Every day the paper told how she had been dressed on the previous day, where she had been and what she had done. One day, in the guise of a farmer’s wife, she had visited the stockyards and had spent hours wandering through great buildings or on board-walks above the cattle. The next day found her again among the throngs of shoppers. Here she had purchased a handkerchief and there a newspaper. She described the clerk and the newsboy. The clerk and the boy read it and groaned. For them the great moment had come and was gone forever.
“Who will discover her? When will it be? Who will get the gold?” These were the questions that were on every tongue.
There could be no doubt but the paper was reaping a golden harvest from it, for did not everyone in the city buy a paper that they might read of her latest exploits and to discover where she was to be on that day, and to dream that this day he might be the lucky one; this day he might hear the gold coin jingle?
Lucile thought all this through as she hurried back toward the store. At the same time she chided herself for being so foolish as to miss her appointment with Cordie for such a wild goose chase. She hoped against hope that she would find Cordie still waiting.
She found the door closed. As she pressed her face against the glass she saw but one person near the entrance—the night watchman. Cordie was not there.
“Gone,” Lucile murmured. “I only hope nothing has happened to her.”
At that she turned about and raced away to catch an on-coming elevated train.
* * * * * * * *
As James disappeared through the door of the furnace room of the department store, Cordie sank down in a chair. The chair was black and greasy, but she had no thought for that. Indeed, so excited and frightened was she that for a time she was unable to think clearly about anything.
When at last the full meaning of the situation had forced its way into her consciousness, she leaped to her feet, exclaiming: