by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XV LADY COP OF THE SKY
But we must not forget Florence. At Danby Force's request, she hadarranged for a dance in the Community House. "Call it a waltz night," hesuggested. "All these older people love the old-fashioned dances and thewaltz is the best of them all."
"Yes," she agreed, "there's nothing quite like a waltz."
She took great pleasure in arranging for this simple social affair. Shesent a bevy of girls into the hills to gather branches of maple andsumac. These, all afire with colors of autumn, turned the rather drabsocial hall into an elfin grotto. High in one corner she hung acardboard moon. Behind this was a powerful electric lamp.
"For the last waltz," she whispered to Verna who was helping. "We willturn off all the other lamps and waltz by the light of the golden moon."
"That," said the happy girl softly, "will be grand."
Their waltz night came and with it such a crowd as the Community Househad never before known.
From the musicians of the community Florence had managed to assemble anexcellent orchestra.
To the swinging rhythm of "The Beautiful Blue Danube," Danby Force andFlorence led the merrymakers away for the first dance.
"They're happy," Danby Force said as a pleased smile passed over hisface. "Truly, peacefully happy. This waltz night idea is going to befine. We'll have several of them, have them all winter long."
"Has he forgotten?" Florence asked herself. "Has the spy and my missionhere slipped from his memory so soon?" It surely seemed so, for here hewas planning her social service work for the distant future.
"Some day," she told herself with a little shudder, "there will be a bigblow-up around here. The spy will be found. Perhaps I shall find him.And then there will be no more social work done by little, bigFlorence."
She resolved to forget all this and, for one night at least, enjoy lifeto its full.
The fourth waltz had come to a close with a glorious swing. She wasseated on the side line with Danby Force when, of a sudden, a figureappeared on the narrow platform. A jolly-faced young man he was. Hisdark eyes were sparkling, his bushy black hair tumbled about his ears.His was a face to charm the world. From some woman's gown he hadsnatched a broad belt of red cloth. A fantastic, romantic figure he cutindeed as he stood there waving his hands. "Well now, that waswonderful!" he shouted. "Beautiful! Artistic! Entrancing! Marvelous!
"And now--" his face became animated like a thing glowing with innerfire. "Now let's have a little jazz."
The orchestra leader beckoned. He bent low to listen. Then,
"No music? Bah! Who wants music? It goes like this!"
Like a clown in the circus, he produced a saxophone from nowhere at all,put it to his lips and began a series of strange sounds which everyoneknew was jazz.
"Now!" He beckoned to the orchestra. His body swayed. His eyes shone."Now!"
Who could resist him? Whether they could or not, no one did. Theorchestra followed his lead. Dancers swarmed out upon the floor. Soonthe place was a mad house of wild, hilarious dancing. Only Florence andDanby Force did not dance.
"Who is he?" Florence asked as a puzzled frown overspread her face.
"Hugo?" Danby Force said in a tone of surprise. "Haven't you met him?Well, of course you might not. He's an inspector, works in a back room.But in a place like this he's what's known as the life of the party.
"In fact," he added, "that's why I employed him. I thought, with hissaxophone and his high spirits he'd stir things up. We're a bit dull inthis old town. Well--" he laughed an uneasy laugh. "He's done it allright. He's stirred us up. See for yourself. He's only been here threemonths and he practically runs the town. Jolly fellow, Hugo."
"Three months," Florence was thinking to herself. "Then he's one of thenewcomers. He might be--"
Her thoughts broke off suddenly. Had she caught some movement behindher? A door stood ajar. Her keen eyes caught sight of a figure thatvanished instantly. It was the little hunchback German, Hans Schneider,one of her suspects,--she was sure of that.
As if he had read her thoughts, Danby said: "The German people are thecleverest dye makers in the world. While the World War was on and wecould not get their dyes, we made some very poor cloth I can tell you.But now--"
He did not finish. She knew what he would have said: "Now if we can butfind this spy, if we can protect our interests, we shall lead the worldand our little city may become the center of a great industry."
"You don't dance to that sort of music?" he said, nodding his headtoward the squealing, squawking, sobbing orchestra.
"Is it music?" Florence smiled.
"I wonder!" He did not smile. He was watching the younger people in thismad whirlpool of motion and sound. "Sometimes I wonder," he repeated."I've been told that this jazz started in the dark heart of Africa, orperhaps in the black Republic of Haiti. That it used to be practiced asa wild, frenzied dance, mingled with a sort of madness, by the Voodooworshippers before they performed something terrible--perhaps humansacrifice.
"Anyway--" his voice changed, "this wild revel does things to ourpeople. There's sure to be things happen tomorrow, a whole batch ofcolor spoiled perhaps, or bolts of cloth ruined, perhaps valuablemachines wrecked. People are nervous and jumpy after just one wildnight. You can't trust them to be themselves.
"Last time we had a revel like this," he laughed low, "one of the girlswas working near a vat of indigo blue coloring matter. She--she tried anew jazz step, I believe,--and--fell in! She was blue for a week afterthat." He laughed aloud. Florence joined him and felt better. Her nightof waltz music was spoiled, but here at least was amusement. "She wouldhave been blue for life," Danby went on, "only the coloring materialwasn't in its last stages.
"Well--" he rose. "I'll be going. Got a lot of work to do. No more waltztonight."
"No--no more waltz!" Florence looked up at her imitation moon. She wasdisappointed and unhappy. She had pictured that last dance as somethingunusual and beautiful.
"Your Hugo is attractive at any rate," she said to Danby.
Just at that moment Hugo went whirling by. He was dancing with InaPiccalo, the dark-eyed girl who had carried away the dye.
"She's wearing a purple dress," Florence said to herself, "the veryshade that was in the ink bottle. I wonder--" she was to wonder manytimes.
It was not many hours after Florence had returned to her small room inthe bird-cage cottage, when Jeanne, in quite a different part of thecountry, started on her strange flight following the small silver plane.
"What can have happened?" Madame Bihari asked herself in utterastonishment as she watched the two planes, like homing pigeons, rapidlydisappearing into the distance.
That which had happened was truly very simple. As Jeanne, after taxiingdown the field, came in sight of that silver plane, she caught sight ofa tall dark figure just entering the plane. One look was enough. Herlips parted in sudden surprise as she hissed under her breath: "The darklady! The spy!"
She was about to spring from her place when the silver plane, whosepropeller had been slowly revolving, started gliding away. There wasnothing left but to follow.
Jeanne followed, not alone on the ground, but in the air. And did shefollow? Miles and miles the two planes roared on. Perhaps some earlymilkman, looking up at the sky, wondered where they were going. Jeannewondered also, but not once did she think of turning back. In her mind'seye, she could see the earnest look on Danby's face. She could picturehis happy little city and her friend Florence working there.
"I'll catch that so terrible spy," she told herself. "Somehow I _must_!"
We feel certain that she would have accomplished her purpose, but forone thing. She and Madame had traveled far on the previous day. Theirsupply of gas was low. Just when Jeanne fancied that the silver planewas slowing up for a landing, her motor gave an angry sput-sput-sput,then went quite dead.
"No gas!" she exclaimed in sudden consternation.
Wildly her eyes soug
ht the earth beneath her. There were plowed fieldsto the right and left of her, very soft and dangerous, she knew.Directly before her were corn shocks, hundreds of them. There were widespaces between the shocks. Could she land between them?
With a little prayer to the god of the air, she set her plane to gogliding in a circle and land as nearly as possible in one particularspot.
She missed the spot and the space between the shocks completely. With asudden intake of breath, she saw herself headed for an endless row ofshocks.
"God take pity on one poor little gypsy girl!" she whispered.
The plane bumped softly. A brown bundle shot past her, another andanother, five, ten, twenty. The earth and sky turned brown. Then, herplane quite buried in brown, she came to a standstill.
Realizing the danger from fire, she leaped from the plane to begindragging at the bundles of corn fodder that covered her motor. To hersurprise, she discovered that someone on the other side was engaged inthe same occupation. When at last the motor was quite clear, a freckledyouth, with two front teeth gone, came round the side to grin at her.
"Now you'll have t'set 'em all up ag'in, I reckon." He cackled a merrycackle.
"Oh no; you set them up." Jeanne joined him in the laugh. Then, diggingdeep in her knickers pocket, she dragged forth a new five dollar bill."You take this and get me some gas. You can keep the rest. Just enoughgas to take me to the landing field. Where is the nearest one?"
"Thanks! Er--" the boy paused to cackle again. "Them shocks was justhusked. I husked 'em. Weren't tied none. If they wasn't husked you'dmight nigh cracked up, I reckon.
"I'll get the gas," he added hurriedly. "Sure I will. Landin' field overthar." He pointed north. "Ten miles. How come you all didn't stop thar?"
"No gas." Jeanne smiled a happy smile. "But say! You hurry!" she put inas he moved slowly away. "I'm a lady cop of the air. I was chasing aspy."
"Gee Whillikins! A spy!" The boy was away on the run.
