The Chance of a Lifetime (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill

of my room and went down in the store to watch and see if he came out into the street, and just as I got in the store he went by the window. I saw he was limping, and he had no hat on. He went very slowly, watching the street each way, and finally crossed the street and went into Mrs. Brower’s boardinghouse. He had a latchkey, and he seemed a long time getting the door open, and very nervous looking each way, and once he dropped the key. I heard it ring on the door stone.”

      “Was there any light at Mrs. Brower’s?” asked Bob quickly.

      “No, not for a long time,” answered Lancey. “I watched. But just when I thought there was no use watching anymore, there came a light in the third-story back room. It has a side window that looks down on the road to their garage, and a hand pulled down the shade, quick. I could only see a hand and an arm. And then I wondered what I ought to do. I felt somebody ought to know but wasn’t sure who. So I’ve slipped out here every time I could get away to see if some of them would come back, so I could tell them without being noticed. I knew my aunt would be furious if her name got tangled up in it. And I wasn’t at all sure I ought to let it get known anyway, only to the people to whom it mattered. After the light went out, I was so cold that I went back to my room, but I couldn’t sleep all night. Do you think it is important? Do you think I should tell the police?”

      “You poor kid!” said Bob, his voice full of tenderness. “Don’t worry anymore about it. Sure I think it’s important, but you needn’t do anything about it. I’ll tell MacFarland, and then if he wants to know more he can ask you. I’ll tell him to keep your name out of it, see? He’ll understand. He’s a prince.”

      “Oh, thank you!” said Lancey with a sigh of relief. “I was afraid my aunt would have to know about it, and she isn’t—well—it’s not easy to make her understand. She would have thought I ought not to have been watching. She would have thought I was to blame somehow.”

      “You poor kid!” said Bob again, his voice bringing the rosy color into her cheeks. “Leave it to me. I’ll try to get another chance to speak to you about it without calling the attention of the town. Could I call you up?”

      “Oh no,” said Lancey, shrinking. “My aunt would be sure to answer, or question, and be most unpleasant.”

      “All right. You just trust me. I’ll get word to you somehow. Write you a note or something. Don’t you worry. If anybody questions you, I’ll see they do it most discreetly. Thanks for giving me the dope. You sure are some detective, kid. There comes Mac’s car. See you later, if I can. So long!”

      He was going up the alley and appeared quite casually beside the car as Alan drew up at the drugstore. And the girl stood in the back garden among the hollyhocks; her bright hair blowing in little rings around her sweet face, watching the boy depart, and hearing over again his comforting voice, “Leave it to me, kid.”

      Then suddenly, into the sunshine, burst a sharp voice. “Lancey Kennedy. What on earth are you doing mooning out there in the garden at this hour? The coffeepot has boiled over and the toast has burned to a crisp. I declare! The Kennedy comes out stronger every day. Whatever do you think you’re worth in life, anyway?”

      “You sure are some detective, kid,” Bob Lincoln’s voice rang softly in her heart as she turned in dismay to go into the house.

      “And he thought it would be important, too,” she told herself as she entered the kitchen and came under the dark purple frown of her relative.