“That bears out what I have heard,” said the investigator. “But there must be some way. Perhaps you can help me. But first tell me all you can—that is, all you want me to know.”
This last clause was a saving one for the girls. They felt, under it, that they need not mention the pin nor any possible connection Melissa might have with the houseboat. Dimitri Uzlov need not be brought in, nor the fact that he was not to be found. The girls could still keep to themselves, as far as Emma Tash was concerned, the secret of the man missing at Marshlands.
With this in mind, Terry, Arden, and Sim, by turns, assisted with a word from Mrs. Landry now and then, told about Melissa Clayton and her father.
“They live in a sort of shack on the edge of the bay, not far from the marsh,” said Terry. “You can get to it by a long winding road out of the village, but the best way is to go by boat.”
“Then I’ll go that way,” said the woman detective determinedly.
“I don’t believe you’ll get very close to the Clayton shack if you approach openly by boat,” said Terry. “George Clayton is a suspicious man, and if he’s home he’ll probably order you off his premises.”
“He may not be home,” said Emma Tash. “If he isn’t, so much the better. I can talk to Melissa alone. She ought to be old enough to make up her mind to leave her poverty for a better home with her aunt.”
“That’s just it,” said Arden. “I think Melissa is rather simple-minded, to state it gently. Do you think you would be justified in inducing that sort of a person to do something her father would oppose?”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that for anything,” was the quick answer. “If I find her that kind of a girl I will report back to my office and we’ll get legal advice. But Mrs. Benlon thinks she owes a duty to her niece, and she wants to carry it out as soon as she can.”
“Here’s an idea,” said Sim suddenly. “What about going crabbing?”
“Going crabbing!” exclaimed Arden, not seeing the relevancy of the remark. “What in the world for?”
“We have to take the water trail to the Clayton shack,” went on Sim. “Now, if we pretend to be crabbing we can gradually work our way toward it without exciting suspicion. Melissa may be outside or even out in a boat herself, crabbing or fishing. Her father may be out lifting his lobster pots. In that case Miss Tash can see the girl and talk with her. Melissa won’t be afraid if she sees us.”
“Say, that’s a good idea!” declared Terry.
“But you know,” said Arden, “we have to wait here for——”
She did not finish, though her chums knew whom she meant.
“Oh, I don’t want to take you away,” Emma Tash hastened to assure the girls. “I could go by myself.”
“I think it would be better if some of the girls went with you,” suggested Mrs. Landry. “Melissa would feel much more confidence.”
“I suppose she would, as I’m a stranger to her. But I hate to be a bother.”
“No bother at all,” said Terry. “One of us can go with you, and the rest of us can stay here to receive our expected visitor. He may not come after all,” she added.
“Oh, I think he will,” said Arden.
“Then you two stay here,” suggested Terry quickly. “I will go in our boat with this lady. We’ll do some crabbing. It will be the best way.”
“And if our friend comes,” said Sim, “we’ll hold him until you get back, Terry.”
“Yes, do that.”
Emma Tash was a very efficient woman. No sooner had the crabbing plan of approaching the Clayton shack been decided upon than she lifted up a small black bag which she had set beside her chair.
“If we are going crabbing,” she said with a smile, “I have my disguise in here.”
“Disguise!” repeated the girls in a chorus.
Truly things were developing fast at Marshlands.
A detective woman!
A disguise!
Arden’s eyes sparkled.
“It isn’t much of a disguise,” went on Emma Tash. “We women investigators don’t go in much for that sort of thing. Some of our men do, though. But when I knew I had to come down to the seashore, naturally I thought of bathing, fishing, or crabbing.
“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!
“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 theMerry 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 theMerry Janejust 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!”
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 Dimitrihadit, if that’s what you mean,” Arden went on. “But we don’t know where it isnow.”
“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.”
Melissa stopped and faced Terry. “What?” she asked abruptly. “What’ve you got?”
“Something nice,” Terry assured her, and then, because she could think of nothing else, she asked the frightened girl, “Do you like chocolate cake?”
“Sure do,” Melissa replied shyly. “Heaps!”
“Come on back, then,” Terry coaxed, and Melissa came towards her.
Terry took her into the bright little kitchen and gave her a large glass of milk and a big piece of chocolate cake. Melissa ate greedily, and Terry spoke gently to her to gain her confidence.
“That certainly is a lovely pin,” Terry remarked. “Would you mind if I showed it to my mother? She’s in the other room, but I’ll bring it right back.”
“I guess so,” Melissa agreed reluctantly, and taking the stick pin from her collar she handed the ornament to Terry. Her rather pale blue eyes were questioning her benefactor, and she looked not at all sure that she liked the situation.
Terry took the pin and pushed in the swinging door that led to the dining room.
“Come, finish your dinner,” Mrs. Landry said. “What happened to Melissa?”
“She’s out in the kitchen,” Terry replied and put a warning finger to her lips. “Don’t let her hear you. I just wanted to show this to Mr. Uzlov.” She held the pin out to Serge. “Isn’t this your brother’s?”
Serge took it and examined it closely.
“I gave it to Dimitri years ago,” he said. “He always liked it. I don’t believe he would have parted with it willingly.”
“We didn’t think so, either,” Arden remarked, taking what small satisfaction there was in the fact.
“Go back to her, Terry,” Mrs. Landry directed, “and talk to her a bit. See if she will tell you anything. But don’t frighten her,” she cautioned, and then to Serge she explained, “Melissa is like some woodland creature. She runs at the first hint of danger. Poor child! The girls have done all they can to help her, but she doesn’t trust anyone.”
Terry, taking the pin, they all having decided it would excite Melissa if they kept it, returned to the kitchen.
Ida, the maid, was rattling pans and knives in the sink, but Melissa was gone.
“Where’s Melissa?” Terry asked.
“She went,” Ida answered briefly.
“Why? Did you say anything to frighten her?” Terry wanted to know.
“Never said a word,” Ida insisted. “She et the cake and got up and walked out.”
Terry clenched her fists. Melissa gone again, and just when they thought they would learn something. If the girl really wanted to hide, they could never find her. There was only one thing to do. Follow her at once before she got too far away.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Terry flung over her shoulder, and still holding the pin clutched in one hand she slipped out the back door after the elusive Melissa Clayton.
Melissa was just about to push off in her old rowboat when Terry, without asking permission, hopped in and sat smiling at the startled girl.
“You’re in a great hurry, Melissa,” Terry said in an effort to be friendly. “You forgot your pin.”
Without saying a word Melissa held out her hand. But Terry, holding up the piece of jewelry, teased Melissa.
“I’ll give it to you when you tell me where you really got it,” Terry said.
“I found it, just like I told you,” Melissa insisted.
“Come, now, Melissa, that’s hard to believe. But don’t let me stop you from having your sail. I’d be glad to have someone row me for a change. I’m always giving other people a ride.”
“Well, I ought to be gettin’ home. Pa will wonder about me,” Melissa said.
“Don’t forget that piece of cake I just gave you. And you left before I got back to you. Why? Is anything worrying you?”
“No, I just thought I’d better go,” Melissa murmured sulkily. “Thanks for the cake.”
“That’s all right, I’d give you something a lot better than that if you could help me,” Terry said. Perhaps if Melissa thought she could be of some definite use she would tell where she really got the pin.
“What? What would you give me?” Melissa asked craftily.
“What would you like—jewelry?” Terry questioned with a quiet sort of emphasis on the last word.
“Jewelry?” Melissa’s eyes lit up greedily. “I got some jewelry now that’d be better than any you could give me. No, you better not come along. I got to be goin’ home.”
“How could you have?” Terry asked, deliberately trying to antagonize the girl. “The only jewelry you ever got was that old bracelet Sim gave you weeks ago and that your father made you give back.”
“It is not,” Melissa insisted. “I’ve got——No, I won’t tell you; you’re just jealous.”
“Come on, Melissa, be a sport. You tell me about the secret you know and I’ll tell you something I know about you. Something fine. You’ll love it. What do you say, is it a bargain?”
Terry waited. It would never do to rush things. If Melissa got stubborn it would be hopeless, and Terry was almost positive, now, that the queer girl was in possession of something.
Melissa looked at her uninvited guest in the boat distrustfully. There was no reason for not trusting her. The three girls had been very kind to her this summer and had tried to give her the bracelet. Still, she hesitated. Her father was also to be reckoned with. What would be his attitude? Oh, well, Melissa mentally shrugged.
“I did take the pin, but no one was there, and I knew the man wouldn’t care,” Melissa said, watching Terry closely.
“When, Melissa? When did you take it?” Terry asked, hoping that the girl could throw some light on Dimitri’s disappearance.
“One day when the man was out with his dog, painting,” Melissa replied. “I sneaked in just to have a look around. Some of the village people said he might be a spy, so I went over to see what a spy was. What is a spy, anyway?” Melissa asked, forgetting for the minute that she had just told Terry that the pin had not been found after all.
“Never mind that. Dimitri’s not a spy. That’s foolish. Tell me the secret you know.” Terry was becoming impatient.
Melissa hedged. This girl was too wise. Melissa’s father might punish her severely, send her away, even, where she’d have to dress up and wear shoes in hot weather and do other uncomfortable things.
“You won’t tell my father?” Melissa begged Terry.
“Not if you don’t want me to,” Terry replied.
“Well,” Melissa began, “over at my house I’ve got the prettiest box!”
Terry jumped. The snuffbox! But she mustn’t seem too surprised.
“You have? Tell me about it. I won’t tell your father,” Terry said, smiling confidentially.
“I got it on the houseboat. It was in a little closet on the wall and I broke the door open to see it,” Melissa confessed, now trusting Terry completely.
“But how did you know it was there?” asked Terry.
“The pretty lady told me about it. She gave me a dollar to bring it to her, but after I found it, I liked it so much I couldn’t bear to give it up,” Melissa explained.
“But don’t you know, Melissa, that you shouldn’t take things that belong to other people?” Terry said gently.
“This was only a yellow box, and the lady said it was hers, anyway.”
“It wasn’t, Melissa. It was Dimitri’s, and the lady had no right to it. Where is it now?”
“I’ve got it safe,” the girl said briefly.
“Melissa,” began Terry in a tone that commanded attention, “that was a very wrong and dangerous thing to do, to take that box. I want you to come back with me, while I explain to my friends and the Russian man’s brother just what happened. Then I want you to go over to your house with us and give back the box.”
“Oh, no,” pleaded Melissa. “I won’t do it. My father would do something awful to me if I did.”
“You’ve got to. If you don’t,” threatened Terry, “you’ll probably be arrested, and then what will become of you?”
Melissa’s eyes widened with fright. “Arrested?” she echoed dully.
Terry nodded her head.
“You better come back with me,” she said quietly. Slowly Melissa began to turn the boat. She was cornered, and she knew it. Terry spoke quietly as they rowed back to the cottage, explaining to the worried girl that she and her friends would see that no harm came to her. So well did she plead that by the time they docked the boat, Melissa had grown confident, and even eager to do Terry’s bidding.
A great deal of tact was necessary to keep Melissa in a helpful frame of mind. One careless word, and Terry knew Melissa would run. So, hoping her chums would understand, she walked back to the house, talking cheerfully to the girl as they went.
“Melissa is going to help us find the snuffbox,” Terry announced to the astonished group that awaited them on the porch. “She knows where it is, and she’s going to take us over to her house for it.”
Frantic looks and powerful concentration seemed to do the trick, for Arden fell in with Terry’s plan.
“That’s fine, Melissa,” Arden complimented her. “Let’s start at once, before it gets too dark. Terry, you and Melissa go together, and the rest of us will follow in our boat.”
“Give her back the pin, at least for a time,” suggested Arden. “It will make her trust us more.”
“Not a bad idea,” agreed Terry. “I will.”
“Yes, do,” said Serge in a low voice.
Terry slipped the pin back to Melissa, and she and the girl started for the boats.
“All right, Mother?” Terry asked. “Do you want to come too?”
“No,” replied Mrs. Landry. “I might be of some use here. Come back as quickly as you can, and good luck to you.”
They needed no urging, and with Melissa leading and the others following, they crossed the peaceful bay and landed close to the pitiful shack that Melissa called “home.”
“It’s in my room,” the girl told them, proud in her simple way to be the center of so much excitement.
“You show us,” Arden urged.
Melissa entered the solitary house, the door of which swung loosely on its hinges. The front room, furnished with an unpainted wooden table and three rickety chairs, was dreary and uninviting. The girl, clumping along in the boots which were much too large for her, entered a small room to one side. It was little bigger than a large closet with a white-painted bed and an old bureau topped by a cracked looking glass.
After much shaking and pulling, Melissa succeeded in opening the top drawer. She rummaged under some old clothes and thrust her hands far back in the bureau.
Suddenly, with an unbelieving look on her face, she turned to the little group crowded in the narrow doorway.
“It’s gone!” she exclaimed. “The box, the pretty yellow one that I put there myself, is gone!”
Was it a trick that Melissa had played on them? Or had Terry argued so successfully that the girl had actually come to believe she really did possess the box?
“Are you sure you had it?” Arden asked gently. “When did you see it last?”
“This morning I took it out to look at it,” Melissa replied slowly.
“What did it look like?” Terry asked, not quite believing that Melissa ever had it now.
“It had a little bird on and the prettiest shiny stones all around the edge,” Melissa answered woefully. “Oh, I did like it so much! It was so pretty!”
The girls fell silent. They had met another stone wall. They had neither Dimitri nor the snuffbox. They were as much in the dark as ever.
“But, Melissa,” Sim began, “what could have happened to it?”
“I don’t know,” Melissa replied slowly.
They looked curiously at the bare little room. Poor child, it was not surprising that she loved bright shiny things so much. In a place such as this was, anyone would crave relief from its drabness.
Arden turned to go, and the others were about to follow when they were halted by the sound of heavy footsteps hastening up the wooden steps that led into the house.
The three girls drew together. Serge stepped forward as though to protect them.
“It’s Pa,” Melissa said, looking fearfully at them.
“What’s going on in here?” an angry voice was heard before they saw the owner of it.
Melissa shrank back to the wall between the bed and bureau.
“What are you people doing here? Who let you in here?” It was George Clayton, wildly angry at this invasion of his property.
“We came by ourselves,” Terry said, boldly anxious to keep her pledge with Melissa.
“You did! Well, I advise you to go by yourselves before I run you off!” Clayton bellowed, reaching for a shotgun on the wall.
“Now, see here, Clayton,” Serge began, standing fearlessly before the angry man. “Be careful how you handle that gun. You don’t want to do anything you might be sorry for later.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Melissa’s father insisted. “You people get out of here! This is my property. You’ve got to get a warrant before you can come snooping around my place!”
“All right, we’ll go,” Serge said in a low voice. “But you watch your step. I’ve heard you’re not very popular in these parts.”
Clayton made an angry motion as though to strike Serge, but with an effort controlled himself and, spluttering and fuming, literally drove them from the shack.
They all piled into the little rowboat and made their way slowly back across the bay, disappointed and defeated, hardly knowing what to say—what to believe.
Serge decided to go at once back to New York.
“Dimitri might have gone to my place. I will get in touch with you tomorrow and let you know,” he said and, not going into the house again, he thanked Mrs. Landry, who was anxiously waiting at the small dock and, climbing in his car, drove quickly out of sight.
For a little while there was silence among them. Even Sim, who often could find humor in matters where others could not, had nothing to say. Mrs. Landry looked at the faces of the girls, and, guessing their thoughts, said: