He was turning to go, but Cordie called him back. Handing him a slip of paper on which she had scribbled a number and an address, she said:
“Call me on the phone at that number to-morrow, or else at the Butler House before midnight. I want to know whether you get those wonderful silver fox skins back. I—might have a customer for them if you do.”
“It would make a great little old Christmas for me if I did,” he smiled. “But it’s going to be all right anyway.”
Reading the address Cordie had given him, James gave a great start. “Right on the Gold Coast!” was his mental comment. “Out where there is nothing but palaces and mansions!”
CHAPTER XXIII
MEG’S SECRET
And what of Florence and Meg? They had not fared so badly after all. Three minutes after her first meeting with the young policeman, Florence was thinking fine things about Meg.
“This girl Meg certainly has a way about her,” she thought. “She does things to people.”
She wondered what Meg had done to the young policeman. “Surely,” she told herself, “she didn’t use that iron belaying pin on him the way she did on that terrible man who had been following me. No, she didn’t do that, though I suspect she still has it hidden up her sleeve.”
One thing was sure, she had done something to the young policeman. Florence hadn’t heard what Meg had said, but she did know that one moment he was frightening the very life out of her by demanding that she unlock the bag and show him the contents, which was quite as much unknown to her as to him, and the next he had let out a low chuckling laugh and had told her she might run along. How was she to account for that?
She didn’t bother much to account for it. She was too much pleased at being able to go on her way, and carrying with her the bag with its secret securely sealed. She would know about Meg later. Meg had promised to tell.