The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  Sim was almost asleep, while Arden and Terry were blissfully drowsy. They were turning a golden tan, most becoming to all save Terry, who, as she herself declared, was “raising a fine crop of freckles.”

  Arden rolled over on her back and then sat bolt upright in surprise. Far out of the corner of her eye she could see Dimitri Uzlov in bathing togs coming toward them.

  “Wake up, kids,” she hissed in a stage whisper. “Here comes our hero, and he’s tramping right this way. Don’t look now! He’ll know I told you.”

  Of course they did look, even though Arden had warned them not to. But the oncoming “hero” didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he smiled pleasantly and deliberately sat down on the sand by Arden.

  “Hello,” said Arden casually, while Terry and Sim smiled vacuously.

  “Hello,” he answered. “It was awfully kind of you to bring my—” he began—“I want to thank you for rowing over to the houseboat and back with my— That is, I hope it did not trouble you too much,” he stammered.

  He was clearly embarrassed and not at all sure how to proceed.

  Arden realized at once that Dimitri was attempting to explain and for some reason apologize for the visit of the mysterious Olga.

  “Not at all,” Arden replied reassuringly. “We didn’t mind a bit.”

  “I did not expect her. I was quite surprised. I do not think she will come again.”

  In his embarrassment his accent was becoming more pronounced, and Sim and Terry shot a sly glance of delight at each other.

  “Please don’t let that little thing worry you,” Arden hastened to add. “It was nothing at all.”

  “You are very kind,” Dimitri smiled. “I would like to ask you all, and your mother,” he nodded to Terry, “to take tea with me on the houseboat. Perhaps it would amuse you to have tea in the Russian manner. Yes?”

  “We’d love it,” Terry replied quickly, “and I know Mother would, too.”

  “Would I be giving you too short notice to ask you today? I am letting up a bit in my work, and tomorrow I must begin again with new vigor,” the young man stated simply.

  “I’m sure it will be all right,” Terry answered. “We don’t have many dates down here, and if Mother can come, we’ll all be over this afternoon.”

  “That will be charming,” Dimitri said. “I will expect you. And now I must go home and bathe Tania so she will look her best at my little party.”

  He rose and bowed, quite as dignified as if he had been fully dressed instead of merely wearing the informal bathing suit; then he left them smiling after him.

  “What a surprise!” gasped Sim.

  “What a lark!” insisted Arden.

  “What fun!” squealed Terry.

  “He’s so young and good-looking to have such an ugly old name,” went on Arden, as if anxious to reconstruct the “hero” into somebody more American.

  “Adds to the glamour,” drawled Terry with assumed sophistication. “I always did adore those foreign names.”

  “Too, too divine,” mocked Sim.

  “Hey, there!” exclaimed Terry. “We have got to go right now and tell Mother. He said this afternoon.”

  “Not yet,” Arden rebuked. “Wait until he gets out of sight. He’ll think we’ve never been asked any place before if we act so—grabby.”

  Impatiently they sat and waited until Dimitri had gone behind the small pavilion; then they scrambled up and hurried to tell Terry’s mother.

  She was much amused at their exuberance and laughed at the serious way they had of deciding what they would wear. A simple tea on a houseboat and all this to-do!

  Eventually the hour rolled around, and they set out in high spirits, Terry puffing as much with excitement as with effort as she rowed the boatful down the bay.

  Once on the houseboat they were somewhat ill at ease. But Dimitri was a perfect host and with Old World courtesy succeeded in making them feel, as Arden said later, “like the visiting Czarina and her daughters.”

  Tania was beautifully white and fluffy, greeting them all with a friendly “woof” and briskly wagging tail.

  “Oh, a samovar!” exclaimed Arden as she sighted the polished brass urn with a dull glowing charcoal fire underneath.

  “It is only to boil the water. I could have done it on the oil stove, but I thought you would like it this way,” Dimitri said, smiling.

  “We are enjoying it,” Terry assured him. “Won’t you show Mother some of your pictures?” she cautiously interposed.

  “They are really not worth looking at,” he replied modestly. And he seemed sincere about it, too.

  “Of course they are,” Arden interrupted. “They’re lovely.”

  Dimitri pulled one canvas out from a pile leaning against the wall. It was a marine, done in dark and light blues, a fair sea and a clear sky. The girls looked at it politely but hoped he would show them the covered canvas, and in fact Arden stood near it, waiting. Dimitri noticed her and gazed at her keenly for a second, as though understanding her wish.

  “Now, I will show you something really lovely,” he said. “Because I am proud of it and because it is a thing of so much beauty. I do not show it to everyone; few people know I have it, and I ask you, please, not to mention to anyone that I have it in my possession. Pardon me a minute, please.”

  He pushed aside a curtain that divided the room into two parts and disappeared behind the improvised screen. They could hear him moving something like a heavy piece of furniture, and then they heard the squeak of a key in a lock. They looked wonderingly at each other, but no one spoke. What could he be going to show them? Why all the mystery?

  He came back almost at once, holding something in his hands as though it were too precious to be exposed to the air. Silently they gathered around him, and cautiously, almost solemnly, he opened his hands!

  Then they beheld the treasure!

  There, shining dully on his carefully outstretched palm, they beheld a box, a tiny snuffbox of burnished gold!

  “Oh!” came a chorus. But no other word was spoken.

  Somehow this all seemed like some sacred rite to their still bewildered eyes which could now discern jewels, even diamonds, surrounding the box.

  It was about four inches long and an inch deep, with a delicately painted medallion top, the medallion framed by precious stones: diamonds and rubies!

  Dimitri was watching them intently, his own eyes glittering with the beauty of his valued possession.

  Terry’s mother took a step nearer. Even she had fallen under the spell of this strange treasure.

  CHAPTER X

  Beauty That Dazzled

  “How perfectly beautiful!” exclaimed Arden. “What is it?”

  “It is a snuffbox that once belonged to the Russian Czar. It is of great value. A fortune almost.” He held it so they could all see it. “Now watch.”

  With his thumb he pushed down a section of the golden side. This uncovered a small compartment in which rested a little key. He took out the key and turned the box upside down. Then they saw that the under side was as elaborately designed as the top. Daintily painted miniature woodland scenes with birds and a bounding deer. He inserted the key in a tiny hole and gave it a few turns, then very carefully placed the box on a near-by table.

  The beautiful medallion in the center of the box showed a brightly plumaged bird on a tropical tree, and around the medallion, like a frame, was a row of marvelous diamonds and rubies. The box suddenly opened, as the group watched, and a tiny bird, not much over a half inch in height, sprang up, turned his little head from side to side, and moved his wee feathered wings up and down magically. As they waited, awe-struck, the tinkle of a song was heard, and it seemed as though the little feathered creature was actually singing. Then in a flash the fairy songster ceased his song, folded up his wings, and the medallion snapped shut, leaving the golden and bejeweled box as the cage of the little wizard.

  “Oh!” gasped Arden, the first to speak. “It is so lovely it almost makes me f
eel like crying,” she stammered. “Could you make him do it again?”

  “Of course,” Dimitri replied. “Did you see this little watch in the side and the real feathers on the little bird?”

  “I have never seen anything like it!” exclaimed Mrs. Landry. “It must be worth a fortune.”

  “It is,” solemnly answered Dimitri. “It is the only really valuable possession I have left except—” He turned aside without finishing the sentence. Again he wound the spring, and once more the remarkable performance was repeated. The artist let them each examine the treasure, and at last taking it from Arden he looked at it fondly and very deliberately carried it back to its hiding place. When he returned he remarked:

  “I could not bear to lose it, and perhaps it is childish of me to keep it with me instead of in some deep bank vault, but it belonged to my mother, and I like to have it near me to look at when I become discouraged.”

  The girls were still spellbound, while Mrs. Landry assured him that it was the natural thing to do and hoped it would be quite safe in his affectionate keeping.

  “I have hidden it well, I hope, and I need not tell you why I have trusted you all.”

  There was something so pathetically frank about the artist’s proud display of his treasure that even the girls, who had joked and speculated upon the mysterious man, were now profoundly impressed.

  “We will never violate your confidence.” Mrs. Landry spoke for the group, but even that polite assurance seemed unnecessary.

  Somehow the artist knew he could trust them; and he had!

  “And now, will you try some tea, Russian style?”

  The girls agreed all at once and wanted to help, but he waved them aside and served them quite as though he were accustomed to having four guests every day in the week on this wobbly old houseboat.

  They sat, sipping from glasses the clear amber liquid though Dimitri, as a concession to their American tastes, offered them cream as well as sliced lemon. He sweetened his own clear tea liberally.

  The houseboat, for all the masculine untidiness, was a bright pleasant place, and the little party chatted like old friends until Mrs. Landry announced they must go.

  “We must not wear out our welcome, you know,” she said lightly, “and perhaps you will come and have dinner with us some time, Mr. Uzlov.”

  “Thank you, I would be pleased to,” he suavely answered.

  Then, saying good-bye, they left, a smiling, happy foursome, and started away in the old rowboat over to the Landry landing.

  As Terry pushed out in the boat they heard a light step, surely a girl’s step, and a few seconds later they saw Melissa rowing quickly away from the side of the houseboat.

  “There’s Melissa,” Sim exclaimed needlessly, for they had all seen her. “No need to worry about her comings and goings.”

  “She’s always around from one place to another. I suppose she doesn’t know what to do with herself all day,” Terry answered between strokes, taking it all very casually.

  “Where is her home, Terry? Is it near here?” Arden asked.

  “Not very. It’s clear across the bay; two or three miles, anyway, isn’t it, Mother?”

  “Every bit of that,” Mrs. Landry replied. “Poor creature! She doesn’t lead a very happy life. I hope you girls will be kind to her if you can.”

  “Of course we will, Mrs. Landry,” Sim assured her, and then in another mood she asked, “Wasn’t that a knockout snuffbox? Imagine keeping nasty old snuff in it.”

  “Dimitri doesn’t keep anything in it. He loves it because it’s so beautiful,” Arden announced. “There’s a true artist for you.” She was very much in earnest.

  “You like him a little, don’t you, Arden?” Terry asked whimsically.

  “Don’t be silly, Terry! You like him, too,” Arden snapped back.

  “We all do, even Mrs. Landry, don’t you?” Sim wanted to know, joining in the complimentary chorus.

  Terry’s mother smiled and nodded.

  “Well, I think it’s strange, just the same,” Arden said almost to herself, “very strange.”

  “What, the box?” Sim inquired.

  “No; but I mean the way he spoke about Olga, and the way he keeps that picture covered,” Arden answered. “And a lot of things not really—well, not exactly wordy things but queer things,” she wound up vaguely.

  “Melissa is odd too. Why do you suppose Olga took her riding and gave her money?” Terry asked, adding more interest to the mystifying questions.

  “I can’t imagine. It’s strange the way she always pops up,” Arden added. “I mean Melissa, not Olga.”

  “I don’t like her father, either,” Terry went on. “He’s the meanest man I ever saw, and I don’t believe a word he says!”

  “Now, Terry,” Mrs. Landry rebuked, “you know nothing about him. He’s just not like the city people we’re used to, and you probably misjudge him.”

  “But he seems so cruel and crafty. I wonder if he punished Melissa for staying away the other night? The night she stayed in the garage.”

  “Oh, he couldn’t!” Arden exclaimed. “I’ll ask Melissa the next time I see her. I wonder where she went just now? I don’t see her boat anywhere. She seems to have disappeared all of a sudden.”

  “Playing hide and seek with us, maybe,” Terry suggested. “Hope we don’t catch any of this queer business,” she finished, easing a little to look at her burning hand.

  “I think this whole place is queer,” Sim said, looking over the untroubled bay. “I don’t like that Olga, nor George Clayton, either, and I’m sure he’s up to some shady business—not to say dark and dangerous.”

  “Now, Sim,” Mrs. Landry said gently, “you mustn’t make a mystery out of everything. He’s probably just an ordinary crabber and fisherman with a difficult daughter to look out for, and in these wild places girls cannot be allowed to run wild, you know.”

  They were almost home, and everyone seemed willing to think a little and stop talking. “Buckingham Palace” stood out with reassuring friendliness against the late afternoon sky and looked decidedly more inviting than the moldy houseboat.

  “You may be right, Mother,” Terry said, pulling the oars gently as they drifted up to their little dock. “But there’s something going on, I’m sure. Something we don’t know anything about—yet,” she ended significantly.

  And no one there was to say “nay” to that possibility.

  CHAPTER XI

  Still They Come

  The girls did not really enjoy the tea as it had been served on the Merry Jane. Not that the tea wasn’t good; it must have been, for Russian tea is famous. But it tasted that way, they thought—“famous.” Home-made tea was much more congenial. Consequently, at home again, the tea given them at “Buckingham Palace” when supper was served was even more appreciated than usual.

  “Maybe that water from the samovar—” began Terry.

  “No, those old brass urns are lined with—well, I think it’s tin or lead,” Arden informed them. “Grandfather had one; bought it from a man who used to work for Tolstoi. It had the stamp from what this man called the president’s factory, which meant, I believe, it was made in a sort of royal shop,” Arden concluded.

  “Why, what a lot you know,” teased Sim. “Why didn’t you tell the artist? He might trace some relationship—”

  “Oh, say!” interrupted Terry. “You and your old samovar! What about the jeweled box? Don’t you feel guilty to have seen a thing—so—well, so precious?”

  This brought on a discussion so animated and so filled with questions and exclamations that the beauty of the snuffbox must have been greatly enhanced by so much young enthusiasm.

  Afterwards they were sitting, as had become their custom, on the screened porch. The first one out always claimed the comfortable swing. Next in favor came two large, low wicker chairs covered with bright striped linen. Tonight Terry was in the swing and Arden and Sim curled up in chairs.

  They must have been talking ve
ry loudly or else have been asleep, they facetiously decided later. How else could they explain the fact that a car had driven right up to the back door and they had not heard it?

  In fact they all jumped with surprise when Arden called their attention to a young man, coming up the sandy path.

  “Sit up, girls, here comes another visitor,” she exclaimed. “What now, I wonder?”

  The young man hesitated as he reached the screen door.

  “Good-evening,” said Arden pleasantly.

  “Good-evening,” responded the caller. “I hope I have not disturbed you, but I wonder if you could tell me how to reach a houseboat? I understand it is somewhere near here.”

  “Oh, you mean Merry Jane,” Sim piped up brightly. “Lots of people ask us that. That is, you’re the second one who has inquired,” she replied, feeling a little foolish at being so friendly.

  He smiled amicably and said he hoped they had not been bothered in that way.

  “We didn’t mind,” Terry chimed in. “We don’t have much to do here, anyway.” The girls really were being silly.

  “It’s down the bay, but you can’t reach it by car. The road is too soft this time of year,” Arden said helpfully, the first one really to answer his question.

  “Is one obliged to walk, then?” the man asked. His wording was foreign and a slight accent made it seem more so.

  “No; walking would be dangerous, too,” Arden explained. “The only way is by boat.” She waited to see what effect this announcement would have, but Sim spoiled it.

  “We have a rowboat you could use. We could take you,” she announced, still pursuing the rôle of the very young.

  “But couldn’t I take myself? That is, with your permission and if you wouldn’t be using the boat?” He looked questioningly at them.

  “I guess we won’t be going out again tonight,” Terry remarked. “You’ll be careful not to lose the oars, won’t you? I’ll show you where we keep the boat.”

  Terry, followed by Arden and Sim, led the way to the dock, stopping to pick up the oars as they went.

  “Let me take them, please,” the caller protested. Terry handed him the oars.

  They wanted very much to ask if he knew Dimitri and try to get some more information, but they could not naturally work the talk around to it. The young man volunteered no information at all. He seemed quite sure of himself, and Arden fancied she saw in him a slight resemblance to Dimitri.