"What's the dope?" the voice of Francine Florette finally inquired.
"I want you to take care of these," the other woman explained. "It's not safe for me to keep them any longer. And you would never be suspected of having them!"
"But once more, lady, what's the dope?"
"It's the eight plates that we must keep, whatever happens. They've been taken off the blocks and wrapped in strips of one of my silk underskirts. That is so they can't mar or scratch. Then I've sewn them up in this piece of chamois. That makes them into a small parcel."
The other girl whistled.
"You're not goin' to hand that hardware over to me?" she demanded.
"I've got to hand it to somebody, until things clear up!"
"But what can I do with it?"
"Simply keep it where it's safe until I come for it, or send for it."
"But s'posin' that ol' guy got gerry to me bein' mixed up with a bunch o' paper-pushers? It'd queer me for life. He thinks I'm only ten months out of a private school!"
"It won't be the plates that will enlighten him!"
"But s'posin' they shadow me?"
"Nobody saw you come here, and nobody need see you go away. It's not the first time you've taken care of them. And they are more important than your Saginaw millionaire."
