“The hand which placed that box here,” Quest continued slowly, “is capable of even more wonderful things. We must be cautious. Hello!”
The door had opened. The Professor stood upon the threshold. He carried his soft felt hat in his hand. He bowed to the two young women courteously.
“I trust that I have done right in coming up?” he enquired.
“Quite right, Professor,” Quest assured him. “They know well enough downstairs that I am always at liberty to you. Come in.”
“I am so anxious to learn,” the Professor continued eagerly, “whether there is any news—of my skeleton.”
“Not yet, Professor, I am sorry to say,” Quest replied. “Come in and shut the door.”
The Professor was obviously struggling with his disappointment. He did not, however, at once close the door.
“There is a young lady here,” he said, “who caught me up upon the landing. She, too, I believe, wishes to see you. My manners suffered, I fear, from my eagerness to hear from your own lips if there was anything fresh. I should have allowed her to precede me.”
He threw open the door and stood on one side. A young woman came a little hesitatingly into the room. Her hair was plainly brushed back, and she wore the severe dress of the Salvation Army. Nothing, however, could conceal the fact that she was a remarkably sweet and attractive-looking young person.
“Want to see me, young lady?” Quest asked.
She held out a book.
“My name is Miss Quigg,” she said. “I want to ask you for a subscription to our funds.”
Quest frowned a little.
“I don’t care about this house-to-house visitation,” he remarked.
“It is only once a year that we come,” the girl pleaded, “and we only go to people who we know can afford to help us, and who we believe can appreciate our work. You know so much of the darker side of New York, Mr. Quest. Wherever you go you must find signs of our labours. Even if I put on one side, for a moment, the bare religious question, think how much we do for the good and the welfare of the poor people.”
Quest nodded.
“That’s all right,” he admitted. “You reach the outcasts all right. There’s many a one you save whom you had better leave to die, but here and there, no doubt, you set one of them on their legs again who’s had bad luck. Very well, Miss Quigg. You shall have a donation. I am busy to-day, but call at the same hour to-morrow and my secretary here shall have a cheque ready for you.”
The girl smiled her gratitude.
“You are very kind indeed, Mr. Quest,” she said simply. “I will be here.”
The Professor laid his hand upon her arm as she passed. He had been watching her with curious intentness.
“Young lady,” he observed, “you seem very much in earnest about your work.”
“It is only the people in earnest, sir,” she answered, “who can do any good in the world. My work is worth being in earnest about.”
“Will you forgive an old man’s question?” the Professor continued. “I am one of the men of the world who are in earnest. My life is dedicated to science. Science is at once my religion and my life. It seems to me that you and I have something in common. You, too, move in the unusual ways. Your life is dedicated to doing good amongst the unworthy of your sex. Whether my brain approves of your efforts or not, you compel my admiration—my most respectful admiration. May I, too, be permitted?”
He drew out a pocket-book and passed over towards her a little wad of notes. She took them without a moment’s hesitation. Her eyes, as she thanked him, were filled with gratitude.
“It is so kind of you,” she murmured. “We never have any hesitation in accepting money. May I know your name?”
“It is not necessary,” the Professor answered. “You can enter me,” he added, as he held open the door for her, “as a friend—or would you prefer a pseudonym?”
“A pseudonym, if you please,” she begged. “We have so many who send us sums of money as friends. Anything will do.”
The Professor glanced around the room.
“What pseudonym shall I adopt?” he ruminated. “Shall I say that an oak sideboard gives you five hundred dollars? Or a Chippendale sofa? Or,” he added, his eyes resting for a moment upon the little box, “a black box?”
The two girls from the other side of the table started. Even Quest swung suddenly around. The Professor, as though pleased with his fancy, nodded as his fingers played with the lid.
“Yes, that will do very nicely,” he decided. “Put me down—‘Black Box,’ five hundred dollars.”
The girl took out her book and began to write. The Professor, with a little farewell bow, crossed the room towards Quest. Lenora moved towards the door.
“Let me see you out,” she said to the girl pleasantly. “Don’t you find this collecting sometimes very hard work?”
“Days like to-day,” the girl replied, “atone for everything. When I think of the good that five hundred dollars will do, I feel perfectly happy.”
Lenora opened the door. Both girls started. Only a few feet away Craig was standing, his head a little thrust forward. For a moment the quiet self-respect of his manner seemed to have deserted him. He seemed at a loss for words.
“What do you want?” Lenora demanded.
Craig hesitated. His eyes were fixed upon the Salvation Army girl. The changes in his face were remarkable. She, however, beyond smiling pleasantly at him, gave no sign of any recognition.
“I was waiting for my master,” Craig explained.
“Why not downstairs?” Lenora asked suspiciously. “You did not come up with him.”
“I am driving the Professor in his automobile,” Craig explained. “It occurred to me that if he were going to be long here, I should have time to go and order another tire. It is of no consequence, though. I will go down and wait in the car.”
Lenora stood at the top of the stairs and watched him disappear. Then she went thoughtfully back to her work. The Professor and Quest were talking at the farther end of the room.
“I was in hopes, in great hopes,” the Professor admitted, “that you might have heard something. I promised to call at Mrs. Rheinholdt’s this afternoon.”
Quest shook his head.
“There is nothing to report at present, Mr. Ashleigh,” he announced.
“Dear me,” the Professor murmured, “this is very disappointing. Is there no clue, Mr. Quest—no clue at all?”
“Not
