Part 1 (1/2)

The Crimson Thread.

by Roy J. Snell.

CHAPTER I

TWO HOURS BEFORE MIDNIGHT

Starting back with a suppressed exclamation of surprise on her lips, Lucile Tucker stared in mystification and amazement. What was this ghost-like apparition that had appeared at the entrance to the long dark pa.s.sage-way? A young woman's face, a face of beauty and refinement, surrounded by a perfect circle of white. In the almost complete darkness of the place, that was all Lucile could see. And such a place for such a face--the far corner of the third floor of one of the largest department stores in the world. At that very moment, from somewhere out of the darkness, came the slow, deep, chiming notes of a great clock telling off the hour of ten. Two hours before midnight! And she, Lucile, was for a moment alone; or at least up to this moment she had thought herself alone.

What was she to make of the face? True, it was on the level with the top of the wrapper's desk. That, at least, was encouraging.

”That white is a fox skin, the collar to some dark garment that blends completely with the shadows,” Lucile told herself rea.s.suringly.

At that moment a startling question sent her shrinking farther into the shadows. ”If she's a real person and not a spectre, what is she doing here? Here, of all places, at the hour of ten!”

That was puzzling. What had this lady been doing in that narrow pa.s.sage?

She could not be a member of the working force of the store. No sales person would come to work in such a superb garment as this person wore.

Although Lucile had been employed in the book department for but ten days, she had seen all those who worked here and was certain enough that no such remarkably beautiful face could have escaped her notice.

”She--why she might be anything,” Lucile told herself. ”A--thief--a shoplifter. Perhaps she stole that very cape--or whatever it is she wears. Perhaps--”

Suddenly her heart gave a leap. Footsteps were approaching. The next instant she saw a second face appear in the narrow line of light which the street lights cast through the window.

”Laurie Seymour,” she breathed.

Laurie was the new man in the department. He had been working at the boys' and girls' books for only three days, yet Lucile liked him, liked him tremendously. He was so friendly, even-tempered and different. And he seemed a trifle mysterious.

”Mysterious,” she mused, ”perhaps here's the mystery answered.”

It certainly did seem so, for after the apparition in white had whispered a word or two, Laurie looked at her strangely for a second, drew from his pocket a slip of paper and handing it to her, quickly vanished into the shadows. The next instant the apparition vanished, too. Again Lucile found herself alone in the far corner of the mammoth store, surrounded by darkness.

Perhaps you have been wondering what Lucile and Laurie were doing in the great store at this hour. Since the doors are closed at six o'clock, you have no doubt thought of the entire place as being shrouded in darkness and utterly deserted. These were the days of the great rush of sales that comes before Christmas. That evening eight thousand books had been trucked into the department to be stowed away on or under tables and shelves. Twenty sales persons had been given ”pa.s.s outs”; which meant that they might pa.s.s _in_ at seven o'clock and work until ten. They had worked like beavers; making ready for the rush that would come on the morrow.

Now the great bulk of the work had been done. More than half of the workers had chirped a cheery ”Good-night” and had found their way down a marble stairway to the ground floor and the street. Lucile had been sent by ”Rennie,” the head sales-lady of juveniles, to this dark section for an armful of books. Here in this dark corner a part of Laurie's true character had, uninvited, come to her.

”He gave her his pa.s.s-out,” she said to herself. ”With that she can leave the building with her stolen goods.”

For a second, as she thought of this, she contemplated following the mystery woman and bringing her back.

”But that,” she told herself, ”would be dangerous. That pa.s.sage is a hundred feet long and only four feet wide; then it turns sharply and goes two hundred feet farther. She may carry a knife; such women do. In that place she could murder me and no one would know until morning.

”Of course,” she reflected, ”there's the other end of the pa.s.sage where it comes out at the offices. She must leave the pa.s.sage there if she does not come back this way. I might call the watchmen. They could catch her.

It's a perfect trap; she's like a mouse in a boot. But then--”

She paused in her mad rush of thought. What proof had she that this beautiful creature was a thief? What indeed? And what right had she to spy upon her and upon Laurie? Truth was, she had none at all. She was a sales person, not a detective. Her job was that of putting books on shelves and tables and selling them; her immediate task that of taking an armful of books to Rennie. Her simple and sole duty lay just there. Then, too, in the short time she had known Laurie Seymour, she had come to like him.

”He might be innocent of any real wrong,” she reasoned. ”If I go blundering into things I may be serving a friend badly indeed.”

”But,” she was brought up short by a sudden thought, ”if he gave her his pa.s.s-out, how's he to leave the building?”