“There will be a way out,” Florence consoled her. But would there? Who could tell?
She hunted up Meg and advised her to look into that mysterious package. “It may be a bomb.”
“If it is, it won’t go off by itself.”
“It may be a gun.”
“Don’t need a gun. Got two of ’em. Good ones.”
“It may be stolen treasure.”
“Well, I didn’t steal it!” Meg turned flashing eyes upon her. And there for a time the matter ended.
* * * * * * * *
Jeanne attended the great sculptor’s party. Since she had not been invited to accompany Marjory Dean, she went alone. What did it matter? Miss Dean was to be there. That was enough.
She arrived at three o’clock in the afternoon. A servant answered the bell. She was ushered at once into a vast place with a very high ceiling. All about her were statues and plaster-of-paris reproductions of masterpieces.