“Don't strike a light, for I can feel the way. We mustn't be seen.”
Shirley obeyed,—at last she found the base of the dumbwaiter shaft.
“How did you have the strength to lower yourself down this shaft—it is no small task?” and his tone was admiring.
“I am not a weakling—tennis, boating, swimming were all in my education; they helped. But it is beyond me to pull all those floors, and lift my weight. Pull up as far as the little elevator car goes, then go away and come to his party to look for me. Do not be surprised at my actions. My role has really developed into that of an emotional heavy.”
She patted his hand with a relaxation of tenderness, as he began to draw on the long rope. The girl was by no means a light weight, but at last the dumb-waiter came to a stop. Shirley heard the opening and closing of a door above. Then, still wondering at it all, he returned to the street as unobserved as they had entered. There was at least an hour to wait. He walked over to the Athletic Club, of which he was a remiss member, attending seldom during the recent months when his exercise had been more tragic than gymnastic work. In the library of the club house he sat down to study the volume which Helene had thrust into his hands at their startling meeting.
He gave a low whistle of surprise.
“Some little book!” he muttered, “and Helene Marigold has shown me that I must fight hard to equal her in the race for laurels!”
Then he proceeded to rack his brains with a new and knottier problem than any which he had yet encountered.