The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

  When they reached the old rowboat, Terry pointed down the bay.

  “The Merry Jane is just around the bend; if you stay close to shore, you can’t miss it,” she instructed the stranger.

  They all looked admiringly over the still green water where the fish were beginning to jump in the stillness of the evening. The beauty of the bay was inescapable.

  “Tania, the big dog, will bark, and you can row in the direction of the noise, if you should be doubtful about the location,” Arden suggested.

  The man raised an eyebrow. “You know Dimitri, then?” he asked.

  “Yes, indeed,” Sim answered. “We’re good friends.” She felt justified in saying that.

  “I am a friend, too,” their caller replied as he got into the boat. “I’ll take very good care of your skiff and tie it up very carefully when I return.” He pushed off and began rowing easily down the bay. “Good-bye,” he called to the girls. “And thank you, a thousand times!”

  “Good-bye,” Terry answered, while the others mumbled something.

  They waited until he was out of sight, and then began the flood of “What do you think’s” and “Maybe’s.” But of course they all agreed on one thing. That he was very charming and well mannered and that perhaps all foreigners were that way. But they decided it was indeed queer the way Dimitri’s friends all came to them for advice on reaching the old houseboat. The newest caller gave rise to plenty of speculation, but the girls retired earlier than usual, and it was, perhaps, for this reason that Arden awoke sometime near morning, although it was still dark. Deciding she could not get back to sleep, she lay tossing restlessly.

  The events of the day marched before her now active mind. The gold snuffbox, Olga, Tania, Dimitri, the man who had come that evening. It was all very puzzling. She turned over and looked at Sim, sleeping peacefully. Nothing bothered her. Arden sighed and then started. What was that noise? Another mysterious visitor? She strained every nerve to listen. Then she smiled as she realized it was the motor of an auto purring along. Going to the window, she saw the stranger’s car move slowly as it was started and disappear as it gathered speed. She looked at her wrist watch. The dial showed four-thirty, and he was just coming back from the houseboat!

  “‘Curiouser and curiouser,’” Arden said to herself as she climbed back to bed. “Alice in Wonderland had nothing on me. I wonder, too.”

  CHAPTER XII

  A Friend in the Deep

  “Well, Sim,” said Arden, stretching luxuriously, “I feel merry as a grig this morning.”

  “You don’t say,” Sim replied with sarcasm. “I guess you haven’t looked outside then. I think we’re in for a storm. What is a grig, anyway?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Arden continued, “but that’s how I feel. It’s very merry. How do you feel?”

  “I feel like a chocolate nut sundae,” Sim answered, making a wry face.

  “You’re a little cross, too. What’s the trouble?” Arden asked.

  “Oh, nothing. But I’m thinking, if we do get a northeaster, there won’t be any bathing for days. I think I’ll go in today just to get a swim before it comes,” Sim answered. “Look at that,” she continued, pointing to the little weather vane on the garage roof.

  It was quivering in the wind and pointing due northeast. A brave morning sun was trying to pierce the leaden clouds, but not making much headway.

  A week before, Arden had seen the second mysterious caller drive away in his car after tying up their boat. Since then they had neither seen nor heard from Dimitri, and in an orgy of swimming and sunbathing had almost forgotten about him, so perfect had the weather been and so completely had the girls enjoyed it.

  Now Sim and Arden were in their room making plans for the day, and Terry, in gay bathrobe and slippers, strolled in to talk things over before breakfast.

  “Don’t go in today, Sim, there’s bound to be a bad undertow; and besides, I have to go to town,” Terry remarked as she had heard Sim’s decision.

  “But the tide will be coming in, and I’ll only take a short dip. I’ll be ready when you want to go. Let’s eat now, and by the time we have our rooms in order I can go in for a swim. Then we’ll drive to the village. How’s that?” Sim asked, smiling.

  “You seem to have it all planned. I suppose it’s all right. It’s nearly ten now, so let’s go down for breakfast,” Terry suggested. “I’m hungry.”

  Sim and Arden, donning bathrobes and slipping their feet into soft mules, pattered downstairs after Terry.

  They ate and put on their bathing suits when they went upstairs again, a habit they had fallen into since the lovely weather had begun.

  When they went out a little later, Sim wished she hadn’t been so insistent about swimming. The breakers were piling in, slapping down on the beach and churning up a white sudsy foam.

  “I’m not going in that sea,” Arden decided, “and I don’t think you should either, Sim.”

  “Nonsense, Arden,” Sim said scornfully. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”

  “We’ll have rain before night,” Terry stated positively, “and the ocean is getting rougher all the time. Go on in, Sim, if you’re going to, but be careful.”

  In a moment of bravado, Sim flung off her sweater and ran down to the water. She hesitated for a second as the cold water whirled around her feet, then, running swiftly, she plunged in head first. She was lost to sight immediately, but presently came up again and waved a hand to Arden and Terry, who were watching. Then she turned and began to swim out into the sea.

  “I wish she wouldn’t go out,” Arden worried.

  “Oh, she’ll be all right. Sim’s a good swimmer,” Terry reassured her.

  As they watched they could see Sim’s scarlet bathing cap bobbing in the rough sea. She swam easily for a while and then floated on her back. Did they imagine it, or was she having trouble? Arden and Terry strained their eyes to see. Sim was swimming hard toward the shore but seemed to be making no headway.

  “She’s having a hard time getting back. Do you think she’s all right?” Arden asked anxiously.

  “Wait—” Terry cautioned—“I’m not sure—”

  Sim was still swimming but seemed to be tiring. She turned over on her back for a brief rest and began again. But it seemed no use. Apparently she was caught in a sea-puss and was still making no headway.

  Terrified, Terry and Arden looked at each other, unable to utter a word. In that instant a figure flashed by them and disappeared with a splash in the waves. Still speechless, they both knew—

  It was Melissa!

  She was going to help Sim to safety. The girls watching on the beach felt the relief so suddenly and so completely that each grasped the other.

  “Melissa!” breathed Terry.

  “She’ll get her,” answered Arden.

  What little they had done to make friends with the girl came now in a rush of grateful memory.

  Yes, Melissa would help them. She was their friend.

  In almost no time at all Melissa and Sim walked out of the wild sea, a little further down the beach. Arden and Terry ran down to greet them.

  “Sim, you idiot! I told you not to go in. Are you all right?” Arden asked breathlessly.

  “Of course I’m all right,” Sim panted.

  “She was caught in a sea-puss. There’s a trick in getting out. It’s because the storm is coming and the inlet to the bay is so near,” Melissa answered modestly.

  “It was very brave of you to go out, just the same,” Terry insisted. “It was just fine!”

  Sim looked a little sheepish and pulled her sweater on over her dripping suit.

  “Don’t tell your mother, Terry; you know how she would worry,” Sim said. “Melissa, you were swell!” she exclaimed.

  Melissa smiled happily. It was seldom, indeed, that her actions pleased anyone. Her whole day would be happy now, and at night she could lie in her hard little bed and remember how the girls had praised her. It took so little to brighten the
dull life of Melissa.

  The girls thanked her again and cautioned her about telling Mrs. Landry. Then, waving good-bye to Melissa, they left her, digging her toes in the sand in embarrassment, with her confused thoughts.

  The three girls, a guilty little group, went back to “Buckingham Palace” and dressed quickly, never mentioning the almost tragic adventure to Terry’s mother.

  Sim’s feet and hands were still cold when she climbed into the car beside Arden and Terry, a while later, as they started for the village.

  The storm was coming in rapidly now. The sun was obscured, and sudden strong gusts of wind swerved the car as they drove along. It had not yet begun to rain. But Chief of Police Reilly cocked his weather eye and “reckoned” it would not be long in coming. He was filling the gas tank of the little car and chatting with the girls as he worked.

  “How do you like your new neighbor, Miz Landry?” he asked, showing a shining gold tooth.

  “We like him all right, but we don’t see much of him,” Terry answered, smiling.

  “Funny feller,” he chuckled as he wiped off the windshield. “Wrote to me ’long ’bout last April and rented my ole boat. Never even saw it.” He gave the windshield a grand swipe.

  “Do you know Melissa Clayton?” Sim asked, abruptly changing the subject. Her adventure in the ocean was still fresh in her mind.

  “Sure; everyone knows Melissa,” the chief answered.

  “How about her father? What kind of a man is he?” pursued Sim.

  “George Clayton? He’s all right. None too smart, but he gets along,” Reilly answered indifferently. “Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, you know.”

  But Sim was not satisfied. She wanted to find out if Melissa’s father was as cruel as they imagined him to be. The chief, however, in his good-natured way, didn’t see what Sim was driving at and gave her no satisfaction. Finally she questioned him no further. They agreed on the weather and said they’d see him soon again, just how soon, none of them knew.

  Then they drove back home and unloaded the last of the groceries from the car just as the first drops of rain showed on the windshield. Like all bad news, it was better to have it started. The sooner begun the sooner it would be over.

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Tragic Messenger

  The wind increased in violence, and with the high tide of the afternoon the surf pounded with wild fury. At Terry’s home the rain lashed the windows, and the awnings protested noisily against the gale. Arden announced blandly that she no longer felt “merry as a grig.”

  “Let’s play rummy, the storm makes me restless,” Sim suggested.

  “If you feel restless now, I hate to think how you’ll feel after three days of it,” Terry reminded her.

  “Three days!” Arden exclaimed. “I’ll have to get out my tatting to keep me busy, I guess.”

  “You can’t tat, silly,” Sim smiled. “Come on, let’s play cards.”

  Terry opened a painted card table, and they began a half-hearted game of rummy. But Arden couldn’t concentrate, so Terry and Sim told her to “give up,” whereat they abandoned the cards.

  “Listen to that old ocean,” Arden remarked. “If you were out there now, Sim, it would take more than Melissa to pull you to safety.”

  “Wasn’t she great?” Sim asked. “She knew just how to go about it. I wasn’t scared, but I was beginning to tire. Melissa took me out beyond the current, and then we struck a stroke and got in easily. Were you frightened?”

  “We were a little,” Terry admitted. “We weren’t sure whether you were all right. I was ready to come out when Melissa dashed by us like a shot, and then it seemed only a few seconds till you were back on the beach.”

  “She’s a marvelous swimmer,” Sim said admiringly. “I wish she could lead a more pleasant life, poor girl.”

  “Chief Reilly didn’t seem to think her father was so awful,” Terry remarked.

  “Oh, Chief Reilly!” Arden exclaimed. “He doesn’t seem to think much anyway.”

  “He doesn’t have to think much. There’s nothing for him to think about down here. I don’t know what he’d do if he ever had a real case,” Terry went on.

  “The excitement would probably be too much for him. I’ll bet he reads detective stories and has it all planned out just the way he’d conduct a murder inquiry,” Arden laughed.

  “Yes,” Sim agreed. “He’d probably go measuring footprints and looking for clues. Do you suppose he’d use bloodhounds?”

  “Why not?” Terry asked. “None of our well-known detectives ever used bloodhounds, so it’s reasonable to suppose that Detective Reilly would.”

  “We’re not so bad ourselves at solving mysteries. How about the Apple Orchard and Jockey Hollow?” Arden reminded them.

  “Of course—we’re really very good,” Terry agreed facetiously. “I could do with a nice mystery. This is ideal weather for it. Angry sea, howling wind and dashing rain, big black clouds—”

  “Do you ever have any murders or serious crimes down here, Terry?” Sim asked suddenly.

  “Yes—we had a very important one about three years ago. Reilly saw a headless tiny body floating in the bay,” Terry said dramatically.

  “No, really?” Arden and Sim were all attention.

  “Really,” answered Terry. “But when they picked it up, it turned out to be a doll some youngster dropped in the water.”

  “Oh, Terry,” Sim said throwing a pillow at her. “You had me all worked up.”

  Terry laughed mischievously and threw the pillow back. A well aimed throw from Arden caught Terry squarely in the face with such force that the chair in which she was sitting went over backwards and Terry with it. In the scramble that followed they did not hear the scratching at the door. It was not until they took a little breathing spell that Arden cautioned them to be quiet.

  “Shh-h a minute,” she said. “Did you hear that scratching?”

  They listened. It came from the front door, and this time a bark also could be heard.

  “It’s a dog!” Sim exclaimed, and getting up from the pile of cushions on the floor she went to open the door.

  “Why, it’s Tania!” Arden declared. “The poor dog! Look at her!”

  Poor dog indeed! The silky, white fur clung to her thin frame, and a piece of rope trailed from her collar. Like all dogs of her breed, she was thin when in the best of condition, but now she looked worse than that. She seemed really like a poor starved animal.

  “She looks terrible,” Arden exclaimed, and disregarding the wet fur she began to stroke the regally pointed head.

  “She’s hungry. Look how thin she is. Let’s give her something to eat,” Terry suggested, already starting toward the kitchen.

  Tania was extremely grateful for the food Terry put before her and ate ravenously, while the girls murmured soothingly to the grateful dog.

  “But how strange that she should get like this,” Terry reminded them. “Dimitri always takes such good care of her.”

  “And that old rope, the end looks frayed off. Do you suppose—” Arden looked at her chums with terror in her eyes. This, coming directly after their talk, joking as it was, about murders, gave them all a shocked, sudden pause. It seemed horrible even to imagine that Dimitri—

  “Oh, Arden! How awful! We haven’t seen Dimitri for a week. Do you think—” Terry was too frightened to put intelligible questions.

  Arden nodded her head solemnly. “I’m afraid so,” she said in a quiet voice. “Something must have happened on board the Merry Jane.”

  For the first time the girls realized how interested they had become in Dimitri. His charming manners, his accent, his appearance, and the almost mysterious aloofness he maintained, all went to make him most attractive. Now that they feared foul play might have overtaken him, it was dismaying even to guess what had happened on the lonely houseboat.

  But poor mute Tania could not tell them her story.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Missing at Mars
hlands

  “Oh, Tania!” Sim exclaimed, taking the intelligent head in her hands. “What happened?”

  But the dog only wagged a bedraggled tail and blinked her eyes with pleasure.

  “We must go over at once and see,” Arden decided. “We’ll have to walk, too. We couldn’t row in this wind.”

  Quickly they got into old coats and heavy shoes, pulled soft hats well down, and started for the Merry Jane.

  Outside the little cottage the wind tore at them fiercely, and the blown sand mingled with rain stung their legs and faces. Carried through the air by the gale, flakes of foam from the ocean were borne far up the beach like a strange summer snowstorm.

  Tania slunk along behind them as they bent to the wind, clearly hating to be out in such nasty weather when she apparently had hoped to remain in the warm dryness of “Buckingham Palace.”

  “Isn’t this wild?” Sim said holding her coat close to her. “I do hope nothing serious has happened.”

  “We all do,” Arden answered. “Terry, can you find your way through the marsh?”

  “I think we’d better follow the shore line of the bay. It will be safer,” Terry decided. “There isn’t much shore left now the water has blown in so far, we’ll have to walk single file.”

  Terry took the lead, followed by Arden and Sim, with Tania picking her way along daintily after them.

  They made good time, for the wind was at their backs and served to push them forward. Just ahead, its sides slapped by the lapping waves, they could see the old houseboat looming up darkly in the rain.

  Silently they went around to the land side, where the wooden steps led to the narrow promenade that ran completely around the boat.

  There on the rain-swept deck they hesitated. Not a sound, except the noise of the storm, reached them. They were a little afraid, yet they knew they must go in.

  Arden went forward, found the door unlocked, and pushed it open. Her companions followed her, and cautiously they entered the picturesque main room. It was just as they had last seen it. The mysterious painting covered on the easel, the jars of paint brushes on the table, and the odds and ends Dimitri had left lying about, were all, apparently, untouched. But the artist himself was not there.