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Then she gathered up her work, wrapped the whole in the same sheet of tissue-paper in which the several pieces had been packed, and, adjusting her hat and cloak, started for Rosenthal's. Mangan, who was in charge of the department, had been waiting for her in a small room off the repair shop, and as he caught sight of her frail figure making her way toward him, rose to greet her.
Not here at the desk, but to Rosenthal's man who made the charge that is, she didn't deny it. The stuff was worth $250. That's a felony, you know." Kitty saw Felix sway for an instant, and was about to put out a protecting hand when he turned again to the lieutenant.
Two drunks come in with the first batch, and a couple of crooks who had been working the 'elevated'; and a woman, a shoplifter. Got away with a piece of lace a mantilla, they called it, whatever that is. She's just gone down to wait for the four o'clock delivery. It's a case of grand larceny. They say the lace is worth $250. Wasn't that about it?" Rosenthal's man bobbed his head.
"She's going with the whole bunch," Mrs. "I can't stand them, but she can!" "I think Mark Rosenthal's a darling," some girl said, "I want to tell you right now there's not anybody can play the piano as good as he can." "That's right," Julia said, very low. "Well, excuse me from the bunch!" Mrs. "But we've got a real pretty little blush, just the same!" Mrs. Tarbury said, smiling at Julia.
You've got a lot of common sense, and you're some different from the women who handle our stuff. I've seen that, and that's why I've trusted you. Now, think of me a little. That mantilla don't belong to Rosenthal's. It belongs to a big customer who lives up near the Park, and who left it here on condition we had it mended on time.
Stanton got all balled up this morning, and couldn't say what she did with it. They all do that we get half a dozen of 'em every week. She's pawned it all right what I want to know is WHERE. Rosenthal's in a hole if we don't get it. If you've spent the money, I've got a roll right here." And he tapped his pocket. "No questions asked, remember!
Everybody is inquiring for you down at the house, and I promised them you would be back to-night, and you will. You were a fool to leave. It's a lot better than this. From what I heard last night, from one of Rosenthal's girls, I thought you had moved into something palatial." She had reached the bedroom door now, and her hand was on the knob.
Munger, if that's who you are looking for, and we live together. She's not back yet, so the woman down-stairs has just told me. Are you from Rosenthal's?" "I am." He had edged nearer, his fingers within reach of the knob, his lids narrowing as he studied her face and movements. "Did they find the lace the mantilla?" "Not as I heard," he answered, noting her anxiety. "That's what brought me down.
The group in front of the captain's desk disintegrated. The woman, still silent, was led away to the cell. Rosenthal's clerk, who had made the charge for the firm, had come round to the captain's side of the desk to sign some papers. Pickert and the officer had already disappeared through the street-door. At this juncture the priest entered.
"That's Rosenthal of the 2nd Hussars from Bangalore. Son of old Rosenthal the South African multi-millionaire. A Sheeny, of course." "Who's the woman he's dancing with?" asked the Gunner. "Jolly good-looking she is." "That's Mrs. Norton, wife of a Political somewhere in the Presidency. Rosenthal's always in her pocket since he met her at Mahableshwar."
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