Then she leaned back again and fussed around in her bag, ostentatiously bringing out a clean handkerchief, though she really had been detaching the pages which contained the notes from her loose-leaf note-book. There were not many of them, for she always wrote closely in small characters. But where should she hide them? Pull the lining away from the edge of her bag and slip them inside? No, for the bag would be the first place they would likely search, and she could not poke the lining back smoothly so it would not show. If she should try to drop the tiny pages down her neck inside her blouse, the men would very likely see her. Dared she try to slip the leaves down under the linen robe that lay over her lap and put them inside her shoe? She was wearing plain little black pumps, and the pages would easily go in the soles, three or four in each. Once in they would be well hidden, and they would not rattle and give notice of their presence; but oh, what a terrible risk if anything should happen to knock off her shoe, or if they should try to search her! Still she must take some risk and this was the safest risk at hand. She must try it and then write out some fake notes, giving false numbers and sizes, and other phraseology. Or stay! Wasn't there already something written in that book that would answer? Some specifications she had written down for the Tillman-Brooks Company. Yes, she was sure. It wasn't at all for the same articles, nor the same measurements, but only an expert would know that. She leaned down quite naturally to pick up her handkerchief and deftly managed to get five small leaves slipped into her right shoe. It occurred to her that she must keep her keepers deceived, so she asked once more in gracious tones: "Would it trouble you any to mail a card for me as soon as possible after we arrive? I am afraid my mother will be worried about my delay and she isn't well. I suppose they have a post office out this way." "Sure, Miss!" said the man again, with another leering smile that made her resolve to have no further conversation than was absolutely necessary. She took out her fountain pen and hurriedly wrote: "Detained longer than I expected. May not get back to-night. S. H.," and handed the card to the man. He took it and turned it over, all too evidently reading it, and put it in his pocket. Shirley felt that she had made an impression of innocence by the move which so far was good. She put away her fountain pen deliberately, and managed in so doing to manipulate the rest of the leaves of notes into her left shoe. Somehow that gave her a little confidence and she sat back and began to wonder if there was anything more she could do. Those dropped postals were worse than useless, of course. Why had she not written an appeal to whoever picked them up? Suiting the action to the thought she wrote another postal card--her stock was getting low, there were but two more left.