The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  It was growing dark as she flew to her room for the things she meant to take with her to the island. She wrapped up a small bundle and tucked Kim under her arm.

  Mr. Brownell and the chemist were arguing about something but they broke off as she crossed the veranda.

  “That book must have a fascination,” the former remarked jokingly. “Do you sleep with it under your pillow, Miss Sterling?”

  “What book?” Clyde asked.

  She pretended not to hear but Mr. Brownell supplied the title.

  “Kim,” the chemist repeated. “Did I understand you correctly?”

  Madge did not care to be drawn into the conversation nor did she wish to answer questions about the book. Without waiting for Mr. Brownell’s reply, she hastily made her way down to the lake.

  Anne was waiting for her when she reached the island and immediately plunged into an account of Clyde’s afternoon visit.

  “He made a dreadful scene, Madge. He said he’d give me just two days and if I don’t turn over five hundred dollars by that time, he’ll bring court action. I’m so worried I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do nothing,” Madge advised. “He knows he can’t get anywhere if it comes to a legal fight. He’s only trying to bluff you, Anne. Sometimes, I think it wasn’t the money that brought him here at all.”

  “So do I. All the time he was talking with me this afternoon, he kept looking around and sort of studying things.”

  “Did he seem particularly interested in the library?”

  “Why, he asked me if I had considered selling my books as a means of raising money. I told him I didn’t think they would bring much.”

  “He didn’t ask you about that Kipling book you loaned me, did he?”

  Anne shook her head. “Why?”

  Madge lost no time in explaining her theory of the connection between the title and the words Mr. Faraday had spoken at the time of his death. She half expected Anne to laugh at the idea, but instead, she became excited.

  “Madge, you’re nothing less than a genius! Why didn’t I think of that myself?”

  “It’s only a hunch. I may be wrong.”

  “Everything fits in beautifully. Kim was Father’s favorite book. And another thing, he was always interested in codes, secret inks and the like. During the war he worked for the government, deciphering messages which were thought to have been composed by spies. He was especially interested in secret inks.”

  “Then we may be on the right track,” Madge declared enthusiastically. “The only way we can tell is to try to bring out the secret writing, if there is any.”

  “That’s easy to do. Let’s go to the laboratory right now and see what we can do.”

  With high spirits they raced up the stairs to Mr. Faraday’s workroom. Anne brought out an alcohol lamp which she lighted.

  “I don’t know the first thing about heating the pages,” Madge confessed. “Aren’t you afraid we’ll burn them?”

  Anne shook her head. She had aided her father with any number of minor experiments and knew how to handle laboratory apparatus. However, she was so excited and hopeful that her hand trembled as she held the first fly leaf above the flame. She moved it slowly back and forth.

  “Nothing seems to be coming up,” Madge observed in disappointment.

  “We’re only starting.”

  Anne worked patiently, heating the blank pages and the front and back of the book. When the final sheet did not reveal the secret, her confidence fell. Madge suggested that they try the margins and they took turns warming the printed pages. At length Anne passed the last sheet over the lamp. They watched with bated breath. Nothing came up.

  “Oh, Madge, I’m so disappointed I could cry,” she wailed, sinking down into a chair. “I was so sure we were right.”

  “So was I.”

  “This book was absolutely our last hope. If Mr. Brownell comes here tomorrow I must tell him the truth. I’ve kept him waiting so long he’ll be justified in feeling I’ve tricked him. Oh, dear! Why did I get into such a position?”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Madge relapsed into thoughtful silence. At length she said: “I think Clyde is trying to sell Mr. Brownell a formula of his own.”

  “I suppose he’ll succeed where I have failed. His formula may not be half as good as Father’s, yet if Mr. Brownell learns there is no hope of getting it he may deal with Clyde.”

  Madge acknowledged the truth of this. She had hoped matters might work out to Anne’s advantage but luck had never been with her. To admit defeat seemed the only course.

  It was nearly midnight and the girls were tired as well as discouraged. They put aside the apparatus and went to their bedroom, leaving the book lying on the laboratory table. Few words were spoken as they prepared for bed. Anne blew out the light and soon was asleep.

  Madge rolled and tossed and remained wide awake. Try as she would, she could not take her mind from the perplexing problem of the formula. She had no real hope of working out a solution yet she kept turning the matter over and over in her mind. Then like a flash, the answer came!

  “Anne! Anne!” she cried jubilantly, shaking her chum rudely by the shoulder. “I’ve thought of it at last!”

  CHAPTER X

  An Unsatisfactory Test

  Anne rolled over in bed and groaned.

  “What did you say?” she murmured drowsily.

  “Wake up, sleepy head,” Madge said, shaking her again. “I’ve had another inspiration about the formula.”

  At the word “formula” which was magic to her ears, Anne sat upright, ready to listen.

  “We’ve been hopeless duds trying to bring out the secret writing by heating the pages of the book!” Madge declared.

  “And you awakened me to tell me that? Of all the—”

  “I’m not through. Remember, you said your Father knew a great deal about secret inks and the like.”

  “He was a government specialist,” Anne corrected. “He probably knew as much about secret inks as any man in Washington.”

  Madge nodded eagerly.

  “Exactly. And here we’ve been working on the theory that he would use the most simple means of hidden writing. Why, you can write with milk and bring it out by heating the paper. Any school child knows that.”

  “Father always had an aversion to the obvious thing too,” Anne declared, catching her friend’s trend of thought. “He probably used the very latest method of secret writing.”

  “That’s the conclusion I reached,” Madge announced eagerly. “I’m willing to wager that the formula is written in Kim if only we can find the right method of bringing it out!”

  “I’m sure I don’t know the way,” Anne returned. “You can’t find that sort of information in books either—that is, not the latest processes.”

  “You don’t know anyone who might help us?”

  “Clyde Wendell, if he would.”

  “Let’s count him out. He wouldn’t help a blind man.”

  “Then I fear—oh, wait! I just thought of a man who worked with Father in the Washington bureau. He knows everything about codes and ciphers and secret inks.”

  “Can you reach him?”

  “Why, I could write to Washington. I believe he’s still with the government.”

  “That would take ages,” Madge protested. “We must have quick action or Mr. Brownell will leave. Why not telegraph?”

  “I can,” Anne agreed instantly. “Why, where are you going?” she demanded as Madge slid out of bed.

  “I’m going back to the laboratory after Kim. It would be just our luck to have it stolen during the night. No use taking chances.”

  Anne would not permit her to go alone so together they stole down the dark hallway. The floor creaked beneath their feet and the light from the lamp made weird shadows dance on the plaster walls.

  To their relief they found the book where they had left it. For the remainder of the night they slept with it under Anne’s pillow.

  At the first
sign of dawn they arose and dressed. They planned to go to Luxlow as soon after breakfast as they could find means of transportation and the question arose as to what should be done with the book.

  “I don’t like to leave it here while we’re gone,” Anne said. “The house has been entered once and we saw a prowler around at night. Why don’t you take it back to the lodge?”

  “I’d prefer not to have the responsibility.”

  “Do keep it, Madge. I’ll not have a comfortable moment if we leave it here.”

  Unwillingly, Madge allowed herself to be persuaded. Shortly after eight o’clock, they locked the house and crossed the lake to the Brady lodge. Neither Mr. Brownell nor Clyde Wendell were abroad for they were late risers. The girls went to Madge’s room for her coat and hat and while there decided that for the time being Kim would be safe in the lower bureau drawer. They covered the book with a layer of clothing.

  “No one ever comes in here save Aunt Maude and she wouldn’t think of disturbing anything,” Madge said.

  How to get to Luxlow was the next problem for Mr. Brady had taken the car away early that morning. However, learning that one of the rangers was driving in, they received permission to ride with him. Madge rather wished that Jack might have been the one to take them but he was busy surveying a new road which the government intended to put through the forest.

  En route to town the girls busied themselves with the telegram they intended to dispatch to the man in Washington. Anne had found his address on an old envelope in her father’s files. It was not easy to explain what they wanted to know in a few words without sounding utterly ridiculous. After several trials, the message finally suited them. Arriving at Luxlow, they sent it off and purchased supplies which Mrs. Brady had requested. The last item on the list she had given Madge, read: “magazines for Bill.”

  “He always wants the cheapest kind,” she told Anne. “I have a notion to take him a few high-brow ones for a change.”

  “He’ll never forgive you if you do.”

  They sought a street stand which displayed magazines of all type. With considerable embarrassment they selected a half dozen of the melodramatic sort and Madge actually blushed as she paid the salesgirl.

  “The next time, Bill buys his own trash or he goes without!” she fumed. “Did you see the pitying look that girl gave us? She thought we wanted them for ourselves.”

  They walked slowly down the street, Madge carrying the magazines so that the jackets would not be noticed by the passersby. They were within sight of the ranger’s parked automobile when Anne heard her name called. She turned and saw Jake Curtis.

  It was too late to retreat. They could only wait and face the music.

  “I went out to Stewart Island last week to see you, Miss Faraday,” the man began in an unpleasant tone. “You were gone.”

  “I must have been at the Brady lodge,” Anne replied uneasily. “Or perhaps it was the day we went fishing. If I had known you were coming—”

  “You’d have been away just the same!” the man finished harshly. “Well, I warn you it will do you no good to try to avoid me. I mean business. The mortgage must be paid by the first.”

  “This isn’t the first,” Anne reminded him. “I have several days yet.”

  “Not to sell the house, you haven’t. I’ll give you just twenty-four hours to decide what you want to do. I’ll wipe off the mortgage and give you five hundred dollars for the house and island. But the offer only holds until tomorrow noon.”

  “It’s robbery!” Anne protested.

  “Take it or leave it,” he retorted, and turning, walked away.

  CHAPTER XI

  The Secret Hiding Place

  “My! My! Is Jake Curtis important?” Madge mocked. “Take it or leave it! I wish you had told him to jump in the lake!”

  “I fear I’m at his mercy,” Anne returned in a disheartened tone. “What can I do in twenty-four hours? I can’t borrow enough money to pay off the mortgage. And if I sold the house and island at public auction it probably wouldn’t bring enough to get me out of debt.”

  “Jake would see to that,” Madge said feelingly. “He has underhanded ways of managing things. But don’t take it so hard, Anne. We’ll find some way to best him.”

  “The formula was my only chance of raising money and we couldn’t possibly unearth it in twenty-four hours.”

  “That man in Washington may wire right back.”

  “And again, he may never answer,” Anne added gloomily. “Oh, well, it does no good to moan. Let’s go back to the car.”

  The girls reached the Brady lodge in time for a late luncheon. Learning that Mr. Brownell had gone fishing again and that Clyde Wendell had not been seen since breakfast, Madge persuaded Anne to remain for a few hours.

  They had lunch and then sat on the veranda. As usual the conversation turned to the missing formula and to the book which they hoped would disclose the secret. Madge brought it from the house and they looked at it again. While they were pouring over the pages, Mrs. Brady came outside to suggest that Madge take the newly purchased magazines to Bill’s cabin.

  “He’s laid up with rheumatism again today,” she explained, “and I know he’ll appreciate something to read.”

  “Rheumatism, like fun!” Madge laughed as she arose to do her aunt’s bidding. “I notice his attacks always come on the days when Uncle George has planned a hard day’s work. You’re both too easy on him.”

  She accepted the magazines, and with Anne, who still had the book in her hand, walked a short distance through the woods to Bill’s cabin. From afar they glimpsed the old workman smoking his pipe on the porch but he quickly vanished inside as he saw them coming. When they knocked, a muffled voice bade them enter.

  They entered the room to see Bill stretched on his bunk, his face twisted with pain.

  “Thet you, Miss Madge?” he mumbled, making an exaggerated effort to lift himself to a sitting position. “If Mr. Brady sent you to find out how I be, you kin tell him I ain’t no better. My back’s nigh to killin’ me. I didn’t git a wink o’ sleep last night and this mornin’ seems like me poor old body—”

  “Never mind,” Madge interrupted. “Uncle George didn’t send me. I brought these magazines for you.”

  Bill’s face brightened. He swung his feet to the floor with alacrity, then remembering his ailment, groaned and told Madge to leave the magazines on the table.

  “I won’t be doin’ much readin’ fer several days yet,” he mumbled. “I’ll jes’ lie here quiet like and try to git me strength back.”

  The girls soon left, but mischievously hid themselves behind a tree only a short ways from the cabin. Before long, Old Bill’s tousled head was thrust cautiously out the door. Seeing that the coast was clear he took up his seat in the sun and soon was lost in the depth of a bloodcurdling detective story. The girls stole quietly away.

  “It’s always that way,” Madge declared. “For every honest day of labor he does, Bill rests six! I guess at that we couldn’t get along without him.”

  Taking a different trail through the woods, the girls presently came to a newly constructed two-room log cabin.

  “Uncle George plans to rent it out later in the summer,” Madge explained. “It’s all finished now.”

  “Is it nice inside?”

  “Lovely. I’ll open it up and show you.”

  Madge dashed off through the woods, returned in a few minutes with the key, which after a few unsuccessful turns, unlocked the cabin door. The rooms had been furnished with rustic furniture that Mr. Brady had made himself. The unpainted log walls gave off a pleasant, fresh odor. Madge pointed out the huge stone fireplace.

  “Bill will be proud of this until his dying day. He can tell you the number of stones in it too.”

  “How did you ever keep him at it long enough to get it done?”

  “It was a problem. Uncle George supervised the work, of course. Even then, Bill made several mistakes in placing the stones. See—” she indicated
a deep ledge, well-hidden up the chimney. “No one knows why he did that. The chimney may not draw right now.”

  “Madge, how long before this cabin will be used?” Anne asked suddenly.

  “Probably not for a month or so. Why?”

  “I was thinking—this ledge is made to order!” Anne glanced at the book she still carried in her hand. “We must hide Kim somewhere. Why wouldn’t this shelf be an ideal place?”

  “Perhaps it would. No one ever comes here now the cabin is finished. The key is kept in the kitchen cupboard and the windows are always locked from the inside. The only danger might be that someone would start a fire to test the chimney. And if Uncle George should decide to do that, I could rescue the book.”

  “Let’s hide it here then, Madge. Somehow, I don’t feel that it is very safe in your bureau drawer.”

  “Neither do I, with so many guests around. But I’m not convinced this is such a safe place either. I’d feel better if you took the book back home with you.”

  “No, I’d much rather you kept it. And we can’t ask for a better place than this shelf. Who would think of looking here? It’s well hidden and the book just fits the space.”

  Anne thrust an exploratory hand up the chimney. As she observed, the ledge seemed to have been built for Kim.

  “I suppose we may as well leave it there,” Madge said, a trifle reluctantly. “At any rate, the book will be safer than in my bureau drawer.”

  They left the cabin, locking the door behind them. Madge cast an uneasy glance about the clearing. “You—you didn’t hear anything?” she asked.

  “Hear anything? Why, no. What do you mean?”

  Madge did not reply immediately for her sharp eyes were searching the line of trees which circled about the little cabin. Gradually, the tense lines of her face relaxed.

  “Just as we came out, I thought I saw someone—right close to the cabin. For a minute, I was sure I heard a stick crackle.”