CHAPTER XI
LUCILE SHARES HER SECRET
As Lucile returned to her room it seemed to her that she was being hedged about on all sides by friends who had a right to demand that she reveal the secret hiding-place of the stolen books. The university which had done so much for her, Frank Morrow, her father’s friend, the great scientific library which was a friend to all, and now this splendid artist who worked in leather and gold; they all appeared to be reaching out their hands to her.
In her room for two hours she paced the floor. Then she came to a decision.
“I’ll tell one of them; tell the whole story and leave it to him. Who shall it be?”
The answer came to her instantly: Frank Morrow.
“Yes, he’s the one,” she whispered. “He’s the most human of them all. White-haired as he is, I believe he can understand the heart of a child and—and of a girl like me.”
She found him busy with some customers. When he had completed the sale and the customers had gone, she drew her chair close to his and told him the story frankly from beginning to end. The only thing she left out was the fact that she held suspicions against the young millionaire’s son.
“If there’s ground for suspicion, he’ll discover it,” she told herself.
Frank Morrow listened attentively. At times he leaned forward with the light on his face that one sometimes sees upon the face of a boy who is hearing a good story of pirates and the sea.
“Well,” he dampened his lips as she finished, “well!”