“That is the dog team that came to our rescue in the blizzard,” was her mental comment.
While she had been told the rest of the story by the Major, she preferred to have the story from the man’s own lips. She found him very reluctant to talk, but after his heart had been warmed by a splendid meal of boiled reindeer meat and coffee, he told his story from the time she had given him three of her reindeer until the present moment. Shortly after leaving her, he had come in with some of his own people who were well fed and prosperous. Knowing that the girls were headed straight for trouble, and feeling very grateful to them, he had persuaded one of these, his kinsmen, to go with him and to follow the reindeer herd with his team of white men’s dogs. It had been they who had driven the wolf-pack away and had left a rifle and ammunition for the girls. It was their dog team that had been released from the sled and had assisted in driving the reindeer herd over the mountain.
“But why did you do all this?” Marian asked.
The man looked at her for a moment in silence, then he asked: “Why did you give reindeer?”
“Because you were in need.”
“And you,” a faint smile played across his face, “you too were in need. Indian all same white man.”
Then Marian understood, and her heart was filled with a new love for all those strange people who inhabit the White Wilderness.
The next day, Marian and Patsy, together with the Major and his Lapland herders, went out to Marian’s camp and there began the business of sorting and counting the deer. This work continued for three days, and on the evening of the third day, leaving the herd in charge of the Lapland herders, Marian, Patsy and the Major, together with Terogloona and Attatak, started for Fort Jarvis by way of deer sled.
Topping a hill some two miles from Fort Jarvis, they suddenly came upon a tent. Just before they reached it, the interior became suddenly lighted with a strange purple flame. Marian halted her deer with an exclamation of surprise.
“The purple flame!” she gasped, and turning to the Major said: “I can stand this mystery no longer. Do you know who is in that tent?”
“Why yes, I think so,” said the Major. “I think it is Mr. Montgomery, an old prospector. He is well known throughout the North. Why do you ask?”
“I want to meet him,” said Marian. “Will you please come with me to his tent?”
A moment later a hearty old man came to the door of the tent in response to their call, and with a cheery smile acknowledged the Major’s introduction of Marian and Patsy, at once inviting them in.
Imagine Marian’s surprise, when upon entering the tent she saw a young girl of about her own age, seated at a radio sending set. And there, under the deft fingers of the girl operator, a crackling purple flash jumped back and forth across a wide spark gap.
“The girl of the purple flame,” gasped Patsy.
At sound of her voice the girl turned around and smiled a welcome. Marian turned to Mr. Montgomery:
“So you are the people of the purple flame.”
“Are we, indeed!” laughed the old Prospector.
“Yes,” said Marian, “and I thought all the while, back there in Alaska, that you were dogging our footsteps, and, to speak honestly, we feared you.”
“Well, well,” laughed the old gentleman. “So that was your reindeer camp. We thought all the while that you were dogging our footsteps.”
Then the old prospector launched into a long story that cleared up the entire mystery of the purple flame.
It appeared that in his youth he had been a prospector in Alaska and had found a very rich vein of gold. Ill health had overtaken him and he had been forced to return to the States. Years passed, and fortune and wealth had come to him, but the lure of searching for gold was still in his veins, and in the end he had come again to Alaska, thinking to find his mine. The years had somewhat dimmed his memory, and he had searched in vein for the lost mine. Moving from day to day, he had been just as surprised to note that Marian’s camp moved with him as was Marian to discover that his camp moved with hers. In time he had become suspicious, fearing that they were dogging his footsteps. He knew that he had been well known throughout the North in the past, and he feared that others knew of his lost mine.
“And that,” concluded Mr. Montgomery, “is the reason I never called at your camp.”
“And that radio set,” said Marian, “with its flash of purple flame, is the reason that I never called at your camp. There was something so mysterious about it all.”
The old prospector smiled. “I suppose,” he said, “that my having a sending and receiving radio set is a bit strange and perhaps a little mysterious. Certainly the set is a bit strange, for to my knowledge there is not another set like it in the country. It is very compact and yet most powerful. You see, my interests in the outside are very extensive, and it is necessary for me to keep in touch with them. By the use of this set, I can keep in touch with my agent in Nome, and he, in turn, can keep in touch with the States by use of the cable.
“It was the spark of my set, while sending, that made the purple colored flash which kept you so mystified. You know, most mysterious things become quite simple when you find out all about them.
“This radio has made it possible for me to come back and look for my lost mine. It’s the lure of the thing that draws me, not the desire for the gold.”
And then it was that Marian, remembering the treasures that she had found in the cave on the enchanted mountain, and feeling that she had something in common with this old prospector, told him her story.
As she told of the carved ivory, the old man’s eyes glowed with delight, and in the end he insisted that he go into Fort Jarvis with them that he might at least see the piece they had brought along and hear Terogloona’s story.
At the post old Terogloona, in a halting way, read the pictured inscription on the four sides. Other bits of information furnished by Terogloona convinced the old prospector that Terogloona’s great-uncle had been his guide in the days when he was first prospecting and had found the mine. Mr. Montgomery wanted to set out at once with Terogloona and Attatak for the cave on the mountain.
“Why,” he exclaimed, “that’s very near my lost mine, for I remember that my old guide, Terogloona’s great-uncle, spoke of the cave as a place where we might winter in safety, should winter come down upon us before we expected it.”
“How wonderful!” said Marian. “We have just completed the count and sale of our deer. Patsy and I are going back to the States, and I am sure Terogloona and Attatak will go with you. And you will be in good hands,” she added, giving both of the faithful servants a glowing smile.
The sale of the deer was successfully completed. After a much needed rest, the girls began the long journey to the “Outside.” So far were they from the strange cabin of the recluse musician, they were unable to return for the treasure they had taken from the mountain cave.
Many months passed, and then one day as the two girls returned from an afternoon of shopping in Chicago, Marian found a registered package awaiting her. From its bulk, and from the many post-marks upon it, she knew at once that it contained the long awaited ancient treasure.
Her fingers trembled as she undid the many wrappings. When at last she came to the treasure she found each piece separately wrapped. The copper instruments and the old ivory pieces were just as she had found them, tarnished and blackened with age.
“But what’s this?” she held up before Patsy’s astonished eyes a green bowl which gleamed in the light like a crystal.
“Why!” exclaimed Patsy, as she saw her cousin unpack another and another and yet another, “he has thought your old dishes were useless and has sent you some of his exquisite glassware instead.”
“How strange!” murmured Marian, ready to cry with disappointment. She had so hoped to surprise Mr. Cole, the Curator of the Museum, with rare pieces of ancient pottery such as had never before been brought from the Arctic; and here were only four pieces of glassware. H
ow they had ever come to be here, she could not guess; but here they were.
“Look!” cried Patsy, “What a strange appearance they have when you hold them to the light! And see, two of them are blue and two are a tawny green, like huge cat’s eyes.”
“Wait!” said Marian, “here is a note from our aged friend.”
She unfolded it and read it aloud:
“Please pardon an old man’s fancy. I could not resist the temptation of polishing these up a bit. The very sight of them makes me envious. They are indeed a rare find. I have a guess as to what they are made of, but your friend the Curator will know.”
“So,” exclaimed Patsy, “they are the very dishes you found in the cave!”
“How very, very strange! We must have Mr. Cole come over at once,” said Marian, half beside herself with curiosity.
She raced to the telephone and a moment later had the Curator on the wire. If you have read our other book, The Cruise of the O Moo you will remember that Marian, with her two friends, Lucile and Florence had once made a rare find for the Museum, so you will not wonder that so great a man should hurry right over in answer to their call.
When he arrived, Marian placed one of the bowls in his hand with the single comment: “From a cave in a mountain in Alaska.”
For three minutes he turned the bowl about before the light.
“What do you want me to tell you about it?” There was a strange light in his eye.
“Almost everything!” exclaimed Marian. “What it’s made of, who made it, how long ago, how—”
“Wait a bit. Not so fast!” the Curator held up a hand for silence.
“You should know what it’s made of,” he smiled. “What was the Blue God made of?”
“Jade.”
“And this.”
“Is that jade, too?”
“Blue and green jade.”
“Then—then the bowls should be valuable.”
“Quite decidedly. As for your other questions, much more information is needed before we can know who made them and when. So far as I know, nothing of this kind has ever before been discovered. Were there any other pieces?”
Marian held out a handful of ivory pieces.
For ten minutes there was silence in the room, save for the click of specimens as the Curator turned them over. Then, turning suddenly, Mr. Cole put out his hands to the girls.
“I want to congratulate you,” he said, his eyes gleaming, “upon your good fortune in discovering the finest collection of specimens ever brought from Alaska. From its discoloration this ivory should be at least five hundred years old. The bowls are doubtless of the same period. That makes them priceless.”
On hearing these words Marian’s joy knew no bounds. As for Patsy, her unselfish pleasure in the success of her cousin was quite as great as if it had been she who had made the find.
It was arranged that Mr. Cole should take charge of the specimens, and should advise Marian in regard to their disposal.
Marian’s dream came true. She and her father secured the bungalow, rose bush and all, and owned it free from debt. There was money enough left for her education. As for Patsy, she was glad enough to hurry back to rejoin her classmates in Louisville, Kentucky.
An unfortunate part of having plenty of money is that it is likely to shut out from one’s life the thrills that come with a struggle for an existence. For the time being Marian’s life lost most of its thrills.
Not so, however, with her friend, Lucille Tucker. You will remember her from reading The Blue Envelope, The Cruise of the O Moo and The Secret Mark. Life for her continued to have thrills a-plenty. Our next book, The Crimson Thread, will have to do with the adventures which came to her during a Christmas vacation. If you think that two weeks’ time can contain but few adventures, this book will prove that you are mistaken.
THE CRIMSON THREAD, by Roy Snell
CHAPTER I
TWO HOURS BEFORE MIDNIGHT
Starting back with a suppressed exclamation of surprise on her lips, Lucile Tucker stared in mystification and amazement. What was this ghost-like apparition that had appeared at the entrance to the long dark passage-way? A young woman’s face, a face of beauty and refinement, surrounded by a perfect circle of white. In the almost complete darkness of the place, that was all Lucile could see. And such a place for such a face—the far corner of the third floor of one of the largest department stores in the world. At that very moment, from somewhere out of the darkness, came the slow, deep, chiming notes of a great clock telling off the hour of ten. Two hours before midnight! And she, Lucile, was for a moment alone; or at least up to this moment she had thought herself alone.
What was she to make of the face? True, it was on the level with the top of the wrapper’s desk. That, at least, was encouraging.
“That white is a fox skin, the collar to some dark garment that blends completely with the shadows,” Lucile told herself reassuringly.
At that moment a startling question sent her shrinking farther into the shadows. “If she’s a real person and not a specter, what is she doing here? Here, of all places, at the hour of ten!”
That was puzzling. What had this lady been doing in that narrow passage? She could not be a member of the working force of the store. No sales person would come to work in such a superb garment as this person wore. Although Lucile had been employed in the book department for but ten days, she had seen all those who worked here and was certain enough that no such remarkably beautiful face could have escaped her notice.
“She—why she might be anything,” Lucile told herself. “A—thief—a shoplifter. Perhaps she stole that very cape—or whatever it is she wears. Perhaps—”
Suddenly her heart gave a leap. Footsteps were approaching. The next instant she saw a second face appear in the narrow line of light which the street lights cast through the window.
“Laurie Seymour,” she breathed.
Laurie was the new man in the department. He had been working at the boys’ and girls’ books for only three days, yet Lucile liked him, liked him tremendously. He was so friendly, even-tempered and different. And he seemed a trifle mysterious.
“Mysterious,” she mused, “perhaps here’s the mystery answered.”
It certainly did seem so, for after the apparition in white had whispered a word or two, Laurie looked at her strangely for a second, drew from his pocket a slip of paper and handing it to her, quickly vanished into the shadows. The next instant the apparition vanished, too. Again Lucile found herself alone in the far corner of the mammoth store, surrounded by darkness.
Perhaps you have been wondering what Lucile and Laurie were doing in the great store at this hour. Since the doors are closed at six o’clock, you have no doubt thought of the entire place as being shrouded in darkness and utterly deserted. These were the days of the great rush of sales that comes before Christmas. That evening eight thousand books had been trucked into the department to be stowed away on or under tables and shelves. Twenty sales persons had been given “pass outs”; which meant that they might pass in at seven o’clock and work until ten. They had worked like beavers; making ready for the rush that would come on the morrow.
Now the great bulk of the work had been done. More than half of the workers had chirped a cheery “Good-night” and had found their way down a marble stairway to the ground floor and the street. Lucile had been sent by “Rennie,” the head sales-lady of juveniles, to this dark section for an armful of books. Here in this dark corner a part of Laurie’s true character had, uninvited, come to her.
“He gave her his pass-out,” she said to herself. “With that she can leave the building with her stolen goods.”
For a second, as she thought of this, she contemplated following the mystery woman and bringing her back.
“But that,” she told herself, “would be dangerous. That passage is a hundred feet long and only four feet wide; then it turns sharply and goes two hundred feet farther. She may carry a knife; such women do. In that
place she could murder me and no one would know until morning.
“Of course,” she reflected, “there’s the other end of the passage where it comes out at the offices. She must leave the passage there if she does not come back this way. I might call the watchmen. They could catch her. It’s a perfect trap; she’s like a mouse in a boot. But then—”
She paused in her mad rush of thought. What proof had she that this beautiful creature was a thief? What indeed? And what right had she to spy upon her and upon Laurie? Truth was, she had none at all. She was a sales person, not a detective. Her job was that of putting books on shelves and tables and selling them; her immediate task that of taking an armful of books to Rennie. Her simple and sole duty lay just there. Then, too, in the short time she had known Laurie Seymour, she had come to like him.
“He might be innocent of any real wrong,” she reasoned. “If I go blundering into things I may be serving a friend badly indeed.”
“But,” she was brought up short by a sudden thought, “if he gave her his pass-out, how’s he to leave the building?”
How indeed? In a great store such as this, where hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of rare jewels and much silver and gold are kept and where princely furs and priceless old paintings are on display, it is necessary to maintain a constant vigil against thieves. “Pass-outs” are given to all employees who enter or leave the store after closing hours. It was true enough that without his pass-out, Laurie could not get by the eagle-eyed guard who kept constant vigil at the only door where the employees were permitted to pass out to the street.
“But the books,” she murmured, starting up, “Rennie will be waiting.”
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 92
