As she faced the situation more calmly, she realized that the girl driving her car must be her double, her perfect double. She remembered reading somewhere that everyone in the world had a double. And here was hers. But why had her double made up her hair in her exact fashion, donned an elevator girl’s uniform and taken her elevator from her?
“That is what I must find out,” she told herself.
“There’s no use making a scene by jumping in and demanding my cage,” she reasoned, after a moment’s reflection. “I’ll just get on as a passenger and ride up with her.”
There was something of a thrill in this affair. She was beginning to enjoy it.
“It’s—why, it’s fairly mysterious,” she breathed.
In spite of all, she found herself anticipating the next move in the little drama. Driving an elevator was frightfully dull business. Going up and down, up and down; answering innumerable questions all day long about the location of silks, shoes, baby rattle, nutmeg graters, boxing gloves, garters and fly-swatters—this was a dull task that tended to put one to sleep. And often enough, after her noon luncheon, she actually had to fight off sleep. But here, at last, was a touch of mystery, romance and adventure.
“My double,” she breathed. “I’ll find out who she is and why she did this, or die in the attempt.”
Again the cage moved downward.
This time, as the last customer moved out of the door, she stepped in. Moving to the back of the car, she stood breathlessly waiting for the next move of her mysterious double.
The move did not come at once; in fact she had to wait there in the back of the car a surprisingly long time. The girl at the lever—her double—had poise, this was easy enough seen, and she had operated an elevator before, too. She brought the cage to its position at each floor with an exactness and precision that could but be admired.