CHAPTER VII.

ON THE TRACK OF THE ABDUCTOR.

A half hour later Miss Gray and Marion alighted before a small, third rate hotel and Miss Gray paid the cabman with a bill which seemed to be all the money she had in her purse.

Almost as if in a dream Marion followed her into the office and up the stairs to a room on the top floor.

“We’ll stay here to-night,” said Miss Gray, as she locked the door carefully, “and to-morrow you shall go to your real uncle, Miss Marlowe. Just remember that ‘The Norwood’ is on Fifth avenue; any officer will direct you if I should not be able to go with you.”

“But, dear Miss Gray—you are in trouble yourself, I am sure of it,” said Marion eagerly. “Can’t I help you in any way? Just think how much I owe you!”

“You can help me, yes, but I will not tell you how, now,” was the woman’s answer; “neither will I tell you my story. It is not fit for your ears. Some other time, when I have vindicated myself perhaps—but come—let us retire, for you are weary and sleepy.”

Marion went to bed gratefully, for she was almost worn out with excitement and fatigue. In spite of her anxiety and bewilderment she soon fell asleep and slept soundly.

When she awoke next morning the sun was shining brightly. She raised herself from the pillow only to find that Miss Gray had deserted her.

“Gone! And I am all alone!”

Marion whispered the words as she sprang out of bed. After a hasty glance about the room she was more astonished than ever.

Not only had her companion left her alone in the hotel, but she had taken every article of Marion’s homely wardrobe, leaving her own expensive garments in exchange for the poor ones.

Marion sat down in amazement to think over the situation. Suddenly she remembered her money and sprang up to look for her reticule.

She was horror struck when she found that gone also. In its place was Miss Gray’s expensive pocket-book. She opened it quickly. It contained the contents of her bag minus forty dollars. Marion looked at the lone five-dollar bill in despair.

“Well, if this doesn’t beat all!” she said aloud. Then in spite of her dismay she burst out laughing, and the result was wonderful—her courage came back to her.

“I guess I have the best of the bargain after all,” she went on as she looked at the clothing, “but it will never do for me to go to see uncle in that dress! He would be suspicious of me right away! As like as not he would think I had stolen it.”

She mused a little longer and then began to dress. It was evident that she must wear Miss Gray’s gown for awhile, at least, and at last she became curious to see how she would look in it.

“It fits as if it was made for me,” she whispered as she tripped over to the mirror. “We must be nearly the same size, for even her shoes are just my number.”

She glanced down at her little foot with a feeling of pride—it was the first time she had ever worn any shoes but “cowhides.”

When the dainty, graceful girl was fully arrayed in the stylish garments she could not help flushing with pride at her pretty reflection. A beautifully made suit of rich, blue crepon, a dainty hat, gloves, veil and tan shoes made up a far prettier costume than she had ever hoped to wear, and surely she was justified in taking the good of it, for it was no fault of hers that Miss Gray preferred homespun.

As soon as Marion was dressed she went directly to the office, hoping to learn something of her companion from the clerk behind the desk, but on her guard not to say anything that might sound as if she mistrusted her.

The man behind the desk gave her a glance of admiration, but it was plain that he saw nothing unusual in her appearance.

“She went out about daylight,” he said, in answer to her question. “She paid for the room. Do you wish to keep it any longer?”

“I hardly know yet,” answered Marion, trying not to appear green, “I’ll just have some breakfast, I think, and then I have an errand to do.”

“Oh, well, it will be here when you want it,” said the clerk good-naturedly, “and, anyway, it is yours until eleven o’clock to-night, so you’ve got all day to make up your mind. The dining-room is right in here, if you are looking for breakfast.”

Marion thanked him sweetly, and walked to a table with as much grace as a queen, although the long skirts were clumsy and made her feel a little awkward.

There were a dozen or more people just taking breakfast, and they all stared at her in such open admiration that the young girl could feel herself blushing hotly.

When she paid her bill she was glad to find a young woman at the desk. She looked pale and worn, but her face was not unkindly.

“Do you know where I could find a real cheap boarding-house, miss?” she asked timidly.

The young woman looked her over critically before she answered.

“Sure! I know dozens of ’em,” was her rather curt reply. “But, Gee! you don’t want a very cheap one, I guess! You don’t look as if you had to count your pennies!”

“But I do,” said Marion, smiling, as she comprehended the look: “and I’d be very much obliged if you could give me some addresses.”

The cashier scribbled two or three on a piece of paper. “Here, I guess these are about the thing you want,” she said, handing it to Marion.

“I’ll bet she has run away from home,” she said to a waiter, as Marion thanked her and moved away. “She looks like a rich girl all right, but it’s ten to one she’s had a scrap with her folks! She’ll get sick of it, I’m thinking, especially if she goes to boarding.”

When Marion reached the sidewalk she opened Bert’s letter and read it again. It was a Bowery lodging-house that he was stopping at when he wrote, and she decided to hunt him up and consult with him before going to her uncle.

“He may be able to advise me,” she thought, “and I need a friend now if I ever did, for I am alone in this big city with only five dollars! Oh, shall I ever be able to find my poor sister?”

As she walked slowly along the street she studied the street signs carefully, and more than once she saw both women and men half stop to stare at her.

Finally she saw a big man in a blue uniform, and knowing that he must be a policeman she went up boldly and asked him to direct her to the lodging-house.

“Is there some one there you know?” asked the officer kindly, “’cause if there isn’t you’d better keep out of that neighborhood. I can see you’re a stranger, although you don’t look like a country girl by a jug-full!”

“Well, I am nothing else,” answered Marion, smiling a little. “But I am not afraid to go to the lodging-house if you will tell me the way. I can take care of myself, I am sure, and there is a boy there that I must see, sir.”

“All right, then,” said the officer as she finished speaking. “Just walk over two blocks and take a Third avenue car. Tell the conductor to put you off at the number you’ve got. I wouldn’t try to walk there—you’re apt to get tangled.”

Marion thanked him and hurried on, her cheeks tingling with excitement. It was lovely to be in a big city at last. To be actually experiencing one of her daisy chain wishes, but the next moment she thought of Dollie, and all the pleasure vanished.

There was no car in sight so Marion walked on. She was thinking deeply of Dollie now, and was almost crying.

Suddenly a man brushed past her and leered into her face. Marion turned her head instantly and stepped up as if to glance into a nearby window. The man walked on, leaving Marion staring absently at an array of jewelry, seemingly odds and ends, which were displayed in the window with price marks attached to them.

Slowly, and almost without realizing it Marion’s gaze concentrated itself upon a pair of curious shaped earrings. They were golden brown topazes in quaint, old fashioned settings. Then with a little scream she leaned forward until her head nearly touched the pane. They were her grandmother’s topazes—she recognized them instantly.