Patty—Bride

“I had it,” she murmured; “I must have jerked it out with my programme. Won’t you look around on the pavement, please?”

The man obligingly looked, but the snow had fallen so thickly, that there was no sign of the lost paper.

“Never mind,” Helen said, “I know the number. It’s 783 West Ninety-fifth Street. I remember, because it’s the same number as some one’s house in Philadelphia.”

“You’re sure, Miss?”

“Yes, I’m sure. And it’s on the third floor. My friend told me so.”

“All right,” and the glass slid down, and the hansom started uptown.

The progress was slow, for the street traffic was enormous at that hour and greatly impeded by the storm beside.

At last they turned into Central Park, and Helen, looking out, thought that now their gait would be a little faster.

But it was decidedly slower, and after a few moments the driver opened the little trap in the roof, and called down.

“Can’t make the Park, Ma’am, – too slippery.”

“What?” asked Helen, not at all comprehending.

“I say, the horse can’t go through the Park. The ice under the snow is too treacherous, – he’ll fall down.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

“Gotter go back out again, and get over to Broadway.”

“Very well, do that.”

It was all Greek to Helen, for she had no idea of the position of the New York streets, and it was now so dark that the lights glimmering through the storm only made a more bewildering outlook than ever.

She had no idea where she was, or where she was going, but her optimistic nature felt no fear, only annoyance at the elements.

Faster fell the snow, and slower went the horse. He stumbled frequently, and almost fell several times.

At last he did fall, and Helen was pitched forward against the glass.

Luckily, it did not break, and as she crouched in a heap, the driver reassured her from above.

“Sit tight, Miss! We’ll get him up. Don’t open the doors!”

Helen was thoroughly scared now, but her good sense told her that to obey the driver’s advice was the best thing she could do.

And sure enough, after a time, with the help of policemen and others, the horse was somehow again on his feet and apparently uninjured.

“Now we’re off,” the cheery driver called down. “It’s a terrible storm, but I can get you there, if we go slowly.”

“Go slowly, then,” Helen answered, greatly reassured by his honest, kindly accents, “but do get there!”

So they went on, now merely crawling, as the poor horse cautiously picked his steps, and now stopping altogether, as the traffic forced them to.

Helen’s watch had stopped, because she had forgotten to wind it. They passed few pedestal clocks, and those she could not see for the whirling flakes. She wanted to ask the driver how late it was getting, but couldn’t make him hear.

So they kept on, and at last the cab drew up to a curb and the driver got down.

“Well, Miss,” he said, “you was lucky to have me, – you sure was! For, I see you was young and didn’t know New York at all hardly. And I’m mighty glad to get you here without any broken bones, – I am that!”

Helen appreciated his solicitude for her welfare, and though she well knew it was, in part, a hint for a goodly fee above his regular fare, she felt that he deserved it.

She paid him generously, and bade him good night with courteous thanks.

“You all right, now?” he asked, as he looked at the brightly-lighted entrance of the apartment house.

“Oh, yes,” said Helen, glancing at the number to be sure it was 783. “This is Ninety-fifth Street, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Ma’am, – good night.”

“Good night and thank you.”

The hansom drove away through the storm and as Helen approached the house, the door was swung open by a liveried doorman.

She went in, smiling with gladness to be once more indoors amid light and warm surroundings, and going at once to the elevator, she said, “Third floor, please.”

To the maid who answered her ring at the door of the apartment, she nodded pleasantly, and said: “I’m Miss Barlow.”

Then she looked around for her friend, Millicent Wheeler.

But she saw no sign of her, and instead, a strange lady came from one of the rooms, and stared at Helen.

“What is it?” she said, politely but coldly.

“I am Miss Barlow,” repeated Helen, “to see Mrs. Wheeler.”

“Mrs. Wheeler? There is no such person in this house.”

“What! Isn’t this 783, Ninety-fifth?”

“Yes; are you looking for some friend?” The voice was kinder now, for Helen’s was an appealing personality, and she was evidently in a quandary, but still the strange hostess did not invite her guest to sit down.

“Yes; oh, what can be the trouble? I’m to visit Mrs. Charles Wheeler, and her address is this house, – but I’m sure she said third floor.”

“There’s no Mrs. Wheeler in this house at all, that I know of. You must have the wrong number.”

“No; I’m sure of the number.”

“May I ask your name?”

“I’m Helen Barlow, and I live in Philadelphia. I’m visiting friends in the city, and I’m to spend tonight with another friend. Oh, what shall I do?”

“I don’t see what you can do, but stay here till morning. It’s nearly eight o’clock now, and I can’t send any one out in a storm like this!”

“Nearly eight! Oh, Nan will be crazy! She said I’d get lost!”

The lady smiled. She was beginning to believe Helen’s story, though at first she had felt wary.

“I am Mrs. Lummis,” she said. “I live here and have lived here a long time. I’m sorry for you, and I’ll keep you over night. I won’t say, with pleasure, for as a matter of fact it will put me out considerably. But I’ve a little too much humanity to turn you out in this storm.”

Helen overlooked the coldness of the courtesy, in her relief at having found a safe, if not very hospitable shelter.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said; “I hate to put anybody out – ”

“It seems to be a question between putting me out, – or, putting you out!” laughed Mrs. Lummis, “and I think it might as well be me. Come into my little drawing-room.”

Helen followed her into a small but prettily furnished room and Mrs. Lummis helped her take off her wraps.

“Now wait a minute, and we’ll ferret out the mystery.”

The hostess took a telephone book from a stand. “What’s the name of the friend you’re after?”

“Mrs. Wheeler, but she has a private wire. You can’t get her number. I had it but I lost it, and Central positively refused to tell it to me.”

Again Mrs. Lummis looked a bit suspicious. Then, with a whole-souled burst of enthusiasm, she said, “I don’t care if your story is fishy, – I believe in you, and I won’t ask you any more questions.”

“Oh, you think I’m an impostor!” Helen exclaimed, the fact just dawning on her. “Oh, how funny!”

Her laugh was so honest and so infectious that Mrs. Lummis laughed too, and the two became instant friends.

“But I hate to intrude worse than ever, now,” declared Helen.

“Oh, never mind. It can’t be helped. You can have my room, and I’ll bunk on the davenport. I live alone, and – and I expected a few friends this evening – ”

“Oh, I see. But I’m no spoilsport. Just tuck me into bed – oh, I wonder if I couldn’t go home – ” She ran to the window and looked out. “No; it’s a regular blizzard! And I must call up Nan! She’ll be frantic!”

“Who’s this Nan?”

Mrs. Lummis was a bit blunt, but she was kindly now, and Helen replied, “Oh, that’s where I’m staying. Mrs. Fairfield. I know her number, may I call her?”

“You’ll scare the wits out of her, if you tell her you’re in some strange house. But, – would she send for you?”

“I don’t know. It’s such a storm! She’d probably say if I’m safe under cover to stay here.”

“Well, tell her then.”

“But I know she’ll worry. She told me, you see, I’d get lost, – and I did. I don’t see how it happened!”

“I do. You got the wrong house. That’s certain. Maybe the wrong number or street – oh, say, didn’t you want East Ninety-fifth?”

“Why I don’t know! Maybe I did! I always forget that East or West matters!”

“Oh, you little goose! Why did they let you out alone?”

“They said I oughtn’t to come alone, – but I begged so hard.”

“Well, that’s it. You wanted East and you got West.”

“Can’t I go over East now?”

“Gracious, no! It’s across the Park!”

“No; I can’t cross the Park. The horse tried, and had to come out.”

“Well, I see it all, now. And I’ll take care of you. Do you want to tell your Fairfield friends?”

Helen considered. “I think I’ll tell them that I’m all right,” she said at last. “I mean, I won’t tell them what really has happened, – but let them think for tonight that I’m at Mrs. Wheeler’s.”

Again that look of suspicion crossed Mrs. Lummis’ face.

“Now stop!” Helen laughed. “I’m only doing it to save them anxiety. Mrs. Fairfield will worry all night, and my cousin will nearly go crazy.”

“Well, do as you like. Then I’ll give you some supper and put you to bed, for I’m telling you frankly, I’m not asking you to spend the evening with me.”

She bustled away and Helen called up Nan.

“For goodness sake, Bumble, why didn’t you call sooner? I’ve feared all sorts of things!”

“Nonsense, it’s all right, Nan. I called you as soon as I could get around to it. Good night, now, I’m in a hurry. Bye-bye!”

Helen hung up the receiver, knowing that Nan couldn’t call her back. Then, with her usual acceptance of circumstances she shook off all worry, and sat down to the pleasant little supper Mrs. Lummis offered her.

And not long after, knowing that her hostess so wished it, Helen suggested that she should retire.

“I’m giving you my room,” said Mrs. Lummis, “and I hope you’ll sleep well. You must be pretty much exhausted.”

“I’m not,” returned Helen, “I think it’s a lark! But don’t fear, I won’t intrude. Give me a magazine or book to read, and I’ll disappear till morning. Lock me in, if you like.”

“Oh, no,” and the lady laughed; “I’m not afraid of your appearing at my party. Good night, my dear.”

CHAPTER XV

A DESPERATE SITUATION

Left to herself, Bumble thought over the situation and laughed. As usual, she had got into a scrape, and, also as usual, she had fared very luckily.

Suppose instead of the kind Mrs. Lummis, she had found a disagreeable hostess! But she had fallen on her feet, and with her care-free nature she bothered herself not a whit about unpleasant possibilities.

She wandered about the pretty little bedroom, feeling very grateful for the safe harbour from the stormy night. She read a little, and then sat at the well-furnished toilet table to take down her hair.

She could hear guests arriving, and though of no mind to eavesdrop, she could not help over-hearing their light talk and chatter.

Helen was not curious by nature, and paid no attention to the voices until the name of Lieutenant Herron was mentioned.

But then the voices were lowered, and she caught no connected sentences.

A little ashamed of herself for listening at all to talk not meant for her ears, Bumble went to bed and was soon sound asleep.

Next morning Mrs. Lummis tapped at the door, and entered cheerily.

“Sleep well, little girl? Yes? That’s good. Now for a bath and some breakfast, then I’m going to pack you off. Sorry to speed my parting guest so hastily, but I have to go out of town on an early train.”

Helen sprang out of bed, truly sorry to inconvenience her kind benefactor.

She made especial haste with her dressing and soon the two were seated at a cosy breakfast.

Mrs. Lummis asked a good many questions and out of the kindness of her heart Helen replied in full. Suddenly she realised that she was divulging secrets. Without thinking, she had told the story of the day at the Country Club and the masquerading man, who, they suspected, had surreptitiously opened the letter that was in the pocket of Patty’s fur stole.

Mrs. Lummis was greatly interested, and urged further details, and it was not until Bumble had told of Bill’s sometimes giving Patty important letters to hide, that she bethought herself of her indiscretion.

She had even told of the secret drawer in the old desk, where Patty concealed the papers, and the realisation of her mistake almost stunned her.

“Don’t tell, will you?” she pleaded. “I oughtn’t to have told that!”

Of a sudden Mrs. Lummis’ eyes gleamed brightly.

“It’s all right,” she said, a trifle absent-mindedly, and rising abruptly she went to the telephone.

She called a number and presently Helen heard her talking in a foreign language.

Helen could understand no word, but she was quick-witted and it seemed to her that Mrs. Lummis was divulging important information to some one exceedingly interested.

At last she caught what was, she felt sure, the house number of the Fairfield home.

Frightened and appalled, she sat wondering what she must do.

She had heard more or less spy talk, but she knew nothing of such matters definitely. However she felt she must warn Patty, and tell her what she had inadvertently done. The horror and regret of her deed was almost swallowed up in the necessity for immediate action.

Helen was at her best in an emergency, and her sometimes careless and blundering habits didn’t affect her mental efficiency. Her mind worked rapidly and even while Mrs. Lummis was talking, she was planning a way to circumvent her.

At last the vivacious lady returned to the table, with a murmured excuse for her lengthy absence.

“That’s all right,” Bumble said, smiling, “and I’m going to ask a similar indulgence. May I telephone, please, – as I’ve a bothersome dressmaker’s engagement that I want to break.”

“So sorry,” said Mrs. Lummis, looking at her shrewdly, “but the telephone is out of order. The storm, you know. Just as I finished talking, it went dead, and we can’t use it till it’s fixed.”

Helen knew this for an untruth, and a hastily fabricated invention at that. But she saw that Mrs. Lummis was not going to let her use the telephone, and she felt her fears verified that there was some secret work going on.

Mrs. Lummis then began chatting again, apparently forgetful of her impending journey, and as she adroitly led the talk to war matters and around to Captain Farnsworth, Helen grew more and more wary of what she said, and also more and more determined to speak to Patty without delay.

Breakfast finished, they rose, and went back to the bedroom.

Mrs. Lummis sat in a high-backed chair, and Bumble quickly formed her plan.

She drew from her coat pocket a long chiffon veil or scarf, that she carried for cold weather.

“You’ve been so kind,” she said, “I’m going to ask your acceptance of this as a little souvenir. It’s a Liberty scarf, – I bought it in London, – but it’s been little used.”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” said Mrs. Lummis, admiring the silken fabric.

“Yes, and it’s a real Liberty scarf, – to help me to my liberty!”

As Helen spoke, she quickly threw it around Mrs. Lummis’ neck and then around the high back of the chair, knotting it tightly.

“You little villain!” cried the victim, “take that off!”

“Not at all,” and Bumble pulled the knot tighter. It did not hurt the prisoner, but it made it impossible for her to rise from the heavy, high-backed chair.

Helen quickly tied two or three more strong knots in the long ends, and the firm silk fabric was as secure as a hempen rope would have been.

“Now, I guess that’ll hold you!” she said, nodding approval at her work. Then, oblivious to the venomous looks of the captive lady, she took up the telephone and called Patty.

“If you’re innocent of any wrong,” she said to Mrs. Lummis, as she waited for her response, “you can have no objection to my speaking to my friends. Hello, that you?”

She mentioned no name but recognised Patty’s voice.

“You know that little matter you put in the Winthrop?”

“Yes,” said Patty, knowing at once Bumble meant the old Governor Winthrop desk.

“Take it out at once, – now, – and put it somewhere else. See?”

“No, I don’t see – ”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Bumble was nervously impatient, but kept her voice calm, “only in the name of your country, do as I say!”

“I will.”

“Yes; remove that to a place of safety, – absolute safety. Will you?”

“I will, at once.”

Patty’s clear voice betokened her complete comprehension, and Helen said no more.

Helen drew a sigh of relief as she hung up the receiver.

She looked calmly at Mrs. Lummis. “I suppose you’re doing what you consider your duty,” she said, “as I am doing mine. There’s no use of our quarrelling, is there?”

“I’ve no desire to quarrel,” the speaker was quite evidently holding her temper under control with difficulty, “but I think this a most unkind return for the hospitality I’ve shown you.”

“So do I!” and Helen laughed. “Let’s untie the baddy old scarf!”

Still smiling, she untied the hard knots behind the chair, taking her time for it, however.

“I may misjudge you entirely,” she went on, slowly, “but sumpum tells me you’ve used my information to your own – or to some one’s advantage.”

“In-deed!” said Mrs. Lummis, looking at her curiously, “you’re a clever youngster, I see.”

“Not so clever as I wish I had been,” and Helen freed her captive entirely, and then handed her the scarf, with an elaborate bow.

“As I said, I beg your acceptance of this souvenir of our little visit.”

“Thank you, I accept in the spirit it is offered.”

“And now, if you please, I’ll get off, and you may proceed on your interrupted journey.”

“Very well, I’ll call a cab for you.” Mrs. Lummis sprang toward the telephone with such alacrity, that Bumble intercepted her.

“No, I’ll call one. I know the number.”

She did so, and her hostess stood waiting, but with a determined expression on her face, that, Helen knew, betokened further planning.

Meantime, Patty, greatly amazed at Bumble’s telephone message, was acting upon the instructions.

She took the packet Farnsworth had confided to her care from the old Winthrop desk and thought deeply as to where she should hide it.

She had no idea what danger threatened, but she knew from Helen’s voice that it must be something grave, and that the packet must be safely concealed.

It was a thick parcel, – an envelope so full of folded papers that it was too bulky to place between the leaves of a book, which was Patty’s first impulse.

She looked thoughtfully about. She mustn’t stand holding it! The danger, whatever it was, might come at any minute. Helen’s tone commanded instant action.

A photograph album lay on a side table. This was not usually in evidence, but Patty and Helen had brought it from an old storeroom to look at the old-fashioned portraits in it. It was a large volume, holding pictures of “cabinet size.”

In response to a sudden inspiration, Patty opened the album and extracted six of the photographs. This left a hollow space quite big enough to admit the insertion of the envelope.

She put it in, clasped the big brass fastenings of the old plush album, and laid it back on the table, with two more books carelessly on top of it.

She heard a ring at the door, and suspecting trouble, she quickly tossed the six pictures she held in a desk drawer, under some old papers. She heard a few words in the hall, and then Jane ushered in a man in khaki uniform.

“Good morning,” he said, pleasantly, “Miss Fairfield?”

“Yes,” said Patty, with a courteously inquiring glance.

“Sorry to intrude on your time; won’t detain you but a minute. I’m Sergeant Colton, and I’m sent by Captain Farnsworth for the packet he left with you for me.”

“But Captain Farnsworth left no packet with me for you,” Patty returned. Her heart was beating wildly, lest she commit some indiscretion, and she prayed that she might do exactly right in this emergency.

“Of course, not by name.” The man spoke low, and glanced about him. “It’s a secret mission. But I’ve credentials and an order.”

He drew from his pocket an official-looking document, and showed Patty an order for the envelope left with her.

“This isn’t signed by Captain Farnsworth,” she said, examining it carefully.

“No; he didn’t dare sign it, it’s a diplomatic matter. But it is signed, as you see, by Colonel Brent, and it is authoritative.”

“It would seem so,” – Patty’s voice was calm, though her heart and nerves were in commotion, “but I have no parcel such as you describe.”

“Not a parcel, – a packet, – of papers.”

“Just what is the difference between a parcel and a packet?”

Patty smiled at him, for a gleam of threatening intent in his eye convinced her it was better to temporise.

“Don’t trifle, Miss Fairfield, this is your country’s business. I’m sent by the administration authorities for the envelope, and it is your duty to hand it over, otherwise there may be serious consequences – both to and because of you.”

“But this order means nothing to me.” Patty stared blankly at the signed and stamped document, that was so complicated of wording and vague of intent.

“Good for you! I’m glad you’re cautious. Now, listen; Captain Farnsworth said you might be wary about giving it up, and he told me to tell you that he sent you the words ‘Apple Blossom’ as a talisman. He said if I told you those words, you would know he sent me. I suppose they are code words.”

Patty stared at the man. It seemed to her Bill must have sent him when he gave her such a key word as that!

And yet, Patty was very wary of possible spies or alien influences. Would it not be better to withhold a necessary paper, than to give it wrongfully? Would it not be better to incur Farnsworth’s displeasure for not having done his bidding, than to do it if it were not really his? And then she remembered Helen’s frantic message. Surely that meant something! Surely it could mean nothing but that the packet must be kept from possible predatory hands!

She determined, rightly or wrongly, she would not believe Farnsworth had sent this man unless she had some more indubitable proof.

She knew that an alien spy in our country’s uniform was not an impossibility, and she feared to accept this man’s word.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I must repeat that I have no such packet as you speak of.”

The untruth of this did not disturb Patty’s conscience, for she knew that aside from the accepted law that all’s fair in love and war, – military secrets must be kept inviolate even at the sacrifice of truth.

“I’m sorry,” the visitor returned, “that I must disbelieve that. Moreover, I regret to add, I must do my best to find the packet. Captain Farnsworth warned me that you might prove thus obdurate, and that in that case, I must seek the papers for myself. He even went so far as to tell me that they were in the old Winthrop desk. Now do you believe in my integrity?”

It was only the triumphant glance of the man’s eye that kept Patty from believing him. She reasoned that if he were an honest messenger he would be earnestly anxious but not victoriously glad.

His air of having conquered gave an immediate impression of expected opposition and she was on her guard.

If Farnsworth had really told him the papers were in that old desk he would, she felt sure, have confided it to her, and not have announced it with an air of braggadocio.

“It isn’t a question of your integrity,” she replied, “but a matter of fact. The papers are not in this old desk.”

Colton strode forward and threw the desk open.

“Where are the secret drawers?” he asked, abruptly.

“Here,” and Patty showed him the small hidden springs that opened the concealed spaces so often found in old desks.

With meticulous care, Colton went all over the desk, measuring and calculating, in his endeavour to find the papers. But he at last turned a baffled face to Patty.

She looked pleasantly interested, but said simply, “You are mistaken, you see.”

“As to the desk, yes, but I must find the papers. Sorry, Miss Fairfield, but my duty must be done. I believe what I seek is in this room, and I must make search for it. With your permission – or without – ”

“Oh, go ahead,” Patty laughed, for she deemed it wiser to make no objection, “search all you like. May I stay here, or would you rather be alone.”

“Stay, please,” and a shrewd glance was thrown toward her.