“We can’t stand around in wet clothing,” she observed, looking appraisingly at Madge. “You’re my size. I’ll see what I can find for you.”
Waiting for her to return, Madge gazed curiously about the library which was lined to the ceiling with books. The fireplace gave the room a cheerful appearance but she could not fail to notice the threadbare rug, the scanty furniture.
“Strange,” she thought, “I always understood the Faradays were well-to-do.”
Her reflection was cut short by Anne’s return. She had found a change of clothing for Madge who accepted it gratefully. After hanging up their garments to dry, the girls made coffee, sipping it luxuriously before the fire. As they chatted, Anne brought up the subject of the rescue and in halting phrases tried to thank Madge.
“Please don’t thank me,” the latter protested. “It was nothing. Only if I were you, I’d certainly learn to swim.”
“I should,” Anne acknowledged ruefully. “I’ve always wanted to but never had the chance. Until lately, Father took so much care.”
Madge nodded sympathetically and after explaining that she had only that day learned of Mr. Faraday’s death, invited Anne to stay at the Brady lodge.
“It’s good of you to ask me,” the Faraday girl murmured, “and truly, I would like to accept. Just now I’m afraid I can’t. You see, there’s a special reason why I must stay here—for a few days at least.”
She hesitated and did not explain. Madge looked troubled.
“I’ve written to an aunt in New York and as soon as things are settled I expect to live with her,” Anne went on hurriedly. “I do appreciate your kindness only I know I’ll be safe here. It’s lonely but I’m used to that. The one thing that worries me is what I shall live on after the estate is settled. Father left only this house and a few hundred dollars.”
Madge was startled by this frank disclosure. The shabby appearance of the interior of the house had warned her that the Faradays were not as wealthy as rumor would have it, but it was difficult to believe that Anne faced poverty.
“Father was never practical about money matters. He built this expensive house and installed a laboratory on the second floor that would do credit to a scientific institution. He spent so much on experimentation too.”
“You must be proud of the name your father made for himself,” Madge said politely.
“Yes, I am, and he was a dear, too. But if only he hadn’t been so careless about details! Several times he made important discoveries, only to let others reap the commercial reward. Before his death he worked out some preparation which when applied to iron and steel prevented rust—several large companies were interested in it too. He promised me faithfully he would register the formula in the patent office.”
“He never did?”
“No, he kept putting it off. He always said the formula wasn’t perfected. He always assured me no one could steal it for he kept the experiments to himself and hid all the data where it would never be found.” Anne laughed shortly. “Well, he did a good job of it! I’ve searched this house high and low and can’t find a trace of it.”
“You’re certain the formula is valuable?”
“I’m sure of it.” Anne arose and moved to the desk, returning with a letter which she dropped into Madge’s lap. “Last week this came from the Alton Chemical Company—one of the firms Father negotiated with. You see the letter is signed by the president of the firm—G. H. Brownell—and he says he is coming here soon to see me about the formula. If only I had it! I’m sure he would pay me a good figure for it. What became of the thing?”
“Ask me something easy. You searched the laboratory I suppose?”
“A dozen times. I haven’t given up though. I know I’ll find it somewhere and I intend to stay here until I do.”
“I wish I could help,” Madge returned. “Aunt Maude says I have a talent for finding lost things. She always calls on me when anything is missing.”
“Then consider that I’m calling on you now. We might start turning the house upside down this minute!”
Madge’s eye had fallen upon the clock and she sprang to her feet with an exclamation of dismay.
“The search must wait until another day. Goodness! That clock must have skipped an hour or so! Aunt Maude will think I drowned in the lake. I must run. Mind if I wear your dress?”
“Of course not. It’s only an old rag.”
At the door, Madge hesitated.
“See here,” she said bluntly, “my aunt will be put out because you feel you can’t stay at the lodge. If anything should go wrong here—”
“Nothing will.”
“You can’t be certain, Anne. If you need help at any time or want to talk with me, fly a white flag from the boat landing. I’ll see it from the lodge if the day is clear and come as fast as I can.”
“All right,” Anne agreed, “I have an old white skirt I can use.”
She accompanied Madge to the beach, helping her launch the skiff. The rain had ceased falling and the sky was slowly clearing. Before saying goodbye, Madge promised Anne that she would have Old Bill search for the overturned canoe. Anne thanked her again for her kindness, urging her to return soon.
“Don’t forget,” she called, as her friend floated slowly away from the beach.
“I’ll be likely to forget!” Madge chuckled softly to herself. “Even if I didn’t like Anne, that missing formula would be sufficient bait! This has been an exciting day and unless I miss my guess the fun is only starting!”
CHAPTER III
A Puzzling Letter
Although the sky had cleared, evening shadows were creeping over the lake. Madge rowed steadily, knowing that soon it would be dark. She wondered if her long absence from home had caused worry and was not greatly surprised when she sighted another boat on the lake.
“It’s Uncle George and Old Bill,” she decided. “They’re out looking for me.”
She waved her hand to assure them she was quite safe and in a few minutes, Old Bill, with a skillful sweep of the oars, brought the boat alongside the skiff.
“It’s time you’re getting back, young lady!” Mr. Brady called out with kindly gruffness. “Another ten minutes and we’d have been dragging the lake.”
“Sorry,” Madge laughed. “I thought you had more confidence in my ability to handle a boat.”
“If you give me another scare like this, I’ll wish I’d never brought you up here.”
Madge did not take Mr. Brady’s brusque manner seriously for she knew that it masked a kindly heart. He really had worried about her and blamed himself for permitting her to start out ahead of the storm.
“I told Mr. Brady you knowed how to look arfter yourself,” Old Bill broke in, his leathery face wrinkling into a multitude of tiny folds. “I knowed this storm would pass over quick—seen a lot of ’em in my day, I have. I kin remember when I was workin’ on the Great Lakes—”
“Never mind!” Mr. Brady interrupted. “Tell us another time!”
“Yes, sir.” The old boatman subsided into injured silence.
Old Bill loved to spin yarns—that was his particular failing. He was an inaccurate encyclopedia of everything that went on, but only Madge, who thought him amusing, ever cared to listen.
He could relate the most fantastic tales of his adventures at Hudson Bay and various lumber camps. He had served as sailor on the Great Lakes and as guide to aspiring amateur fishermen who invaded Ontario, yet his real experiences were as nothing compared to those of his fertile imagination. His shack back of the Brady lodge was cluttered with melodramatic magazines which he read by the hour. He did as little work as possible about the lodge, yet if a task struck his fancy, glorified it until it became a task of gigantic importance.
“Your Aunt has been worrying,” Mr. Brady told Madge. “What kept you so long?”
Madge explained that among other things she had jumped into the lake and wound up the tale of her adventure by mentioning the overturned canoe which had not b
een recovered.
“You go on home,” Mr. Brady directed. “Bill and I will see if we can pick it up.”
Before continuing toward the lodge, Madge pointed out the general locality where she thought the canoe might be found. When she pulled up to the boat landing a few minutes later, Mrs. Brady, who had been anxiously watching from the veranda, rushed down to meet her.
“I’m glad you’re safe!” she exclaimed in relief. “I was so worried when the storm came up so quickly. Why, you’ve changed your dress! What happened and where is Anne?”
Madge repeated the story of her adventure, explaining that Anne did not wish to leave the island. After a slight hesitation, she related all that she had learned concerning the strange formula of Mr. Faraday’s. Mrs. Brady was astonished to hear that his fortunes had dwindled, but to Madge’s disappointment she did not appear greatly impressed with the story of the formula.
“It sounds like one of Bill’s yarns to me,” she laughed. “Whoever heard of a chemical preparation to keep things from rusting? If you find the formula, Madge, I want you to fix me up a solution for the kitchen pump! And for that rake your uncle left out in the rain!”
“It does sound fantastic, I admit, but somehow, I think there’s something to the story. I do know that scientists have been trying for years to find a paint that will prevent rust. Why, it would mean a fortune to the person who discovered the secret.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Mrs. Brady returned mildly. “I had no intention of trying to discourage you. By all means help Anne look for the missing paper or whatever it is, but don’t build your hopes too high. It’s very likely the formula never existed save in old Mr. Faraday’s mind. I’ve heard it said that he was a queer man.”
Madge dropped the subject but that was not the last of it. When Mr. Brady and Old Bill returned a half hour later with Anne’s canoe in tow, Mrs. Brady repeated the story for their benefit and at the supper table Madge was subjected to a great deal of good-natured teasing.
“Just wait!” she retorted. “Anne and I may show you a thing or two about formulas! If we find it, the laugh will be on you!”
She fully intended to return to Stewart Island the following day, but when she awoke the next morning it was to find that a drizzling rain had set in. Everyone stayed close in except Old Bill who was forced to drive to town for supplies and mail. The roads were muddy and he did not get back until after dark.
“Any letters?” Madge demanded eagerly.
“Not for you,” he told her crossly, pitching a heavy sack of flour from his shoulder to the kitchen floor with such violence that it sent up a white cloud of dust.
“There’s some pie in the oven,” Madge said sweetly. “I know you must be hungry and tired.” Her eye had fastened upon a slim, white envelope protruding from his hip pocket. “You do have a letter!”
“It ain’t fer you, I said.” Bill spoke more pleasantly for the mention of pie had softened his ill temper. He took the letter from his pocket and holding it to the light, squinted curiously at the postmark. “It’s for that gal, Anne Faraday. The postmaster told me to give it to her. Looks important too, comin’ from New York.”
“Bill Ramey!” Mrs. Brady interposed. “You’re worse than a rural mail carrier when it comes to curiosity! Put that letter on the shelf. Madge can take it over to the island tomorrow.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Bill’s reply was sufficiently meek but his face showed plainly that he did not like the order. He had always carried supplies and mail in person to Stewart Island or had left it in a covered box at the main landing across the lake from the Brady lodge. In previous summers, the Faradays had tipped him well for the service.
After eating the supper Madge prepared for him, he shuffled out, permitting the kitchen door to slam behind him.
“He’s peeved,” Madge chuckled. “Poor Bill! His feelings are always being hurt.”
The next morning dawned bright. Shortly after breakfast, Madge set out for Stewart Island, towing Anne’s canoe behind the skiff. She had laundered the dress which had been loaned her and carried it neatly done up in paper. She would have forgotten the letter had Mrs. Brady not hurried down to the beach with it just as she was starting off.
The lake was smooth and Madge made good time over to the island. Anne had sighted her from afar and was at the water’s edge to meet her.
“Oh, you found my canoe!” she cried. “What luck! But you shouldn’t have ironed that dress. It was only an old one.”
“Here’s something more for you,” Madge declared, producing the letter. “Bill brought it from town last night.”
“Oh, thanks. Mind if I read it now?”
“Of course not.”
Madge busied herself with the skiff while her friend eagerly ripped open the long white envelope. Scarcely had her eyes swept the page when she uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“Madge, do you remember the young man who worked here on the island about a year ago? I mean Father’s laboratory assistant.”
“That queer fellow with the stoop shoulders?”
“I think he got that way from spending so much time bending over test tubes,” Anne smiled. “I never liked him very well and was glad when Father discharged him.”
“I never saw him except at a distance,” Madge said, “and I’ve even forgotten his name. What about him anyway?”
“His name is Clyde Wendell,” Anne supplied. “This letter is from him. He says he’s coming here to see me on important business. Now what can that mean?”
“Doesn’t he give a hint as to what the business is about?”
“Not the slightest. Here, read the letter for yourself.”
Madge accepted the typewritten sheet and after scanning it briefly, returned it without comment.
“Clyde Wendell knew more about Father’s work than any other person,” Anne declared eagerly. “Perhaps he can tell me what became of the formula.”
“But wasn’t it hidden after he left?”
“I’m not sure. Father worked on it when Clyde was here. Then they disagreed. Father thought Clyde wasn’t honest and finally discharged him.”
“Why do you think Clyde would know where it is then?”
“He was always interested in the formula, Madge. And he knew Father’s habits even better than I did. He could always recall what became of his misplaced things.”
“Strange he’d be coming back just at this time,” Madge mused. “Especially since he was discharged.”
“Yes, Clyde was bitter toward Father at the time although he was paid several month’s extra wages. He seemed friendly toward me though and he’s likely forgotten all the unpleasantness by this time.”
Madge did not wish to discourage her friend yet she found it difficult to believe Clyde Wendell would go far out of his way to be of service.
“Better not pin too much hope on him,” she cautioned. “If we get busy we may be able to find that formula ourselves.”
“I’ve given the house a general overhauling but we can search again. Shall we do it today?”
“Let’s!” Madge agreed eagerly. “If only you had a hint as to what became of the thing! I suppose you’ve exhausted every possibility.”
“I’m afraid so,” Anne admitted. She hesitated and then added: “But there’s one clue I’ve neglected and it may be important.”
“What’s that?”
Anne smiled mysteriously, and linking arms with Madge, drew her toward the house.
CHAPTER IV
A Fruitless Search
“I’m afraid it really isn’t much of a clue,” Anne confessed, escorting her friend into the living room. “Just before Father died he tried to tell where he had hidden the formula but it was hard for him to speak. The nurse handed him paper and pencil and he managed to write a few words. He wasn’t able to finish the message.”
Anne moved over to the desk and took a scrap of paper from a pigeon hole. She handed it to Madge, watching her face closely as she scruti
nized the cramped writing.
“Why, this doesn’t make sense!” Madge protested. “It just says, ‘written in secret—’ Is this all of it?”
Anne nodded.
“Only three words. I’ve puzzled over it until my head whirls. I’ve finally figured out that he was trying to tell me the formula had been written in some secret code.”
“Why would he have done that? To protect it?”
“Yes, Father was obsessed with the idea that someone wanted to steal the formula, particularly after his trouble with Clyde. At the very last—” Anne’s voice broke. “—he wasn’t quite himself. He kept calling for some one. Kim he would say, Kim and looked at me so strangely.”
“He knew some one by that name?”
“Not to my knowledge. He probably was delirious.”
It occurred to Madge that the entire idea of the formula might have been a delusion as her Aunt Maude had hinted. Tactfully, she broached the subject.
“Oh, no,” Anne protested. “At one time the formula actually existed and it was an excellent piece of research—I know that. I’m confident it is here in the house somewhere. Probably in the most out of the way place. Since Father took pains to write it out in code, I’m sure he secreted it where one would never think of searching.”
“Then our work is cut out for us,” Madge laughed. “If we ever do find the formula we’ll still have the code to unravel.”
“And it will be a real one too! Father made a hobby of codes. Years ago he did work along that line for the government.”
Madge’s interest in the missing formula had somewhat cheered Anne and the girls began their search of the house with high hope. They spent the better part of an hour browsing about Mr. Faraday’s laboratory on the second floor, hunting through old ledgers and desk drawers. Satisfied that the lost paper was not to be found there they made a similar inspection of the old chemist’s bedroom, examining discarded letters and even searching behind pictures which hung on the walls.
“We might try the library,” Anne suggested at length. “I’ve looked there of course, but I’ve never gone carefully through the book shelves.”
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