“The crimson thread,” Lucile breathed. “Why, then—then the Mystery Lady and the Spirit of Christmas Lady are one, and I have seen her many times. I saw her at two hours before midnight. I sold her a book. Twice I saw her talking to Cordie. I followed her upon the street. Had I but known it I might have whispered to her: ‘You are the Spirit of Christmas.’ Then the gold would have been mine. Two hundred in gold!” she breathed. “Two hundred in gold! And now it is gone!
“But is it? Is it quite gone yet? There is yet this day, the day before Christmas.”
Again her eyes sought the printed page. And this is what she read:
“Today I shall not appear before sunset. Early in the evening, and again between the hours of ten and midnight, I shall be somewhere on the Boulevard. I shall attend the Symphony Concert in Opera Hall.”
“The concert,” Lucile murmured with great joy. “We, too, are going there to-night. We shall be on the Boulevard. There is yet a chance. And the beauty of it all is I shall know her the instant I see her. Oh! You glorious bag of gold, please, please do wait for me!”
As the car rattled on downtown, her blood cooled and she realized that there was a very slight hope. With these broad hints thrown out to them, all those who had been following the doings of this mysterious lady would be eagerly on the alert. There may have been some, perhaps many, who had found the crimson thread and had marvelled at it. Perhaps, like her, they had seen the Mystery Lady’s face and would recognize her if they saw her on the Boulevard. There may have been many who had seen and marvelled at the diamond set iron ring.
“Ah well,” Lucile whispered to herself, “there is yet hope. ‘Hope springs eternal—’”
At the downtown station she dismissed the subject for matters of more immediate importance, the last great day of sales before Christmas.
Trade until noon was brisk; mostly business men rushing in for “cash and carry.” At noon she arranged to have lunch with her old chum, the elevator girl and, because it was the day before Christmas, instead of the crowded employees’ lunch room, they chose as their meeting place the tea room which was patronized for the most part by customers. Here, in a secluded corner, they might talk over old times and relate, with bated breath, the events of the immediate past and the future.
Enough there was to tell, too. Lucile’s Mystery Lady, who had turned so suddenly into the one of the Christmas Spirit, her Laurie Seymour, her hoped for $200 in gold, her James, the bundle carrier and last but not least, Cordie. And for Florence there was her mystifying double and the bewitching bag that contained her Christmas surprise. Did ever two girls have more to tell in one short noon hour?