The “find,” she knew in advance, was Danby Force’s cotton mill and his little city of Happy Vale. She was thrilled at the thought of seeing him once more.
As she listened to these learned men discussing the “find” she realized there was much she could tell them about it. Not being asked, however, she kept silent. She smiled from time to time at their curiously learned remarks about a thing that to her had seemed quite simple and very beautiful, a group of common people, working together to make their little city the happiest, most contented in all the world.
They landed on the outskirts of a beautiful little city. A bus carried them to the factory. There they were met by Danby Force who had a very special message for the little stewardess.
“I wanted you to come.” It was a rare smile he gave her, something quite special that warmed her heart. “I felt you were interested and would truly understand.”
“And is—have you—”
“No.” His voice was low. “We have not found her. We have no true notion of the harm she may have done. We can only hope.” He was speaking, Rosemary knew, of the spy.
It was an hour later when, after a frugal repast wonderfully prepared, they were ready to enter the mill.
Rosemary had dropped modestly to the rear of the group when of a sudden she noted some stranger joining their party. With a quick eye for faces she already knew all her party well. “He is not of our party, and yet,” she told herself, “there is something familiar about him. He gives me the shivers. I wonder why.”
A little later she was thinking to herself, “Wonder if he has been invited to join us. None of my affair—but—” But what? She did not know.
Invited or no, the youth did join this group. He did go with them. To Rosemary his attitude was disconcerting. A part of the time he seemed quite indifferent, the rest of the time he was like one on tip-toes. Drinking in every word that was said, at the same time he went through strange motions, fumbling first at his vest, then at his pockets.