"Oh, I beg your pardon," came a gently modulated voice from behind the shawl. E. Eliot stared.
"No harm done here. Did I hurt you?" she replied.
She thought she heard an involuntary "Oh!" from beneath the shawl.
"No, thanks. Could you tell me how to get to the Whitewater Arms and Munitions Factory? I'm all turned around."
"Certainly. Two blocks that way to the State Road, and half a mile north on that. Shall I walk to the road with you?"
"Oh, no, thank you," the girl answered and hurried on. E. Eliot stood and watched her. Where had she heard that voice? She knew a good many girls who worked at the factories, but none of them spoke like that. All at once a memory came to her: "Couldn't I investigate something, or organize the working girls?" Mrs. George Remington!
"The little fool," ejaculated the other woman, and turned promptly to follow the flying figure.
The two burly gentlemen in the rear also turned and followed, but E. Eliot was too busy planning how to manage Mrs. Remington to notice them. She had to walk rapidly to keep her quarry in sight. As she came within some thirty yards of the gate she saw Genevieve challenge the gatekeeper, present her card and slip inside, the gate clanging to behind her.
E. Eliot broke into a jog trot, rounded the corner of the wall, pulled herself up quickly, using the stones of the wall as footholds. She hung from the top and let herself drop softly inside, standing perfectly still in the shadow. At the same moment the two burly gentlemen ran round the corner and saw nothing. "I told ye to run—" began one of them fiercely.
"Aw, shut up. If she went over here, she'll come out here. We'll wait."