To their consternation, he did not pa.s.s but turned in at the short walk which led up to the cottage.

Crouching still lower, scarcely breathing, they waited.

The man made his way directly to the door. After apparently fumbling about for an electric b.u.t.ton, he suddenly flashed out an electric torch.

With an inaudible gasp Florence prepared to drag her companion out of their place of danger. But to their intense relief the man flashed the light off, then gave the door a resounding knock.

That one flash of light had been sufficient to reveal to Lucile the features of his face. She recognized it instantly. In her surprise she gripped her companion's arm until she was ready to cry out with pain.

The door flew open. The man entered. The door was closed.

"Look!" whispered Lucile, pressing Florence toward the spot where the light streamed out. "Look, I know him."

She gave Florence but a half moment, then dragging her from the place of vantage pressed her own face to the gla.s.s.

"This would be abominable," she whispered, "if it weren't for the fact that we are trying to help them--trying to find a way out."

The man, a very young man with a slight moustache, had removed his coat and hat and had taken a seat. He was talking to the old man. He did the greater part of the talking. Every now and again he would pause and the old man would shake his head.

This pantomime was kept up for some time. At last the young man rose and walked toward the bookshelves. The old man half rose in his chair as if to detain him, then settled back again.

The young man's eyes roved over the books, then came to rest suddenly in a certain spot. Then his hand went out.

The old man sprang to his feet. There were words on his lips. What they were the girls could not tell.

Smiling with the good-natured grace of one who is accustomed to have what he desires, the young man opened the book to glance at the t.i.tle page. At once his face became eager. He glanced hurriedly through the book. He turned to put a question to the old man beside him.

The old man nodded.

Instantly the young man's hand was in his pocket. The two girls shrank back in fear. But the thing he took from his pocket was a small book, apparently a check book.

Speaking, he held the check book toward the old man. The old man shook his head. This touch of drama was repeated three times. Then, with a disappointed look on his face, the young man replaced the book, turned to the chair on which his hat and coat rested, put them on, said good night to the old man, bowed to the child and was gone.

The two girls, after stretching their cramped limbs, made their way safely to the sidewalk.

"Who--who was he?" whispered Florence through chattering teeth.

"R. Stanley Ramsey."

"Not the rich Ramsey?"

"His son."

"What did he want?"

"I don't know," said Lucile, "but it may be that we have found the man higher up, the real criminal. It may be that this rich young fellow is getting them to steal the books so he can buy them cheap."

Lucile told of the incident regarding the copy of "The Compleat Angler."

"He said he thought he knew where there was another copy. Don't you see, he may have gotten the girl to steal it. And now he comes for it and is disappointed because they haven't got it for him."

"It might be," said Florence doubtfully, "but it doesn't seem probable, does it? He must have plenty of money."

"Perhaps his father doesn't give him a large allowance. Then, again, perhaps, he thinks such things are smart. They say that some rich men's sons are that way. There's something that happened in there though that I don't understand. He--"

"Hist," whispered Florence, dragging her into a slow walk; "here comes the child."

Once more they saw the slim wisp of a girl steal out like a ghost into the night.

CHAPTER X MYSTERIES OF THE SEA

The trail over which the mystery child led them that night revealed nothing. Indeed, she eluded them, escaping the moment she left the elevated train at a down town station.

"Nothing to do but go home," said Florence in a disappointed tone.

"Oh, well, cheer up," smiled Lucile. "We've had a new chapter added to our mystery, as well as a whole new character who promises to become interesting. But look, Florence," she whispered suddenly. "No, don't stare, just glance down toward the end of the platform. See that man?"

"The one with his collar turned up and with his back to us?"

"Yes."

"That's the man who pa.s.sed us when we were on our way to the mystery cottage."

"Are you sure?"

"Can't be mistaken. Same coat, same hat, same everything."

"Why then--"

Florence checked herself. A moment later she said in a quiet tone of voice:

"Lucile, don't you think it's about time we waded ash.o.r.e? Came clear and got out of this affair; turned facts over to the authorities and allowed them to take their course?"

Lucile was silent for a moment. Then suddenly she shivered all over and whispered tensely:

"No--no, not quite yet."

"We may get in over our necks."

"I can swim. Can't you?"

"I'll try," Florence laughed, and there for the time the matter ended.

Lucile worked in the library two hours the next day. One fact could not escape her attention. Harry Brock had been losing a lot of sleep. She saw him rubbing his eyes from time to time and once he actually nodded over his records.