CHAPTER IVIN THE SAND
The northeaster lasted three days. Then it blew itself out, the wind shifted to the northwest, and there was beautiful sparkling weather for the rest of the week.
During this time, the two new friends came to know each other very well indeed. It was not only their little shared mystery that united them—they found they had congenial tastes and interests in very many directions, although they were so different in temperament. Leslie was slight and dark in appearance, rather timid in disposition, and inclined to be shy and hesitant in manner. Phyllis was quite the opposite—large and plump and rosy, courageous and independent, jolly, and often headlong andthoughtless in action. Her mother had died when she was very little, and she had grown up mainly in the care of nurses and servants, from whom she had imbibed some very queer notions, as Leslie was not long in discovering. One of these was her firm belief in ghosts and haunted houses, which not even the robust and wholesome contempt of her father and older brother Ted had succeeded in changing.
But Phyllis had a special gift which drew the two girls together with a strong attraction: she was a devoted lover of music and so accomplished a pianist as to be almost a genius—for one of her age. The whole family seemed to be musical. Her father played the ’cello and Ted the violin, but Phyllis’s work at the piano far surpassed theirs. And Leslie, too, loved music devotedly, though she neither sang nor played any instrument. It was a revelation to her when, on the next rainy afternoon, she accompanied Phyllis to the living-room of Fisherman’s Luck and listened to a recital such asshe had never expected to hear outside of a concert-hall.
“Oh, Phyllis, it’s wonderful—simply wonderful!” she sighed blissfully when the last liquid ripples of a Chopin waltz had died away. “I don’t see how you ever learned to play like that! But what in the world are you going to do now?” For Phyllis had jumped up with an impatient exclamation, laid back the cover of the grand piano, and was hunting frantically in the music cabinet for something.
“Why, I’m going to tune the old thing!” she declared. “This salt air is enough to wreck any piano, and this one is so old that it’s below pitch most of the time. But of course it wouldn’t do to have a very good one here. That’s why Dad sent this one down. I justhadto learn to tune it, in self-defense, or we could never have used it. So here goes!—” And, to Leslie’s breathless amazement, she proceeded to tune the instrument with the most professional air in the world.
“Phyllis, you’re amazing!” murmured Leslie, at length. “But, tell me—what do you intend to do with this wonderful gift you have? Surely you’ll make it your career—or something like that!”
“Well, of course Iwantto,” confided her friend. “To be candid—I’m crazy to. It’s about the only thing I think of. But Father won’t hear of it. He says he will let me have all the advantages he can, for an amateur, but that’s all he’s willing or can afford to do. Of course, I’m only seventeen and I’ve got to finish high school, at least. But I’m wild to go afterward to some one of the great European teachers and study for a year or two, and then see what happens. That, however, would cost at least two or three thousand dollars, and Father says he simply can’t afford it. So there you are. It’s awful to have an ambition and no way of encouraging it! But I’m always hoping that something will turn up.” And Phyllis returned to her tuning.
“Two or three thousand dollars would be a pretty handy sum to have!” laughed Leslie. “I’ve been rather on the lookout for some such amount myself, but for a somewhat different reason.”
“Oh, I’ll warrant you have an ambition, too! Now tell me about it!” cried Phyllis, pouncing on her and ignoring the piano.
“Yes, it is an ambition,” acknowledged Leslie, “but it isn’t a bit like you. I hardly think you could call it an ambition—just awish. You see, it’s this way. We’re rather a big family at home, four of us children, and I’m the oldest; and Father’s rather delicate and has never been able to hold a good position long because he’s out so much with illness. We get along fairly well—all but little Ralph. He’s my special pet, four year old, but he’s lame—had some hip trouble ever since he was a baby. He could be cured, the doctors say, by a very expensive operation and some special care. But we haven’t the money for it—justyet. We’re always hoping something will turn up, too, and my plan is to hurry through high school and training-school and then teach, and save every spare penny for Ralph. But it seems an awfully long time to wait, and all the while that little tot isn’t getting any better.”
There were tears in her eyes as she reached this point, and the impetuous Phyllis hugged her. “You darling thing! I think you’re too unselfish for words! It makes me feel ashamed of my own selfish, foolish little wish. Wouldn’t it be gorgeous if we could find four or five thousand dollars lying around on the beach? Wouldn’t it just—” She stopped abruptly.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Leslie. “Anything wrong?”
“No—something just occurred to me. What if that wretched little dragon of ours was guarding just such a fortune? It might be jewels or bank-notes or—orsomethingequally valuable! I’m going to get it right away and make another try at opening it. It makes me furious, every time I think of it, to be so—so balked about getting at anything!”
“But, Phyllis,” objected Leslie, “even if therewereany such thing, I don’t believe we’d have a right to keep it. It must belong tosomebody, and we ought to make an effort to find out who. Don’t you think so?”
“Oh, yes, if it’s anyrealperson—I suppose so,” admitted Phyllis. “But what if—” She stopped significantly.
“Nowdon’ttell me it was hidden there byghosts!” And Leslie’s infectious laugh pealed out.
“Oh, hush! or Ted will hear. He can’t be far away,” implored Phyllis, guiltily. “Of course, I don’t say what or whom it was hidden by, but there’s something mighty queer to me about an empty bungalow being inhabited byliving folks—”
“What about burglars?” interrupted Leslie, quickly.
“Neverwassuch a thing around these parts, in any one’s experience!” Phyllis hastened to assure her, much to her secret relief.
“Then perhaps it’s the people who own the cottage,” offered Leslie.
“No chance. They’ve all gone off to spend the winter in California—every one. Ted had a letter from Leroy Danforth, who is a great chum of his, last week.”
“Well, Iknowthere is some other explanation besides a—a ghostly one!” declared Leslie, nothing daunted. “But anyway, we might have another look at the dragon.”
Phyllis went and got it out from its hiding-place in her trunk, and they spent a fruitless half-hour wrestling with its secret fastening. They broke their finger-nails trying to pry it open, they pressed and poked every inch of it in an endeavor to find a possible secret spring; they rattled and shook it, rewarded in this caseby the dull thud of something shifting about. It was this last sound only that kept up their courage. Finally they gave it up.
“I believe we could break it open with an ax, perhaps; but you don’t seem to approve of that, so how we’re ever going to find out, I’m sure I can’t imagine!” declared Phyllis, discouraged.
“Do you know, I think this metal is so strong it would resist even an ax,” Leslie soothed her, “and we’d only damage the box without accomplishing anything. There must be some other way. Why not show it to Ted and your father? Perhaps they could do what we can’t.”
“I willnotshare this secret with Ted!” declared Phyllis, obstinately. “He’s nearly nineteen and he thinks he’s the most important thing in creation, and he’s perfectly insufferable in some ways, now. To have his advice asked in this thing would set him up worse than ever. I won’t do it!”
Leslie had to smile inwardly at this outburst. To her, Ted had seemed just a jolly, agreeable, and rather companionable boy, with a very friendly, likable attitude. But she realized that she had not had Phyllis’s sisterly experience, so she said nothing more. They put the dragon back in his hiding-place and sadly admitted themselves more baffled than ever.
On the evening of the third day after this, however, a strange thing happened.
To the surprise of Leslie, Miss Marcia had been induced to walk along the beach, after supper, and stop in at Fisherman’s Luck to hear a concert—an impromptu one—given by Phyllis and her father and brother. Leslie had learned that the Kelvin family amused itself in this fashion every night when the fishing was not particularly good.
“I’d love to hear them play, shouldn’t you, Aunt Marcia? Phyllis is a wonder, just by herself, and they must make a delightful trio!” She said this without any hope that her auntwould express much interest; but to her astonishment, Miss Marcia replied:
“Well, suppose we walk down there after tea. I’m feeling so much better that I don’t believe it would hurt me, and I’m just hungry to hear some music myself!”
Leslie joyfully imparted the news to Phyllis, and they planned an elaborate program. It was an evening that they long remembered, so absorbed were they in the music that they all loved. And it was not till the end of an ensemble rendering of a Bach concerto, that some one remarked, “Why, it’s raining!”
No one had noticed it until then. Miss Marcia was quite aghast, for she seldom ventured out in the rain and she had brought no adequate wraps. But Leslie settled that question speedily. “I’ll take Rags and run up the beach to our bungalow and bring them to you, if Phyllis will lend me her slickers,” she declared. “No, you mustn’t come with me, Ted. I’ll be perfectly safe with Rags, and whileI’m gone, you can all be giving that Beethoven sonata that you promised Aunt Marcia. I won’t be fifteen minutes.”
They finally let her go and settled down to the music once more. She was much more than fifteen minutes in returning, but no one noticed it, so deeply immersed were they in the rendering of the sonata. At last, however, she was back, breathless and dripping and with a curious light in her eye that no one noticed but Phyllis.
“What is it?” Phyllis managed to whisper, when the others were talking and putting on wraps.
“Just this,” replied Leslie, breathlessly and jerkily. “While I was in the house—I happened—to look out of my window—as I often do,—no light in my room—and I saw—that light again next door! Rags saw it too—at least he growled in that queer way. I waited and watched a long time—I wanted to go out nearer the place—but didn’t dare. Then itdisappeared and I didn’t see it—any more. Then I came on here.”
Phyllis listened to the whispered, jerky sentences in a thrilled silence. Then she replied: “I’m coming up first thing to-morrow morning—early! But watch out the rest of the night—if you can!”
Phyllis was as good as her word—better, in fact, for she was actually knocking at the door of Rest Haven before Leslie was out of bed, much to Miss Marcia’s astonishment.
“Did you see anything else?” was her first whispered greeting.
But Leslie shook her head. “There wasn’t another thing happened. I watched nearly all night—till I fell asleep at the window, in fact!”
“Well, something happened atsometime or other!” replied Phyllis, provocatively.
“How do you know?” demanded Leslie, in a twitter.
“I’ve seen the sign of it. Come outside and I’ll show you!”
They made some excuse to Miss Marcia for immediately vacating the house, and hurried outdoors. Phyllis led the way to a certain side door of Curlew’s Nest, on the opposite side from Rest Haven, where a sheltering projection of roof extended out for two or three feet over the ground. The hard rain of the night before had beaten out the sand all about the wooden foot-path to an unbroken smoothness. But just under the protecting roof, Phyllis pointed to something at their feet.
“There it is!” she muttered. And Leslie, staring down, beheld the impression of a single footprint—a footprint very different from either of their own—in the sand!
CHAPTER VAN EXPLORING PARTY
“Well!” was Leslie’s first remark, “that provesonething beyond a doubt.”
“What?” demanded Phyllis.
“That it wasn’t aghostaround here. I never yet heard of a ghost who made a footprint!”
The deduction somewhat staggered Phyllis in her pet belief. “I suppose that’s true,” she had to admit. “I never did, either. But now the question is, who did it and what did he want?”
But Leslie had been carefully examining the footprint. “You say, what did ‘he’ want. Have you noticed that this footprint doesn’t look very much like aman’s?”
Phyllis stooped over it. “You’re right! It’s a woman’s or a girl’s. Here’s the deep imprint of the little French heel, and the narrow, pointed toe. Must have a mighty small foot!” She measured her own beside it. “Still, even mine would look much smaller in pumps or slippers instead of these comfortable sneakers. Might be either a small woman or a girl like ourselves.”
“But why is there onlyone, I wonder?” mused Leslie.
“I think the answer to that is simple. She walked on this narrow board-walk up from the back road, probably because it was easier, or, even perhaps, so as not to make any footprints. And just at the doorstep she may have stumbled, or stepped off by mistake in the darkness. Perhaps she didn’t even realize it.”
Again Leslie had bent over the footprint. “She was coming in when she made it. Do you notice that it points toward the door?”
Phyllis stared at her. “What a perfectly dandy detective you’d make!” she exclaimed. “You simply take in everything!”
“You’re just as good and even better!” laughed Leslie, secretly pleased, however.
“Hurrah for us!” cried Phyllis. “We’re just a pair of naturalSherlock Holmeses! Now, here’s what I propose. There’s something mighty queer going on here, I believe. And I’m willing to give up my ghost theory, because itdoesseem silly. But I want to investigate the thing pretty thoroughly, and the only way to do it is to get into that bungalow and see what has been going on inside.”
“But Phyllis!” cried the shocked Leslie. “You wouldn’t break into some one else’s bungalow, would you? And besides, howcouldyou?”
“Pooh!” declared Phyllis, in scorn. “As if I didn’t know this bungalow as well as our own, and the Danforths almost as well as my own family, too, for that matter. I’ve beenin here a thousand times. The Danforths would be only too grateful to me for keeping an eye on their place for them. They’d do the same for us. And as for getting in—why, I’ve always known a private way of getting in when everything’s locked up. The Danforths themselves showed me. We’ll get in this afternoon. This morning I promised Ted and Father I’d fish with them awhile; but this afternoon I’m free.”
“Where are you two girls?” they heard Miss Crane calling from next door, and they started guiltily, not realizing how long they had been away.
“I must be more careful, or Aunt Marcia will begin to suspect something and question me,” whispered Leslie. “It would never do in the world to have her realize there was anything queer going on so close to us. She’d pack up for home in a minute, her nerves are still so uncertain. Coming, Aunt Marcia!”
“That’s so!” agreed Phyllis. “Betweenkeeping it from your aunt and from Ted and Father, we’re going to have some tight squeezes, I foresee! Well, I’ll be back after luncheon and we’ll do a bit of investigating. Good-by!”
It was between half past one and two, that afternoon, when Phyllis again appeared at Rest Haven—a very auspicious time, for Miss Marcia was in her room taking her usual long nap and Ted and his father had gone a mile or more down the beach to an inlet to try the fishing there. The two girls had the whole vicinity to themselves.
“What shall we do with Rags?” questioned Phyllis. “I hardly think we ought to take him in. Can’t you chain him up?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare! He’d howl himself sick and wake Aunt Marcia. You see, he’s never chained. But I can turn him loose on the beach and let him chase hermit-crabs, and when he’s well occupied, we can slip away.”
They strolled down to the water’s edge withthe dog, who was speedily absorbed in the one occupation he found of never-failing interest. Then they slipped back to the bungalow without his even noticing that they had gone.
It was only when they stood by the side door of Curlew’s Nest that Leslie noticed something bulky concealed under Phyllis’s sweater.
“What in the world have you got there?” she demanded.
Phyllis produced a large-sized electric torch. “How do you suppose we are going to see anything in that dark place without something like this? We certainly mustn’t open any windows.”
Leslie confessed she hadn’t thought of it, and then watched with amazement while Phyllis skilfully inserted the blade of a knife in the crack of the door, wiggled it about a moment, and triumphantly lifted the hook inside from its ring and swung open the door.
“Hurry in!” she whispered. “We must close this quickly before any one can notice.”
They shut the door in haste, and Phyllis flashed on her light. Then she replaced the hook in its ring. “Now we’re safe! You see, this is a little side-closet like a pantry, where the ice-box is kept. They had the door made so that the ice need not be carried in through the kitchen.”
“But that’s a very poor catch for the door—just that little hook!” cried Leslie. “I should think they’d have something more secure than that.”
“I suppose it is,” agreed Phyllis, “and they’ve often said so themselves. And yet it’s just one of those things that never gets changed. Anyhow, nobody ever locks anything down here, only fastens things up when the season is over. There’s really nothing valuable enough here to lock up or to be attractive to thieves. And so it has just gone on, and I suppose that hook will remain there forever! But come along! Let’s get down to business. This way to the living-room!”and she led the way along a passage and into the big main room of the bungalow.
It was very much on the style of that of Rest Haven, furnished with attractive willow furniture, and with a large brick open fireplace at one side. As Phyllis flashed the torch about in a general survey, Leslie noticed that the cottage was obviously dismantled for the winter. The furniture stood huddled against the walls; there were no dainty draperies at the shuttered windows, and the rugs were rolled up, tied, and heaped in one corner.
“Nothing seems out of the way here,” said Phyllis. “It’s just as the Danforths usually leave it. Now let’s look into the bedrooms.”
They journeyed through the four bedrooms with no different result. Each wore the same undisturbed air of being shorn of its summer drapery, with beds starkly stripped of all but their mattresses, and these covered with heavy paper. Then on into the kitchen, which seemed, of all the rooms, to wear more nearlyits normal aspect. But even there everything, apparently, appeared as it should.
It was in the kitchen that Phyllis stopped short and faced Leslie. “Well, doesn’t it beat everything!” she exclaimed. “After all we’ve seen and heard,—yes, andfound,—there’s not a thing here that looks as if a living soul had been in it since Mrs. Danforth closed it up. Now what do you make of it?”
“Perhaps we haven’t looked closely enough. Let’s go over it again,” was all Leslie could offer. “And isn’t it possible that a person might come in here for some reason and not disturb anything?”
“Yes, of course it’s possible, but is it likely?” countered Phyllis. “But as you say, we’d better go over the place again and more carefully. If we don’t findsomething, I shall certainly go back to believing in my ‘ghost.’ And I guess you’ll admit I have foundation for it now!”
Phyllis flashed the torch about in a general survey
“I tell you what!” suggested Leslie. “Suppose we each take a turn with the flash-light and go over every room twice, first you, then myself. I noticed that, when you held the light, I had to follow behind and look over your shoulder or get in your way, and I really couldn’t see very well. Now, I’ll sit in this chair while you go over the place, and then you give the torch to me. How does that strike you?”
“Good idea! You’re full of ’em, Leslie. I ought to have thought of it before.” And while Leslie sat down rather gingerly in one of the willow rockers against the wall, Phyllis systematically examined the room again, diving into all the nooks and corners, and at last came back to hand the torch to her friend.
“No luck! It’s as clean as a whistle of any clues, as far as I can see. You take your turn.”
When Leslie had completed her search, they proceeded to treat the other rooms in similar fashion, and so had come to the last bedroomwhen they were startled by a sound from outside the house.
“What in the world isthat?” cried Phyllis, in a panic. “It’s the most uncanny sound I ever heard!” They listened again and caught the intonation of a long moan, ending in a rising note like a wail. It was truly a little hair-raising in the closed, forsaken spot.
Suddenly Leslie giggled. “Oh, it’s only Rags! He’s missed me at last, traced me here, and is probably sitting by that side door now, protesting against having been deserted!”
Phyllis was both relieved at the explanation and annoyed at the interruption. “Let’s go and stop him right away, or he’ll have all the neighborhood here!”
They hurried to the little side door in the pantry and snapped off their light. Rags, from the outside, sniffing at the threshold, sensed their approach and yapped joyously.
“But how are you going to lock that doorafter you?” whispered Leslie, in sudden terror. “It isn’t possible!”
“Trust me!” smiled the capable Phyllis. “Do you suppose I’d have unfastened it if I couldn’t fasten it up again? I just keep the hook in a certain position with my knife, as I close the door, and then gently drop it into the ring through the crack. I’ve done it a dozen times. Leroy Danforth taught us how.”
Leslie breathed a sigh of relief, and Phyllis cautiously opened the door.
Then both girls started back in genuine dismay!
Sitting cross-legged in the sand, directly in front of the door and holding back the delighted Rags by his collar, was—of all people most unwelcome to Phyllis—her grinning brother Ted!
The consternation of the guilty pair was almost ludicrous, at least Ted found it so. Then Phyllis recovered her self-possession and demanded:
“What areyoudoing here, I’d like to know?”
“Please, ma’am, that’s a question I prefer to ask of you—and with a great deal more reason!” returned Ted. “Of all the nervy things I ever saw, it’s you prowling around the Danforths’ closed bungalow and sneaking out like a thief when you thought no one was around!” Leslie felt herself turn red and uncomfortable at the accusation, but Phyllis seemed in no wise daunted.
“I guess if I want to show the place to Leslie, there isn’t any particular harm in it. She’s been asking me what it looked like in there and how it differed from their house. You know perfectly well, the Danforths wouldn’t care a brass farthing!” This statement happened to be entirely true, for Lesliehadquestioned her only the day before as to the interior arrangements and expressed some curiosity to see it. She breathed a sigh of relief at the ease with which Phyllis seemed tobe explaining a rather peculiar situation.
Ted, however, seemed only half convinced. “If that’s so, it’s mighty queer that you looked so guilty and caught-in-the-act-y when you came out and saw me! And for goodness sake, how long have you been in there, anyway? This Rags dog came running up the beach to us at least an hour ago. And I thought, of course, you girls were somewhere about. But when you didn’t appear after a while, I began to get worried, and Rags and I started off to find you. He led me straight here (good old chap!) and we’ve been sitting waiting at least fifteen minutes. Then he began to howl and gave the game away. Now please explain all this!”
“I’ll explain nothing further,” replied Phyllis, loftily, “and I’ll trouble you to tend to your own affairs in the future!” With which crushing rejoinder she marched away, dragging the unhappy Leslie after her.
“All right! Just you wait! I’ll dig outyour little secret!” he called after them.
“And he will, too!” muttered Phyllis. “That is, if we don’t use the greatest caution. Isn’t it unfortunate that that wretched dog led him right here! However, I’ve settled him for the present, and now let’s think about other things.”
But it was not so easy for Leslie to forget the unpleasantness of the recent encounter and the implication that she had been caught trespassing. But Phyllis settled down to steady talk about their investigations and she presently forgot the impression.
“It’s mighty strange that in all our careful search we didn’t find a single thing that would indicate a recent visitor,” mused Phyllis.
“Didn’t you see anything—anyleastlittle thing?” questioned Leslie.
Phyllis stared at her in some surprise. “Why, youknowI didn’t! What makes you ask?”
“Because Idid!” Leslie quietly returned.
CHAPTER VILESLIE MAKES SOME DEDUCTIONS
“Well, of all things!” ejaculated the astonished Phyllis. “And you never said a word! What was it?”
“I didn’t say anything,” explained Leslie, “because there was hardly a chance. It was just before we came out. And—”
“But what was it? Never mind how it happened!” cried Phyllis impatiently.
“Well, this is part of it. In that southwest bedroom (the one facing our house), I saw a tiny string of beads lying under the bureau, just by the front leg of it. The string was just a thread about three inches long, with some little green beads on it. A few of the beads had come off it and rolled farther away. I picked one of them up, and here it is.” She held out a little bead to Phyllis.
“But what on earth is there tothis?” exclaimed Phyllis, staring at it disappointedly. “I don’t see what an insignificant little object like this proves. It was probably left by the Danforths, anyway.”
“No, I don’t think it was,” returned Leslie, quietly, “because the Danforths seem to have cleaned the place very thoroughly. The rest of the floor was spick and span as could be. I think the string of beads was part of a fringe, such as they wear so much nowadays to trim nice dresses. It probably caught in the leg of that bureau and was pulled off without its owner realizing it. Now did any of the Danforths, as far as you know, have any bead-trimmed dresses that they wore down here?”
Phyllis shook her head. “I begin to see what you’re driving at, Leslie. No, there’s only Mrs. Danforth to wear dresses—the rest of the family consists of her husband and the boys. I’m perfectly certain I never saw her in a beaded dress. And even if she had one,I’m sure she wouldn’t think of wearing it down here, not even to travel home in. People don’t bring elaborate clothes to this place, and she’s never been known to. I believe you’re right. If the beads had been there when the place was cleaned, they would have disappeared. They must have come there since. The mysterious ‘she’ of the footprint must have left them! But what else was there?”
“Then I noticed another thing that was curious and very puzzling. I confess, I can’t make much out of it, and yet it may mean a great deal. It was out by the fireplace in the living-room. Did you happen to notice that one of the bricks in the floor of it looked as if an attempt had been made to pry it loose, or something? The cement all along one side had been loosened and then packed down into place again. And ’way in the corner, I picked upthis!” She held up the blade of a penknife, broken off halfway.
“No, I hadn’t noticed it at all!” exclaimedPhyllis, ruefully. “The truth is, Leslie, I went into that place expecting to see it all torn up or upheaved or something of the kind—something very definite, anyway. And when I didn’t find anything of the sort, I was awfully disappointed and hardly stopped to notice any of these small things. But I believe what you’ve found may be very important, and I think you’re awfully clever to have noticed them, too. Why, it actually sounds like a regular detective story! And now that you’ve found these things, what do you make out of them? Have you any ideas?”
Leslie wrinkled her brows for an interval in silent thought. At last she said, “Yes, I have a good many ideas, but I haven’t had time to get them into any order yet. They’re all sort of—chaotic!”
“Oh, never mind!” cried the ever-impatient Phyllis. “Tell me them, anyway. I don’t care how chaotic they are!”
“Well, to begin with,—has this occurred toyou?—whoever comes here selects only a stormy, rainy night for a visit. Nowwhy, unless they think it the best kind of time to escape observation. They just calculate on few people going out or evenlookingout of their houses on that kind of a night. Isn’t that so?”
“It certainly seems to be,” agreed Phyllis, “but what do you prove by that?”
“I don’tproveanything, but I’ve drawn a conclusion from it that I’ll tell you later. Then, there’s the matter of this little bead. I know you rather scorned it when I first showed it to you, but do you realize one thing? We may be able to identify the owner by means of it.”
Phyllis stared at her incredulously, but Leslie continued: “Yes, I really think so, and I’ll tell you why. This isn’t an ordinary bead. In the first place, it’s a rather peculiar shade of green—one you don’t ordinarily see. Then, though it’s so small, it’s cut in a different way,too, sort of melon-shaped, only with about six sides. Do you see?”
On closer examination, Phyllis did see. And she had to acknowledge that Leslie was right.
“Then there’s the broken penknife and the brick with one side pried out,” went on Leslie. “It’s pretty plain that the person was trying to pry up that brick with the penknife and found it hard work because the mortar or cement is solid. Then the blade of the knife broke and the attempt was probably given up. Now why did they want to pry up that brick?”
“I know!—I know!” cried Phyllis, triumphantly. “They wanted to bury ‘The Dragon’s Secret’ under it!”
“Maybe they did and maybe they didn’t,” replied Leslie, more cautiously. “They certainly tried to pry up the brick, but perhaps it was tolookfor something under it, rather than to hide anything. However, I rather think it was to hide it. And because theydidn’t succeed, they went out and buried it in the sand, instead. How aboutthat?”
Phyllis sprang up and hugged her impetuously. “You have a brain like a regulation sleuth-hound’s!” she laughed. “What else?”
“Well, this is what I can’t understand. Suppose this person (we’re sure now it must be a woman) came down here that first stormy night with ‘The Dragon’s Secret,’ and tried to hide it somewhere, and finally buried it in the sand outside. The question is, what did she come for thesecondtime?”
“To get it again?” suggested Phyllis.
“I’m almost absolutely certain not, because, if so, all she would have had to do was to go outside and dig. (Of course, she wouldn’t have found it because we had it!) But she never went outside at all. I know that positively. I passed right by the place where Rags dug the hole, on my way up from your bungalow, and it was quite untouched, just as we left it after we filled it up again thatday. And when we came back again, I looked a second time, and still it was the same. And I watched half the night and would certainly have seen if any one had gone there. No, I’m sure it wasn’t for that. But what was it for?”
“Give it up,” advised Phyllis, “at least for the present. Anything else?”
“No, except the conclusion I drew about the person’s coming on a stormy night. Do you realize this?—there’s quite a big chance that they—or rather,she!—will come again on thenextstormy night—perhaps!”
“Well, if that’s the case,” exclaimed Phyllis, “I’ve drawn a little conclusion of my own. The next stormy night I’m going to spend at your bungalow—and we’re going to keep awake all night!”
CHAPTER VIIA NEW DEVELOPMENT
But the weather remained quite clear for several nights after this. And meantime other things happened that gave a new twist to the girls’ conjectures.
Two mornings after the events of the last chapter, Phyllis appeared at Rest Haven with a mysterious wrapped parcel in her hand. Answering Leslie’s curious glance, she whispered:
“I want you to take this thing and keep it here and hide it. It’s ‘The Dragon’s Secret.’ I don’t feel safe a minute with it around our place since Ted’s performance the other day. You know, he boasted he’d find out our secret, and he will certainly make every effort to, or I don’t know him. Whether he’ll succeedor not depends upon how cleverweare in spoiling his plans. If he found this, though, we might as well not try to keep the rest from him. I discovered him snooping around my room rather suspiciously yesterday. This was locked up in my trunk, and hesaidhe was only hunting for fudge! But anyhow, you’d better keep it now, if you can think of some safe place to hide it.”
“I’m sure I don’t know where to put it!” sighed Leslie, rather worried by the responsibility. “Aunt Marcia and I shared one big trunk because it didn’t seem worth while to bring two, when one needs so few things here. So of course I couldn’t put it in there, and the lock of my suitcase is broken. There isn’t a bureau-drawer with a key in the whole bungalow—so what am I going to do?”
For a time, Phyllis was equally puzzled. Then suddenly she had a bright idea. “I’ll tell you! That top shelf in your pantry where the refrigerator is! You said you’d put quitea few kitchen things that you didn’t use there, and it’s dark and unhandy and neither your aunt nor any one else would think of disturbing it. Wouldn’t that be the best place, really?”
“I guess you’re right,” admitted Leslie, considerably relieved. “Wait till Aunt Marcia has gone to sit on the front veranda, and we can put it there.”
The Dragon’s Secret had probably known some strange resting-places in its time, but doubtless none stranger than the one in which it now found itself—a dark, rather dusty top shelf in a pantry, hobnobbing with a few worn-out pots and pans and discarded kitchen-ware! But the girls tucked it far into a corner, and, wrapped in its burlap bag, it was as successfully concealed as it would have been in a strong-box.
“And now, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” said Leslie, as the two girls strolled down to the beach. “Do you happen to know anything about the peoplewho hired Curlew’s Nest the latter part of this summer?”
“Oh, yes!” answered Phyllis, “though I didn’t happen to see them myself. Mrs. Danforth told me that in July the Remsons had it, as they always do. But in August and September she rented it to an elderly gentleman,—I can’t think of his name, just this minute,—who stayed there all by himself, with only his man or valet to do all the work. He wasn’t very well,—was recovering from some kind of a fever, I think,—and wanted to be alone in some quiet place. You know, Mrs. Danforth herself spent all summer in your bungalow, and she said she saw very little of the man in Curlew’s Nest, though they were such near neighbors. He sat on his porch or in the house a great deal, or took long walks by himself on the beach. He used to pass the time of day with her, and make some other formal remarks, but that was about all. She was really rather curious about him, he seemed so anxious notto mix with other people or be talked to. But he left about the middle of September, and she closed up that bungalow for the winter. That’s about all I know.”
“It’s too bad you can’t think of his name!” exclaimed Leslie.
“Why?” demanded Phyllis, suddenly curious. “You surely don’t think that has anything to do withthisaffair, do you?”
But Leslie countered that question by asking another: “Has it ever occurred to you as strange, Phyllis, that whoever got into that bungalow lately, knew the little secret about the side door and worked it so cleverly?”
Phyllis’s eyes grew wide and she seized Leslie’s arm in so muscular a grip that Leslie winced. “No, it didn’t, you little pocket-editionSherlock Holmes! But I see what you’re driving at. To know about that side door, one must have been pretty well acquainted with that bungalow—livedin it for a while! Aha! No wonder you’re curiousabout the last occupant. We’ll have to count that old gentleman in on this!”
“Yes, but here’s the mystery,” reminded Leslie. “You said he lived here alone except for his man-servant. Remember, please, that the footprint we saw—was awoman’s!”
Phyllis tore at her hair in mock despair. “Worse and more of it!” she groaned. “But the deeper it gets, the more determined I grow to get to the bottom of it!”
They strolled on a while in silence. Suddenly Phyllis asked, “Where’s Rags this morning?”
“He doesn’t seem to feel very well to-day. Something seems to have disagreed with him—perhaps too many hermit-crabs! Anyway, he’s lying around on the veranda and seems to want to stay near Aunt Marcia and sleep. She said she’d keep him there.”
“Best news I’ve heard in an age!” exclaimed Phyllis, delightedly. “That dog is a most faithful article, Leslie, but he’s a decidednuisance sometimes! And now, I have a gorgeous idea that I’ve been wanting to try for two days. Father and Ted have gone off for the day up the inlet, and Rags is out of commission. Here’s our chance. Do you realize that there’s one bedroom in Curlew’s Nest we didn’t have a chance to explore the other day? Let’s go and do it right now. I’ll run down to our house for the electric torch and meet you at the side door. There’s not a soul around to interfere with us!”
“Oh, no, Phyllis! I really don’t think we ought—” objected Leslie, recalling all too vividly the unpleasantness of their former experience. But Phyllis was off and far away while she was still expostulating, and in the end, Leslie found herself awaiting her companion in the vicinity of the side door of Curlew’s Nest.
They entered the dark bungalow with beating hearts, more aware this time than ever that mystery lurked in the depth of it. Straightto the unexplored bedroom they proceeded, for, as Leslie reminded them, they had no time to waste; Rags might have an untimely recovery and come seeking them as before! Ted also might be prompted by his evil genius to descend on them; or even Aunt Marcia might be minded to hunt them up.
The bedroom in question, as Phyllis now recalled, was the southwest one, and the one Mrs. Danforth said that the last tenant had chosen for his own. “Therefore it ought to be more than ordinarily interesting,” went on Phyllis. “I remember now that Mrs. Danforth said he had asked permission to leave there, as a little contribution to the bungalow, a few books that he had finished with and did not wish to carry away. She left them right where they were on a shelf in his room, instead of putting them in the bookcase in the living-room. I’m sort of remembering these things she told me, piecemeal, because Mrs. Danforth is a great talker and isalways giving you a lot of details about things you’re not particularly interested in, and you try to listen politely, but often find it an awful bore. Then you try to forget it all as soon as possible!”
They found the bedroom in question somewhat more spacious and better furnished than the others. But though they examined every nook and cranny with care, they discovered nothing thrilling, or even enlightening, within its walls till they came to the shelf of books. These, with the exception of two books of recent fiction, were all of travel and politics in foreign countries.
“My, but he must have been interested in India and China and Tibet and those countries!” exclaimed Leslie, reading the titles. “I wonder why?”
She took one of them down and turned the pages idly. As she did so, something fluttered out and fell to the floor. “Oh!” she cried, picking it up and examining it. “Phyllis,this may prove very valuable! Do you see what it is?” It was an envelop of thin, foreign-looking paper—an empty envelop, forgotten and useless, unless perhaps it had been employed as a bookmark. But on it was a name—the name no doubt of the recipient of the letter it had once contained, and also a foreign address.
“Do you see what it says?” went on Leslie, excitedly. “‘Honorable Arthur Ramsay,Hotel des Wagons-Lits,Peking’. Why, Phyllis, that’s his name (which you couldn’t remember!) and he was evidently at some time in Peking!”
But Phyllis was puckering her brows in an effort of memory. “There’s some mistake here, I guess,” she remarked at length, “for now I recall that Mrs. Danforth said his name was Mr. Horatio Gaines!”
Leslie dropped the envelop back in the book, the picture of disappointment. “It doesn’t seem likely he’d have someone else’senvelops in his books,” she remarked. “And I think Honorable Arthur Ramsay of Peking sounds far more thrilling than plain ‘Horatio Gaines’! Let’s look through the rest of the books and see if we can discover anything else.”
They examined them all, but found nothing more of interest and Leslie suggested uneasily that they had better go.
“But there’s one thing I must see first,—” decided Phyllis; “the beads and broken penknife you found. I’ve been wild to look at them for myself. Come along! We’ll have time for that.”
They made their way cautiously into the next bedroom, bent down, and turned the torch toward the floor under the bureau where Leslie had made the discovery. Then both girls simultaneously gasped. There was not a sign of the beads anywhere to be seen!
“Phyllis!” breathed Leslie, in frightened wonder. “It’s gone—the whole string! What can be the meaning of it?”
“Come!” cried Phyllis, dragging Leslie after her. “Let’s go and see if the broken penknife blade is there yet. If that’s gone, too, something new has happened here!”
They hurried to the living-room and bent over the fireplace. The half-loosened brick was there as Leslie had described it, but of the broken penknife blade in the corner, there was not a vestige to be seen!