"Stay where you are!" commanded the young man sternly.
He seized the stick from Penny's hand and used it to beat off the dog. Rudy showed very little fight. When he felt the sting of the switch he ran off whining toward the barn.
Penny picked herself up and dusted off her linen dress.
"Thank you, Michael," she said soberly.
"It wasn't anything," the young man replied. "The dog is mostly bluff."
"He bluffs too realistically to suit me," Penny returned ruefully.
"You're not hurt?"
"No, the dog knocked me over but his teeth missed me. I'm glad you happened to be here at the right time, Michael."
"So am I."
The young man glanced quickly at Penny and then looked away. He seemed to realize that she was expecting him to offer an explanation for his presence at the Crocker place.
The thought had occurred to Penny, but in view of the service which Michael had rendered, she decided not to question him. Instead she graciously introduced the young man to Susan.
"Since Mr. Crocker isn't at home we may as well be walking back to the cottage," Penny remarked after the three had chatted for a moment. "Rudy may muster his courage and take after me again."
"I'll go along with you," said Michael falling into step with the girls. "I came to see Herman Crocker too."
Neither Penny nor Susan offered any comment. They were quite sure that the young man had been crouching behind the hedge. They believed that he had observed Mr. Crocker drive away, and they thought that probably he had been watching their own movements.
During the walk back to the cottage, the girls chatted pleasantly with Michael. Susan, unaware that the young man had been uncommunicative regarding his past history, began to ask him casual questions about his home town.
"You were born in the west, Penny tells me," she commented.
"That's right," the young man agreed uneasily.
"I'd never have suspected it," Susan went on. "You don't talk like a westerner. Did you live on a ranch?"
Michael shook his head. He hesitated and then said in a low tone:
"I spent most of my early life in an orphan's home. It was a place called Glenhaven."
"Why, there's a Home in this state by that name!" cried Penny.
"Well, that's certainly odd," replied Michael, avoiding her gaze. "But I suppose Glenhaven is a common name."
"Tell us more about yourself," urged Susan.
"There's nothing to tell. I don't know very much about my parents. I was just turned over to the Home until I was eighteen years of age. I worked hard there but I was well treated. Then I left and got a job in a factory, but times turned hard and I was laid off. That about brings me up to date."
Penny thought: "But it doesn't explain why you came to Kendon to see Herman Crocker." However, her serene countenance gave no hint that she doubted any of Michael's story.
Alone in Penny's bedroom, the girls discussed the young man.
"I like him a great deal," said Susan.
"And so do I," Penny agreed, "but that doesn't alter facts. I feel certain he's not telling us a straightforward story. He may have been born in the west but I believe he's spent a great deal of his life right herein this state."
"What makes you think so, Penny?"
"Because in talking with him I've noticed that he's always well versed in local history and state politics. And another thing—I doubt that Glenhaven is a common name for an orphan's home."
"He did act embarrassed about that."
"Do you want to know what I think?" asked Penny earnestly. "I suspect Michael Haymond spent most of his life in the Glenhaven Home which is in this state—not out west."
"But why should he try to hide the fact?"
"I couldn't guess. It's remotely possible he's been mixed up in trouble, but Michael seems like a decent sort."
"If we were really prying we could write to the Glenhaven officials," Susan said slowly.
"I don't consider it prying to try to find out more about the man," returned Penny. "A good detective always investigates every angle of a case. I could send a letter off tonight only it will take so long to get a reply."
"A week at best, I'd judge."
"Glenhaven isn't far from here!" Penny cried. "Let's drive over there tomorrow. I think Dad would let me have the car if he doesn't need it himself."
"Why, I'd enjoy the trip," Susan declared promptly.
"We could start early and take our lunch," Penny planned enthusiastically.
When Mr. Nichols came home she asked him if they might use the car the following day. The detective readily agreed. He was delighted that Susan had arrived to visit Penny for he felt that the girls would have an enjoyable time together.
"Any news about your toy lantern?" Penny asked her father teasingly.
"None worth mentioning," the detective replied. "I'm getting a little discouraged."
"Don't hesitate to call upon me if you need my sleuthing services," Penny laughed. "I'm doing very well with my own case."
Early the next morning Penny and Susan set off for Glenhaven, telling no one save Mr. Nichols of their destination. They did not wish either Mrs. Masterbrook or Michael to gain an inkling of their mission.
Noon found the girls within view of the orphan's home. It was a private institution and from the outside at least, a pleasant looking place. The brick building had several long wings and there was a wide expanse of bent grass lawn.
"Did you ever see such a beautiful yard?" asked Susan admiringly. "It looks as smooth as a floor."
"It's almost too pretty," said Penny. "I'd rather see the grass worn thin in places. Then I'd know that children had been playing on it instead of being cooped up inside."
The girls turned in at the grounds and drove up to the front door. Upon asking to see the matron they were shown into Mrs. Barker's office.
"What may I do for you?" the woman inquired pleasantly.
Under her intent scrutiny, Penny found it difficult to state her mission. She managed to say that she was trying to learn if an orphan named Michael Haymond had ever lived at the Home.
"One moment and I will see," replied the matron.
She rang a bell and instructed an attendant to check over the institution records. In a short while the report came back. No person by the name of Michael Haymond had ever resided at the Glenhaven Home.
"It's barely possible the young man took the name of Haymond after leaving the institution," Penny said slowly. "I wonder if you would recognize him by description?"
"How long has he been away?" questioned the matron.
"I am only guessing but I should say at least two years."
"Then I'd not remember him. You see I took charge of the Glenhaven Home only nine months ago. The person for you to see is Mrs. Havers. She was matron here for over twenty years."
"Do you know where I could find her?" inquired Penny.
"I will give you her address." Mrs. Barker reached for pencil and paper.
"Does she live close by?" Penny asked.
"Yes, only a short distance away in the town of Ferndale. Mrs. Havers left her duties here upon account of serious illness, but I understand she is considerably improved now."
Penny thanked the matron and accepting the slip of paper, left the institution in company with Susan. Outside the building the girls paused to consider their next move.
"It shouldn't take us long to find Mrs. Havers," Penny declared. "Let's go to her place."
"All right, we have plenty of time," Susan agreed. "Only it looks useless because if Michael had ever lived here his name would have been on the records."
"Yes, unless he changed his name," Penny admitted, "but let's go anyway."
The girls drove on to the town of Ferndale and had little difficulty in locating the address given them by Mrs. Barker. They were admitted to an overly heated brick cottage by an elderly woman with white hair and kind gray eyes. The living room was so warm and stuffy that Penny had trouble in breathing but Mrs. Havers apparently did not notice.
"You wish to see me concerning a former inmate of the Glenhaven Home?" the old lady asked after Penny and Susan had stated their mission. "I'll be glad to answer any of your questions."
"We are trying to trace a young man by the name of Michael Haymond," Penny explained. "Would you remember him?"
"I have never forgotten a single child who was ever placed under my care," replied Mrs. Havers with a smile. "But I am certain that no one by that name ever lived at the Home."
"Then I am afraid we were mistaken in our facts," Penny said in disappointment.
"You are sure you have the right name?"
"Why, I think so," Penny replied doubtfully.
"The reason I ask is that we did have an orphan by the name of Michael in our institution," Mrs. Havers declared reflectively. "He was one of my favorites. There was some mystery about his parentage, but he seemed to come from a good family."
"Do you recall his full name?" Penny questioned.
"Oh, yes, it was Michael Gladwin."
"That sounds a trifle like Haymond," Susan commented.
"Michael was brought to the institution when he was two years old," Mrs. Havers recalled. "His parents had been killed in an auto accident we were told, but while the facts were officially recorded, I always doubted the story."
"May I ask why you doubted it?" Penny inquired.
"I consider myself a fairly good judge of character," Mrs. Havers replied. "The man who brought Michael to our home was a very peculiar person. He claimed to be no relation to the boy, yet he had taken a deep liking to him and was willing to pay for his keep at the institution."
"That would seem very generous," Penny remarked.
"So I thought. From his appearance, one would never suspect that the man had such a character."
"Didn't you investigate him?" asked Susan.
"It is not the policy of the Glenhaven Home to probe deeply into the parentage of the children placed there," Mrs. Havers replied. "Babies left on our doorstep receive the same treatment as those brought by parents unable to keep their offsprings. In this case, the man paid Michael's way for five years in advance."
"After that I suppose you never heard from him again?" Penny inquired.
"To the contrary, money came regularly for ten years. However, during that period, no one ever visited the boy."
"Can you tell us the name of the person who brought Michael to the Home?" Penny questioned.
"It has slipped my mind for the moment. Let me see—the name began with a K. It seems to me it was Keenan or very similar. The money always came from a place by the name of Fairfax."
"What became of Michael?" inquired Susan curiously.
"He lived at the Home until he was eighteen years of age," Mrs. Havers answered. "Then we found a position for him. After that our record ceases."
"Did you never make any attempt to trace the boy's parentage?" Penny asked thoughtfully.
"Yes, a number of years ago I wrote to Fairfax. It was a strange thing—the letter was never answered. And from that day, funds ceased to come for Michael's support."
"It appeared as if the man who had been paying for the boy's keep feared an investigation," Penny commented.
"Yes, that is what I thought. I would have probed deeper into the matter but at that time I was taken ill. I went to a hospital for over a year, then I resumed my duties, only to give them up again a few months ago."
Mrs. Havers began to talk of her own ailments and the girls had little opportunity to ask additional questions about Michael.
"I am sorry that I've not been able to help you," the woman said regretfully as she escorted the girls to the door. "Of course the Michael of my story has no connection with the young man you are trying to trace."
"Probably not," Penny agreed. "Thank you for giving us so much of your time."
When the door had closed behind them, she turned eagerly to her chum.
"Susan, I didn't like to say so in front of Mrs. Havers, but why couldn't Michael Haymond and Michael Gladwin be the same person?"
"Michael is a common name."
"Yes, but many of the facts in Michael Haymond's life dovetail with those told us by Mrs. Havers."
"There may be a slight similarity," Susan acknowledged. "But we can never prove anything."
Penny stared at her chum for an instant. Then her face relaxed into a broad smile.
"Susan, I have a dandy idea!" she cried. "Fairfax isn't far from here. Let's drive there right now and see if we can't locate that mysterious Mr. Keenan!"
Susan instantly approved of Penny's idea, so the girls drove on toward Fairfax, a small city of several thousand inhabitants. They stopped at a corner drugstore to consult a telephone directory. At least fifteen families by the name of Keenan were listed.
"This isn't going to be as easy as I thought," Penny said in disappointment.
"I suppose we could telephone every Keenan in the book," Susan ventured.
"What could we say?" Penny asked. "'I beg your pardon, but are you the person who took Michael Gladwin to the Orphan's Home?' We'd receive nothing but rebuffs."
"I guess it would be silly," Susan agreed. "Let's give it up."
"We might try the postoffice," Penny said after a moment's thought.
They located the government building in the downtown section of Fairfax only to meet disappointment once more. The postmaster listened politely enough while Penny told him that she was seeking a certain Mr. Keenan who for many years had regularly mailed letters to the Glenhaven Orphan's Home, but she could tell that he considered her request for information rather ridiculous.
"We handle hundreds of letters a day here," he explained. "It would be impossible for me to remember any particular one."
Penny and Susan went back to the car, convinced that they could do no more.
"We may as well go home," Penny declared gloomily. "Our day has been wasted."
"Oh, I'd not say that," replied Susan cheerfully. "We've had an interesting time, and we learned quite a few facts from Mrs. Havers."
"We don't know a bit more about Michael Haymond than we did before. He may be the same person as Michael Gladwin but we'll never be able to prove it."
"Not unless he breaks down and admits it, I fear."
"I'd not want Michael to think I was prying into his past life," Penny said hastily. "After all, it's really none of my affair where he spent his early years. I'll just forget about it."
The girls might have been unable to dismiss the affair completely from their minds had it not been that the following day another development crowded all else into the background.
Susan had started to knit a sweater. Finding that she was in need of more wool, she asked Penny to walk down to the village dry goods store with her.
While Susan was trying to match her sample, Penny roved about the store, gazing at the various objects. She had never seen such a strange mixture in any one establishment before. There was a grocery section, a candy department, one devoted to books and stationery, a shoe section, and sundry articles too numerous to mention.
Suddenly Penny's attention was drawn to a bolt of cloth lying on the counter. It was white material of a curious weave. The girl crossed over to examine it.
"Are you thinking of buying yourself a dress, Penny?" asked Susan. She had come up behind her chum.
"Oh! You startled me!" exclaimed Penny with a little laugh. "Susan, I wish you'd look at this cloth!"
"I don't like it at all if you want my honest opinion," replied Susan. "The material is too coarse."
"I don't intend to buy it for a dress," Penny explained quickly, lowering her voice. "Do you remember that broken toy lantern which I showed you?"
"Of course I do. You mean the one which your father believes to be a clue in the Kirmenbach case?"
"Yes."
"I still don't understand what you are driving at," Susan said a trifle impatiently. "What connection does it have with this bolt of dress goods?"
"Look at the cloth very closely," Penny urged. "Now don't you see?"
"No, I don't."
"Have you forgotten the wick of the toy lantern?"
"The wick——" repeated Susan slowly. "Oh! The cloth is the same!"
"It's the very same weave," Penny nodded. "At least that would be my guess. The wick of that toy lantern might have been made from a scrap of cloth sold from this very bolt of goods!"
"I'd never have noticed a thing like that in a million years," Susan murmured in awe. "Penny, you've uncovered an important clue in your father's case."
"I may be wrong about it," Penny admitted.
She lowered her voice for the storekeeper was coming toward the girls.
"May I show you something in yard goods?" he inquired. "That bolt on the counter is one of our popular pieces."
"Have you sold very much of it?" Penny asked quickly.
"Oh, yes, indeed. A great many women in Kendon have had suits made from this particular pattern. It is very reasonably priced too—only thirty-nine cents a yard."
"Could you give me a list of the persons who have bought material from this bolt?" Penny questioned eagerly.
The storekeeper regarded her rather blankly for the request was a strange one.
"Well, no, I'm afraid I can't," he replied. "Half the women in town buy yard goods from me. But I'm sure you can't go wrong in making this selection."
"I'll take a quarter of a yard," Penny told him.
"Only a quarter of a yard?"
"Yes, that will do for a sample. I may want more later on."
The storekeeper cut off the material and wrapped it up. Penny and Susan left the store with their purchases.
"I'm going straight back to the cottage and compare this cloth with the wick of the toy lantern!" Penny exclaimed when they were beyond the storekeeper's hearing.
"It's a pity so many persons bought the material," Susan commented. "Otherwise it might be possible to trace the buyers."
"Yes," agreed Penny, "but the clue may prove to be a valuable one anyway. If this cloth is the same as the toy lantern wick, it's very possible that the thief who stole the Kirmenbach jewels lives right in this town."
"Aren't you forgetting that other stores may have the same kind of material for sale," Susan remarked.
"That's possible of course. Oh, Dad may not consider the clue of much value, but at least it's worth reporting."
Mr. Nichols was sitting on the front porch when the girls reached the cottage. Making certain that Mrs. Masterbrook was not within hearing, Penny told him of her important discovery in the village. Mr. Nichols examined the cloth very closely and then compared it with the wick of the toy lantern.
"The material looks exactly the same to me, Dad!" Penny declared excitedly.
"It is identical," her father agreed. "Where did you say you bought the goods?"
"At Hunters Store. Unfortunately, every woman in Kendon seems to have bought this same material."
Mr. Nichols reached for his hat. "I'm going down there now and talk with the storekeeper," he declared.
"Then you think the clue is important, Dad."
"Yes, I do, Penny. It may not lead to anything, but one can never be sure."
"Didn't I tell you to call on me if you needed help with the case?" laughed Penny.
"You certainly did," her father agreed good-naturedly. "As a detective I'm afraid you're showing me up in a bad light."
Before leaving the cottage Mr. Nichols was careful to lock the toy lantern in his room. Considering its value in the Kirmenbach case he did not wish to run any risk of having it stolen.
Mr. Nichols was absent from the cottage a little over an hour. When Penny saw him coming up the road she ran to meet him.
"Did you learn anything, Dad?" she asked eagerly.
The detective shook his head.
"I'm satisfied that the material is the same," he replied, "but the storekeeper couldn't remember anyone who had bought the goods from him. He seems to be a stupid fellow."
Penny walked along with her father for some distance without making any response. Then she said half apologetically:
"Dad, I have an idea, but I suppose it's a very silly one."
"What is it, Penny?" the detective asked soberly.
"I have a theory that the thief who took the Kirmenbach jewels may have been some person living in this locality."
"That is possible," Mr. Nichols agreed.
"In that case the toy lantern probably belonged to some child who may reside in or near Kendon."
"True."
"This is my idea," Penny explained. "Why not display the lantern in some prominent place where children will be likely to see it—for instance the candy department of Hunter's store. Take Mr. Hunter into your confidence and have him on the lookout for the original owner of the toy lantern. A child seeing it on the store shelf would be almost certain to identify the property as his."
Mr. Nichols did not laugh. Instead he remained thoughtfully silent for a moment.
"There may be something in your idea, Penny," he said gravely. "If we could locate the owner of the toy lantern it should prove fairly easy to trace the thief. But the chance that the right child would enter the store and recognize the toy is a very slim one."
"Would it do any harm to try?"
"No, we've nothing to lose," Mr. Nichols declared. "I've tried all the sensible ways of tracing the thief, and have met with no success. We may as well test out your theory."
"When will you see Mr. Hunter?" Penny asked eagerly.
"We'll get the toy lantern and go right back there together," Mr. Nichols promised. He smiled down at his daughter. "And by the way, there's a new development in the Kirmenbach case which I forgot to mention."
"What is that, Dad?"
"Mr. Kirmenbach has offered a five hundred dollar reward for the capture of the jewel thief. So you see, if your idea should lead to anything, it will prove a very profitable one."
Penny had scant hope that ever she would win the reward offered by Mr. Kirmenbach. She knew as well as did her father that there was not one chance in fifty that her unique plan would bring results.
Mr. Hunter, upon being taken into the detective's confidence, was very willing to cooperate. He placed the broken toy lantern on a prominent shelf near the candy counter and promised to report at once if any child appeared to claim the trinket.
Susan and Penny fell into the habit of dropping into the store whenever they were in the village. They saw many children come to buy candy and all-day-suckers, but days passed and no child took the slightest interest in the broken lantern.
"I'm afraid it was just another dud idea," Penny admitted ruefully.
"You are entirely too impatient," said her father. "Cases aren't solved in a week. The idea hasn't been thoroughly tested yet."
"I've lost confidence in it," Penny declared.
"It was a long shot at best," returned Mr. Nichols. "However, we'll leave the toy lantern at Mr. Hunter's store for another week at least."
Temporarily losing interest in her father's case, Penny remembered that as yet Susan had never met old Herman Crocker.
"We might go back there this afternoon," she suggested.
"I don't care for Mr. Crocker's dog," Susan said uneasily. "Michael may not be around to help us out of trouble again."
"Oh, we can be careful," Penny replied. "Anyway, I think that Rudy is mostly bluff. I doubt he would bite."
"I notice you had a different opinion when he was coming at you!" teased Susan. "But if you're brave enough to go I suppose I'll tag along even if we do get bit."
"I have a great curiosity to learn if Walter Crocker's car is still in the barn," Penny confessed. "Somehow I keep feeling that there's some mystery about that fellow's disappearance."
"If the dog is around we'll probably never get within a mile of the barn. But come on! You'll never be satisfied until we're chewed to bits."
The girls did not choose their usual route which led along the road. Instead they cut through the woods, intending to approach Mr. Crocker's place from the direction of the barn.
When Susan and Penny emerged from the trees they were on Mr. Crocker's farm. They could see two men standing by the barn.
"There is Herman Crocker now!" exclaimed Penny as they halted. "But who is with him?"
"It looks a little like Michael Haymond," said Susan.
"It's not Michael," Penny corrected. "Why, I do believe it's Walter Crocker!"
"Old Herman's nephew!"
"Yes, I'm sure it is he."
"But Penny, you said he disappeared," Susan protested. "You thought Old Herman was responsible——"
"It seems I was wrong," Penny admitted ruefully. "I may have misjudged Herman Crocker completely. I thought he was an unscrupulous person, but it doesn't look so much like it now."
"They're having some sort of argument," Susan observed. "I wish we could hear what they're saying."
"Let's try to get closer. We can move behind the barn and probably hear everything without being observed."
The two men were so engrossed in their conversation that they failed to see the girls moving stealthily across the clearing. A moment more and they were protected by the barn.
Penny and Susan crept as close to the men as they dared and then stood listening. They could hear Walter Crocker speaking.
"This is the last warning I'll give you," he told the old man. "Will you fork up the money or shall I go to the authorities?"
"Give me time," Herman replied in a whining voice. "I've already given you all the cash I have in the bank."
"I know better," said Walter Crocker grimly. "You have plenty of money but you're too miserly to part with it. But maybe you'd rather keep your stolen gold and go to jail!"
"You can't send me to jail—I've done nothing wrong."
"No?" asked the other mockingly. "I suppose you consider it perfectly legal to appropriate the inheritance of your nephew and lead townfolks to believe that your sister died without leaving a child."
"You have no proof that you are Jenny's child. I'm not going to pay you another cent. It's blackmail!"
"Call it what you like," replied Walter Crocker with a sneer. "I am your sister Jenny's child whom you thought to be safely out of the way. And I do have proof."
"I don't believe it," retorted the old man. "There could be no proof."
"You've already given me five hundred dollars hush money which is indication enough that you accept my story as the truth."
"I did that merely to get rid of you."
"Well, you'll not escape so easily this time, Mr. Crocker. Either you turn over a good portion of the estate to me or I'll go to law."
"Your case would be thrown out of court. Without proof——"
"My proof will stand up in any court," Walter Crocker interrupted. "It happens that I have a certain packet of letters which were written to you by my mother before her death. And there is another communication from a woman named Hilda Frank——"
"So you are the one who stole the letters from the trunk of my cottage!" Herman Crocker cried in rage. "I could have you arrested for house breaking!"
"I'd not act too hastily if I were you," returned the nephew coolly. "However, I didn't steal the letters. They came into my possession in a perfectly legitimate way."
"I know better. You could have obtained those letters only by stealing them!"
"I'll not argue with you," replied Walter Crocker evenly, "for after all it is immaterial. The point is that I have the letters. Now will you come to terms or shall I tell my story around Kendon?"
There was a long silence and then the girls heard Old Herman say in a weary voice:
"How much do you want?"
"I thought you would be reasonable in the matter," the other returned triumphantly. "I understand that my mother left an estate of eighty thousand dollars."
"It was a great deal less than that," Old Herman muttered.
"Not wishing to be too hard on you I'll settle for an even fifty thousand dollars," Walter Crocker went on.
"Fifty thousand dollars," the old man groaned. "It's robbery."
"You forget that I am entitled to the entire estate. It was you who robbed me. Well, do you agree?"
"You must give me time to raise the money."
"I'll expect a first installment in exactly one week from today," Walter Crocker said firmly.
"I'll pay it only on one condition," replied the old man with rising spirit. "You must deliver to me the packet of letters. Otherwise I'd be blackmailed out of every penny I own."
"You'll get the letters all right."
"Show them to me now."
"I can't do that," Walter Crocker replied, and Penny thought she detected a trace of uneasiness in his voice.
"Perhaps you haven't the letters at all," Herman Crocker said quickly.
"Oh, yes, I have. But I don't carry them around with me. I'll bring them a week from today."
"All right, but remember, no letters, no money. And another thing, I can't have you coming here. Already folks are talking about your car being in my barn. I shouldn't have towed it here for you."
"Would you have wanted me to take it to a Kendon garage?"
"No," answered Herman Crocker shortly.
"I thought not. Well, where shall I meet you if you don't want me coming here?"
"At the footbridge by the ravine."
"Where is that?" Walter Crocker asked.
"A quarter of a mile below my cottage. Be there next Thursday night at ten o'clock."
"I'll be waiting," returned the young man. He started to walk away.
"Are you taking your car?" Herman Crocker called after him. "I fixed the wheel."
"Yes, I'll get it now," the young man replied.
As the girls saw Old Herman walk toward the house alone they felt a trifle sorry for him. There was no question as to his misdeeds, yet their sympathies went out to him rather than to Walter Crocker who evidently had been deprived of his rightful inheritance.
Penny and Susan heard the barn doors open and knew that the young man was getting out his car. As he remained in the building longer than seemed necessary, they moved around to a dust covered window and peered curiously inside.
"Why, he's searching for something!" Penny whispered.
Walter Crocker had removed the seat cushions and was examining every inch of the automobile. His face was twisted with worry. The girls could hear him muttering angrily to himself.
"What do you imagine he has lost?" Susan asked in an undertone. "You can tell by the way he acts that it's something important."
"I don't know, of course," Penny replied with a chuckle. "But I have a sneaking idea it may be Herman Crocker's packet of letters!"
"What makes you think he has lost the letters?" Susan whispered to her chum. "Didn't he tell Herman Crocker that he would positively deliver them next Thursday night?"
"Yes," nodded Penny, "but obviously he had to say that. I thought he acted very uneasy as if he might not have the evidence in his possession."
The girls did not peep into the barn again for they were afraid that Herman Crocker might see them. Quietly they stole back to the woods and started for the cottage.
"Well, Penny, you were right about Old Herman being a mysterious character," Susan commented as they walked along.
"I feel a little disappointed though," Penny returned. "Now that everything is explained so nicely we'll not have any more fun."
"There are a great many things I don't understand."
"I'm not clear on every point," Penny admitted, "but in general I have an idea of the trouble."
"Then I wish you'd explain it to me."
"Well, from the conversation we overheard, it's evident that Walter Crocker is trying to blackmail his uncle. Only legally I suppose it wouldn't be blackmail because Walter is entitled to the entire fortune."
"Then you believe Herman Crocker really did cheat him out of the money?" Susan asked.
"Mr. Crocker practically admitted it, didn't he? I gathered that sometime during his life he had received letters from his sister, Jenny, and another woman—letters which probably mentioned the boy, Walter. Herman made a bad mistake when he kept those communications."
"But what became of Walter after Jenny's death?" Susan questioned in deep perplexity. "Why didn't his claim to the fortune come up at that time? And how did he get the letters?"
"In some manner Old Herman must have kept Walter in ignorance," Penny replied thoughtfully. "I have no idea how he finally learned the truth. As for the letters, I believe they were stored in the trunk of the cottage attic."
"Think what an opportunity you missed!" Susan exclaimed.
"I'm not sure how long the letters have been there. I remember that several days ago Old Herman came to the cottage and went to the attic. At the time I couldn't imagine what he was after. Now I feel certain he was alarmed because Walter Crocker had attempted to extort money from him. Undoubtedly, he came to find the letters which he knew would stand as damaging evidence against him."
"You think the letters already had been taken?" Susan questioned.
"Herman didn't find what he was after, I know. You remember he accused Walter of stealing the letters."
"Yes, but he denied the charge."
"Walter might have been lying, but he acted sincere," Penny said slowly. "Anyway, when I looked in the trunk—that was after Herman had visited the cottage—a package of letters was still there. However, I doubt that it was the right packet or Herman would have taken it with him."
"Yet you told me that when you went to the attic the second time, the letters were gone," Susan reminded her chum.
"That is right. If the letters wouldn't stand as damaging evidence against Herman I don't see who would want them."
"Mightn't it have been that man who tried to break into your cottage at night?"
"It could have been all right," Penny admitted, "but I didn't hear the fellow in the attic. I was under the impression that he had just entered the cottage when I awoke."
"It seems to me that there is a great deal which isn't explained."
"The part about the letters is still a deep mystery," Penny acknowledged. "But we do know that Old Herman cheated his nephew out of a fortune, and that fate has caught up with him at last."
"I suppose the old man deserves everything he gets," Susan commented. "I don't like him a bit, but for that matter there's something about Walter Crocker that gives me the creeps too. He has such a snakey look!"
The girls emerged from the woods close to the Nichols' cottage. Observing that an automobile stood by the fence, they both halted.
"Why, that is Walter Crocker's car!" Susan exclaimed in an undertone.
"He must have driven straight over here from Herman's place," Penny added. "Now what do you suppose he wants?"
The girls walked slowly on. As they drew near the automobile, Walter Crocker alighted and tipped his hat politely.
"How do you do, Miss Nichols," he said with a forced smile. "I'm not sure if you remember me or not."
"I remember you perfectly," replied Penny, hiding her uneasiness.
She was afraid that the man might have seen Susan and herself peeping through the window of the barn.
"I feel very grateful for the ride which you and your father gave me some nights ago," said Walter Crocker. "I must apologize for running off the way I did without thanking you. I was in such a hurry to reach my uncle's home."
Penny and Susan drew a breath of relief. They were glad that the man did not intend to question them concerning their latest actions.
"Oh, that was quite all right," Penny replied. "We assumed that you had gone on to Mr. Crocker's place."
The young man shifted his weight uneasily. "Oh, by the way," he said, "I don't suppose you found a package of letters in the rumble seat?"
"Letters?" repeated Penny.
"I thought perhaps they might have dropped from my pocket while I was riding with you."
"Were they valuable?" asked Penny very innocently.
"Only to me," answered Walter Crocker shortly. "But I must have them back. Do you mind if I look in the back end of your car?"
"You'd be welcome to search if it were here."
"Where is the car?" demanded the man, in his anxiety forgetting to be polite.
"I couldn't say right now, Mr. Crocker. My father has the automobile."
"When will he return?"
"Probably not before evening," Penny replied, thinking quickly. "You might drop back after supper. He should be here by then."
"Thank you," said Walter Crocker shortly.
He climbed into the car and drove away.
"That's a good one!" laughed Penny, highly amused. "He has lost the Crocker letters all right, and he thinks they may be in our car!"
"Don't you expect your father home before night?" asked Susan.
"Of course I don't know exactly when he'll come," chuckled Penny. "But I'd not be surprised to see him driving in any minute. I wanted to give myself plenty of time to examine the car before Mr. Crocker returns."
"What would you do if you found the letters, Penny?"
"I haven't thought that far," Penny admitted. "But the chance that they're in our car is a very slim one."
The girls stationed themselves on the front porch so that they would not miss Mr. Nichols when he drove in. Two hours later they glimpsed the car coming up Knob Hill.
Penny meant to tell her father everything that had happened during the day, but the detective seemed to have important matters on his mind. When the girls ran down to the car to meet him, he responded absent-mindedly to their greetings and went on into the cottage.
"Penny!" exclaimed Susan. "There's another auto coming up the hill!"
"And it looks like Walter Crocker's car!" Penny cried in alarm. "Quick! We've no time to lose!"
The girls darted to Mr. Nichols' automobile and lifted up the rumble seat. While Susan anxiously watched the road, Penny climbed up and peered into the bottom of the car.
"Susan, they're here!" she squealed in delight.
"And so is Walter Crocker," Susan muttered in an undertone. "He's looking right this way."
With her back turned to the approaching automobile, Penny deftly slipped the package of letters into the front of her dress. She pretended to keep on searching in the bottom of the car.
"Act as if everything is perfectly natural," she warned Susan in a whisper.
Mr. Crocker stopped his car with a jerk and sprang out. He glanced suspiciously at the girls as he came toward them.
"Oh, how do you do, Mr. Crocker," Penny said, climbing slowly down from the rumble. "Dad just drove in a minute ago. I was looking for your letters."
"Are they there?" the man asked sharply.
"Perhaps you ought to look," Penny replied, avoiding Susan's glance. "I had just started to search when you drove up."
Walter Crocker climbed up on the step and made a careful examination of the interior of the automobile. Penny and Susan stood watching him with perfectly innocent faces. They knew that he would not find the letters.
The man did not like to give up.
"They may have been pushed up forward out of sight," he said. "Do you have a flashlight?"
"I'll get one from the garage," Penny offered.
She and Susan went into the building, lingering there while they enjoyed a good laugh at the expense of Walter Crocker.
They were just ready to return with the flashlight when Penny suddenly placed a restraining hand on Susan's arm.
"Wait!" she whispered.
Unaware that the girls were in the garage, Mrs. Masterbrook came hurrying from the cottage. She went directly toward Walter Crocker, her face convulsed with anger.
"Why did you come here?" she demanded. "You should have known better!"
"I had to come," retorted the man in an undertone. He cast an anxious glance toward the garage. "Now get away from here unless you want to give everything away!"
"I didn't know anyone was around," the housekeeper muttered. She turned and fled into the house.
Penny and Susan waited a minute or two before emerging from the garage with the flashlight.
"Sorry I was so long," apologized Penny.
"It doesn't matter," replied Walter Crocker crossly. "I've looked everywhere. The letters aren't here."
"You must have dropped them some other place," said Susan innocently.
"Yes," nodded Penny, "you might have left them at Mr. Crocker's place. Have you inquired there?"
"No, I haven't," the man replied shortly.
Without another word he climbed into his own car and drove away.
"That was a good quip—telling him to inquire of Herman Crocker!" Susan laughed after the man was out of sight. "I thought he would explode with rage!"
Penny was staring thoughtfully toward the house.
"Susan," she said, "Mrs. Masterbrook evidently knew Walter Crocker."
"Yes, that was queer, wasn't it?"
"She seemed to be afraid of him," Penny went on in a low voice. "Or rather, she appeared to fear that someone would find him here at the cottage. What do you make of it?"
"I think," drawled Susan, "that the mystery is a long way from explained."
"And I agree with you," said Penny, "but these letters may help a little. Come on, let's go down to the ravine and read them."