“Where’s the young lady who came in here a short time ago to buy some iodine?” he demanded.
“Hasn’t any one bought iodine,” protested the clerk. “Do you mean the young lady who came in about twenty minutes ago and walked through the store and out into Fourteenth Street?” pointing to the door opposite the one Duncan was holding partly open as he gazed in consternation and bewilderment at the clerk.
CHAPTER XXI
THE STORM CENTER
Madame Yvonett, knitting industriously as she sat in the bow window of her small parlor, watched a smart victoria drive up to the curb and stop before her door. There was no one in the carriage, and thinking the coachman had made a mistake in the number of the house, she was about to ring for Minerva when that dusky maid-of-all-work appeared in the doorway, dressed in hat and coat.
“’Scuse me, madam,” she said respectfully. “Hab Miss Rebekah come in?”
“Not yet,” Minerva’s face fell; she had received strict orders from Marjorie never to leave Madame Yvonett alone in the house. “I am expecting her to return at any moment. Does thee wish to go out?”
“Yass’m; Miss Rebekah done tole me she’d be back by three, so’s I could go to George Henry’s funeral at fo’ o’clock.”
Madame Yvonett glanced at the clock; the hands pointed to twenty minutes past three. “Don’t wait any longer,” she directed kindly. “I will watch for Miss Rebekah and let her in when she comes.”
Minerva wavered between desire and her sense of responsibility.
“I done locked de kitchen do’, an’ all de winders in de basement,” she volunteered hopefully. “Miss Rebekah kain’t be much longer.”