"Miss Strong," she answered, giving the number of the apartment house on Riverside Drive.
She recalled afterward that as she mentioned the number the man standing there had turned and looked sharply at her, but she thought nothing of it. Her father's name was well known and he had many acquaintances in the city. More than likely, she supposed, this man was some friend of her father who had recognized the name.
She lingered a few moments at some of the other counters, aimlessly inspecting their offerings, and at last, with ten minutes left to reach the Ritz, emerged from the store. She was amazed to see the man who had been inside now standing near the entrance, and something within warned her that he had been waiting to speak to her. As she attempted to pass him quickly, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path, but raising his hat deferentially.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Strong," he said, "may I have a word with you?"
Compelled to halt, she looked at him both appraisingly and resentfully. There was nothing offensive nor flirtatious in his manner, and he seemed far too respectably dressed to be a beggar. He was almost old enough to be her father, and besides there was about him an indefinable air of authority that commanded her attention. She decided that, unusual as his request appeared, she would hear what he had to say.
"What is it?" she asked, trying to assume an air of hauteur but without being able wholly to mask her curiosity.
"You are an American, aren't you?" he asked abruptly.
"Of course."
"A good American?"
"I hope so." She decided now that he must be one of the members of some Red Cross fund "drive," or perhaps an overenthusiastic salesman for government bonds. "But I don't quite understand what it is that you wish."
"I can't explain," said her questioner, "but if you really are a good American and you'd like to do your country a great service--an important service--go at once to the address on this card."
She took the slip of white pasteboard handed her. On it was written in pencil "Room 708." The building was a skyscraper down-town.
"What is it?" she asked half indignantly, "a new scheme to sell bonds?"
"No, no, Miss Strong," he cried, "it is nothing like that. It is a great opportunity to do an important service for America."
"How did you know my name?"
"I heard you give it to the clerk just now."
"And why," she inquired with what she intended to be withering sarcasm, "have I been selected so suddenly for this important work?"
"I heard the address you gave, that's why," he answered. "That's what makes it so important that you should go to that number at once. Ask for Mr. Fleck."
"I can't go," she temporized. "I am on my way now to meet my mother at the Ritz."
"Go to-morrow, then," he insisted. "I'll see Mr. Fleck meanwhile and tell him about you."
Puzzled at the man's unusual and wholly preposterous request, yet in spite of herself impressed by his evident sincerity, Jane turned the card nervously in her hand and discovered some small characters on the back; "K-15" they read.
"What do those figures mean?" she asked.
"I can't tell you that. Mr. Fleck will explain everything. Promise me you will go to see him."
"Who are you?"
"I can't tell you that, yet."
"Who, then, is Mr. Fleck?"
"He will explain that to you."
"What has my address to do with it? I can't understand yet why you make this preposterous request of me."
"I tell you I can't explain it to you, not yet," the man replied, "but it's because you live where you do you must go to see Mr. Fleck. It's about a matter of the highest importance to your government. It is more important than life and death."
His last words startled her. They brought to her mind afresh the mysterious occurrence she had witnessed the night before and the equally mysterious death near her home. Had this man's odd request any connection, she wondered, with what had happened there? The lure of the unknown, the opportunity for adventure, called to her, though prudence bade her be cautious.
"I'll ask my mother," she temporized.
"Don't," cried the man. "You must keep your visit to Mr. Fleck a secret from everybody. You mustn't breathe a word about it even to your father and mother. Take my word for it, Miss Strong, that what I am asking you to do is right. I've two daughters of my own. The thing I'm urging you to do I'd be proud and honored to have either of them do if they could. There is no one else in the world but you that can do this particular thing. A word to a single living soul and you'll end your usefulness. You must not even tell any one you have talked with me. See Mr. Fleck. He'll explain everything to you. Promise me you'll see him."
"I promise," Jane found herself saying, even against her better judgment, won over by the man's insistence.
"Good. I knew you would," said her mysterious questioner, turning on his heel and vanishing speedily as if afraid to give her an opportunity of reconsidering.
Puzzled beyond measure not only at the man's strange conduct but even more at her own compliance with his request, Jane made her way slowly and thoughtfully to the Ritz, where she found her mother and Mrs. Starrett had already arrived.
As they sipped their tea the two elder women chatted complacently about the matinée, about their acquaintances, about other women in the tea-room and the gowns they had on, about bridge hands--the usual small talk of afternoon tea.
To Jane, oppressed with her two secrets, all at once their conversation seemed the dreariest piffle. Great things were happening everywhere in the world, nations at war, men fighting and dying in the trenches of horror for the sake of an ideal, kings were being overthrown, dynasties tottering, boundaries of nations vanishing. Women, she realized, too, more than ever in history, were taking an active and important part in world affairs. In the lands of battle they were nursing the wounded, driving ambulances, helping to rehabilitate wrecked villages. In the lands where peace still reigned they were voting, speech-making, holding jobs, running offices, many of them were uniting to aid in movements for civic improvement, for better children, for the improvement of the whole human race.
And here they were--here she was, idling uselessly at the Ritz as she had done yesterday, last week, last month--forever, it seemed to her. The vague protest that for some time had been growing within her against the senselessness and futility of her manner of existence crystallized itself now into a determination no longer to submit to it. Courageously she was resolving that she would take the first opportunity to escape from this boresome routine of pleasure-seeking. She was wondering if the request that had been so unexpectedly made of her would prove to be her way out from her prison of desuetude.
The talk of the two women with her drifted aimlessly on. Seldom was she included in it, save when her mother, nodding to some one she knew, would turn to say:
"Daughter, there is Mrs. Jones-Lloyd."
What did she care about Mrs. Jones-Lloyd? What did she care about any of the people about them, aimless, pleasure-hunting drifters like themselves. Left to her own devices for mental activity her thoughts kept recurring to the surprising adventure she had had a few minutes before. Thoughtfully she pondered over the mysterious message that had been given to her. The man had said that it was a wonderful opportunity for her to do her country a great service. She wondered why he had been so secretive about it. She decided that she would investigate further and made up her mind to carry out his instructions. What harm could befall her in visiting an office building in the business district? At least it would be something to do, something new, something different, something surely exciting and, perhaps, something useful.
It would be better, she decided, for the present at least, to keep her intentions