“Thanks,” Florence smiled. “Just for that I’ll help you into dry clothes, then you can tell me in comfort.”
The clock struck three and the girls were still deep in the discussion of the mystery.
“One thing is important,” said Florence. “That is the value of the Shakespeare. Perhaps it’s not worth so terribly much after all.”
“Perhaps not,” Lucile wrinkled her brow, “but I am awfully afraid it is. Let’s see—who could tell me? Oh, I know—Frank Morrow!”
“Who’s Frank Morrow?”
“He’s the best authority on old books there is in the United States to-day. He’s right here in this city. Got a cute little shop on the fifteenth floor of the Marshal Annex building. He’s an old friend of my father. He’ll tell me anything I need to know about books.”
“All right, you’d better see him to-morrow, or I mean to-day. And now for three winks.”
Florence threw off her kimono and leaped into bed. Lucile followed her example and the next instant the room was dark.
CHAPTER IV
WHAT THE GARGOYLE MIGHT TELL
Frank Morrow was the type of man any girl might be glad to claim as a friend. He had passed his sixty-fifth birthday and for thirty-five years he had been a dealer in old books, yet he was neither stooped nor near-sighted. A man of broad shoulders and robust frame, he delighted as much in a low morning score at golf as he did in the discovery of a rare old book. His hair was white but his cheeks retained much of their ruddy glow. His quiet smile gave to all who visited his shop a feeling of genuine welcome which they did not soon forget.