“Listen to this! He thinks the formula may have been written on the blank pages of the book with just ordinary water.”
Madge stared incredulously. “Water?” she echoed.
“Yes, I recall now that Father once mentioned the same. Strange it slipped my mind.”
“I never heard of writing with water. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“I believe the method was discovered during the late war,” Anne explained. “Anyway, a secret message can be written on certain types of paper merely by using a clean pen and water. The water disturbs the fibers of the paper—it isn’t visible to the eye, of course.”
“Then how could the writing be brought out?”
“It’s all explained here,” Anne said, offering the telegram. “You insert the paper in a glass case and shoot in a thin iodine vapor which settles into all tissues disturbed by the pen. He’s sending complete instructions by mail.”
“It sounds dreadfully complicated.”
“Not to me. I’ve helped Father with other experiments and I know how to go about this. Let’s get the book now and see if we can bring out the secret writing.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for complete instructions?”
“Oh, I can’t wait! So much depends on getting the formula within the next few hours. We’ll not ruin the book. I’m sure I know just how to go about it.”
Madge gave in and they made a quick trip to the Brady lodge which seemed strangely quiet and deserted.
“Aunt Maude must be sleeping,” Madge observed. “Clyde was here when I left but he appears to have taken himself off.”
They let themselves into the kitchen. Madge went directly to the cupboard for the key to the new cabin. It was not on its usual peg.
“Don’t tell me it’s lost,” Anne said nervously.
Madge did not answer immediately. Then her face relaxed.
“No, it dropped into this cup. Gave me a scare for a minute.”
In relief, they hurried to the newly built cabin. Madge unlocked the door and they entered. Everything appeared exactly as they had last seen it.
Madge went confidently to the fireplace and ran her hand up to the hidden ledge. A startled expression passed over her face. She groped about the ledge a second time, more carefully than before.
“What’s the matter?” Anne asked, though she read the answer in her friend’s tense face.
“It’s gone!” Madge answered. “Someone has stolen our book!”
“Gone,” Anne echoed blankly. “Oh, it must be there.”
“It isn’t,” Madge insisted. “Oh, I knew something would happen to it!”
“Let me look.”
Madge stepped back to permit Anne to take her place at the chimney. Both were trying desperately to remain calm, attempting to make themselves believe the book had only been misplaced.
“You’re right, it’s not here,” Anne murmured, after feeling carefully along the ledge. “You don’t suppose either your aunt or uncle could have put it away?”
Madge shook her head doubtfully. A conviction that the book had been deliberately stolen was growing in her mind.
“We can soon find out,” she replied.
They rushed back to the house. Mrs. Brady had finished her nap and was sewing. The girls found her in the living room and incoherently poured out their story.
“Now, don’t get excited,” she advised kindly. “The book will turn up. Mr. Brady hasn’t been near the cabin, but one can’t be sure about Bill. He’s into everything. Why not question him?”
Frantic with anxiety, they hurried to the old workman’s cabin. He denied taking the key.
“What would I be doin’ with it anyhow?” he demanded crossly. “After buildin’ that fireplace and luggin’ all that heavy stone, I’d be right well pleased if I never saw the place agin.”
“Then who did take the key?” Madge fairly wailed. “Someone used it and put it back in the wrong place.”
Bill shrugged and would have retreated into the cabin had not Madge halted him with an abrupt question.
“Have you seen anyone prowling about the new cabin or acting suspiciously? I know you’re something of a detective. Perhaps you noticed Clyde Wendell or one of the guests acting strangely.”
Bill could not resist this direct appeal to his vanity. He assumed an important pose and his brows came together in a thoughtful pucker.
“I wasn’t aimin’ to mention it,” he informed regally, “’cause Mr. Brady’s warned me mor’n once not to talk about the guests—”
“This is different,” Madge urged impatiently. “Tell us everything. It’s very important and time means everything!”
Bill’s blue eyes opened wider. Here was something which smacked of mystery. He decided to make the most of it.
“I been watchin’ that guy Wendell fer a long time,” he reported. “My suspicions was aroused when he kept trying’ to pump me.”
“What sort of questions did he ask?”
“Most everything. About the fishin’ and the like. He asked about whether Miss Fairaday stayed alone nights and if she’d sold any of her books and things. He’d pester me when I was tryin’ to work on the new fireplace. Come to think of it, he even asked me where the key to the cabin was kept!”
Bill had intended to tell a good story. He was surprised to find that by cudgeling his memory he had no need to call upon imagination to furnish interesting details.
“When did Clyde ask about the key?” Madge questioned.
“Lemme see,” Bill scratched his head thoughtfully. “Las’ night.”
It was all clear to Madge now. The book had been hidden only the previous afternoon. She had sensed then that someone was hiding in the bushes near the cabin. Undoubtedly, Clyde Wendell had witnessed everything.
“Anne, Clyde was after your book from the very first!” she cried. “Probably his own formula is worthless, and he hoped to get possession of your Father’s work and claim it as his own.”
“But if he saw us hide the book, why didn’t he take it last night?”
“I think he did try. I heard someone in the kitchen during the night. When I went down to get the key, he must have heard me coming and ducked into his bedroom which is on the first floor. Oh, if only I’d kept that key instead of returning it to the cupboard!”
“It was all my fault. I chose the hiding place.”
“Clyde won’t get away. We’ll make him give the book back.”
Old Bill had been listening attentively to the conversation which he only partially understood. Now he decided it was time to add his startling contribution.
“Guess you’ll have to ketch him first. He checked out mor’n an hour ago.”
“Checked out?” Madge asked sharply.
“He cleaned out bag and baggage while you was over to the island. I offered to row him across the lake but he said he’d do it himself. Guess he was afraid he’d have to give me a quarter.”
“Which way did he go, Bill?”
“He said a car was to meet him across the lake and take him on to Luxlow. I would have watched only I was snowed under with work.”
“We must go after him! Bill, get over to the lookout as fast as you can and ask one of the rangers to come here. Get Jack if he’s there. Tell him it’s urgent.”
Bill moved away with alacrity and the girls flew to the house to acquaint Mrs. Brady with the startling news. As Madge had guessed, she knew nothing of the chemist’s departure. A survey of his room disclosed that he had taken all his luggage. He had gone without paying his bill.
“If only your uncle were here!” Mrs. Brady expressed indignantly. “And where is Mr. Brownell?”
“You saw him this morning, didn’t you, Anne?” Madge asked.
“Why, no,” the other returned in surprise. “He never came to the island unless it was after I left.”
“Men are always gone when you need them!” Mrs. Brady exclaimed impatiently. “The best we can do is to telephone to Luxlow and try to have someone stop Clyde there.”
She rushed away to the telephone and just then the girls saw a boat rounding the point of the mainland. Mr. Brownell drew up to the wharf. His face brightened as he saw Anne, but realizing that something was amiss, he made no attempt to engage her in conversation.
A few minutes later Bill returned with Jack French in the latter’s canoe. The ranger had gleaned most of the facts from the old workman. He asked Madge and Anne only a few, terse questions. Mr. Brownell listened intently to the excited discussion.
“So Wendell got away with the formula?” he broke in. “I knew there was something queer about the whole deal but I couldn’t figure it out. Ranger, I’ll pay you well if you bring him back.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Jack told him quietly, “and pay doesn’t enter into it. We’re not sure which way he went.”
“Even if he did say he was going to Luxlow, I’d guess he headed for Bryson,” Madge interposed. “If he reached there by afternoon he could get a train out for New York. His Luxlow connections would be very poor.”
“He was askin’ me about the Elf Lake portage only yesterday,” Bill volunteered.
“But if he did go the other way, we’ll lose him,” Anne said anxiously, as the ranger moved toward his canoe.
“I’m striking for Elf Lake,” Jack said crisply. “Mr. Brownell, you go to Luxlow and try to head Clyde off there. Bill can drive you in.”
The plan was instantly adopted. Jack sprang into his canoe but Madge was directly behind.
“Let me go too! You can make faster time with two paddling.”
Jack hesitated briefly, then nodded. Madge slid into the bow and caught up a paddle. Anne gave the canoe a shove, wading far out into the water.
“Oh, I hope you catch him!” she shouted. “Paddle for all you’re worth!”
Jack and Madge cut directly across the lake, taking a course straight as a die. Madge realized that to overtake the chemist they must travel at double his speed. She had a muscular arm and made each stroke count. Several times the ranger warned her to take it easier.
They passed Black Rock, coming at last to the first portage marked by the birches. Abandoning the canoe they started unencumbered through the forest, for Jack knew where a Forest Service canoe had been hidden at Elf Lake. Twice he paused to examine the trail.
“He came this way all right.”
Emerging from among the trees at Elf Lake, they scanned the water. There was no sign of a boat or canoe. Jack frowned. Apparently, the chemist had traveled fast.
A moment later, the frown changed to a distinct scowl as he searched the bushes in vain for the hidden government canoe. Almost at once he noted the long marks on the sand, disclosing where it had been dragged to the water.
“Clyde’s made off with our canoe! Now we are in it!”
Madge’s eye fastened upon an unpainted rowboat abandoned upon the sand.
“It’s a regular tub and probably leaks like a sieve,” she announced, “but it’s our only hope.”
They found the oars and quickly launched the boat. All of Madge’s dire predictions were found true. She bailed steadily to keep the boat afloat.
“We’re losing time,” Jack said gruffly. “Wendell has a fast canoe now.”
“But he’s a dub at paddling,” Madge added hopefully. “We have a chance of overtaking him at the Rice Lake portage.”
“It’s a short one and we’re a good ways behind.”
The prospect of portaging the boat was discouraging. They both knew that unless they overtook the chemist by the time he reached Rice Lake, they likely would lose him. Once he had covered the second portage, a short paddle would take him to Bryson, a city of sufficient population to offer protection.
“Look here,” Jack said as they grounded the boat at the extreme end of Elf Lake. “We’ll never overtake him if we try to tote this old tub. I know a shortcut through the forest but it’s hard going even without dunnage. What do you say?”
Madge hesitated. She realized that if they left the boat behind, they must overtake Clyde at the end of the portage or lose him entirely.
“It’s a long chance,” Jack said, reading her thoughts, “and the trail is too hard for you.”
Madge shook her head stubbornly.
“No,” she returned with firm decision. “I’ll manage to keep up. We’ll leave the boat behind and try the shortcut!”
Jack led Madge a short distance down the shore. After surveying the locality intently to be certain of his bearings, the ranger parted the thick growth of bush which fringed the water, and they plunged into the forest. At first they followed a thinly worn path, but presently thorny vines and underbrush impeded their progress. It was unpleasantly warm; mosquitoes and insects were a torment.
Once Jack slackened his pace and looked back at his companion but Madge urged him on. She knew that everything depended upon speed. Rather than hold Jack back she would drop by the wayside.
She managed to keep up with him, never uttering a word of complaint, but when at last they came within sight of Rice Lake she felt that she could not have continued a hundred yards farther. Emerging from the forest they paused to survey the lake. There was no sign of a canoe or a boat.
“Do you think we’re too late?” Madge asked.
“Hard to tell,” Jack returned briefly.
They hurriedly made their way along the muddy shore toward the point which marked the end of the portage Clyde Wendell must have taken. Jack studied the soft ground along the shore but the only footsteps visible had been made many days before. They walked a few steps down the portage and paused to listen. Only the wild cry of a bird greeted their ears. No broken twigs or bushes disclosed that anyone had passed along the trail that day.
“Either we’re here ahead of him, or he didn’t come this way,” the ranger said in a low tone.
Madge sank down on an old log to rest. The ranger stood beside her staring meditatively down the trail. Suddenly he straightened, and Madge, hearing the same sound, looked quickly up. She stifled the exclamation upon her lips.
She could plainly hear the crackle of twigs underfoot. Someone was coming down the trail! Madge quietly arose and looked questioningly at the ranger. His expression had not changed.
Then through the trees they glimpsed Clyde Wendell. He was staggering under the burden of his canoe, and with head bent low could not see the two who awaited him in the clearing.
“Hello,” Jack said challengingly. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
With an exclamation of startled dismay, the chemist straightened and allowed the canoe to slide to the ground. He faced the two defiantly.
“Well, what do you want? I’m on my way to Bryson.”
“So I observe,” Jack commented dryly. “What are you doing with the canoe?”
“I only borrowed it. I’d have sent it back when I got to Bryson.”
“It isn’t considered wise to borrow government canoes. But we’ll let that pass for the time being. Hand over the book!”
“What book?” Wendell countered.
“The one I see sticking out of your hip pocket.”
The chemist’s hand went involuntarily to his pocket but he faced Jack with blazing eyes.
“I’ll not hand over what belongs to me.”
“It’s Anne’s book!” Madge cried for she had seen the cover. “Clyde Wendell, you did steal it!”
The chemist half turned as though to make a dash back over the trail he had just come, but the ranger caught him firmly by the shoulder and wheeled him about.
“Oh, no you don’t! Hand it over or I’ll take it by force.”
Wendell looked searchingly at the ranger. “See here,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “I’ll pay for the book and the canoe too. I meant no harm. I only want to catch my train at Bryson. You see, I picked up the book by accident—”
“You’ll catch no train today,” Jack interrupted bluntly. “You’re going back to Loon Lake. Incidentally, there’s a matter of a board bill to settle. Now hand over the book!”
Reluctantly, the chemist relinquished it. Jack passed it on to Madge who hastily examined it to see that no pages were missing.
“You knew it contained the formula,” she accused.
“That’s the wildest accusation yet!” the chemist laughed derisively. “You and that Fairaday girl have built up a pretty story which you’ve kidded yourselves into believing is true. Fairaday never owned a formula. It was an obsession.”
“Move along!” Jack ordered. “Walk ahead of me and don’t try any tricks.”
Madge followed close behind. She was highly elated at having regained possession of “Kim.” Yet what if Anne should fail to bring out the secret writing? Clyde seemed so confident they would not succeed.
“We’ll find some way to reveal the writing!” she resolved. “At any rate, I’ll not worry until after we’ve made another laboratory test.”
Midnight lights burned brightly in the Fairaday laboratory. A group of tense watchers, Madge and Mr. Brownell, Jack, and Mr. and Mrs. Brady, stood watching Anne who was busy at the work table. Clyde Wendell, guarded by a forest ranger, sat propped carelessly back in his chair, a look of amused contempt on his face.
“Well, I’m afraid it’s a failure,” Anne said in a subdued tone. She smiled bravely but her face was wan. “We’ve tested each page except the back cover.”
Jack looked accusingly at Wendell.
“You could tell us how to bring out that formula if you would!”
“Perhaps, if there were a formula,” the chemist retorted. “Now that this nonsense is over, am I free to go?”
“You are not.”
All eyes focused upon Anne as she gave the final sheet the chemical test which had been applied to the other pages. As she removed it from the iodine bath a few minutes later, Madge, who was close at her friend’s side, bent closer. Scattered lines, at first indistinct and unconnected, gradually as if by magic, lengthened and conformed into written characters.
“It’s the formula!” she cried exultingly.
Mr. Brownell moved nearer. His face, passive until now, became animated. He studied the page which Anne held up for his inspection and then said quietly: “It’s the genuine thing. Miss Fairaday, I congratulate you.”
For a few minutes Clyde Wendell was forgotten. When Madge looked at him she saw that he had lost his arrogant assurance. He arose and with a gesture of submission faced Jack.
“You win. I didn’t think Miss Fairaday could bring out the writing. I suppose this means prison for me. I’m ready to leave whenever you say.”
“Why did you do it?” Madge asked. “Can’t you explain?”
For the first time, the chemist appeared slightly ashamed.
“It’s a long story,” he said slowly. “Mr. Fairaday and I never clicked very well. He didn’t trust me and I resented it. At first I helped him with his rust prevention experiments, then he began to work in secret. I guessed that he had made an important discovery. I watched him and learned that he had written the formula in that book.”
He indicated the dismantled “Kim,” smiling wryly.
“Before I had a chance to read the formula, Mr. Fairaday discharged me. I found another job. Then three months ago I lost it. I thought I’d develop a rust prevention formula of my own because I was hard up for money. I found I couldn’t do it. Then I read of Mr. Fairaday’s death and knowing that he had never done anything with his formula in a commercial way, I decided to come here and see if I could get it. You know the rest.”
“Then you were the one who entered the house that night?” Anne demanded. “You were searching for the book.”
“Yes, I wasn’t after the silver. I took that merely to throw you off the track. I’m not a common thief. I don’t know what made me try to steal the formula. When a fellow’s down and out—broke—well, I guess things look different.”
Anne, Madge and Jack held a private conference. Presently, Anne turned again to Clyde.
“I’ve decided not to testify against you,” she said. “I’m sure Father wouldn’t want me to. I have the formula and that’s all that really matters. I believe you’re sorry for what you did.”
“I am sorry,” the chemist mumbled, avoiding her eyes. “You’re more decent than I deserve.”
“As far as the canoe is concerned, the boys will be willing to drop the charge,” Jack added.
“And Aunt Madge just said she wouldn’t press the board and room bill,” Madge interposed. “You can pay it later.”
“You’re free to go,” Jack told him. “Clear out and be glad you got off so easily.”
After the chemist had left, the atmosphere became more friendly. Anne refused to talk business that night but the following day she conferred with Mr. Brownell and to the delight of her friends sold the formula for a sum which guaranteed her a modest income for life. Her first act was to pay off the mortgage on her house and island, and then, to Jake Curtis’ bitter anger, she refused to even discuss a sale with him. Mr. Brownell had taken a great liking to Loon Lake and upon learning that Anne intended to live with an aunt in the city, he offered her a price for her property which left her quite dazed. Madge urged her to sell, and after brief negotiations, she arranged all details of the transaction to her satisfaction.
With business matters cleared away, Anne spent a few weeks at the lodge before leaving for the east. The days were crammed with good times and it was difficult for the girls to say goodbye.
“I owe everything to you,” Anne said for perhaps the hundredth time, as they stood at the railway station awaiting the train. “I’ll never forget this summer and all you’ve done for me, Madge. I’ll come back and see you often too.”
The train that carried Anne to New York brought Madge a letter—an invitation to spend two weeks at Cheltham Bay, cruising aboard the luxurious Burnett yacht. As she dispatched an enthusiastic acceptance, she little dreamed of the exciting adventure that awaited her. The story of Madge’s queer reception at Cheltham Bay is recounted in the second volume of this series, entitled: “The Deserted Yacht.”
Jack French did not accept the news of Madge’s intended departure very cheerfully.
“Why, I’ve scarcely had a chance to see you this summer,” he protested as they walked alone one evening. “Here you’re leaving in a week and I’d made all sorts of plans.”
“You know you’ll be too busy to even miss me,” Madge teased.
She was surprised at the look which came into Jack’s eyes.
“I’ll miss you like everything, and you know it too, imp! Since the day you came to Loon Lake, just an undersized, freckled kid, you’ve been the only girl for me. You’re the sweetest—” he broke off.
“Go on!” Madge urged, laughing.
Jack shook his head and smiled.
“No, until you grow a few years you must take it for granted. But while you’re at Cheltham Bay you might think of me once in a while. And don’t be too surprised if you see me!”
He took her hand and together they went down to the lake to watch the moon rise over the spruce ridges.
THE END