Anne looked embarrassed and said hesitantly:
“I hadn’t had time to write. You see, the formula—” she trailed off as Madge gave her a warning look. It would never do to tell Mr. Brownell that the paper was missing—not unless she wanted to throw away her chance of ever selling it to him if it were found.
“If the formula is all your Father claimed it to be, we may be willing to enter into an agreement with you,” Mr. Brownell declared. “Now if you’ll just let me see the formula—”
“I’m afraid I can’t now,” Anne returned. “You see I don’t live here. My home is at Stewart Island.”
Mr. Brownell brushed away her objections with a careless wave of his hand.
“Oh, I don’t mind going there. In fact, if you’re not afraid to ride in a plane, my pilot can take us both to the island.”
“Well,—you see—that is, the formula was put away for safe keeping,” Anne stammered.
“You mean you haven’t it at hand? How soon can you get it?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps I could write you later—”
“No, I’ve traveled a good many miles to see it. Fact is, our company is anxious to get just such a formula as your Father described to us. If you can get it in a day or so I’m of a mind to stay over. I can send my plane back to the city and return by train.”
Anne was at a loss to know what to say. She looked doubtfully at Madge who was unable to help her.
“I can’t make any promise about the formula,” she said after a slight hesitation.
“You’re not dealing with another company, I hope,” Mr. Brownell said quickly.
“Oh, no. Father wrote to several firms, I believe, but I’ve not entered into any correspondence.”
Mr. Brownell did not seem entirely convinced. He debated a minute, studying the lake meditatively.
“Any fish here?” he questioned abruptly.
“It’s the best fishing lake in this part of the country,” Madge informed quickly. “Only this morning my uncle caught a seven pound bass. And it put up a magnificent fight.”
“I’d enjoy meeting a bass like that. If I can find accommodations I’ll stay a day or so.”
Madge suggested that her aunt might take him in, and arrangements were soon made. As the amphibian taxied away without its passenger, Clyde Wendell came down the trail. Anne did not wish to speak to him and hurriedly took her departure.
“What shall I do about the formula?” she whispered to Madge as they said goodbye at the water’s edge. “Shall I tell him it’s lost?”
“Not for a day or so,” Madge advised. “If we can get him interested in the fishing it will give us a little time to search. We may find the thing yet.”
Mr. Brownell had followed Mrs. Brady into the lodge but Clyde Wendell lingered near the beach. As Madge turned toward the house he stopped her.
“Who is that fellow?”
“His name is Mr. Brownell.”
“What was he saying to Anne Faraday just a minute ago?”
“Really, I think you should ask her,” Madge returned coldly.
She had no intention of telling him Mr. Brownell’s real mission. Before he could ask another question, she walked away. However, the chemist was not so easily discouraged and that night at the supper table, he skillfully drew from Mr. Brownell the purpose of his visit to Loon Lake.
“If you’re looking for a formula to prevent metals rusting, you may be interested in an idea of mine,” Clyde suggested. “I’ve been working on it for years. If you have the time, I’d like to go into the matter in complete detail.”
Mr. Brownell expressed a keen interest and the two retired to the veranda, there to talk more privately. They were still engrossed in deep conversation when Madge finished the supper dishes.
“If that isn’t just what you’d expect of Clyde Wendell!” she thought in disgust. “He wouldn’t care if he took the bread out of Anne’s mouth. I do hope his idea is a flop.”
After a time the two men went to their rooms. Madge was closing the doors for the night when she heard the faint put-put of a motor boat, far out on the lake.
“I wonder who can be out so late?” she thought. “It might be one of the rangers only it doesn’t sound like their boat.”
She shut the door and thought no more of it. It was her intention to paddle over to Stewart Island early the next morning to aid Anne in the search for the formula. Upon arising, she was startled to observe a white flag flying from a high point on the island.
Madge did not wait for breakfast, fearing that something had gone wrong during the night and that her friend might be in trouble. As she beached her canoe at Stewart Island, Anne came running down to meet her.
“Anything wrong?” Madge inquired anxiously.
“I’ll show you,” Anne said impressively.
She led her companion to the house and they entered the dining room. Anne went directly to a huge walnut buffet and jerked open the drawers. They were all empty.
“That’s what happened last night. All the silverware taken!”
“My word!” Madge scarcely could believe her eyes. “Why, I never heard of such a thing before at Loon Lake. Was the silverware very valuable?”
“I couldn’t afford to lose it. Still, it wasn’t such a costly grade of silver. I can’t see why a thief would go to so much risk to steal it unless he thought he would find other valuables.”
“What else was taken?”
“Nothing so far as I can tell. The library was ransacked but everything seems to be there.”
“The library! How very odd!”
“Yes, I can’t imagine what the thief thought he might find.”
Madge started to say something, then closed her lips firmly. She had a theory of her own but decided not to mention it yet. She followed Anne to the library. Books had been pulled from their shelves and tumbled out upon the floor. Papers were scattered about and the desk appeared to have been opened.
“I haven’t checked over all the books yet,” Anne said, “though to my knowledge Father had only a few of any real value. They’re all here.”
“What time of night do you imagine the house was entered?”
“Oh, Madge, I have no idea. I must have slept so well that I didn’t hear a sound. Strange that I didn’t, for I’m sure the thief came upstairs. The laboratory appears to have been entered.”
Madge expressed a desire to see Mr. Faraday’s workroom and was conducted upstairs. The laboratory was in disarray. Boxes had been removed from the shelves, containers misplaced and files disturbed.
“It looks as if the thief were after something besides silverware,” she commented. “I suppose your Father’s bedroom was entered too?”
“No, apparently not. My room adjoins and I am sure I would have awakened if anyone had tried to open the door. Perhaps the intruder knew where I slept and avoided that part of the house.”
Madge moved thoughtfully about the laboratory examining articles which had been misplaced. In spite of the disorder, the thief had left behind no clue to his identity.
“Anne, you haven’t mentioned the formula to anyone save Mr. Brownell, have you?” she asked suddenly.
“Why, no. That is, except to Clyde Wendell. I asked him if he had any idea what could have become of it and he said he knew nothing about it. You don’t think the person who came here last night was after the formula?”
“Perhaps not. It merely occurred to me.” Madge lapsed into thoughtful silence. “I can’t think of anyone save Mr. Brownell who would want to lay hands on that missing paper,” she added, after a moment, “and I’m sure he never left the house last night. But just as I was going to bed, I do recall hearing a motor boat out on the lake and it sounded as though it might be heading toward Stewart Island.”
“Jake Curtis has one, Madge!”
“I thought of that right away but what reason would he have for coming here?”
“It’s beyond me. All I know is that my silverware is gone. You don’t su
ppose someone—Jake for instance, is trying to frighten me away from here?”
“That’s a possibility,” Madge conceded. “Jake is bent on getting this property by one means or another. Still, your theory doesn’t entirely satisfy me.”
From the laboratory the girls went to Mr. Faraday’s bedroom. After a brief search which revealed no clues, they examined the other upstairs rooms and then returned to the first floor. The identity of the prowler remained a mystery.
“You can’t stay here alone another night,” Madge protested. “If you don’t care to come to the lodge, then I think I should remain here.”
“I wish you would!”
Madge did not look forward to a night at Stewart Island. She preferred her own comfortable room at the lodge to the gloomy, barn-like Faraday home. However, for the sake of her friend, she was glad to undergo a little inconvenience. After promising to return before nightfall, she took her leave.
Half way across the lake, she swung her canoe toward the lookout tower. Before she could climb the long flight of iron stairs to the platform, Jack French came down the trail, whistling a cheerful tune. He broke off as he saw Madge and greeted her with a broad smile.
“Hello, there. Why the serious expression so early in the morning?”
“I’ve had no breakfast for one thing. And for another, exciting events have taken place during the night.”
“If this apple will help stave off the pangs of hunger, you’re welcome to it,” he said, taking a polished red Winesap from his jacket pocket. “Perhaps it will give you strength to tell me all about the excitement.”
Madge accepted the apple gratefully.
“I’m afraid you’d give away the shirt off your back, Jack,” she smiled.
“I would to you,” he returned quietly. She glanced up, surprised at the tone of his voice. Before she could divine his meaning, he laughed. “What’s an apple, Madge? No sense getting sentimental about one when I’ve a case at home.”
Madge felt slightly rebuffed and immediately changed the subject to the one foremost in her mind. Jack listened attentively as she told him all that had befallen the previous night at Stewart Island.
“I’ll drop around there this morning and look things over,” he promised. “Tracking down a thief isn’t my line exactly, but I’ll be glad to do anything I can to help you and Anne. This is the first theft that’s been reported since I came to Loon Lake.”
At the lodge, Madge repeated the story for her aunt’s benefit but she took care that neither Clyde Wendell nor Mr. Brownell were within hearing distance. The latter had gone fishing with Old Bill as his guide, and their boat could be seen trolling slowly along the far shore. The chemist stationed himself in a comfortable chair on the porch. He appeared to be drowsing, yet whenever Madge glanced in his direction she noticed that he was watching the fishing boat intently.
“He seems afraid he’ll miss something,” she thought. “I wonder how long he intends to remain here?”
The chemist made no announcement of his future plans. He seemed content to sit and dream and think. In contrast, Mr. Brownell was a bundle of energy. He arose at dawn to fish and did not return until late in the evening. Several times Madge heard him remark that he must get over to Stewart Island to see Anne Faraday, but each day saw him fishing instead.
Madge and Anne welcomed the delay for although they had searched the house many times, the formula could not be found. Mrs. Brady had been reluctant to have her niece spend the nights at Stewart Island, but after several had passed with nothing amiss, she had grown more accustomed to the idea.
One evening, four days after Mr. Brownell’s arrival at the lodge, Madge was particularly anxious to get supper over with so that she might start for the island. It was nearly seven o’clock before Mr. Brownell and Bill came in with their string of fish. The president was proud of four large trout he had caught and after they were weighed, requested that they be prepared for supper. It was well after eight before the dishes were cleared away.
“I’ll do them,” Mrs. Brady offered. “You must hurry along, Madge.”
It was dark by the time she pulled up on the beach at Stewart Island. There was no moon and the stars were half-hidden by black clouds. Madge could not see the house. If a lamp had been lighted, it did not shine out through the trees.
“This is a spooky place after dark,” she thought uncomfortably. “Wish I had my flash.”
It was difficult to find the path leading to the house. Groping about, she stepped into a mud hole which let her in to her shoetops. The trees along the shore were dense and overgrown with vegetation. At length she found a trail but before she had followed it very far she discovered it was leading her deeper into the brush instead of toward the house.
She turned back, and impatient at the delay, walked hurriedly, paying slight attention to the ground underfoot. Unexpectedly, she stumbled over a vine. She tried to save herself but went down, striking her body against a hollow log which lay directly ahead.
Madge cried out but it was more from surprise than pain. In striking the log she distinctly had heard from within a strange metallic sound!
She gave the log an exploratory kick with her foot. Again she heard the sound.
“Something is hidden in there,” she thought. Stooping down, she groped about the opening at one end of the log. It was clogged with leaves and loose moss which she pulled away. She boldly plunged her arm into the opening.
“Hope I don’t get it chewed off!” she chuckled.
Her hand grasped something hard.
“What in the world?” she gasped.
Then she knew. It was Anne’s missing silverware.
CHAPTER VII
In a Hollow Log
“This is a discovery!” Madge assured herself as she made successive thrusts into the old log, tumbling out knives, forks and spoons. “Wait until Anne sees what I’ve found!”
Making certain that she had removed everything from the cache, she gathered up the silverware and hurried back to the beach. This time she made no mistake in selecting the path and a few minutes later saw the welcoming gleam of a light through the trees. She rapped on the door and after a brief wait, Anne flung it open.
“Oh, here you are! I was afraid you weren’t coming. Why, what do you have?”
“Your silver,” Madge laughed and thumped it down on the table. “See if it’s all here.”
“Where did you find it?” Anne was fairly dancing with excitement. “Oh, I’m so glad to get it back. Tell me, did the rangers capture the thief?”
“One question at a time,” Madge protested. “I’ll tell you everything while we check over the pieces. How many were there?”
“Twelve of everything.”
Already Madge had started to sort the forks. Anne began on the spoons and while they counted, she learned of the strange hiding place.
“I’ve gone by that log a dozen times,” she declared, “but it never occurred to me to look inside. Who could have hidden the silver there?”
“I wish you’d tell me. Why was it hidden there at all? If the thief broke into the house to steal it why didn’t he take it away with him?”
“Perhaps he was afraid of being caught.”
“Anne, I believe that the person who entered this house wasn’t after the silver at all.”
“Then why did he take it?”
“To throw you off the track or to frighten you,” Madge returned impressively. “Either someone is after the formula or else trying to make you give up this house.”
“It looks that way. I’d suspect Jake Curtis only it appears that if he were trying to frighten me, he would have taken a more effective means. We haven’t been disturbed since you began sleeping here nights.”
“I know,” Madge agreed. “It may not be Jake at all. It could be someone who is after the formula.”
“Mr. Brownell is the only one who wants it and you say he is so interested in fishing he can’t think of anything else.”
�
��Well, it seems that way. Of course, there’s Clyde. Why do you suppose he stays around here so long?”
“To collect that money he claims I owe him,” Anne returned with an angry toss of her head. “He rowed over here this afternoon to tell me that unless I paid him in a week’s time he intended to sue! Oh, I wonder if any girl was ever in such a situation? Everyone after me for money and I haven’t a cent!”
“Uncle George might be able to loan you some,” Madge said doubtfully. “I don’t know—”
“No, I’ll not borrow from him when I can’t be sure of paying it back,” Anne announced with decision. “I think the best thing to do is to tell Mr. Brownell the truth about the formula. Then I’ll sell my house to Jake Curtis and try to clear up my debts.”
“You’re discouraged tonight,” Madge said kindly, slipping her arm about the other. “I’m not fully convinced the formula can’t be found. What say we have one grand final search tomorrow?”
Anne agreed without enthusiasm. They finished counting the silver and accounted for all pieces save one knife which Madge thought must have been left in the log. Anne put everything away in its place and locked the doors and windows for the night. They went about it in businesslike fashion, trying not to show that they felt the slightest uneasiness. Nevertheless, both experienced a certain dread of spending the night alone in the house, an insecurity which they could not express in words. The feeling had steadily grown upon them since the discovery of the theft.
Mounting the spiral stairs to the bedroom they shared, the girls clung tightly to each other. They hurriedly undressed and Anne blew out the oil lamp. She made a running dive into bed, snuggling close to Madge who gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Save for the moaning of the wind, the house was quiet. Almost too quiet. In the dark the girls could easily imagine that someone was creeping up the stairs. Suddenly a door slammed.
“What was that?” Madge whispered.
“It must have been a screen door,” Anne returned nervously.
They listened intently for a minute or two but the only sound was the brushing of a tree-branch against the window. Gradually they relaxed and dropped off to sleep. And the next thing they knew it was morning.
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 244