaking leathers from shopping guys on Sixth avenue cars? Two little hands outside your cloak! Ha! Two little gloved hands—very innocent—and one of them a fake, joined onto a fake arm and the whole thing strapped from the shoulder! Then if the man gets gay and hugs you in the automobile, and pretty soon gets crazy and kisses you, while you wriggle and twist and keep him busy—and then get busy yourself with your real arm down in the golf bag—why, it was too easy! It was a wonder Anton didn't get wise when she stopped so long at the lodge. Those shoulder straps take time to fasten on.
With a thrill of professional pride and a sigh of half regret, Hester pressed her hand to the bosom of her dress, where the bundle of crisp banknotes crackled alluringly. Five thousand pounds! Twenty-five thousand dollars! And it must be given back! No fiddling around, either! It was not good for a girl like her to have twenty-five thousand dollars that belonged to somebody else in her clothes. Not good at all!
She walked straight to the wide double doors with their green portieres that separated the conservatory from the library, and, bracing herself for this ordeal with the Reverend Merle, she turned the knob.
"Rosalie will be glad," she thought, as she pressed against the door. To her surprise nothing moved or yielded, and the girl realized, with a sudden sinking of the heart, that the library door was locked.
Hester tapped lightly on the panel, then louder, but no one came. She listened, with her ear close to the door, but there was no sound from the adjoining room. Strange! Mr. Merle must have gone out. Ordinarily there would have been nothing alarming in this, but now to the agitated girl it assumed the proportions of a disaster. She had counted on giving this money immediately to the clergyman, but, with the clergyman absent——
Seized with alarm, Hester darted back to the door of the conservatory, the door, in the ground glass wall that led in from the lawn. She opened this door just a crack and looked out, then instantly closed it and turned the key. Not a hundred yards distant, Anton was hurrying toward this very spot.
In the presence of danger Hester's mind acted quickly. The essential thing now was to hide this money. But where? She looked wildly about her. In the center of the conservatory stood a small, low table covered with potted plants. There was a drawer in this table. Hester put down the golf bag and pulled the drawer open. Lengths of twine and wire, some gardener's tools and a lot of seed catalogues. She shook her head and pushed the drawer shut. Anton would look there at once. She must find, some simple place that he would not think of.
Perhaps she could bury the money in one of these big tubs that held the palm trees, but no, there wasn't time. It was maddening!
In this emergency the girl's eyes fell upon a small standard rose bush growing in a gilt basket. It was a plant that Lionel and the countess had purchased at the Progressive Mothers' bazaar. Hester bent down eagerly to see if there was a space between the basket and the flower pot and, in trying to move the latter, she caught the stem of the rose-bush, whereupon to her surprise the bush itself, with the earth about its roots, detached itself from the flower pot so that she was able to lift the plant and a cylinder of dry earth entirely out of the pot. Ah! This might do. And a moment later she had laid the banknotes in the bottom of the pot and replaced the cylinder of earth above them. To the casual glance there was not the slightest indication that the rose-bush had been tampered with.