Late that night, Betty, all unconscious of the meeting between the two people who had so unexpectedly crossed her path that day, sat before the fire in her room, with a paper spread out between her hands. It was not the Egyptian translation tonight, however, which held her absorbed, but the copy of Mrs. Atterbury's strange letter.
She knew nothing of codes or ciphers and racked her brains vainly for a clue which would enable her to glean the hidden meaning from the cryptic sentences. The word "sheep" she felt intuitively would prove a starting point, since it had appeared in the first secret message; "comet," too, must have been indispensable, for the wording of the letter was obviously forced to give it space. But "ten of the thousand circulars quoting sheep prices for March" read lucidly enough and seemed devoid of any suggestion of ambiguity, yet——
All at once Betty started forward in her chair and with parted lips and eyes shining with repressed excitement she scanned the page once more. She had found it! The key which she had sought so vainly lay revealed and the words of the hidden message leaped out at her as in letters of fire.
Her mobile face in the light from the glowing hearth reflected each successive emotion as she read, and her expression changed from avid interest to a dawning horror. Then quite suddenly she threw back her head and laughed silently, in a convulsion of ironic mirth which ended in a little sob; and she sat staring at the name "Marcia Atterbury," which she herself had obediently signed to the note that morning, with a slowly gathering menace in her eyes. As the firelight flared and died again, the spreading birthmark upon her cheek seemed to move as if the five curved tentacles which radiated from it were writhing to grasp their prey and her small hands clenched until the paper tore.
At last she rose with a determined air, and thrusting the letter into the bosom of her loose, dark robe, she took her electric torch from its hiding place behind a loosened tile of the hearth.
Then extinguishing her lamp, she crept to the door, unbolted it softly and stood for a moment listening with every nerve tense. No sound echoed back to her from the sleeping house, no light pierced the darkness save the thread-like ray which played from her hand, and with cautious, silent footsteps she descended the stairs, and entering the library, closed the door behind her.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Orchid Lady.
"I shall return in time for lunch." Mrs. Atterbury paused in the doorway. "You have quite enough work to keep you occupied, I imagine. Don't leave the house until I return, Betty, for you may be called to the other telephone. Welch is so stupid I dare not trust him with messages and I am expecting a rather important one from Doctor Bayard."
"I doubt if I shall be able to finish before lunch, but I'll try." Betty glanced rather ruefully at the loose assortment of letters scattered about the desk top.