The Lions Mouse | Page 4

unless the one who is saving my life," the girl answered surprisingly. As she spoke, a wave of rose-colour poured over her face, and she turned quickly away in confusion. Roger felt that she had blurted it out, scarcely knowing what she said until too late. Instead of liking her less, he liked her better. He brought forth the envelope to show. It had been under his pillow all night, he told her.
"I don't know what I should have done without you!" she said, with a gratitude that was almost humble. There'd be a certain blankness, Roger couldn't help seeing, when the time came to do without her!
"When we get to Chicago," he asked, "how can I help you there?"
"Oh, I expect to be met by a friend. I suppose I shan't see you again: but I shall never forget."
Roger Sands felt a horrid twinge of some unpleasant emotion. He loathed the "friend" who would take the girl away from him.
"But Chicago's a long way off," she said when he did not speak. "It must seem a wild story to you, but the danger I'm in ... the danger that this envelope is in ... won't be over for one minute till you've put me into my friend's hands. You will do that, won't you? You'll see me through till the last?"
"I will," said Roger.
"And meanwhile you'll come and call on me in the stateroom sometimes if you don't mind?"
Roger smiled. A silver lining began to glimmer through the cloud.
By good luck he knew no one on board save O'Reilly, who fortunately was in another car, and he hoped that few people knew him. He could not resist her invitation. He began by deciding to spend a half hour with his "invalid cousin" now and again. As through the veil of beauty he caught glimpses of something like character within, Roger felt that the mystery thickened.
The inevitable moment came. The porter was brushing men's hats and coats. Suitcases were being fastened up. The Limited was slowing down in the big station. Then, and not till then, did Miss White show herself at the door of Stateroom A. Sands, who had knocked to tell her that she had better come out, was waiting to guard her for the last time. Neither had much to say. The hope of haven had not raised the girl's spirits. As Sands gave her a hand, stepping on to the platform, he saw Justin O'Reilly, already out of the train and looking about with the air of expecting someone. O'Reilly took off his hat, with an unnecessarily cordial smile for Sands. At heart they were enemies. Roger took the smile to mean amusement at sight of his companion. He felt annoyed. Miss White was looking straight ahead, a brilliant colour staining the cheeks usually pale.
The rendezvous, she had explained to him, was at a news stand. "There!" she said, "that is where he will be. There's such a crowd, I can't see him yet."
They neared the news stand, and as "Miss White" was a tall girl whose head could be seen above the hats of average women, he expected a man to start eagerly forward. But no man separated himself from the crowd. She was beginning to look anxious: there was no flush on her cheeks now.
"Where can he be?" she said. "Something must have happened."
"Taxi broken down, perhaps," Roger tried consolation.
"Oh, if only it's nothing worse! I must just wait. But you, Mr. Sands, I oughtn't to ask...."
"You needn't," Roger cut her short. "I'm not going to desert you."
"I might have known you wouldn't. He can't be long!"
"What about the envelope? Will you have it now?" Roger asked. She had begged him to keep it until they were out of the train.
"Not yet. I daren't. You're sure it hasn't been stolen from you? Do please make certain!"
He put his hand inside his coat, and felt the envelope, which was safe, of course. "It's there, as large as life."
"Thank heaven!" she breathed.
Minutes passed: fifteen minutes; twenty; thirty. The girl was white as ashes, and dark shadows lay under her eyes. "All hope is over!" she said, as Sands glanced at his watch, when they had stood for three-quarters of an hour. "Some terrible thing has prevented him from meeting me. I don't know what's going to become of me now!"

II
THE NET
"You made no plan what to do if your friend didn't turn up?" Roger enquired. "Have you any other friends in Chicago?"
"Not one."
"Have you ever lived here, or stayed here?"
"No."
If he had now been capable of suspecting her, all his first suspicions of Miss Beverley White would have marshalled themselves in his brain. Nothing had happened during the whole journey to justify her fantastic story of mysterious danger. As for the wonderful envelope, who could tell