“Oh!” murmured Florence, for the time forgetting her urgent mission.
“Bring her right in,” said a strong voice in a steady, even tone. “There are some coals in the fireplace. I’ll soon have it roaring.”
The mysterious young lady was as good as her word. Five minutes had not elapsed ere a fire was laughing up the chimney. Stripped of their chilling garments and wrapped in blankets of the softest wool, the two girls sat before the fire while their strange hostess spent her time alternately chafing Petite Jeanne’s feet and hands and tending tea that was brewing.
Florence found time to examine the interior of the cottage. The bar had been replaced at the door. As her eyes swept the walls, she was startled to discover that this cabin was entirely devoid of windows. More startling still was her next discovery. At the head of a low bed, within easy reach of one who slept there, were two thin, blue steel automatic pistols.
The things fascinated her. She removed her gaze from them with difficulty.
At that moment it struck her suddenly that this cabin bore all the marks of a trap. Had they been dumped out before it by someone with a purpose? Were they prisoners here?
But why? To this question she could form but a single answer. And that one seemed absurd.
“Green Eyes!” she whispered.
There was a young lady, an actress, the star of Petite Jeanne’s cast, who appeared to be intensely jealous of Jeanne. They had called her Green Eyes because, in certain lights, her eyes seemed as green as the sea. Once Florence had fancied that she had seen her in a speed boat on these waters. She could not be sure. Would she stoop to such base plotting? It did not seem possible.
“Besides,” the girl reassured herself, “this cabin is old. It was built for some other purpose. That it should have its present occupant is more or less in the nature of an accident. This woman has a purpose in hiding here. A mystery!” A thrill of pleasant anticipation shot through her, dispelling fear as the morning sun dispels the fog.