* * * * * * * *
She was right. Something indeed had happened by the door of the northeast entrance. Cordie had been prompt in keeping her appointment; especially so since her nerves, disturbed by Lucile’s revelation of the night before, were on edge.
Surprised at not finding Lucile waiting for her, she had moved back into a secluded alcove to watch the passing throng crowd through the doors.
Crowds always amused her. Some of the people were short and some tall; some young, some old; but all were interesting. Each had his story to tell if only he could be induced to tell it. This is why the flow of a river of people is so interesting.
Just when it was that her attention was drawn from the moving throng to a single stationary individual, the girl could not tell. The instant she saw the man she felt he had been watching her; felt too that she had recognized in him her volunteer brother of the Art Museum.
“Yes,” she whispered as cold dread gripped her heart, “there is the hawk-like eye, the marble face. It is he. Oh! How shall I escape?”
Losing her power to reason, she dashed away from the door and into the crowd that was now thronging toward the exits.
* * * * * * * *
Lucile found it rather difficult to again locate the Mystery Lady. When at last she succeeded it was to get a good square look at her, the first she had been afforded.
“How strangely she is dressed!” she murmured. “Like some countrywoman come to the city for shopping.”