“That,” Lucile told herself, “is the person who crossed the bridge ahead of us. He is spying on us. I wonder who he is and what he knows.” A cold chill swept over her as if a winter blast had passed down the car.
When Florence had been told of what Lucile had seen, she suggested that they go back and see who the man was.
“What’s the use?” said Lucile. “We can’t prove that he’s following us. It would only get us into another mess and goodness knows we’re in enough now.”
So, with the mystery child curled up fast asleep in a seat before them, hugging the newly acquired book as though it were a doll, they rattled back toward the city.
In spite of the many problems perplexing her, Lucile soon fell asleep. Florence remained to keep vigil over her companion, the child and the supposedly valuable book.
They saw nothing more of the mysterious person who had apparently been following them. Arrived at the city, they were confronted with the problem of the immediate possession of the latest of the strangely acquired volumes. Should the child be allowed to carry it to the mysterious cottage or should they insist on taking it to their room for safe keeping? They talked the matter over in whispers just before arriving at their station.
“If you attempt to make her give it up,” Florence whispered, “she’ll make a scene. She’s just that sort of a little minx.”
“I suppose so,” said Lucile wearily.
“Might as well let her keep it. It’s as safe as any of the books are at that cottage, and, really, it’s not as much our business as you keep thinking it is. We didn’t take the book. True, we went along with her, but she would have gone anyway. We’re not the guardians of all the musty old books in Christendom. Let’s forget at least this one and let that rich young man get it back as best he can. He took the chance in allowing her to take it away.”
Lucile did not entirely agree to all this but was too tired to resist her companion’s logic, so the book went away under the child’s arm.