“Two men drawing a strange sled,” she mused. “One man on the ice alone. Possibly a package.” Turning to Marian she asked:
“What do you make of it?”
“Why, nothing,” said Marian in surprise. “Why should I?”
“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t,” said Florence thoughtfully.
There was something to it after all and what this something was they were destined to learn in the days that were to follow.
* * * * * * * *
Out among the ice-piles between the breakwaters, cowering in the shadows too frightened to scream, Lucile was seeing things. Hardly had the policemen disappeared behind the boats on the dry dock than the dark figures began to reappear.
“And so many of them!” she breathed.
She was tempted to believe she was in a trance. To the right of her, to the left, before, behind, she saw them. Ten, twenty, thirty, perhaps forty darkly enshrouded heads peered out from the shadows.
“As if in a fairy book!” she thrilled. “What can it mean? What are all these people doing out here at this ghostly hour?”