“That wouldn’t solve anything.”
“It would get our books back.”
“Yes, but—”
Suddenly Lucile paused, to place a hand on her companion’s arm. A slight figure had emerged from the cottage.
“It’s the child,” she whispered. “We must not seem to follow. Let’s cross the street.”
They expected the child to enter the elevated station as she had done before, but this she did not do. Walking at a rapid pace, she led them directly toward the very heart of the city. After covering five blocks, she began to slow down.
“Getting tired,” was Florence’s comment. “More people here. We could catch up with her and not be suspected.”
This they did. Much to their surprise, they found the child dressed in the cheap blue calico of a working woman’s daughter.
“What’s that for?” whispered Lucile.
“Disguise,” Florence whispered. “She’s going into some office building. See, she is carrying a pressed paper lunch box. She’ll get in anywhere with that; just tell them she’s bringing a hot midnight lunch to her mother.