Roy J. Snell

“ Our good Madame Bihari has prepared a gypsy feast. I am sure you will enjoy it.”
Danby Force did enjoy that feast. A meat pie filled with all sorts of strange and delicious flavors, a drink that was not quite hot chocolate nor quite anything else, thin cakes baked on the coals, and after that fruit and bonbons. What wonder they lingered over the repast—lingered indeed too long, for, when at last they stepped from the doorway all the mellow sunshine had vanished and in its place dark clouds, like massive trains with huge silently rolling wheels were moving up the mountainside. ”

“ We are going to have some tea,” she said, motioning Florence to a chair.
“It is beautiful up here.” Florence took one long deep breath. It was, just that. The broad-spreading elms, the wavering shadows, the bright crimson flowers, all this was marvelous.
“Yes,” Danby Force spoke quietly, “life has always been beautiful up here. My father and his father before him worked to make it so. But life down in our little city has not always been beautiful for all. It should be so.” ”

“ The light of the setting sun presented all this to the little French girl in a manner that delighted her very soul. As if attracted by some great magnet, her little plane taxied toward them. The planes were all but touching the leaves when at last the ship came to a halt.
“Madame,” Jeanne said, all but breathless with delight, “this is where we stay tonight.” Her tone became deeply serious. “Why do men from Europe say America is ugly? Nowhere in the world is there a moment more beautiful than this!” ”

“ From the mountainside there came the whisper of spruce trees. Torn, twisted, and tangled by storms, those trees stood there like horrible dwarfs whispering of love and life, of hatred and death. Once Jeanne, moved by who knows what impulse, went tip-toeing from her place to press her nose against the glass and peer into that darkness. Then, as if all the gnarled trees had been shaking fists at her, she sprang back to her place close to Danby Force. ”

“ If life, for the moment, had been robbed of its adventure for Florence, the little French girl Petite Jeanne had not fared so badly. To her life had come one more thrill. It happened in a strange and quite unexpected manner. Having left the gypsy child with friends in Chicago, she and Madame Bihari had gone on a true gypsy tour of the air. Their destination was anywhere, their home the landing field that appeared beneath them at close of day. Never had Jeanne been so buoyantly happy as now. ”

“ Early on the following morning two planes left the airport. One was small. It resembled a dragon fly. In it rode Jeanne and Madame Bihari. The other was a great bi-motored cabin plane. It carried as its stewardess our good friend Rosemary Sample. Her passengers were as interesting a group as you might hope to meet.
They were destined, these planes, for the same little city, Happy Vale. Both Jeanne and Rosemary were ignorant of this fact. So it is in life, two congenial souls travel for years along the same path, all unconscious of one another’s nearness. ”

“ Petite Jeanne sat in the door of her dragon fly airplane. The door faced the sun. She was basking in its warmth. She loved the sun, did this little French girl. She had once heard an aged gypsy say the sun was the smiling face of God. A rather fanciful remark this, yet it had stayed in her mind. “At least,” she told herself, “God made the sun and everything He created is good, so surely He means us to enjoy the sunshine.”
All day long, without presuming to call upon the busy Danby Force, or even upon Florence, Jeanne had wandered through the town and had come to love it. ”

“ Jeanne was gypsy enough to read that girl’s fortune. All through the bright summer days and on into the glorious autumn, the great Fair had offered her means of making a living. Perhaps she was helping to support her parents. Who could tell? Now it was all over—the last hot-dog sold. “Goodbye Fair,” Jeanne whispered, swallowing hard.
Stepping silently back, she slipped a bit of green paper into the girl’s hand, then disappeared too quickly to be seen.
“Life must be beautiful,” she said to Danby Force, “but how can it be, for all?” ”

“ Oh yes, that was Rosemary’s plane. Rosemary was still young, and she looked even younger than her years. A slender slip of a girl was Rosemary, rather pretty, too, with a touch of natural color and a dimple in each cheek, white even teeth, smiling eyes of deepest blue.
Strange sort of person to have a huge bi-motored plane with two 555 horse-power motors and a cruising speed of one hundred and seventy miles per hour. It cost seventy thousand dollars did that airplane. Yet this slip of a girl was its captain, its conductor, its everything but pilot, as long as it hung in air. ”

“ When we are suspicious or unjust, when we lay heavy burdens on the weak, we are destroying life’s beauty.
“Yes,” he repeated slowly, “life must be beautiful.”
“Listen!” Rosemary Sample held up a hand. “What was that?”
[110]
“A horn,” said Jeanne. “There’s another and another. This, why this!” She sprang to her feet. “This is the night of Hallowe’en! And this is the last night of the Great Fair, that most beautiful Century of Progress. Florence,” she cried, “do you not remember the ‘Hour of Enchantment’? We must go there tonight. We truly must!”
“We shall all go,” said Danby Force. ”

“ And in those dreams there frequently appeared two faces—a serious one, Danby Force, and a smiling one, Willie VanGeldt.
“How different they are!” she thought to herself. “And yet, if I am not mistaken each has been, or will be, heir to a large fortune. It seems that even rich people have their own way of living.”
These thoughts did not long hold her fancy. Soon she was dreaming of trips she would make in the future. No, not trips from Chicago to New York, then New York to Chicago. Nothing like that, but long trips into strange places. She’d collect a pocketful of passes and go wandering. ”

“ I must find the spy. Even now he may be gathering up his stolen secrets and preparing to carry them away to some other city, or even across the sea.”
But how was one to catch a spy? Every moment of each day she was watching, watching, watching. And yet, save for the rather simple matter of Ina Piccalo’s carrying away a bottle of purple dye, nothing unusual had caught her eye.
“I may fail,” she told herself, “fail utterly.” Yet she dared to hope for a turn of the wheel of fortune—“the lucky break” as the smiling Willie VanGeldt would have called it. ”

“ Jeanne whispered. At once she thought of her good pal Florence, then of Danby Force and the problem they were trying to solve.
“Madame,” she whispered, “do you suppose Florence has found her spy?”
“Who knows?” Madame’s words were spoken slowly. “Spies are hard to find. Some, I am told, went all through the great war and were not captured.”
“We should help her,” Jeanne decided quite suddenly. “We shall go to that little city. Perhaps tomorrow we shall go.”
At that moment some wood sprite might have whispered, “No, Jeanne, not tomorrow.” ”

“ Had Petite Jeanne been there at that moment she must surely have leapt straight into her good pal’s strong arms. They had been separated for months, Jeanne had journeyed to France. Florence had been adventuring in her own land. Letters had gone astray, addresses lost, so now here they were in the same great city, but each ignorant of the other’s nearness. Would they meet? In a city of three million, one seldom meets casually anyone one knows.
But here was Florence. She had come to the airport with a definite purpose. She was, as you will recall, a playground director. ”

“ Little did Jeanne dream of the strange circumstances under which that mystic signal 48—48 would slip from her lips.
“But tell us—” Jeanne leaned forward eagerly. “Tell us of these so terrible spies. Shall they be shot at sunrise?”
“No.” Danby Force smiled. “We don’t shoot industrial spies. In fact I’m afraid it would be difficult to so much as get them put in prison. An idea, however valuable, is not easy to get hold of and prove. You may steal it, yet no one in the world can prove that you have it. ”

“ In a crowd of many thousands each individual feels very much alone. Florence felt Rosemary’s grip tighten on her shoulder as she, in turn, clutched at Willie’s coat. Danby Force alone did not lose his poise. ”

“ There is wisdom in every land that to us, who think ourselves so very wise, is hidden.
[227]
When Madame looked up at last, Hugo was gone. Darkness had closed about the place where he had been. With a heavy high, Madame gathered up her cards. Then, having thrown fresh fuel on the fire, she called softly: “Jeanne! My Petite Jeanne!”
Jeanne peered with sleepy eyes from within the tent. “Jeanne,” Madame said, “tonight I have told a fortune. Ah, such a terrible fortune! Tomorrow, my Jeanne, tomorrow and the day that is to follow, strange things will happen, very strange indeed.” ”

“ This visit of the wise men, she realized from the look on Danby Force’s serious face, was an occasion of no small importance. “A group of University professors do not charter a plane every day in the week in order that they may be conducted through a factory or mill,” she assured herself. “If I cry ‘WOLF!’—if I let them know there is an industrial spy in their midst, everything will be thrown into confusion. The charm will have been broken, the entire effect lost.
“I’ll keep an eye on this spy,” she thought, “I’ll see that nothing is taken from the mill. ”

“ Ten minutes of following this trail brought them to a long, low, broad-roofed building that, in the gathering darkness, seemed gloomy and forbidding.
“Fine place for a murder,” Danby Force whispered to Rosemary.
“Don’t say that!” She shuddered.
Stamping their feet on the broad veranda, they pushed the door open and entered. Danby Force struck a match. Directly before him, at the opposite side of the room, was a fire all laid in a broad fireplace. The young man’s second match set a mellow glow of light from the dancing flames searching out every dark corner. ”

“ And then, with a suddenness that was startling, they glided from out the storm into a gloriously moonlit world. The earth lay silent beneath them. The whole of it, groves of trees, broad farms, sleeping villages, was bathed in golden glory.
“If only we knew where we were!” Willie sighed.
“But boy! Oh boy! What do you think of my motor now? I didn’t think it would go through that.”
“You wouldn’t,” Rosemary replied drily.
Then of a sudden she fairly leaped to her feet. “It’s working!” she cried. “The radio is working! I’m getting something. ”

“ Jeanne laughed a merry laugh. “This is the most wonderful secret of all. For where there is color there is beauty. Beauty brings happiness. Life must be beautiful. So—o, my good friend—” She put forth a slender hand—“I wish you luck! May you and my good friend Florence catch those so very wicked spies and may they be shot at sunrise!
“And now,” her tone changed, “I must say adieu, for see! There is your silver ship wheeling into position. Do not be surprised if some day you see my own little dragon fly coming to light on the top of your flag pole or the landing field nearby. ”

“ Strangely enough, as she put the glass to her eyes, the little French girl found herself all atremble. “Coming events cast their shadows before them.” Scarcely had the glass been focussed upon the mysterious dancer than her hand dropped limply to her lap.
“It cannot be!” she murmured aloud. “But yes! It is she! It can be no other. There is the dark face. Even beneath her make-up one feels it. There is the torn ear. I can’t be wrong. It is the dark lady! It is the spy!”
Twenty seconds later the opera glasses were in their owner’s hands. Jeanne had vanished. ”

“ Florence was still smiling when she left the building. But the smile did not last. It is always hard, for even the strongest hearted to be in a great city alone and with no one near who will say, “You may help me do this.”
She walked slowly and quite soberly over the cinder path that led to the airport depot. Arrived there, she walked in and looked about her. There was something about the place that stirred her strangely. “Such movement! Such a wonderful feeling of abundant life!” ”

“ Arrived at the hangar she sought out a certain airplane, then called:
“Jerry! Oh Jerry! Come here!”
“At your service!” said Jerry, a bright young mechanic, grinning broadly as he extended a greasy hand.
“Thanks, Jerry.” The girl gripped his hand.
“Jerry,” she said, “have you time to look over this motor a bit?”
“Sure, Miss Sample. But what—why that plane belongs to Willie VanGeldt, the rich young bum. Why—”
“Jerry,” Rosemary smiled, “curiosity once killed a cat. Will you look it over while I go in and make my report?” ”

“ She had lived long with the gypsies, had Petite Jeanne. How could she escape believing? And, after all, who would wish to escape? Who is there in all the world that cares to say, “I know all about these things. There is no truth in them?”
Anyway, here was Madame Bihari, Danby Force, Petite Jeanne. Here were the dancing shadows. There were the cards. And there—Jeanne caught her breath. Yes, there was the man in evening dress. There was card number 19. Every card placed close to him must have a very special meaning. Leaning back into the shadows, she waited. ”

“ In the meantime the little stewardess, Rosemary Sample, had made her way back to Chicago. During the time Danby Force was having his fortune told she was thinking at intervals of him. She was in her own small room and, as one will, whose mind is not actively engaged in performing a task, she was thinking of many things. Rosemary was, by nature, romantic. Contrary to general opinion, there are few romances between pilots of the air and their lady companions. Pilots, as a rule, are married men with homes they love all the more dearly because of enforced absence from them. ”

“ She had lived in a small mid-western city where there was no mill or factory. She had lived in a great city. In each place she had found companions of her own sort. But here she was thrown at once into a community of small homes owned by people whose incomes had always been small and who looked out upon the world beyond their doors with something akin to awe. To Florence all this was strange.
Her task, that of finding the industrial spy, she believed to be an easy one. In the privacy of his inner office, she said to Danby Force, “Most of these people have lived here all their lives. ”