In the meantime a passing stranger, who had witnessed from a distance Florence’s struggle with the two men before the theatre door, and had arrived on the scene too late to be of any assistance, had rushed into the theatre lobby to spread the alarm.

There he fell into the arms of Solomon. His tale was quickly told, and at once three greatly excited persons ran into the street. They were Solomon, Angelo and Dan Baker.

Sprinting along in the direction indicated by the stranger, Angelo plunged boldly into the dark shadows by the bridge.

There was no one there. But by good chance he came upon Florence’s Boston bag lying on the ground.
267

The exclamation of joy that escaped his lips at sight of it died suddenly. As he lifted it from the earth he found it almost as light as air.

“Gone!” he exclaimed. “The Fire God is gone!”

“What could you expect?” Solomon grumbled. “They were after it. Why should they leave it?

“See!” he added after one look at the bag. “They ripped it open.”

As he turned to retrace his steps he stumbled over a hard object.

“A brick,” he mumbled after casting the light of a pocket torch upon it. “Only a brick.”

“But how strange!” There was surprise in Angelo’s voice. “The thing is dry. And it rained only two hours ago. And see! There are two of them.”

“Those men threw them there,” was Solomon’s pronouncement. “Probably meant to brain some one if necessary.”

He could not have guessed how wrong he was.
268

Since no further trace of the missing girl and her precious burden could be found there was nothing for them but to return. This they did. Then they discovered that Petite Jeanne, too, was missing.

The police were notified at once. An alarm was broadcast over the police radio network. After that there seemed nothing to do but wait.

* * * * * * * *

Florence was a girl of strength and courage. Not without reward had she spent hours in the gymnasium. Swinging from ring to ring in mid-air, twisting through ladder and trapeze, torturing the medicine-ball, she had developed muscular strength far beyond her years.

There was need of grip and grit now, as she clung, with the mysterious pursuers above her, and with water, perhaps fathoms of it, beneath her, to the side of that abandoned scow.

Footsteps approached. Grumbles and curses sounded in her ears. Trembling, she held her breath. Her fingers, she knew, were in the shadows. Flattened as her body was against the dark side of the scow, she hoped she might not be seen if anyone looked for her there.
269

To her great relief they did not look but went grumbling away toward some fish shanties a block away.

“Do they live there?” she asked herself. “I wonder.”

Moments passed. Her courage and her grip weakened.

“What’s the use?” she murmured at last. “I can swim. Swimming is better than this, even in a city dump scow.”

Relaxing her hold, she dropped with a low splash into some ten inches of black, muddy water.

“So far, so good,” she philosophized. “But now?”

Groping about in the muddy water she retrieved her paper-wrapped package and tucked it under her arm.

Her next task was a survey of her temporary prison. She was in no great danger, but the water was frightfully cold.

“Must............