The Crimson Thread: An Adventure Story for Girls

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 passage-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 reassuringly.

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 passage? 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 "pass outs"; which meant that they might pass 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 pass-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 passage 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 passage where it comes out at the offices. She must leave the passage 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 pass-out, how's he to leave the building?"

How indeed? In a great store such as this, where hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of rare jewels and much silver and gold are kept and where princely furs and priceless old paintings are on display, it is necessary to maintain a constant vigil against thieves. "Pass-outs" are given to all employees who enter or leave the store after closing hours. It was true enough that without his pass-out, Laurie could not get by the eagle-eyed guard who kept constant vigil at the only door where the employees were permitted to pass out to the street.

"But the books," she murmured, starting up, "Rennie will be waiting."

Rennie, whose real name was Miss Renton, appeared to be in no hurry. Having become interested in writing down lists of books that were to be ordered in the morning, she had so far forgotten the girl as to exclaim as she came up:

"Why, Lucile! I thought you had gone! Now, dearie, just put those books down right there. We can take care of them before the rush begins in the morning. Run along now and get your coat. You must go home. It's past ten, less than two hours till midnight!"

"Yes, but-"

Lucile checked herself just in time. She had been about to say that she was afraid to go for her coat. And indeed she was, for was it not hanging on the wall in that narrow passage at the door of which the mystery lady had appeared?

"But it wouldn't do to tell," she thought, "I-I've got to go alone."

Go she did, but with much fear and trembling.

She might have spared herself all this trembling, for there was no one in the dark passage.

But what was this? The row of coat hooks were all empty save one, her own, and on that hook-what could it mean?-on that hook hung not her own too frankly thin and threadbare coat, but a magnificent thing of midnight blue and white. It was the cape with the white fox collar worn by the mystery woman.

Even as her hand touched the fox skin she knew it was far more costly than she had thought.

"It's over my coat," she breathed. "I've only to leave it."

This, she found, was not true. Her coat had vanished. The cape had been left in its stead and, as if to further perplex and alarm her, the midnight blue unfolded, revealing a superb lining of Siberian squirrel.

"Oh!" Lucile exclaimed as her trembling fingers dropped to her side and she fled the place.

One consoling thought flashed across her mind. Rennie had not yet left for the night. Rennie, the tall and slim, with a thread of gray in her black hair, who had been in the department for no one knew how long-Rennie would know what to do. The instant she was told all that had happened she would say what the very next step must be.

"The instant she is told," Lucile whispered to herself. Then suddenly she realized that she did not wish to tell all she had seen.

"Not just yet, at any rate," she told herself. "I'm not supposed to have seen it. I want time to think. I'll tell Rennie only what I am supposed to know-that my coat has been taken and this cape left in its stead."

Rennie showed little surprise on hearing the story. "Someone has probably taken the wrong coat," she said.

"But that's not possible!" Lucile laughed at the very thought.

"Why?"

"I'll show you," and she dashed back for the cape.

As Rennie saw the magnificent creation, she gasped with astonishment; then began to murmur something about fairy princesses looking after poor girls and leaving them gorgeous garments.

"You can't go home without a wrap," she told Lucile. "They say there's a regular blizzard outside. You'll simply have to wear it home."

Taking the garment from Lucile's hands, she placed it upon her shoulders with a touch that was half caress. Then, having fastened it under Lucile's chin, she stood back to exclaim:

"Why, dearie, you look charming!"

"But-but how am I to get out of the building with it? No one will believe that a mere sales girl owns a cape like this. It's new. Probably it's been stolen."

"Stolen!" exclaimed Rennie. "What nonsense!

"Besides," she added in a quieter tone, "it's not quite new. The strings that hold it together at the throat are worn a little smooth and there's the least bit of a soil at the bottom. You wait ten minutes for me and we'll go out together. I know the watchman. I'll take you out under my wing."

Greatly relieved by these words and intent on making the most of her wait by having a good general look at the room, Lucile sauntered away to the left where she was soon lost from sight behind tables, stacks of books, and massive pillars.

Since she had worked here but ten days, the charm of the place had not yet worn off. The books, row on row of them, fascinated her. Here was a wealth of learning that no one could hope to appropriate in a lifetime. To the right of her was poetry, thousands of volumes; to the left, books on travel, thousands more; and before her new fiction, tens of thousands. Who would not envy her? It was a great place for one who loved books.

With a feeling of sorrow she thought of the time when she must leave all this wealth; when she must say goodbye to the wonderful friends she had already formed here. In two short weeks she would be going back to the University. Since she was dependent upon her own resources for her support-and since for one who specialized in English there was quite as much to be learned about books by selling as by reading them-her head professor had quite readily granted her a month's leave of absence that she might come down here to assist in meeting the Christmas rush.

"Ah yes," she breathed, "it will be of the past in two more weeks. But in two weeks much may happen. Think of what happened to-night! Think-"

She was brought up short by a sound. Had it been a footstep? She could not make sure for the floor was heavily carpeted. Instantly she became conscious of the darkness that surrounded her like a shroud. Before her loomed the dim outlines of the elevator cages. Distorted by the uncertain light, these seemed the cells of some gloomy prison. Far off to the right was a great rotunda. From the rail that surrounded this, when the lights were on, one might gaze upward to dizzy heights and downward to dizzier depths. Now she thought of that awe inspiring vault as if it were some deep and mysterious cave.

"Oh-ooo!" Lucile gasped. "This place gets spookier every moment. I'll go back to-"

Even as she spoke she caught a sound to her right. Impelled by sheer curiosity, she took a dozen steps in that direction.

Suddenly she started back. Against the wall a light had flashed on for a second and in that second she had caught sight of a face-the face of Laurie Seymour.

Again the light came on. This time the flash was a little longer. She saw his face clearly. On his finely cut features there was such a smile as suggests anticipation of amusing adventure.

In one hand he held the flashlight. Under his arm was a bundle of corrugated paper such as is used in wrapping books for mailing. He was standing by a square opening in the wall. Lucile knew in a vague sort of way where that opening led. Books that had been wrapped were dropped in there. A circular spiral chute, some three feet in diameter, wormed its way like an auger hole down from this point to the sub-basement where was located the shipping room.

Even as she thought this through she saw Laurie swing his feet across the opening. Then, just as the light flashed out, she again saw that amused grin. The next second there came the sound of some heavy object gliding downward.

"He-he went down the chute!" she gasped. "He'll be killed!"

How long she stood there, petrified with surprise and dread, she could not have told. It could not have been many seconds but it seemed an hour. At last the end came, a sickening thud sounding faint and far away.

Without uttering a sound, but with heart beating wildly and feet flying at almost superhuman speed, the girl raced across the room and down a flight of broad marble stairs.

"I must find him. He is hurt. Perhaps he is killed!" she kept repeating to herself.

Down one flight; down two; three; four, she sped.

And then, in the darkness of this vast shipping room, she paused to listen.

Not a sound. She may as well have been alone in the catacombs of Egypt or the Mammoth Cave.

"Must be this way," she breathed.

Truth was, she had lost her sense of direction. She was not sure which way to go. She took a dozen steps forward. Finding herself confronted by a dark bulk, she started walking round it. Having paused to think, she found fear gripping at her heart. When she tried to retrace her steps she discovered that the stairs had apparently vanished. She was lost.

"Lost!" she whispered. "Lost in the subbasement of this great building at night!" Even as she thought this there came to her, faint and far distant, yet very distinct, the even tread of footsteps.

"It's not Laurie. He doesn't walk like that. It-it's-" her heart stood still, "it's a watchman! And here I am dressed in this magnificent garment which does not belong to me. Somehow I must get back to the third floor and to Rennie! But how? How!"