<h2 id="c2"><span class="small">CHAPTER II</span> <br/>THE VANISHING BAG</h2>
<p>“My bag! It is gone! My traveling bag!
It has been stolen!” The young stewardess
knew on the instant that the dark-faced
lady was the one who was screaming. That
the bag was truly missing she did not doubt.</p>
<p>“Well, it’s happened,” she thought to herself
as she tumbled from her bunk.</p>
<p>What she said to the dark-faced lady was
done in a more official manner:</p>
<p>“I’m sure it can’t be far away. Someone has
moved it by mistake. We’ll dress, then we will
have a look.” Her tone was calm enough,
though her heart was not.</p>
<p>They did dress and they did have a look—several
looks, but all to no avail.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_35">[35]</div>
<p>To Rosemary this was distressing. The
whole affair had gone off so extremely well
until now. Of course no one had wished to be
delayed on the journey, but the evening in the
lodge had been a delightful one. She had
planned waffles with real maple syrup and coffee
for breakfast. And now came this. It was
disheartening.</p>
<p>Here in the gloom of early morning was the
dark-faced woman claiming that her traveling
bag had been taken. And who, in the end,
could doubt it? It surely was not to be seen
in the bunk room. Everything was turned over
there except the dark one’s bunk which had
been made up. And of course in a bunk flat as
a pancake one does not look for a sizable traveling
bag stuffed with all manner of things.</p>
<p>It was not in the large outer room either.
When they went outside to see if some person
might have crept in and taken it, or, as the
dark-faced one insisted, “crept out to hide it”
there was the clean white snow with never a
track save the half-buried one of Mark Morris
coming to report on the progress of the storm
some hours before.</p>
<p>“It’s the strangest thing!” said Rosemary,
for once finding herself quite out of bounds.
“It can’t have gotten away. It just can’t!”</p>
<p>“I insist that every person in the place be
searched!” the dark woman demanded.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_36">[36]</div>
<p>“What! Search our pockets for a traveling
bag?” A rotund drummer roared with laughter.</p>
<p>“Not for the bag, but for the valuable papers
I carried. The bag, more than likely, has
been burned in the fireplace.”</p>
<p>“Absurd!” exclaimed one of the middle-aged
ladies. “Leather creates a terrible odor when
burned.”</p>
<p>“Who said it was leather?” snapped the inquisitor.
“It was, I believe, fiber.”</p>
<p>In the end, for the good of her company’s
reputation, Rosemary persuaded them to submit
to a search of a sort. The men emptied
their pockets, then turned them inside out. The
dark-faced woman went over the other women
with hands that suggested they might have
been used for that same purpose often, so deft,
precise and cat-like were her motions.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_37">[37]</div>
<p>It was while the men were going through
their part of the performance that the young
stewardess noticed a curious thing. The woman
watched them all with what appeared to be
slight interest until it came the turn of Danby
Force who had paid so high a price for his reservation
on this plane. Then it seemed to the
girl that veritable sparks of fire shot from the
black eyes of the woman. That she took in
every detail was evident. That a look of grim
satisfaction, seeming to say, “Ah ha! It is as I
thought!” settled on the woman’s face at that
moment, the girl could not for a moment
doubt.</p>
<p>“But why?” she asked herself. “Why?”</p>
<p>To this question she could form no sensible
answer for, as in all other cases, the woman
said in a low tone: “None of these are mine.”</p>
<p>Just then the airplane pilot came in to tell
them that the storm was at an end and they
might resume their journey. In the rush of
preparation, the hurried brewing of coffee, the
hasty eating of a rather meager breakfast, the
dark-faced woman and her vanished traveling
bag were pretty much forgotten.</p>
<p>When at last the travelers were on their
way, walking single-file up the steep incline,
Rosemary found herself standing quite unexpectedly
beside the strange young man, Danby
Force.</p>
<p>“Wonderful place, this lodge!” he was saying.
“Wouldn’t mind coming up here for a
week sometime.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_38">[38]</div>
<p>“Nor I!” Rosemary spoke with unfeigned
enthusiasm. And who would not? They were
standing on a broad ledge. Above them, seeming
to melt into the fleecy clouds, was the
mountain’s snowy peak. Below, a sheer drop
of a thousand feet, was a very narrow valley
all covered with the dark green of pine, spruce,
cedar and tamarack. The air was rich with
the fragrance of the forest.</p>
<p>“One of the high officials in our company is
a member,” Rosemary said, nodding back at
the lodge. “That’s why we are free to use it.”</p>
<p>“I fancy I shall be coming back.” The young
man spoke slowly. He looked her squarely in
the eyes. Then turning, he followed swiftly
after the others.</p>
<p>“What did he mean by that?” Rosemary
asked herself. A strange thought leaped unbidden
into her mind. “Supposing the young
man took the missing bag and hid it somewhere
about the place?</p>
<p>“Nonsense!” she whispered. “Where could
he have hidden it? No one had been outside,
absolutely no one. And if he did take it, surely
he would not tell me he hoped to return.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_39">[39]</div>
<p>Then a strange fact struck her—the look on
this young man’s face had changed. When she
first saw him he had the appearance of one
who had gone through much, who was still
haunted by the thought of some great loss.
Now his face was as bland and cheerful as an
early spring morning.</p>
<p>“What am I to make of that?” she asked
herself.</p>
<p>The answer in the end appeared simple
enough, “One good night’s sleep.” This, she
knew full well, was capable of working wonders
on a young and buoyant spirit.</p>
<p>It is strange the manner in which a single
incident may change the whole course of
thought for an entire group. As they resumed
their journey to Salt Lake City, no one in the
plane discussed economic conditions or child
welfare. No one read. No one wrote or figured.
When they spoke it was in low tones just
above the roar of the motors. And Rosemary,
though she heard never a word, knew they
talked of the dark-faced woman and her missing
bag. “And those who do not talk are thinking
of it,” she told herself. “And it <i>is</i> strange!
What can have become of that bag?”</p>
<p>As if reading her thoughts, Danby Force
leaned across the aisle to say in a low distinct
tone: “I fancy Santa Claus must have come
down that broad chimney and carried it off.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_40">[40]</div>
<p>Those were the only words spoken to her
until they were nearing their destination. Then
that strange young man leaned over once more
to say:</p>
<p>“Curious sort of job you’ve got here! Necessary
enough, though. And you fit in very
well, I can see that. I am no end grateful for
what you did back there in Chicago. You
saved the situation for me, you surely did!
Hope I may travel with you often. This is my
first trip by air, but not the last—you may be
assured of that. I enjoy being carried along by
this—this invisible power.” He chuckled.
“And I—I like the company, if you don’t mind
my saying it.”</p>
<p>“Not in the least. I’ve enjoyed knowing
you.” Rosemary was vexed at herself for saying
so trite a thing. Truth was, her mind was
still filled with that missing bag. That the
dark-faced woman would report the loss to the
office and that there would be no end of fuss
about it, she did not doubt.</p>
<p>“I—I’d like to know you better,” she added
as a kind of after-thought, as she favored Danby
Force with a smile.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_41">[41]</div>
<p>“You will,” he prophesied, “Oh yes, I am
sure you will.”</p>
<p>“And if I don’t,” she told herself a moment
later, “I shan’t know much except that he says
his name is Danby Force and that he fancies,
at least, that he can be of service to a few thousand
people. Well—” she sighed, “that’s really
something, if it’s not pure fancy.”</p>
<p>The landing field at Salt Lake City seemed
hot after their rapid gliding down from the
lands of perpetual snow. In spite of this, Rosemary
Sample breathed a sigh of relief. Her
journey was over. From this point the party
would break up. She would rest for a few
hours, then go soaring back to home base
where she was to have two whole days to herself.</p>
<p>“Guess we’d better stick around for a bit,”
suggested the pilot. “That woman will be putting
in a complaint. We’ll have to tell what
we know.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_42">[42]</div>
<p>“For that matter, though,” he added, “I
can’t see that we have much responsibility in
the matter. She refused to leave the bag locked
in the plane where it would have been safe.
Took the matter in her own hands. The bag
was in her possession when it disappeared.
So—o!” He smiled. “That about lets us out.
We—</p>
<p>“Look there!” he exclaimed suddenly.
“Even the gypsies are taking to the air.”</p>
<p>At that moment a stout dark-faced woman,
wearing the typical gypsy garb, broad, bright-colored
skirt and dazzling silk scarf tied about
her head, was alighting from a small cabin-type
monoplane. The plane was like a huge
dragon fly. It had a bottle-green body and silver
wings that glistened like glass in the sun.</p>
<p>The stout, dark woman was followed by a
girl of some eight years. And after her, in a
pilot’s garb, came a golden-haired girl who did
not look a day over eighteen.</p>
<p>“It’s strange!” Rosemary’s tone expressed
her surprise. “I saw those same people in Chicago,
just before we took off. And now, here
they are right with us.”</p>
<p>“Not so strange,” replied the pilot. “That
giant bug of hers may be quite speedy. They
probably took off later than we did and just in
time to miss the storm.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_43">[43]</div>
<p>“But look!” he exclaimed, “If that sort of
thing is allowed to go on, what is to come of
this bright new thing we call aviation? There’ll
be a crack-up every day in the week. The papers
will be full of them and no one will dare
to travel by air. And all that because of rank
amateurs and lax regulations. I’m starting an
investigation right now.”</p>
<p>“Nice plane you have,” he said to the golden-haired
girl.</p>
<p>“Oh yes, but perhaps a little too small.” The
girl spoke with a pleasing foreign accent.</p>
<p>“You’re not a gypsy?” The veteran pilot
smiled in spite of himself.</p>
<p>“But no.” The girl smiled back. “Not entirely.
I am French. People call me Petite
Jeanne. I was adopted by gypsies in France.
Oh so good, Christian gypsies! This lady is
Mrs. Bihari, my foster mother.”</p>
<p>“I suppose,” said Mark with a laugh, “that
you traded a flivver for an automobile, the auto
for a better one, the better one for a poor airplane,
the poor plane for a good one?”</p>
<p>“But no!” The golden-haired girl frowned.
“A year ago my own people were found in
France. I had inherited property. This is my
very own plane. And see!” She held out a
paper. “This is my license to fly.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_44">[44]</div>
<p>“Mind if I take your ship up for a little
spin?” Mark said bluntly.</p>
<p>“But no.” The girl spoke slowly. “That is,
if I may go, and if she will go with us.” She
nodded her head toward Rosemary.</p>
<p>Rosemary had little desire to fly in a small
plane. She had always traveled in the magnificent
big bi-motored transportation planes
which, she believed, were safe as walking. She
had it on the tip of her tongue to refuse, when
the girl cast her an appealing look that she
could not well disregard.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she said, “yes, surely I will go.”</p>
<p>Three minutes later they were in the air. Ten
minutes later, with a sigh of relief Rosemary
found her feet once more on the solid earth.</p>
<p>“You’d be surprised!” Mark whispered enthusiastically.
“Never saw a better equipped
plane, nor one in finer condition. That motor
is a joy! The radio is perfect. Everything, just
everything. If all the amateurs were as careful
this world of the air would be one great big
joy.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful little plane!” he exclaimed,
gripping the little French girl’s hand. “And
how wonderfully cared for!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_45">[45]</div>
<p>“But why not?” The girl showed all her
white teeth in a smile. “We gypsy people have
a saying, ‘Life is God’s most beautiful gift to
man.’ This is true, I am sure. Then why
should anyone do less than the very best that
he might keep that gift?”</p>
<p>“Why indeed? And thanks for the good
word.”</p>
<p>“Do you travel much?” It was a new voice
that asked this question. The rather mysterious
Danby Force had come up unobserved.</p>
<p>“Oh yes! We are gypsies. All gypsies travel
much,” was the girl’s reply.</p>
<p>“Where will you go next?”</p>
<p>“Over the mountains to Cheyenne.”</p>
<p>“Ah, then you will be going part way back
the way we came,” Danby Force said. There
was an eager note in his voice. “I wonder if it
would be possible for you to take a passenger
and to pause for a brief time at a safe landing
field?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_46">[46]</div>
<p>Rosemary started. So Danby Force meant
to return. He was going back to the lodge.
Had he, after all, taken the dark-faced lady’s
bag? Had he hidden it there? Would he return
and carry it away? If so, why? Why?
Such were the questions that crowded her
mind. And she did not like them. She <i>did</i> like
Danby Force. She wanted to believe that he
was incapable of doing a thing dishonest or
dishonorable. She had not forgotten his delightful
words about God’s invisible power in
our lives.</p>
<p>But the little French girl was speaking. “If
it will help someone,” she was saying. “We
will take you over the mountains and stop at
this safe place you speak of.”</p>
<p>“It will help—help a great deal, I assure
you!” Danby Force exclaimed. “It may help
three thousand people.”</p>
<p>“There it is again,” Rosemary thought. “Always
speaking of thousands.”</p>
<p>“We might as well get over to the airport,”
Mark, the pilot, suggested to Rosemary. “The
dark lady has had ample time to lodge her complaint.”</p>
<p>They went, but much to their surprise found
that no complaint had been filed. What was
more, the dark lady had vanished. No one
about the place could tell them how she had
gone, nor where.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_47">[47]</div>
<p>“It’s the strangest business I ever had anything
to do with!” Mark grumbled. “Loses her
bag, valuable papers and all, and still no complaint.
But believe me!” he exclaimed, “we’ve
not heard the last of this!” Nor had they.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_48">[48]</div>
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