That's why one should struggle to lay foundations, to prepare one's self for life. For eighteen years, without education, one may be good enough.

Then, like the old museum, one is cast aside, abandoned to decay."

As these thoughts swept through her mind she resolved more strongly than before, that, come what might, she would continue her battle for a university education.

Suddenly recalling her mission, she asked the attendant to tell her where she might find Mr. Cole.

"Mr. Cole's office," said the man courteously, "is in the left wing, third floor. See those stairs at the other end of this hall?"

"Yes."

"Take those stairs. Go to the third floor. At the last landing go straight ahead. His door is the fourth to your right."

"Thank you," and Florence hurried on her way.

A moment later she was knocking at the door of the great archaeologist's studio.

"Why, it's Miss Huyler!" he exclaimed as he opened the door to her. "Come right in. What may I do for you?"

Ruthaford Cole was one of those rare men who have studied their subject so thoroughly and who have traveled so widely in search of further knowledge that they have no need to a.s.sume a false air of importance and dignity to make an impression. Under middle age, smooth-shaven, smiling, he carried the att.i.tude of a boy who has picked up a few facts here and there and who is eager to learn more.

But show him a bit of carving from the Congo and he is all smiles; "Oh!

Yes, a very nice bit of modern work. Good enough, but done to sell to traders. Possesses no historical value, you know."

A bit of ivory from the coast of Alaska, rudely scratched here and there, a hole torn out here, an end broken off there, browned with age, is presented and he answers, his face lighting up with genuine joy, "Now there is really a rare specimen. Handle of a bow-drill; made long before the white man came, I'd say. Tells stories, that does. Each crudely scratched representation of reindeer, whale, wolf or bear has its meaning."

That was the type of man Cole was. Frank and friendly to all, he gave evidence in an una.s.suming way, of a tremendous fund of knowledge.

Now, as Florence unwrapped the blue candlestick, he watched the movement of her hands with much the same look that a terrier wears when watching his master dig out a rat. Once the candlestick was in his hand, he held it as a merchant might a bit of costly and fragile china-ware.

Florence smiled as she watched him. She had hoped he would say at first glance: "Why, where did you chance to find that? It was lost from one of our cases while we were moving! We believed it stolen." Florence had had quite enough of adventure and mystery. She was convinced that holding this trophy she was sure to experience more trouble.

Mr. Cole did not do the expected thing. What he did was to turn the candlestick over and over. A look of amazement spread over his usually smiling face.

"No," he murmured, "it can't be."

Two more turns. He held it to the light. "And, yet, it does seem to be."

Stepping to a door which led to a balcony, with an absent-minded "Pardon me," he disappeared through the door, but Florence could still see him.

As he held the thing to the light, turning, turning, and turning it again, the look of amazement grew on his face.

As he re-entered the room, he exclaimed:

"It is! It most certainly is! I am astounded."

Motioning Florence to a seat he dropped into the swivel chair before his desk. For a moment he sat staring at the candlestick, then he asked:

"Would you mind telling me where you found this?"

"In the old museum."

"The old museum!"

"Yes, I thought you might have lost--"

"No, no," he interrupted, "we never possessed one of these. There is one in the Metropolitan Museum. It's the only one I ever saw save one I chanced upon on the east coast of Russia. I tried to buy it from the natives. They would not name a price. Decamped that very night; utterly disappeared. Thought we might steal it, I suppose. Suspicious.

Superst.i.tious lot.

"The question is," he said after a moment, "now you have it what are you going to do with it?"

"Why," smiled Florence, "return it to the owner if--if he can be found."

"The owner," Cole's eyes narrowed, "I fancy will not call for it. I have reason to believe that were you to advertise your find in the papers he would not venture to call for it. And yet," he said thoughtfully, "it might be worth trying."

He sat for a long time in a brown study.

"Miss Huyler," he said abruptly, "this is a strange affair. I am not at liberty, at the present moment, to tell you all I know. One thing is sure: it is not safe for you to be carrying this thing about, for in the first place it is valuable, and in--"

"Valuable? That?" exclaimed the girl.

"Quite valuable. Well worth stealing. I'd almost be tempted myself," he smiled. "But there is another reason why it is not safe. I am not at liberty to tell you. But if you will trust me with it, I will place it in one of the gem cases. Our gem room is guarded day and night. It will be safe there, and neither it nor you will be safe if you keep it. By the way," he broke off suddenly, "what is your address?"

Florence gave the address of a friend where her mail was left.

"You live there?"

"No, but no mail is delivered where I do live."

"Where can that be?" he asked in some surprise.

"In a boat," she smiled. "In a pleasure yacht. Oh, it's not afloat," as he looked at her in astonishment.

"Might I ask the name of the boat and the location?" he half apologized.

"Someone might wish to visit you. It will be proper and very important that he should. Otherwise I would not ask."

"The O Moo," answered Florence quietly. "Foot of 71st Street."

She rose to go. He grasped her hand for a second, looking as if he would like to say more, then bowed her out of the door.

As she entered the corridor, she was conscious of a strange dizziness. It was as if she had spent the better part of a night poring over an absorbing story. She had come to the museum to rid herself of the blue candlestick and the mystery attached to it. The candlestick was gone but the mystery lay before her deeper and darker than ever.

CHAPTER VIII A STRANGE GAME OF HIDE-AND-GO-SEEK

The next short chapter in the story of the mystery of the blue candlestick followed closely upon Florence's visit to the new museum.

It was on the following morning, as she and Lucile were strapping up their books preparatory to leaving the O Moo, that they heard a sudden loud rapping on the hull of the yacht.