by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XXIV THROUGH THE PICTURE
Florence was in the studio alone. Miss Mabee had been called away to NewYork. The fire in the hearth had burned out. Florence had not troubled torebuild it. The place seemed cold, lonely, deserted. As she sat theremusing, she seemed to hear the words of Poe's Raven: "Never more."
Never more what? Well, surely never again would she believe in those whotold fortunes by reading cards, gazing into a crystal ball, or studyingstars.
"Fakers all," she murmured. "Simple, harmless people, most of them; butfakes for all that! They--"
She broke short off to listen. Had she caught some sound of movement inthe room? It did not seem possible. The door was securely locked. Thedoor? Two doors really. She recalled discovering a secret panel door atthe side of the room.
"Just behind that picture," she told herself.
The picture, on which she bestowed a fleeting glance, was the one MissMabee had prepared for the little show to be put on for Tum Morrow'sbenefit, the paper picture through which Jeanne was supposed to jump."Wonder if that show will ever come off?" she mused. "Wonder--"
She sprang to her feet. This time there _was_ a sound. Yes, and shewanted to scream. There, between two paintings of gypsy life, was a face,an ugly, fat, leering face. She knew that face. It was the man she hadseen in the professor's room on that night when she went down the rope.Madame Zaran had sent him. Her illicit business of telling fake fortuneswas being ruined by Florence's investigations and reports. She wasseeking revenge.
How had the man entered the room? One other question was more pressing:how was she to get out?
The man was between her and the entrance. He was close to the stairwaythat led to the balcony. She was trapped--or was she? There was thesecret panel door.
"That picture is directly in front of it," she thought. "Too close. Ican't get round it. But I could--" her heart skipped a beat. "I could gothrough it. Too bad to spoil Tum's big party too--"
The man was advancing upon her. With hands outstretched, eyes gleaming,he seemed some monstrous beast about to seize a bird of rare plumage.
She hesitated no longer. She sprang to the right, then dashed three stepsforward to go crashing through that picture.
Was the man taken by surprise? Beyond doubt he was. At any rate, Florencewas through that door and had completely lost herself in a maze ofslanting beams and rafters before she had time to think of her next move.And from the studio there came no sound.
She could not well go back, even though she knew the way, so she gropedforward. After ten minutes of this, she caught a gleam of light. It camefrom under a door. Remembering that nearly all the people in the worldare decent, honest folks, she knocked boldly.
The door was thrown open. There, framed in light, stood Tum Morrow.
"Tum!" she exclaimed, all but falling into his arms. "Tum! How glad I amto see you!"
"Why--what--what's happened?" He stared in surprise. "Come on in and tellme."
The story was soon told. "And Tum," Florence ended with a note of dismay,"I ruined that picture! I had to. That puts an end to your big show."
"Don't let that trouble you." The boy smiled happily. "Only yesterdayMiss Mabee fixed up something quite wonderful for me. She has a friend, adirector of music in a college. He wants someone to play the part ofconcertmeister in his orchestra and direct the strings in their practice.I have been given a musical scholarship."
"And you're going to college! How grand! Shake!" Florence held out ahand.
"Grand enough," Tum agreed. "Now, however, you are the burning questionof the hour. How and when are you going back to the studio?"
"How and when?" Florence repeated gloomily.
"Tell you what!" Tum exclaimed. "I've got a gun--a regular cannon. My dadused it in the war. Suppose we load it up and march on the enemy. Ifnecessary, I'll play the 'Anvil Chorus' on that old cannon, and there maybe less trouble in the world after I am through."
"Grand idea! Lead the way!" Florence was on her feet.
By a secret passage known only to Tum, they made their way to the studioentrance. Their expected battle, however, did not come off. They foundthe studio silent and quite deserted.
"We'll stack our arms, pitch our tents, build a fire and--" Tumhesitated.
"And serve rations," Florence finished for him with a laugh.
Florence was a good cook. Tum was a good eater, and, if the truth must betold, so was Florence. The quantities of food consumed there by the firewas nothing short of scandalous. But then, who was there to complain?
"Well--" Florence settled back in her big chair at last. "The enemymarched on us tonight. Tomorrow we shall march on the enemy. I'll hunt upPatrick Moriarity. He'll call in a police squad. We'll raid MadameZaran's place. Yes, and we'll call on the voodoo priestess as well."
"The voodoo priestess and Madame Zaran--are they friends?" Tum asked insurprise.
"Far from that." Florence sat up in her chair. "They're the bitterestenemies. You see, they're both engaged in the same crooked game. Eachhoped to reap a rich harvest from June Travis' innocence."
"How did you find out all that?" Tum stared at her with frank admiration.
"I've guessed it for some time. Two days ago I proved it." Florence wasaway with a good story. "I felt quite sure that the voodoo priestess wasreared in Chicago, not in the Black Republic of Haiti. To prove this wasvery simple." She laughed. "You see, Haiti used to be a French colony.Even today everyone down there speaks French. So, too, would a realvoodoo priestess from that island. On my last visit to her I took along afriend who speaks French fluently. I had instructed her to talk French tome in this black woman's presence. More than that, she was to say thingslike this: 'She's a humbug. She is a big black impostor!'"
"That," said Tum, "must have got a rise out of her."
"Not a bit of it." Florence laughed again. "She got mad, but not at whatwe said. She objected to the way we said it. She couldn't understand aword of French, that's sure, for we had hardly started when she turned onus, her eyes bulging with anger as she said, 'Here, you! Don't you darespeak none of that ugly foreign stuff in dis place! De spirit of de bigblack Emperor, he objects!'
"And to think!" Florence exclaimed, "French was probably the onlylanguage her big black Emperor ever spoke.
"Well then," she went on after a while, "I asked her why she didn't gazeinto a crystal ball, the way Madame Zaran did. I told her of the movingfigures I had seen in Madame's glass ball. I said Madame would probablyget all of June's money.
"All the time I was talking she was getting blacker and blacker withanger. And the things she said about Madame Zaran! They couldn't be putin a book, I can tell you.
"Some of the things, though, were interesting, for I am sure she does thesame things herself. She said that when Madame Zaran has a rich patronshe bribes a maid in the patron's home, a hair-dresser or someone else,to tell all about her. Then when the rich patron returns for a reading,don't you see, she can tell her the most amazing things about her past?Oh, they're a great pair, the priestess and Madame Zaran. I'd like to bearound if they met in a dark spot at night. But I won't," Florencesighed, "for tomorrow is our zero hour. When the police are through withthem, they'll be in no fighting mood."
"I rather guess not!" said Tum. Then, "If you feel things are O. K. I'llbe going. Keep my cannon if you like."
"I--I'd like to." Florence put out a hand.
"You see," explained Tum, "the way you play the 'Anvil Chorus' on it, youjust grip it here, pull on this little trigger with your forefinger, andit does the rest."
"Thanks! And good-night." Florence flashed him a dazzling smile.
