“Now, I’m not very fond of ocean bathing, so I passed up that suit. I don’t know how to fish, but I do know how to crab, and I used to do it when I was a girl. So I brought my crabbing disguise with me.”
“What in the world is a crabbing disguise?” asked Terry, as their visitor laughed. “George Clayton doesn’t wear one.”
“It’s just an old dress I don’t care what happens to,” said Emma Tash, “and an old-fashioned sunbonnet. With that on, I defy anyone who sees me in it to recognize me afterward if I dress as I am now.”
“Oh, that sort of a disguise,” laughed Terry. “Well, I guess that will be all right. And we had better start,” she added. “Time is passing, and I want to be back here to help receive our visitor.”
“I will be as quick as I can,” Emma Tash said. “If I could go somewhere to change my dress—”
“I’ll show you,” offered Mrs. Landry. “Come with me, please.”
While the visitor was upstairs, the girls, in breathless whispers, discussed her and her errand. They agreed that the plan they had adopted was the best one possible in the circumstances.
“Only,” sighed Terry who, in a sense, was offering herself as a sacrifice, “I do hope Serge Uzlov doesn’t arrive until I get back.”
“We’ll keep him for you,” promised Arden.
Emma Tash certainly was a very different person in her crabbing disguise. She looked the part of a back-country native to perfection. She and Terry were soon off in the boat, provided with a net, a peach basket to hold the crabs, and some old pieces of meat, on strings, for bait.
Sim and Arden watched Terry row away in the direction of the Clayton shack.
“And now we’ll just have to sit here and wait,” sighed Arden as Terry and her passenger disappeared around a point.
“We could go in swimming,” suggested Sim, ever mindful of her ambition to become an expert in aquatic sports.
“Then let’s. It will make the time pass quicker. After all, I don’t believe he can get here until late afternoon. There aren’t many shore trains out of New York until near the commuting hour,” said Arden.
So Sim and Arden put on their suits and went in for a dip. But it was rather too cool for real enjoyment in the water, and they soon came out and sunned themselves on the sand.
Meanwhile Terry, with her usual skill at the oars, was sending the boat along at good speed toward their objective.
“Mustn’t row too fast now, though,” she told Emma Tash when she was near the Clayton shack. “Crabbers usually just anchor, put the bait over the side, and wait for bites.”
“I know,” said the detective woman. “I’ve done it often enough. But crabbers often haul up the anchor and go from place to place looking for better luck. In that way we can gradually approach without any suspicions.”
“I think so,” Terry agreed.
She rowed on until they were within view of the place where Melissa lived. There was no sign of life about the shack or its outbuildings. Whether Melissa had returned home after meeting the girls in the drug store, Terry had no way of finding out.
“Perhaps we’d better stop here,” suggested Emma Tash. “I can make an observation while you put some bait over the side.”
“Observation?” questioned Terry.
“Yes. With these. We find them useful on cases.”
Emma Tash produced from a pocket in her crabbing dress a binocular, and as Terry threw the little anchor over, Emma Tash focused the glass on the Clayton shack.
The boat had drifted the length of the anchor rope with the incoming tide, which is always best for crabbing, and Terry was putting over the first bit of bait when the detective woman lowered the binocular and said:
“Not a sign of life. I guess there’s nobody home.”
“Melissa would hardly have had time to get here since we saw her in the drug store,” said Terry. “And very likely her father is out in his boat.”
“Then we’ll just have to wait and trust to luck,” was the decision of Emma Tash. “I’d like to see the girl alone.”
They began to crab in earnest now. For, after all, George Clayton might be lurking about his place and see them. For a time Terry really entered into the enjoyment of their occupation, for the crabs were biting well and she landed a number of big blue-clawed ones, while her companion did likewise.
Now and then they would net a “mammy,” her apron bulging with a cluster of yellow eggs ready to be deposited in some clump of the lettuce-like seaweed. These “mammy” crabs were always thrown back to aid in the propagation of future generations.
“I think we had better move a little—a little closer,” suggested the detective in a low voice after a half hour of good luck. “I want to take another look.”
“Yes,” Terry agreed. She pulled up the anchor, but this time the policewoman did the rowing, and she rowed well. Terry envied her skill.
Again they anchored, but this time they had picked a poor location and caught nothing. Inspection through the glass still revealed no sign of life about the place. It appeared silent and deserted.
“I think we can chance going a bit closer,” said Emma Tash after another half hour. “If I don’t see anything then, I believe I’ll take a chance and land. I’ll walk up to the place. Melissa may be asleep in there.”
“I hardly think so,” said Terry. “But you can try.”
They hoisted the anchor again, moved nearer the place, and once more the glass was used.
“I can’t see a sign of anybody,” Emma Tash declared. “I’m going up there.”
Once more Terry pulled up the mud-hook, and again the oars were used by the detective. But just as she was easing up, in preparation to letting the boat glide up the mucky beach, a man’s voice called:
“Keep away from here! I don’t let nobody land!”
George Clayton suddenly appeared in front of his shack, holding a long pole.
“Get away!” he cried. “This is a private beach! You can crab all you want to out there, but don’t land. I’ve warned you!”
“Well, that’s that,” said Terry in a low voice. She held her head down. In spite of the fact that she was wearing a big straw hat, she feared the man might recognize her.
But Emma Tash did not give up so easily.
“Can’t we land and get a drink of water?” she called.
“No! Keep off!”
“Very well.”
There was nothing for it but to row away, and this they did.
“But I’m not giving up,” said the detective when they were on their way back to “Buckingham Palace.” Terry wondered if Serge were there. “I’ll go back to New York and suggest a different method,” Emma Tash said. “The girl’s aunt is anxious to do something for the child, and her brute of a father shouldn’t be allowed to stand in the way.”
“Of course not,” Terry agreed.
She rowed fast back to the little dock, and her first unasked question was answered, as Sim and Arden who came down to meet her, with Arden’s remark:
“He hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t miss him,” Terry said.
Emma Tash changed back into her regular dress, put the crabbing disguise into her bag and, thanking them all for the help, started for the village, saying she would take a train back to New York.
“But I’m coming here again,” she said. “And if you get a chance I wish you would let Melissa know that her aunt wants to help her.”
“We will,” Terry promised.
It was now late afternoon, and the girls, nervous with the tension, sat on the porch, waiting. Not for anything would they now go far away from the house. The “man from New York” might arrive any minute.
“Oh, dear,” Sim wailed. “Isn’t this suspense awful? If that man doesn’t come soon, I’ll—”
“It’s almost five o’clock,” Arden said, looking at her watch. “He ought to get here soon.”
“You youngsters will be nervous wrecks,” Mrs
. Landry remarked as Terry paced restlessly up and down the front porch. “Can’t you find something to do?”
“I can’t sit still long enough to do anything,” Terry replied.
“Listen!” Arden cautioned. “Isn’t that a car?”
Instantly there was quiet. They all strained their ears to hear the sound of bumping wheels.
“Yes!” Terry exclaimed. “Come on!”
Flinging open the screen door of the porch she raced around to the back, where the yellow sand road stretched. Sim and Arden followed close behind her.
They stood like pointers, immobile, while the car approached. It reached the gate and stopped. The side door was opened, and a polished shoe was thrust out. Then the whole man appeared, and the girls gasped audibly. It was the dark young man who had rowed himself over to the houseboat when they last heard from Dimitri!
CHAPTER XXV
The Man in the Marsh
“Then it was you!” Arden burst out impulsively as she saw him.
“I beg your pardon?” the young man replied, somewhat puzzled. “I am Serge Uzlov. I received a telegram this morning which brought me down here. Did you—?”
“I sent it,” Arden replied. “We guessed at your address and sent it because we thought you might know something about Dimitri.”
“Know something—about my own brother? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” He looked from one to the other of the girls, his face showing wonderment and some fear.
“Of course, how could you?” Terry remarked. “Please come up on the porch, and we’ll explain.”
There, while he sipped a cool drink Sim got for him, Serge Uzlov heard the queer story of Dimitri’s disappearance.
“So you see,” Arden went on, “we got worried and took a chance on the telegram.”
“It was a very lucky chance, as it turned out,” Serge agreed. “I cannot imagine what could become of Dimitri. He’s a lonely fellow, yes. But he always keeps in touch with me. I had a long talk with him when I was down before, and he seemed in good health and the best of spirits.”
“He didn’t say anything about going away, then?” Arden asked.
“Not a word. In fact, he told me how much he liked it down here,” the young man went on. “Could we not go over to the boat? I am anxious to look around.”
“Yes, we can go over at once,” Arden replied. “We shall go by boat, it is quicker.”
They all got into the faithful little rowboat, and the young man took the oars. He could row with quite some skill, being an athletic type. His tanned face showed he was no stranger to outdoor life. Arden looked searchingly at him. Just what did he know?
Sim and Terry were curious, too. They were suspicious of everyone now. The fact that this man claimed to be the brother of Dimitri proved nothing.
The boat moved quickly through the quiet evening water.
“We did tell the chief of police about your brother,” Arden admitted, “but you have nothing to fear from him. He’s studying the case, as he says, and the last time we saw him he was working on his old car.”
The young man smiled. “I am sure Dimitri will be found all right,” he said. “And I’m very grateful to you for sending for me. It was indeed fortunate that you found the paper. From your description of it, I think it must have been from my sister Olga. She has been here, she tells me, to see Dimitri.”
“Olga! Your sister!” Sim exclaimed unbelievingly.
“Yes,” Serge Uzlov replied. “There are just the three of us, now. Olga, Dimitri, and I. We are a queer family, I suppose, each one living alone; each one having his own friends and always trying to make ends meet.”
“I don’t know just what we imagined about you and your sister,” Arden said slyly, “but it never occurred to us, I’m sure, that you two were related.”
“And you were too well mannered to ask,” Serge suggested, smiling.
“Or perhaps we just didn’t think about it,” Sim said modestly.
The young man pulled vigorously, and the little rowboat plowed through the bay. To their right, as they approached it, lay the Merry Jane, looking as they had last seen it.
When they were close to the houseboat, Tania began to bark: sharp, staccato barks and deep growls in her throat.
“Tania must have heard us coming,” Sim suggested.
“I think, Sim,” Arden corrected her, “that Tania’s barking at something else. She sounds pretty angry to me.”
They listened again. Tania was snarling and barking furiously.
“Tania!” called Arden as they came alongside the houseboat. “Tania, we are your friends!”
As she called they all heard the sound of running footsteps on the part of the deck farthest away from them.
“There’s somebody here!” Serge cried, and hurried to make fast the rowboat.
Leaving the girls still seated in the skiff, Serge leaped from it to the deck of the Merry Jane just in time to see a man jump over the side into the deep marsh grass.
Serge looked after him, but the intruder was completely hidden by the tall growth.
“He got away!” Serge called to the girls. He was about to follow the runaway man when Arden stopped him.
“There’s no use in following him, you could never catch him in that marsh,” she said and Serge was forced to agree with her as he saw how dense were the tall cat-tails and sedge-grass in the swamp.
“What did he look like?” Terry asked.
“I couldn’t see his face. He was just going over the side when I approached. But I saw black rubber boots.”
“That might have been anyone,” Arden said. “Half the natives in Oceanedge wear boots around the marsh.”
“Let’s go inside,” suggested Sim, “and see what he was after.”
“Yes,” agreed Serge. “That’s the only thing to do now.”
He led the way and, not pausing for a moment in the outer room, parted the curtains and, as the girls could see, went straight to the shattered cupboard.
“It’s gone!” Serge exclaimed. He turned to face the girls, his hands spread wide in a gesture of despair. “It’s gone!”
CHAPTER XXVI
Melissa Again
Sim smiled a little bitterly. “If you mean the snuffbox,” she said, “we know it’s gone. It has been for some time.”
“Then you know about it?” Serge asked.
“We knew Dimitri had it, if that’s what you mean,” Arden went on. “But we don’t know where it is now.”
“Of course,” the young man breathed a sigh of relief, “Dimitri has it with him, wherever he is.”
“He may have. We can’t prove he hasn’t,” Terry said explaining. “But why should he have broken open his own cupboard?”
“You’re right!” exclaimed Serge. “He would never have done that.”
“I wonder what that man who jumped overboard was doing,” Sim mused. “I don’t see that he has touched anything in here.”
After a look around, they all agreed that, whatever was his mysterious reason for coming, he apparently had left in a hurry. Several books that had been on the table now lay on the floor, but that was all in evidence.
“We’re just as much in the dark as ever,” Terry remarked sadly. “We’ll have to start all over again.”
“Tell us about Dimitri,” Arden said to Serge. “You were, as far as we can tell, the last person who saw him a—” she started, she had almost said “alive.” So she began again. “Was he all right when you saw him last? Did he say anything about going away?”
“We sat talking and eating all evening,” Serge explained. “Russians are great eaters, you know. But Dimitri didn’t mention going away, and I left him in the best of spirits. Then I rowed back, got into my car, and drove on to New York.”
“That doesn’t help at all,” Sim wailed. “It only proves that Dimitri left very suddenly and probably against his will. He would have told you if he’d planned leaving, wouldn’t he?” she asked the young man.
“I
am sure he had no thought of going,” Serge hastened to assure her. “He was too much interested in the portrait he was finishing.”
“You mean the one of me?” Arden asked simply.
“Yes; you’ve seen it?”
“We looked—after Dimitri—” Arden said sadly. “Do you think he would mind?”
Serge shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We have something more important to think about.”
“But the worst of it is,” Sim complained, “that we’re so helpless.”
“We can do nothing here, at any rate,” agreed Serge.
“You will come to dinner with us, won’t you?” Terry asked. “Mother expects you. There is no place in town where you can get anything worth eating.”
“You are sure it won’t be too much trouble? I did not expect it, you know,” Serge answered, smiling.
“Of course not,” Terry insisted. “You have to get your car, anyway.”
After another look around, the little party left the houseboat once more. Tania seemed used to these comings and goings, for she took no notice of them as they departed.
The water of the bay was as smooth as glass as they rowed away, the girls looking back wistfully as they left the houseboat behind.
Terry’s mother had a delicious meal waiting, and after so much excitement and activity the girls felt very hungry.
The conversation naturally centered about the disappearance of Dimitri. They discussed it from all angles. It was during a lull in the talk that Terry gave a little scream.
“What’s the matter?” Arden asked at once.
“Nothing,” Terry answered. “I saw a face at the window, and it made me jump. But it’s only Melissa again.”
“See what she wants, Terry,” Mrs. Landry told her daughter. “Perhaps the poor child is hungry.”
Terry left the table and hurried outside. She could see Melissa running down the path in the late summer twilight. She was wearing black rubber hip boots and her old gray sweater, but surely, Terry thought to herself, it couldn’t have been Melissa whom they had seen on the houseboat. Terry felt she must stop the girl, at any rate, to find out.
“Melissa! Melissa!” Terry called. “Wait, I have something for you.”
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 187