The Perils of Pauline Part 45

"To prevent starvation," answered Wallace. "Carrie is not only our purchasing agent, but our excellent cook."

The hag looked up for a moment with a cackle of appreciation; then bent again to her work.

"Can she write?" asked Owen.

"Yes."

"Well, then, she can help us. Here is an advertis.e.m.e.nt which appears in the morning papers."

He presented a newspaper clipping to Wallace, which read:

LOST--A fine white bull terrier. Finder will receive liberal reward if dog is returned to Pauline Marvin. Castle Marvin, N. Y.

"What do you want Carrie to do?"

"Answer the advertis.e.m.e.nt. Just call her over here."

The hag laid down the coins and moved laboriously to the, table.

Wallace produced from a drawer a pen, paper and ink, and told the woman to take his chair. Owen dictated:

"Miss Pauline Marvin:

"A dog came to my house yesterday which I think is the one you advertise for. I am an old, crippled woman and it's hard for me to get out.

Can't you come and see if it is your dog?

"Mary Sheila, 233 Myrtle Avenue."

The old woman wrote slowly in a shaking hand, and Owen waited patiently while she addressed an envelope. Then he placed the letter in the envelope, sealed it, and took his leave.

"And no sign of Cyrus?" inquired Harry cheerily as he entered the library, where Pauline sat disconsolate.

She did not even answer and she was still gazing dejectedly out of the window when Bemis brought in the mail. Two of the letters she laid aside, unread; the third, she opened: "A dog came to my house yesterday --" Her face lighted with hope and happiness; she read no further.

"Oh, isn't Owen--splendid," she breathed. "He knew just what to do." And with the letter in her hand she ran out to the veranda.

"Harry! Harry!" she called across the garden. There was no answer.

"Run up to Mr. Marvin's room and see if he is there, Margaret. Bemis, go out and see if he is at the garage."

"No, Miss Marvin," said Bemis. "He has gone into Westbury."

Pauline stood silent for a moment.

"Well, then I must go myself," she said with quick decision.

She sped upstairs and within a few minutes was, out at the garage in her motoring dress. A mechanic was working over her racing car in front of the garage, the racing car that was just recovering from recent calamity in the international race.

"Is it all fixed, Employ? Can I drive it today?" she asked eagerly.

"Why--yes, ma'am--you could," said the mechanic. "But I haven't got it polished up yet."

"That doesn't matter in the least. I want to use it to day--now."

She sprang lightly to the seat of the lithe racer and in a moment was away down the drive.

NO. 233 Myrtle avenue was an address a little difficult to find.

Myrtle avenue was well outside the new town and Pauline had made several inquiries before an elderly man, whom she found in the telegraph office, volunteered directions.

She thanked him, and drove back for two miles before she found the turn he had indicated.

The appearance of the place was unprepossessing enough to dampen even the ambitious courage of Pauline. But the sight of woman on the porch training a vine over the front door, allayed her fears.

"You are Mrs. Sheila--you sent me a message that you had found my dog?" she asked, approaching.

For a moment the confusion that the woman had meant to simulate was sincere. She had expected to see no such vision as that of Pauline on the blackened steps of the coiners' den.

"A dog?" she quavered vaguely. Then, "Oh, yes, my--dear little lady --the pretty white dog. He came to us yesterday. My son he brought me the newspaper, and--"

"Oh, you are just a dear," cried Pauline. "May I see him now? I am so fond of him!"

"Yes, my little lady. Will you come in?"

Pauline followed her into the bas.e.m.e.nt. She stepped back with a tremor of suspicion as the woman rapped three times upon the folding doors, and they opened silently on their oiled rails. But she was inside the narrow pa.s.sage, and the light that gleamed through the second pair of doors allayed her anxiety. With a bow and the wave of a directing hand, the old woman waited for Pauline to enter.

In a breath she was seized from both sides. Strong cruel hands held her, while Wallace smothered her cries with a tight-drawn bandage.

She had hardly had time to see the little terrier tugging at his chain in the corner of the room, but his wild barking was all she knew of possible a.s.sistance in the plight in which she found herself.

They laid her on the floor. She heard a voice that seemed strangely familiar giving abrupt orders. Pauline sought in vain to place the memory of the voice of Balthazar, the Gypsy.

Suddenly she heard cries. The barking of the dog had stopped and there was the thud of heavy foot steps on the stone floor of the cellar.

"Catch him! Shoot if you have to," came the command in the mysteriously familiar voice. She felt that her captors were no longer near. There was a beat of rus.h.i.+ng foot-steps on the floor.

It was several minutes before she heard voices again.

"The cur hasn't been there long enough to know her. It won't make any difference," said Wallace, coming through the open doors. "But I'm sorry it got away."

"Where is Miss Pauline?" asked Harry, as he entered the house on his return from Westbury.

"She has found her dog, sir," answered Margaret, smiling. "She went to get him--with the racing car."

His brow darkened. "The advertis.e.m.e.nt was answered, you mean, Margaret?"

"I think so, sir."

An hour later he walked into the garden and sat down on the rustic bench where he and Pauline had quarreled. He had just taken up his newspaper when he was startled by the spring of a small warm body fairly into his face. Lowering the torn paper, he saw Pauline's dog cavorting around the bench in circles of excitement.

The animal rushed towards him again, but did not leap this time. It came very near and, with braced feet, began to bark wildly.