Could it be that as he smiled and nodded to her she caught in his eye a look of witching mockery? One thing she did see plainly enough--there were slight bruises and two freshly plastered cuts on his right hand.

"Got them when he went down the chute," she told herself.

As she paused before him she threw back the broad front of the mysterious cape and said:

"You should know something about this, I am sure."

"Beg pardon?" He started and Lucile thought she saw a sudden flush on his cheek.

"You should know something about this," she repeated.

"Why, no, begging your pardon again," he answered easily. "Having had no sisters and having never ventured into matrimony, I know almost nothing about women's garments. I should say, though, that it was a fine cape, a corking fine one. You should be proud of it, really you should."

This was all said in such a serious tone, and yet with such a concealed touch of mockery in it, that Lucile abruptly turned away. Plainly there was nothing to be learned from him concerning the mystery, at least not at the present moment.

As she turned, her eyes chanced to fall upon a stack of books that stood by the end of the table.

"Well, well!" she exclaimed. "There were two hundred books in that stack last night! Now they are at least a third gone!"

"Yes," Laurie smiled, and in his smile there was a look of personal interest. "Yes, they are going very well indeed. We shall need to be ordering more soon. You see, it's the critics. They say it is a good book, an especially good book for young folks. I can't say as to that. It sells, I can a.s.sure you of that, and is going to sell more and more."

As Lucile made her way to the cloak room, she was reminded of a rumor that had pa.s.sed through the department on the previous day. The rumor had it that Jefrey Farnsworth, the author of this remarkable book "Blue Flames," (of which she and Laurie had just been speaking, and which was proving to be a best seller in its line and threatening to outsell the latest popular novel) had disappeared shortly after the publication of his book.

The rumor went on further to dilate upon the subject to the extent that this promising young man (for he was a young man--no rumor about that) had received a letter the very day he had vanished. There was no mystery about the letter. Having been found on his table, it had proven to be but a letter from his publishers saying that his book would undoubtedly be a great success and that, should he be willing to arrange a lecture to be given before women's clubs regarding his work and his books, they had no doubt but that he would greatly profit by it and that in the end his sales would be doubled. Women's clubs all over the land would welcome him with open hands and sizable checks. The letter had said all this and some few other things. And upon that day, perhaps the most eventful day of his life, Farnsworth had vanished as completely as he might had he grown wings and flown to the moon.

"Only a rumor," Lucile said to herself, "but if it's true, it's mystery number two."

Instantly there flashed through her mind the puzzling look of unusual interest that she had noticed on Laurie's face as he spoke of the huge sales of the book.

With this recollection came a strong suggestion which she instantly put from her mind.

After hanging the mysterious cape in a secluded corner, she hunted out her sales-book and plunged into her work. Even a sales-book of soiled red leather may be entrusted with a mystery. This she was to learn soon enough.

Such an afternoon as it proved to be! She had need enough for that robust strength of hers. Sat.u.r.day afternoon it was--two weeks before Christmas.

As the clock struck the noon hour the great office buildings poured forth people like a molten stream. Bosses, bookkeepers, stenographers, sales-managers, office boys, every type of man, woman and overgrown child flooded the great stores. Mingling with these were the thousands upon thousands of school children, teachers, and parents, all free for an afternoon of pleasure.

A doubtful sort of pleasure, this. Jostling elbow to elbow, trampling and being trampled upon, s.n.a.t.c.hing here, s.n.a.t.c.hing there, taking up goods and tossing them down in the wrong place, they fought their way about. The toy department, candy department, children's book department--these were the spots where the great waves of humanity broke most fiercely. Crowded between a fat woman with a m.u.f.f and a slim man with a grouch, Lucile wrote a sale for a tired looking little lady with two small children. In the meantime an important appearing woman in tight fitting kid gloves was insisting that Lucile had promised to "wait upon" her next. As a matter of fact Lucile had not seen her until that very moment, and had actually promised to sell a large book to a small person who was in a hurry to catch a train.

"Catch a train!" Lucile exclaimed to the checking girl. "There must be a train leaving every two minutes. They're all catching trains."

So, crowded, pushed and jostled about, answering a hundred reasonable questions and two hundred unreasonable ones every hour; smiling when a smile would come, wondering in a vague sort of way what it was all about, catching the chance remark of a customer about "Christmas spirit," Lucile fought her way through the long day.

Then at last, a half hour before closing time, there came the lull.

Blessed lull! Almost as abruptly as it had come, the flood ebbed away.

Here and there a little group of people moved slowly away; and here someone argued over a long forgotten book or hurried in to s.n.a.t.c.h up a book and demand instant attention. But in the main the flood-tide had spent itself.

Creeping back into a dark corner and seating herself upon the floor, Lucile added up her sales and then returned to a.s.sist in straightening up the tables which had taken on the appearance of a chip yard.

"People have a wonderful respect for books," she murmured to Laurie.

"Yes, a lot of respect for the one they buy," smiled Laurie. "They'll wreck a half dozen of them to find a spotless copy for their own purchasing."

"Yes, they do that, but just think what a shock to dear Rollo or Algernon if he should receive a book with a slightly torn jacket-cover for a Christmas present!"

"That _would_ be a shock to his nervous system," laughed Laurie.

For a time they worked on in silence. Lucile put all the Century cla.s.sics in order and filled the gaps left by the frenzied purchasers. Laurie, working by her side, held up a book.

"There," he said, "is a t.i.tle for you."

She read the t.i.tle: "The Hope for Happiness."

"Why should one hope for it when they may really have it?" Laurie exclaimed.

"May one have happiness?" Lucile asked.

"Surely one may! Why if one--"

Lucile turned to find a customer at her elbow.

"Will you sell me this?"

The customer, a lady, thrust a copy of Pinocchio into her hand.

"Cash?"

"Yes. I'll take it with me, please."

There was a sweet mellowness in the voice.

Without glancing up, Lucile set her nimble fingers to writing the sale.

As she wrote, almost automatically, she chanced to glance at the customer's hands.

One's hands may be as distinctive and tell as much of character as one's face. It was so with these hands. Lucile had never seen such fingers.

Long, slim, tapering, yet hard and muscular, they were such fingers as might belong to a musician or a pickpocket. Lucile felt she would always remember those hands as easily as she might recall the face of some other person. As if to make doubly sure that she might not forget, on the forefinger of the right hand was a ring of cunning and marvelous design; a dragon wrought in gold, with eyes of diamonds and a tongue of ten tiny rubies. No American craftsmanship, this, but Oriental, Indian or j.a.panese.

Without lifting her eyes, Lucile received the money, carried her book to the wrapper and delivered the package to the purchaser. Then she returned to her task of putting things to rights.

Scarcely a moment had elapsed when, on glancing toward her cash book which lay open on a pile of books, she started in surprise.

There could be no mistaking it. From it there came a flash of crimson.

Imagine her surprise when she found that the top page of her book had been twice pierced by a needle and that a crimson thread had been drawn through and knotted there in exactly the same manner as had that other bit of thread on the blue cape.

It required but a glance to a.s.sure her that through this thread there ran the single strand of purple. The next instant she was dashing down the aisle, hoping against hope that she might catch a glimpse of the mystery woman with the extraordinary fingers and the strange ring.

In this she failed. The woman had vanished.

"And to think," she exclaimed in exasperation, "to think that I did not look at her face! Such a foolish way as we do get into--paying no attention to our customers! If I had but looked at her face I would have known. Then I would have demanded the truth. I would have--" she paused to reflect, "well, perhaps I shouldn't have said so much to her, but I would have known her better. And now she is gone!"