"Why, we--" Florence hesitated.

"What you got in that bag?"

Florence turned to find herself looking into the face of a young policeman.

She flashed a glance at Meg. That one glance convinced her that Meg did not know him.

"Where--where's Tim?" Meg faltered.

"Tim who?"

"Tim McCarty. This is his beat."

"'T'aint now. It's mine. He's been transferred. What's more," he paused to lay a gloved hand on the travelling bag, "since this is my beat, part of my job's findin' out what comes off them ships at night. What y' got in that bag?"

"I--I don't know," Florence said the words impulsively, and regretted them the instant they were said.

"Don't know--" he ceased speaking to stare at her. "Say, sister, you're good! Don't know what you've got in that bag! In that case all I can do is take you to the station for questioning.

"No," he said in a kindlier tone after a moment's thought, "maybe if you'll unlock it and let me see what's inside I'll let you go."

Open it and let him see what was inside? Florence's head was in a whirl.

Open it? What if her fears proved true? What if it contained stolen goods? Why, then she would see the first light of Christmas morning behind prison bars. Was ever anyone in such a mess? Did ever a girl pay so dearly for her own Christmas surprise?

But Meg was speaking: "Say, you see here," she said to the young policeman, her voice a low drawl. Florence heard them indistinctly against the roar of the storm. So there she stood with her back to the wind, clinging tightly to the handle of her bag and hoping against hope that she would not be obliged to reveal her secret there and then.

CHAPTER XX THE GREAT MOMENT

The revelation that had come to Lucile as she sat there listening to the first notes of a great concerto, led by a famous virtuoso, was so unusual, so altogether startling, that she felt tempted to doubt her senses.

"Surely," she whispered to herself, "I must be mistaken. There is a resemblance, but she is not that woman. Imagine a great virtuoso, one of the famous musicians of our land, being in a department store at two hours before midnight! Fancy her going up and down streets, in and out of the stores and shops dressed in all manner of absurd costumes, playing the star role in a newspaper stunt to increase circulation! How impossible! How--how utterly absurd!"

She paused for reflection and as she paused, as if to join her in quiet thought, the great musician allowed her flying fingers to come to rest on the keyboard while a violin soloist did his part.

Then, quick as light, but not too swiftly for Lucile's keen eyes, she slipped something from her finger, a something that sent off a brilliant flash of light. This she placed on the piano beside the keyboard.

To Lucile, resting as it did against the black of the ebony piano, this thing stood out like a circle of stars against the deep blackness of night. She felt her lips forming the words:

"Don't put it there! A hundred people will see it!"

That dull gray circle with the flashing spot of light was a ring; Cordie's iron ring with its diamond setting. There was no longer a single vestige of doubt in the girl's mind regarding the ident.i.ty of the Mystery Lady and the Spirit of Christmas. They were one and the same, and together they were Patricia Diurno, the celebrated virtuoso.

Somehow Lucile got through that two hours without screaming or jumping from her seat to hurl herself upon the platform, but she will never quite know just how she did it. At times she drove the whole affair from her mind to think of other unsolved problems--of Laurie and the lost author; of Cordie, and of Sam. At other times she found herself completely absorbed by the wonderful music which poured forth.

The majesty of the music grew as the evening pa.s.sed. When at last the orchestra struck out into that masterpiece, Tschaikowsky's Concerto in B minor, she forgot all else to lose herself in the marvelous rise and fall of cadent sound that resembled nothing so much as a storm on a rockbound coast.

The piano, leading on, called now to the violin to join in, then upon the cello, the ba.s.s viols, the cornets, the saxophones, the trombones, the trap-drums, until all together, in perfect unison, they sent forth such a volume of sound as shook the very walls.

The great virtuoso, forgetful of all else, gave herself completely to her music. Turning first this way, then that, she beckoned the lagging orchestra on until a climax had been reached.

Then, after a second of such silence as is seldom experienced save after a mighty clap of thunder, as if from somewhere away in a distant forest there came the tinkle, tinkle of the single instrument as her velvet tipped fingers glided across the keys.

A single violin joined in, then another and another, then all of them, until again the great chorus swelled to the very dome of the vast auditorium.

This was the music that, like the songs of mermaids of old, charm men into forgetfulness; that lifts them and carries them away from all dull care, all sordid affairs of money and all temptation to the mean, the low and the base.

It so charmed Lucile that for a full moment after the last note had been struck and the last echo of applause had died away, she sat there listening to the reverberations of the matchless music that still sounded in her soul.

When she awoke from her revery it was with a mighty start.

"Where is she?" she exclaimed, leaping from her seat.

"Who?" said Laurie.

"Patricia Diurno! The Mystery Lady! Spirit of Christmas! Where has she gone?"

Staring to right and left, she found her way blocked. Then with the nimbleness of an obstacle racer, she vaulted over four rows of seats to dash away through the milling crowd toward the platform.

"Where is she?" she demanded of an attendant.

"Who, Miss?"

"The--the Mystery Lady. No, No! Miss Diurno, the virtuoso."

"Most likely in the Green Room, Miss. Who--who--is some of her folks dead?"

"No, no! But please show me where the Green Room is, quick!"

Leading the way, he took her to the back of the stage, through a low door, down a long pa.s.sage-way to a large room where a number of people stood talking.

A glance about the place told her that Miss Diurno was not there.

"Is this the Green Room?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Then where is she?"

"I don't know, Miss. You might ask him."

He nodded to a large man in an evening suit.

"Where--where is Miss Diurno?" she asked timidly.