“The—the long-eared Chinaman! I—I’ve got him!” she hissed.
At that instant the wind blew his long yellow coat aside, exposing to view the hilt of the three-bladed knife. And in the hilt of that knife jewels shone.
“I—I’ve—”
She spoke too soon, for without appearing to see her at all the man glided to an elevator and before she could cry: “Stop him!” shot downward.
“Oh!” she breathed, and again, “Oh!”
The next instant she too had leaped to an elevator and went shooting down after him. “I’ll get him yet!” But would she?
Even as her elevator shot downward from those dizzy heights, she had time to think of the circumstances leading up to this, one of the most thrilling moments of her not uneventful life.
* * * * * * * *
It had been night, deep, silent, mysterious night, when first she had seen that three-bladed knife, and the long-eared Chinaman. No stars had shone. No moon had cast its golden gleam across the black and sullen waters of Lake Michigan. From afar, as in a dream, seated with Petite Jeanne, her companion, on the sand before a little fire of sticks, she had caught the ceaseless rumble of the city.
“The hour of enchantment, it is near at hand,” Jeanne, the little French girl, murmured.