The Secret Mark

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER III THE GARGOYLE

  Down a long stretch of sidewalk, across a sunken patch of green where thewater was to her ankles, down a rain-drenched street, through pools ofblack water where sewers were choked, Lucile dashed. With no thought forhealth or safety she exposed herself to the blinding tempest and dashedbefore skidding autos, to arrive at last panting at the foot of therusted iron stairs that led to the elevated railway platform.

  Pausing only long enough to catch her breath and arrange her garmentsthat the child might not be frightened away by her appearance, shehurried up the stairs. The train came thundering in. There was just timeto thrust a dime through the wicker window and to bound for the door.

  Catching a fleeting glimpse of the dripping figure of the child, she madea dash for that car and made it. A moment later, with her ulster thrownover on the seat beside her, she found herself facing the child.

  Sitting there curled up in a corner, as she now was, hugging a bulkypackage wrapped in oilcloth, the child seemed older and tinier than ever.

  "How could she do it?" was Lucile's unspoken question as she watched thewater oozing from her shoes to drip-drip to the floor below. With thequestion came a blind resolve to see the thing through to the end. Thischild was not the real culprit. Cost what it might, she would find whowas behind her strange actions.

  There is no place in all the world where a thunderstorm seems moreterrible than in the deserted streets in the heart of a great city atnight. Echoing and re-echoing between the towering walls of buildings,the thunder seems to be speaking to the universe. Flashing from athousand windows to ten thousand others, the lightning seems to besearching the haunts and homes of men. The whole wild fury of it seemsbut the voice of nature defying man in his great stronghold, the city. Itis as if in thundering tones she would tell him that great as he mayimagine himself, he is not a law unto himself and can never be.

  Into the heart of a great city on a night like this the elevated traincarried Lucile and the child.

  On the face of the child, thief as she undoubtedly was, and with thestolen goods in her possession, there flashed not one tremor, not afalling of an eyelash, which might be thought of as a sign of fear oflaws of nature, man or God. Was she hardened or completely innocent ofguilt? Who at that moment could tell?

  It would be hard to imagine a more desolate spot than that in which thecar discharged its two passengers. As Lucile's eye saw the sea of dreary,water-soaked tenements and tumbledown cottages that, like cattle left outin the storm, hovered beside the elevated tracks, she shivered and wastempted to turn back--yet she went on.

  A half block from the station she passed a policeman. Again shehesitated. The child was but a half block before her. She suspectednothing. It would be so easy to say to the policeman, "Stop that child.She is a thief. She has stolen property concealed beneath her cape." Thelaw would then take its course and Lucile's hands would be free.

  Yet something urged her past the policeman, down a narrow street, round acorner, up a second street, down a third, still narrower, and up to thedoor of the smallest, shabbiest cottage of the whole tumble-down lot.

  The child had entered here. Lucile paused to consider and, whileconsidering, caught the gleam of light through a torn window shade. Thecottage was one story and a garret. The window was within her range ofvision. After a glance from left to right, she stepped beneath the porch,which gave her an opportunity to peer through the opening. Here, deep inthe shadows, she might look on at the scene within without herself beingobserved by those within or by passers-by on the street.

  The picture which came to her through the hole in the shade was sodifferent from that which one might expect that she barely suppressed agasp. In the room, which was scrupulously clean and tidy, there were buttwo persons, the child and the old man who had visited the library.Through the grate of a small stove a fire gleamed. Before this fire, allunabashed, the child stripped the water-soaked clothing from her meagerbody, then stood chafing her limbs, which were purple with cold.

  The old man appeared all absorbed in his inspection of the book justplaced in his hands. Lucile was not surprised to recognize it as thesecond Shakespeare. From turning it over and over, he paused to open itand peer at its inside cover. Not satisfied with this, he ran his fingerover the upper, outside corner.

  It was then that Lucile saw for the first time the thing she had feltwhile in the library in the dark. A small square of paper, yellow withage, was in that corner, and in its center was a picture of a gargoyle. Astrange looking creation was this gargoyle. It was with such as these theancients were wont to decorate their mansions. With a savage face thatwas half man and half lion, he possessed the paws of a beast and thewings of a great bird. About two sides of this picture was a letter L.

  "So that was it," she breathed.

  The next moment her attention was attracted by a set of shelves. Theseran across one entire end of the room and, save for a single foot ofspace, were entirely filled with books. The striking fact to be noted wasthat, if one were able to judge from the appearance of their books, theymust all of them be of great age.

  "A miser of books," she breathed.

  Searching these shelves, she felt sure she located the other missingvolume of Shakespeare. This decision was confirmed at last as thetottering old man made his way to the shelf and filled some two inches ofthe remaining vacant shelf-space by placing the newly-acquired bookbeside its mate.

  After this he stood there for a moment looking at the two books. Theexpression on his face was startling. In the twinkling of an eye, itappeared to prove her charge of book miser to be false. This was not thelook of a Shylock.

  "More like a father glorying over the return of a long-lost child," shetold herself.

  As she stood there puzzling over this, the room went suddenly dark. Theoccupants of the house had doubtless gone to another part of the cottageto retire for the night. She was left with two alternatives: to call apoliceman and have the place raided or to return quietly to theuniversity and think the thing through. She chose the latter course.

  After discovering the number of the house and fixing certain landmarks inher mind, she returned to the elevated station.

  "They'll not dispose of the books, that's certain," she told herself."The course to be taken in the future will come to me."

  Stealing silently into her room on her return, she was surprised to findher roommate awake, robed in a kimono and pacing the floor.

  "Why, Florence!" she breathed.

  "Why, yourself!" Florence turned upon her. "Where've you been in all thisstorm? Five minutes more and I should have called the matron. She wouldhave notified the police and then things would have been fine. Grand! Canyou see it in the morning papers? 'Beautiful co-ed mysteriouslydisappears from university dormitory in storm. No trace of her yet found.Roommate says no cause for suicide.'"

  "Oh!" gasped Lucile, "you wouldn't have!"

  "What else could I do? How was I to know what had happened? You hadn'tbreathed a word. You--"

  Florence sat down upon her bed, dug her bare toes into the rug and staredat her roommate. For once in her life, strong, dependable, imperturbableFlorence was excited.

  "I know," said Lucile, removing her watersoaked dress and stockings andchafing her benumbed feet. "I--I guess I should have told you about it,but it was something I was quite sure you wouldn't understand, so Ididn't, that's all. But now--now I've got to tell someone or I'll burst,and I'd rather tell you than anyone else I know."

  "Thanks," Florence smiled. "Just for that I'll help you into dry clothes,then you can tell me in comfort."

  The clock struck three and the girls were still deep in the discussion ofthe mystery.

  "One thing is important," said Florence. "That is the value of theShakespeare. Perhaps it's not worth so terribly much after all."

  "Perhaps not," Lucile wrinkled her brow, "but I am awfully afraid it is.Let's see--who could tell me? Oh, I know--Fra
nk Morrow!"

  "Who's Frank Morrow?"

  "He's the best authority on old books there is in the United Statesto-day. He's right here in this city. Got a cute little shop on thefifteenth floor of the Marshal Annex building. He's an old friend of myfather. He'll tell me anything I need to know about books."

  "All right, you'd better see him to-morrow, or I mean to-day. And now forthree winks."

  Florence threw off her kimono and leaped into bed. Lucile followed herexample and the next instant the room was dark.