The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

  Smaller boats also gathered around the yacht, but it reached the dock, though boarded at once. It attempted no useless defense, for it was immediately seen that a concerted plan on the part of the government forces made them too strong for the smugglers.

  How Mr. Ives got away, no one knew. He was not seen upon the rocks, but someone saw him take off his coat and leap into the water, though it was thought at the time that he was at once picked up by one of the boats. The approaches to the house were all guarded, it was supposed, but a secret entrance from the cliff, which the girls had not discovered, admitted Mr. Ives to a rocky chamber behind his office.

  Peggy, sitting in the drawing room with her mother, heard the door to the library and office open behind her. Mr. Ives, a wild figure, appeared. Water was dripping from him. He was drawing on a dry coat as he entered and stuffing its pockets with money from his safe.

  “Get the car quickly, Kit! They’re after me! Call Timmons! Peggy, run up and get my overcoat and all the clothes that you can lay your hands on!”

  Mrs. Ives in her pretty evening dress ran outside, followed by her husband, while Peggy instinctively started after the overcoat and clothes. But she met Timmons on the stairs, a hurrying Timmons, dressed for departure, carrying her step-father’s top-coat and two suit-cases. Her assistance was not necessary. Timmons must have seen the capture at which Peggy guessed. She stood aside to let him pass, but followed rapidly herself.

  At the foot of the stairs Peggy and Madame Kravetz nearly collided. The governess was rushing out from the dining room with what appeared to be a sack of food, a brown paper sack carried by the particular, elegant Kravetz! She picked up a suitcase in the hall and dashed out of the front door.

  Peggy heard the sound of the car and immediately thought of her mother, outside in the chill air with only that thin dress to protect her. Perhaps her husband would make her go with him! Luckily Peggy had wrapped herself in her mother’s coat when she had gone with Jack to look for the yacht. There lay the pretty silk-lined evening wrap with its warm fur collar. Peggy snatched it up from the hall seat and rushed out as wildly as any of the fleeing conspirators had done. It was only a moment after Madame Kravetz had passed her, before Peggy was at the side of the car with her mother’s wrap.

  She tossed it in, hearing Mr. Ives say, “Very well, ride a short distance with us, Kitty. You have been a good wife—” But the car started to speed, Peggy knew, over the terrible roads till they reached the good highway and what hiding place Peggy could not imagine. But while she stood there, watching the darkness into which the car had taken her mother and scarcely seeing the stupefied maids that gathered around her, Mr. Tudor, breathless and much chagrined over the escape of Mr. Ives, came hurrying around the house from the dock. Unfortunately for plans, guards around the house had all rushed to prevent escape at the yacht.

  “Where is your mother, Miss Peggy?” he asked. “Is your father inside? It will be better for him quietly to surrender.”

  “Don’t ask me anything, please,” said Peggy, suddenly feeling utterly alone. But her maid, the beloved “Pugsy,” who had avoided being sent away after all, came with alarmed face from the house just then and went to Peggy, who collapsed upon her shoulder in a storm of sobs.

  “I am very sorry, Miss Peggy—believe me, I am,” Mr. Tudor stopped to say, though he had one eye on two officers who were entering the house.

  “I know it,” sobbed Peggy, “but do go away now, and find out things for yourself!”

  Jack, who had been down at the yacht, joined the maid in soothing Peggy and between them they persuaded her to go to bed, promising to let her know when her mother came back.

  Mrs. Ives was one of the women who believe that vows for better or worse should be kept. Had her husband desired her to accompany him, she would have done so, though it took her into danger and unhappiness. His wet hands drew the cloak around her, as he outlined briefly what had happened. Amazed, in spite of previous suspicions, she listened, while the ear jolted them from side to side. They were all in great suspense. It was a terrific dash for freedom, but at last they reached a good highway where they went on for some miles, turning off finally upon one short, bad stretch to a small village. There Mr. Ives said that he had kept horses for some time, using them in “his business” as he needed them.

  “Go back with the car,” he directed, “stopping somewhere for something to eat, if any place is open. We shall be aboard a ship after a short ride with the horses. I will get word to you, from abroad, probably, in some way. I have plenty of money now.”

  Mrs. Ives knew that scouting parties would be out in every direction as soon as it was known from the servants how Mr. Ives made his escape. Accordingly, she quickly took the car to the main highway and drove slowly homeward, faint and worn, and in no mood for questions. But unlike tempestuous Peggy, she responded courteously when she was stopped. Yes, she had accompanied Mr. Ives part way. They could scarcely expect her to help them, could they? She knew very well that trains would be examined, the woods searched and the coast followed. As it was, her husband was foolishly expectant of escape, she thought.

  But Mr. Ives was clever enough to elude them, it happened. The Count had been taken, on the yacht. He was the real organizer of the ring. Bill Ritter, trying to escape, had been arrested and through Tom Carey’s information, all his chief assistants in this work were gathered in. The village was in a turmoil, for some of the people there were due to be deported. Through Evan Tudor, however, the work of investigation was carried on in a way as little distressing to these poor victims of others’ greed as was possible. Tom Carey set to work to organize again the fishing industry, filling orders and carrying on the shipping.

  Through Jack, Mrs. Ives sent for Mr. Tudor, who was still in his camp, in the intervals of these affairs in which he was concerned. He came to Steeple Rocks rather uncertain of his reception, but Mrs. Ives, sober and depressed, made no reference to his part in the disclosures.

  “I have heard of you from Peggy, Mr. Tudor,” she said, “and I want to consult you as representing the government interests. Your report will probably be accepted, will it not?”

  Mr. Tudor, relieved, bowed. “Yes, Mrs. Ives.”

  “I want it understood that whatever in the way of restitution is to be done, I will do. I am sorry that I could do nothing for those poor foreigners that were hurried right away. Whether Mr. Ives is ever found or not, I should prefer to have everything made clear and to be free from obligation. So I have made out a list of our property, not including, of course, the small estate which is Peggy’s from her own father. My husband told me that the liquor in the cave was Bill Ritter’s, though I suppose that my husband was partly responsible for letting it be housed upon our property.

  “I want to show you the safe and what I found in it, some bonds, cash and important papers. Now will you act for me?”

  “I will be glad to do so, though I am not a lawyer.”

  “You will be more a witness, I should think. I am dismissing most of the servants; indeed, some of them left because they were afraid of being arrested as aliens. Steeple Rocks will be for sale. I have not found any smuggled jewels, and I scarcely think that my husband ever was concerned in that.”

  “The whole place was thoroughly searched, Mrs. Ives, before your return. After the steamer took charge of the aliens, the force searched yacht and house at once.”

  Mrs. Ives sadly shook her head. “It is a tragedy to me, but if only the shadow does not rest on Peggy, I can bear it.”

  “Nothing of all this attaches to you, Mrs. Ives, and I have seen to it that a very general account so far has been published by the papers. My friend and I so promptly sent in our reports that they are the ones given. I will send you some of the papers.”

  “Thank you. It is a relief to know that all the details are not spread broadcast.”

  Following this conference with Mr. Tudor, Mrs. Ives and Peggy quietly went about Steeple Rocks making ready to close it early, for
Mrs. Ives felt that she must get away from the place. Peggy, on the other hand, wanted to stay and asked her mother if she might not stay at the Eyrie.

  “Will they want you after this?”

  “I don’t see why not. I belong to the ‘trium-feminate’, you know. Sarita likes me for taking an interest in birds, and Dalton saved my life. I know that he likes me. Leslie is just like Dalton and Elizabeth is always sweet to me. Dal would like to stay all winter and keep Beth from teaching. Why, Mother, why couldn’t she tutor me? They might like a boarder that would pay and work, too, and it wouldn’t be as expensive for you, I’m sure. Think of traveling expenses and boarding, especially if we have to give nearly everything we have to the government!”

  Mrs. Ives smiled. “It is not quite as bad as that, Peggy, but we shall see.”

  “I’m going right over now!” declared Peggy.

  This is how it came about that after a quiet summer, without the expected visit from the Lyon-Marsh party, but with cruises and hikes and picnics, Peggy Ives was still with the Secrests. She was called by her own name, Peggy or Marguerite Nave, though the girls occasionally called her Angelina for fun and Dal said that he was “always sure an angel descended when she leaped out of the air into the blackberry bushes.”

  Beth had consented to tutor Peggy and take care of her as long as it seemed best for her to stay at the Eyrie, “and that may be all winter,” Peggy confided to Dalton, who nodded assent.

  Jack tried in vain to persuade Dalton to go to college with him, but Dalton could not be persuaded. “No, Jack,” he said at their final talk. “You go to college, and Leslie and I may both come year after next. But I want to finish this home, and keep Beth out of school this year if possible. The way it looks now, she never will go back. It will be nip and tuck between Jim Lyon and this Evan Tudor, I think, though Jim seems to be losing out at present. I think that Beth is the heroine in that best seller that Mr. Tudor is always joking about.”

  Jack nodded. “All right, Dal. I don’t blame you for wanting to fix up this place. And if you bring Leslie to my college year after next—it will be worth waiting for.”

  By fall the quaint new home was ready for cold weather. Plans had grown, with their interest, till now it included the living room with its big fireplace, two bedrooms and a tiny kitchen, though that would not be used much when it grew cold. Dalton was full of plans for plumbing and electricity and a still larger house, but Beth, while she never threw cold water on the projects, was quite content to regard this as a happy interlude and a summer home. There were more school days for Dalton and Leslie, and as for her—she had just received a letter from Mrs. Ives which informed her that the father of Evan Tudor wanted to buy Steeple Rocks! Simply, too, Mrs. Ives wrote that she was now a widow and that the long strain of anxiety about her husband’s always impending capture was over.

  On Christmas Eve, Peggy and Dalton were decorating the large room with spruce boughs and some holly wreaths and mistletoe sent by Mrs. Ives. The most perfect little Christmas tree that the Secrest woods could furnish stood in front of the window, ready to be lit up for the world to see, though that world might consist only of a few village children in whose welfare Beth and the rest were interested.

  Leslie sat in front of the fireplace stringing the last bit of corn out of the popper for festoons upon the tree. Beth was finishing little net stockings for nuts and candy. “We must stop for some supper, children,” she was saying.

  “Oh, never mind about supper; there’s too much to do.” Peggy gave Dalton a mischievous glance as she spoke.

  “Never,” he promptly replied. “Didn’t I bring home the bacon myself?”

  “Yes, you did,” answered Leslie, emptying the corn popper and rising from the floor. “I’ll cook that rabbit myself. I can watch it while we finish up. What more is there to do, Beth?”

  “Not so much. Anita’s doll has to have a sash, Sonia’s a cap and Josef’s drum needs hanging on the tree. If you will get the supper, I will finish, Leslie. The baskets of food for them need a little more arranging. Peggy and Dal may drape the popcorn on the tree, if they will.”

  Something was already bubbling in an old-fashioned iron pot in the fireplace; but it was the same old reliable and speedy “portable” which Leslie used to cook the rabbit. Behind a tall screen in one corner of the room stood a table, the stove and a cupboard, but primitive ways of cooking in the fireplace, were fun when “used in moderation,” as Peggy put it.

  Soon the savory supper was over and everything cleared away. Peggy and Leslie lit the candles on the trees, for they knew that eager feet were trampling the light snow in the path from the village. Childish voices were heard outside before long and then there came a pause. Leslie was about to fling open the door, but Beth signaled to her to wait. It was Anita whose clear voice led the Christmas carol which Beth had taught them, but the children were almost too excited to finish it properly for the lights of the tree shone out over the snow to invite them within.

  “I couldn’t make ’em sing it vera good,” said Anita, as Beth drew her inside with the rest of the children and several mothers, one of whom Beth had first met that day on the beach when someone else important entered Beth’s life to stay.

  “It was beautiful,” Beth answered lovingly. “Now we’ll all sing together while you warm your toes and fingers by the fire. Leslie, get your guitar, please, and Peggy, you may lead us if you will. We shall have Sarita to sing with us after Christmas. After we sing about the little Christ-Child, we shall see what Santa can find for us on that tree!”

  Obediently the children sang and how they shouted when Dalton, who had disappeared during the singing, appeared as Santa Claus with a rosy-cheeked, white-bearded Santa Claus mask. There was no delay in presenting the gifts, in providing which some absent friends had a share.

  It was much later, after the guests had gone, that Beth sat alone by the fire. Dalton, Leslie and Peggy had taken their skates to the lake. Beth felt a little lonely and was not in a mood to read. She was thinking of someone whom Tom Carey had promised to take in whenever he could get away for a trip to Maine. She was still thrilled over his last letter and she wondered if he had yet received her reply. The flames curled lazily around the last log that Dalton had put on before he left.

  Unexpectedly, but appropriately to her thought, there came a little rap that Beth knew. “Oh—why—” she said, as she opened the door quickly to a traveler in a big fur coat.

  “I couldn’t help it, Beth,” said Evan Tudor, closing the door upon icy breezes, tossing off his thick gloves and taking both her hands. “Beth, dear, I have sold the ‘best seller’! It has just been accepted and I had to come on to make sure that I am, too. It’s Christmas Eve, Beth!”

  “I didn’t make any conditions, did I, Evan, in my letter? I’m glad about the ‘best seller’—and—you needn’t worry about the rest. Oh, how wonderful to have you for Christmas!”