"This man," the director repeated, after she had recovered from her surprise, "tells me that you know the score of this new opera, "The Magic Curtain.""
"Y-yes. Yes, I do." What was this? Her heart throbbed painfully.
"And that of the "Juggler of Notre Dame.""
"I--I do." This time more boldly.
"Surely this can be no crime," she told herself.
"This has happened," the director spoke out abruptly, "Miss Dean is at the Robinson home. She has fallen from a horse. She will not be able to appear to-night. Fernando Tiffin tells me that you are prepared to a.s.sume the leading role in these two short operas. I say it is quite impossible.
You are to be the judge."
Staggered by this load that had been so suddenly cast upon her slender shoulders, the little French girl seemed about to sink to the floor.
Fortunately at that instant her eyes caught the calm, rea.s.suring gaze of the great sculptor. "I have said you are able." She read this meaning there.
"Yes." Her shoulders were square now. "I am able."
"Then," said the director, "you shall try."
Ninety minutes later by the clock, she found herself waiting her cue, the cue that was to bid her come dancing forth upon a great stage, the greatest in the world. And looking down upon her, quick to applaud or to blame, were the city"s thousands.
In the meantime, in her seat among the boxes, Florence had met with an unusual experience. A mysterious figure had suddenly revealed herself as one of Pet.i.te Jeanne"s old friends. At the same time she had half unfolded some month-old mysteries.
Pet.i.te Jeanne had hardly disappeared through the door leading to the stage when two whispered words came from behind Florence"s back:
"Remember me?"
With a start, the girl turned about to find herself looking into the face of a tall woman garbed in black.
Reading uncertainty in her eyes, the woman whispered: "Cedar Point.
Gamblers" Island. Three rubies."
"The "lady cop"!" Florence sprang to her feet. She was looking at an old friend. Many of her most thrilling adventures had been encountered in the presence of this lady of the police.
"So it was you!" she exclaimed in a low whisper. "You are Jeanne"s lady in black?"
"I am the lady in black."
"And she never recognized you?"
"I arranged it so she would not. She never saw my face. I have been a guardian of her trail on many an occasion.
"And now!" Her figure grew tense, like that of a springing tiger. "Now I am about to come to the end of a great mystery. You can help me. That is why I arranged that you should be here."
"I?" Florence showed her astonishment.
"Sit down."
The girl obeyed.
"Some weeks ago a priceless necklace was stolen from this very box. You recall that?"
"How could I forget?" Florence sat up, all attention.
"Of course. Pet.i.te Jeanne, she is your best friend.
"She cast suspicion upon herself by deserting her post here; running away. Had it not been for me, she would have gone to jail. I had seen through her masquerade at once. "This," I said to myself, "is Pet.i.te Jeanne. She would not steal a dime." I convinced others. They spared her.
"Then," she paused for a s.p.a.ce of seconds, "it was up to me to find the pearls and the thief. I think I have accomplished this; at least I have found the pearls. As I said, you can help me. You know the people living on that curious man-made island?"
"I--" Florence was thunderstruck.
Aunt Bobby! Meg! How could they be implicated? All this she said to herself and was fearful.
Then, like a bolt from the blue came a picture of Meg"s birthday package.
"You know those people?" the "lady cop" insisted.
"I--why, yes, I do."
"You will go there with me after the opera?"
"At night?"
"There is need for haste. We will go in Robinson"s big car. Jaeger will go, and Rosemary. Perhaps Jeanne, too. You will be ready? That is all for now.
"Only this: I think Jeanne is to have the stellar role to-night."
"Jeanne! The stellar role? How could that be?"
"I think it has been arranged."
"Arranged?"
There came no answer. The lady in black was gone.
CHAPTER x.x.xII SPARKLING TREASURE
The strangest moment in the little French girl"s career was that in which, as the juggler, she tripped out upon the Opera House stage. More than three thousand people had a.s.sembled in this great auditorium to see and hear their favorite, the city"s darling, Marjory Dean, perform in her most famous role. She was not here. They would know this at once. What would the answer be?
The answer, after perfunctory applause, was a deep hush of silence. It was as if the audience had said: "Marjory Dean is not here. Ah, well, let us see what this child can do."
Only her tireless work under Miss Dean"s direction saved Jeanne from utter collapse. Used as she was to the smiling faces and boisterous applause of the good old light opera days, this silence seemed appalling.
As it was, she played her part with a perfection that was art, devoid of buoyancy. This, at first. But as the act progressed she took a tight grip on herself and throwing herself into the part, seemed to shout at the dead audience: "You shall look! You shall hear! You must applaud!"