CHAPTER V
A QUEER MYSTERY
When the performance was over and the guests were exclaiming about the charming entertainment they had seen, thanking Mr. Anthony for giving them such a delightful evening, and later taking their departure, Roberta glanced about for Mrs. Pollzoff, but did not see her. During the entertainment the rooms had been darkened except about the stage, so the girl Sky-pilot thought nothing of missing her employer then, but when the whole place was brilliantly lighted and the assembly moving somewhat like a narrow reception line, it seemed odd that the woman was nowhere in sight. With Miss Powell and her party, Roberta also thanked her host.
“I am very happy if my efforts have given such a charming stranger in our city an hour’s pleasure,” Mr. Anthony told her, speaking as if she were the only person in the room and had his undivided attention. Just then others came up, so she passed on with an impression that the gentleman, being a true Southerner, could make himself very agreeable.
“Anthony should be in the Diplomatic service,” young Powell remarked when they were all in the car again.
“He always gives one a feeling that his only interest in life is to serve one,” Helen added. “I am so glad that you could come with us, Miss Langwell. If you are going to be in Charleston tomorrow, I shall be delighted to take you about a bit.”
“That is something I will not know until tomorrow,” Roberta told her. “You have been most kind. I should have had rather a dull evening had I not met you.”
“Here we are at your hotel. Hope you can stay over,” Powell said as he helped her out. She bade the others good night, thanked them again, then the young aviator saw her safely to the elevator. “I’ll be on hand to help entertain you if you do not fly away.”
Up in her own room, when Roberta switched on the light she noticed that the door between the two bedrooms was closed. She listened for a sound of anyone moving about, but the place was as still as if it was deserted. Before retiring, there was a note to be written to the family at home, and in it she told of the lovely old hotel with its aristocratic guests, the meeting with Powell and his sisters, the trip to Mr. Anthony’s, and the fact that Mrs. Pollzoff was also there. Finally, adding no end of love for them all, she sealed the envelope, then went down the hall to the mail chute. When she returned there was still no sound from the other room and as she undressed, she tried to figure out why the woman had not nodded to her, and why she had disappeared like the foam on a ginger ale.
“Here I am imagining things about her again,” she scolded mentally. “She probably knows Mr. Anthony and he persuaded her to come for a little while, then she went home and is now in bed asleep.”