“I don’t think I should since it was your father’s—”
“Please do. I know you’ll take good care of it.”
“All right, but I’ll bring it back in a few days.”
“Keep it as long as you like.”
Presently, Madge said that she must return to the lodge and Anne accompanied her to the boat landing. Both were discouraged but tried not to disclose it to the other.
“Well, if we never find the formula, there’s one thing I can always do—sell this house. Jake Curtis has been after me to sell it to him ever since Father died.”
“Jake Curtis!” Madge exclaimed sharply. “Don’t you ever do it. He wouldn’t give you half what it’s worth. He has the reputation of being the shrewdest real estate shark in these parts.”
“I know. He wants to turn the house into a summer hotel.”
“And ruin Loon Lake. Imagine this place swarming with the sort of folks Jake Curtis would attract. The fishing would be ruined in two seasons!”
“He practically wants me to give him the place,” Anne informed. “You see, he holds a first mortgage on it—not a very large one but sufficient to embarrass me. If the bank will loan me enough money to pay it off, I’ll tell him to jump in the lake. I’d rather sell to anyone but him.”
“When does the mortgage come due?”
“Next month.”
Madge had heard her uncle remark that the local bankers were very reluctant to make loans at the present time and Anne’s prospects appeared especially slim.
“Well, I wish you luck,” she said turning to leave. “Things may straighten themselves out before the mortgage falls due.”
The next few days found Madge too busy to paddle over to the island for three guests arrived from the city to try their fishing luck. They asked endless questions, demanded constant service and had enormous appetites. In spite of the extra housework, Madge had time to consider Anne’s problem but she could think of no way out. Often too, her eyes turned toward Lookout 48 but while she frequently saw Jack French glide by in his canoe he never stopped at the lodge. Once she saw him carry a large box of groceries to Stewart Island.
“He has other things to do besides come to see me,” she told herself. “Why should I care?”
Yet she knew she did care a great deal.
One afternoon toward the end of the week, Madge was snatching a few minutes rest on the veranda when the telephone rang. Mrs. Brady answered, and soon stepped outside to speak to her niece.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Madge, but a stranger just telephoned from the White farmhouse. Jack French is bringing him out from town. He wants us to put him up for a few days.”
“Friend of Jack’s?”
“No, he merely brought him out as an accommodation. I don’t know the stranger’s name. He wants someone to meet him across the lake.”
“Just my luck Uncle George is gone. Isn’t Bill around?”
“He is always missing when there’s work to be done,” Mrs. Brady smiled. “I think his intuition warns him. I’m sorry to call on you.”
“Oh, I don’t really mind, providing there’s not more than one suitcase to ferry across,” Madge assured her quickly. “And if our guest is a gentleman he may offer to row back.”
She took her time crossing the lake for there was no sign of a car at the landing. Beaching the skiff she sat down on an old log. After a short wait she heard an automobile pounding down the private road which joined Loon Lake with the main highway. Madge arose expectantly.
A battered car swung into view and halted with a jerk. Jack French stepped lightly to the ground. He was a tall, handsome man, built like an All-American half-back, strong and straight, his every movement graceful. His face was richly tanned and his brown eyes were always a-twinkle, as though the world amused their owner. One knew at a glance that he would be restless under a man-made roof. He loved the canopy of the blue sky, and a wood or a stream or some rare tree gave him a keener enjoyment than any artificial diversion could have done.
He grinned cheerfully at Madge, greeting her flippantly.
“Hello, child. Here’s your new boarder—guess you’ve seen him before. I packed him out from Luxlow along with the grub.”
Jack’s gaze lingered half-quizzically as he spoke, but Madge looked beyond him to the man who was slowly climbing from the car. It was Clyde Wendell. The ranger had never liked him.
“I don’t believe we ever really met,” Madge stammered, slightly embarrassed at the unexpected meeting. “Of course, I’ve seen you from a distance.”
The chemist turned, surveying her rather sharply. His eyes were penetrating and hostile.
“You’re Miss Sterling, I suppose? I telephoned from the White’s for a room at Mrs. Brady’s lodge. If you’re here to take me across the lake, let’s get started. I’ve had a hard trip and I’m tired.”
In spite of his desire for haste, the chemist made no move to lift his suitcases from the rear of the car. He waited impatiently for the ranger to stow them in the skiff. Jack was provokingly slow.
“Aiming to do a little fishing?” he asked casually.
“I may.”
“Then I’ll give you a permit. This is a timber berth, you know and we have to be careful about fires.”
“Do I look like I’d set one?”
“I didn’t mean that,” Jack returned amiably. “In your case the permit is only a matter of form.”
“Then why issue it? I lived here several months.”
Jack did not respond but wrote out the necessary form and gave it to him. Clyde took it without a word of thanks and climbed into the skiff. Madge looked surprised and then went to the vacant seat beside the oars. She had expected that the chemist would at least offer to row across the lake.
“See here, Madge,” Jack protested quickly. “You can’t tote those heavy suitcases. I’ll bring them over later tonight.”
She would have accepted gratefully had not the chemist broke in irritably:
“The bags must go with us. I’ll need them before evening.”
“Really, I don’t mind,” Madge assured Jack. “Shove us off, will you, please?”
He complied, bestowing a look upon Clyde’s back which was far from complimentary. At first the skiff moved steadily through the water but before Madge had covered half the distance her arms began to tire. Clyde Wendell did not seem to notice. He stared moodily across the lake. Frequently, his dark, piercing eyes roved in the direction of Stewart Island.
The strangely tense expression of his face was not lost upon Madge. What thoughts could be running through his mind, she wondered? Why had he returned to Loon Lake?
“It’s for no good purpose,” she decided. “My guess is that he intends to make trouble for Anne Fairaday!”
CHAPTER V
Clyde Wendell’s Mission
Madge was washing breakfast dishes the next morning when Clyde Wendell entered the kitchen. He appeared in a better mood than upon his arrival and greeted her pleasantly.
“Good morning. I’d like to go for a little row on the lake. Can you let me have a boat?”
“I’ll see what we have,” she returned, wiping soap suds from her hands.
She walked down to the landing with him although she knew without looking that all of the boats save one were gone. The skiff had been rented out earlier that morning to another guest and Bill had taken one of the boats across the lake to gather stone for a new fireplace Mr. Brady was building. That left only a heavy, cumbersome craft which leaked rather badly.
“Perhaps you would prefer to wait until the skiff comes in,” she suggested doubtfully. “We seldom rent out this boat. It’s rather heavy and—”
“You keep it in reserve for yourself, eh?” the chemist interrupted with a knowing laugh. “Well, it looks like a good boat to me and I’ll take it.”
Madge started to protest then changed her mind. Without a word, she went to the woodshed and brought back a pair of oars which she fitted into the locks. Carelessly, she dropped a tin bucket into the bottom of the boat.
“What’s that for?” Clyde demanded suspiciously.
“Oh, just in case of a leak.”
The chemist should have been forewarned but the bottom of the boat was dry and he had implicit faith in his own judgment. Stepping into the craft he rowed away. Madge smiled as she watched him strike out across the lake. She returned to her dishes, but a few minutes later, hanging dish towels on the back porch, she observed that the boat had taken a direct course for Stewart Island.
“I wonder what he’s up to?” she mused. “I don’t believe he wanted me to know he was going over there to see Anne. I’d like to follow him over but of course that wouldn’t do.”
Though somewhat ashamed of her curiosity, Madge kept close watch of Stewart Island all morning. Toward noon the chemist’s boat was sighted returning slowly across the lake. She was amused to see that he frequently dropped his oars to bail water.
Presently, the boat eased to a landing.
“Say, what do you mean by giving me an old leaky tub?” the chemist called out angrily as he caught sight of Madge on the veranda. “I darn near drowned!”
“I guess the boat does leak a trifle,” she admitted readily. “I tried to tell you but you were so determined not to wait for the skiff.”
“You didn’t hurt yourself trying to tell me! Look at my clothes—wet to the skin. If I hadn’t bailed like all get-out I’d have gone to the bottom.”
“The boat never entirely fills,” Madge corrected sweetly.
Clyde stalked angrily into the house to change his wet shoes and garments. Madge tied up the boat, chuckling at his discomfiture.
“Something must have gone wrong over at Stewart Island,” she thought shrewdly. “I’ll find out when I see Anne again.”
The opportunity was to present itself that very afternoon. Soon after luncheon, Clyde Wendell went for a walk in the forest and a short time later, Madge sighted Anne’s familiar red canoe on the lake. As the girl came toward the lodge, she raced down to the water’s edge to meet her.
Anne looked cautiously about before she beached her canoe.
“Clyde Wendell isn’t anywhere near, is he?” she asked in a low tone. “If he is, I can’t stay.”
“He left a half hour ago. What’s wrong, Anne? You look worried.”
“I am. Oh, Madge, everything has gone wrong. You were right about Clyde. He didn’t come here to help at all. He’s the meanest man in the world!”
“What has he done now?”
“He claims I owe him five hundred dollars. Or rather, that Father did. He insists that several months back wages were due him at the time he left here. It’s too ridiculous for words! Actually, Father paid him extra money to be rid of him.”
“Haven’t you a cancelled check or a receipt to prove it?”
“Not a thing. Father wouldn’t bother about a receipt. Clyde knows that he was more than paid for his services. I’m afraid he thinks I’m inexperienced about business matters and that he can bluff me into giving him the money.”
“I’d never do it.”
Anne laughed shortly.
“No danger of that. I couldn’t find five hundred dollars if my life depended upon it. The only way I can raise money is to borrow from the bank or sell my island. And in this country islands are as common as pine trees and about as cheap!”
“Not such islands as yours,” Madge corrected. “Uncle George says you have an ideal location and the place should bring a tidy sum if sold to the right party.”
“Well, Jake Curtis isn’t the right party. I’m sure of that. He knows it will be hard for me to pay the debt I owe him and I think he means to take advantage of me if he can. I’m to see the president of the First National bank today and ask him for a loan. Jack said he would take me to town in his car. Won’t you come with us?”
Madge replied that she should not leave but Anne coaxed her until she gave in. They crossed the lake and found Jack waiting with his car. He seemed well pleased that Madge was to go along.
At Luxlow he dropped the girls at the bank, promising to call for them in an hour. They entered the building and Anne was admitted to the private office of the president. Madge waited outside.
Fifteen minutes elapsed before Anne emerged. The expression of her face disclosed instantly that the interview had not been successful.
“It’s no use,” she reported when they were outside again. “He listened politely enough to my story but he wasn’t really interested. When I finished he said he was sorry he could do nothing for me. It seems the bank must have sound collateral and I’ve nothing to pledge.”
Madge tried to cheer her companion, and since over a half hour remained before Jack would return, suggested that they go to a nearby drug store for ice cream. They walked slowly down the street, gazing at the window displays.
Suddenly Anne clutched her friend’s arm, gripping it with a hard pressure. With a quick jerk of her head she indicated a man on the opposite side of the street.
“There’s Jake Curtis!” she said tensely. “I hope he doesn’t see me!”
No sooner had the words been spoken than the man turned toward the girls. He was a short, stout individual with ill-fitting, somewhat soiled clothing and a hard, shrewd face. Before Anne and Madge could dodge into a store he crossed the street and confronted them.
“Trying to avoid me, eh?”
“Why should I wish to avoid you, Mr. Curtis?” Anne countered.
“Well, there’s a little matter of a note between us, y’know.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Aiming to pay it off by the first, are you?”
“Why,—I—that is, I expect to,” Anne stammered.
“Better think over that proposition I made you. You’ll not find any other person in these parts who will take the house off your hands. I must warn you though, I’ll expect payment of one kind or another on the day my note falls due.”
“I’ll bear it in mind,” Anne returned coldly.
The girls turned their backs and walked hurriedly on. Anne was so agitated by the meeting that she did not care to stop at the drug store so they returned to the bank there to await Jack.
“Jake Curtis surely deserves his reputation!” Madge declared in disgust. “Oh, Anne, don’t ever sell him your island!”
“I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Perhaps Uncle George can find a buyer for you. I’ll speak to him tonight about it. And then we may locate the formula. That would solve everything.”
Jack soon returned and the three started for Loon Lake. Anne who was reticent by nature, made no mention of her discouraging bank interview, and although Madge would have liked to acquaint the ranger with the situation, she felt it was not her place to bring up the subject.
The sun was low over the lake when the car finally reached the end of the road. The girls thanked Jack for the ride and took leave of him. They crossed over to the lodge in Anne’s canoe.
“I mustn’t stop, Madge. It’s getting late.”
“Do come in for just a minute,” her friend pleaded. “I baked a chocolate cake this morning and I want you to have half of it.”
Anne permitted herself to be led toward the house. Madge quickly wrapped up the cake but scarcely had she finished than they heard a shout from the beach. The next instant Old Bill came hurrying toward the house.
“Come quick, folks! An airplane’s landin’ on the lake. You’ll miss it if you don’t hurry!”
Madge laughed indulgently.
“Don’t pay any attention, Anne. That’s an old trick of his. He thinks every day is April Fool’s. Think up something better, Bill.”
“Honest, I’m not foolin’ this time,” Bill maintained with a seriousness which left no room for doubt. “Hear it?”
By this time the girls had caught the unmistakable drone of an airplane motor. They rushed from the house, following Bill to the beach, and were in time to see an amphibian spiral down and land smoothly on the water.
“Didn’t I tell you!” Bill chortled proudly. “It was three years last month that a mail plane landed on Loon Lake. Engine must be out of whack.”
Madge did not respond though she saw clearly that the plane was not of the regular mail service. Nor was it one of the “Fire Eagles” occasionally sent out by the Forest Service to scout for fires. As far as she could tell the plane was disabled in no way. The steady throb of its motors carried plainly over the water.
“Well, of all things!” Madge exclaimed. “What do you think of that!”
The amphibian was taxiing slowly through the water, its nose pointed directly toward the beach.
CHAPTER VI
Startling Developments
The amphibian coasted slowly in toward the beach, throttled down its motors and finally came to a halt.
“Can you tell me if a Miss Fairaday lives anywhere on this lake?” the pilot called out.
Anne and Madge exchanged startled glances. The former stepped forward.
“I am she.”
To her further astonishment, the pilot said a few words to his passenger, a well-dressed, elderly gentleman, who immediately climbed from the front cockpit. He presented his card to Anne.
“I’m Brownell from the Alton Chemical Company. I happened to be this way on a business trip and thought I’d drop in to discuss that matter which I wrote you about some time ago. By the way, we didn’t hear from you.”
Anne looked embarrassed and said hesitantly:
“I hadn’t had time to write. You see, the formula—” she trailed off as Madge gave her a warning look. It would never do to tell Mr. Brownell that the paper was missing—not unless she wanted to throw away her chance of ever selling it to him if it were found.
“If the formula is all your Father claimed it to be, we may be willing to enter into an agreement with you,” Mr Brownell declared. “Now if you’ll just let me see the formula—”
“I’m afraid I can’t now,” Anne returned. “You see I don’t live here. My home is at Stewart Island.”
Mr Brownell brushed away her objections with a careless wave of his hand.
“Oh, I don’t mind going there. In fact, if you’re not afraid to ride in a plane, my pilot can take us both to the island.”
“Well,—you see—that is, the formula was put away for safe keeping,” Anne stammered.
“You mean you haven’t it at hand? How soon can you get it?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps I could write you later—”
“No, I’ve traveled a good many miles to see it. Fact is, our company is anxious to get just such a formula as your Father described to us. If you can get it in a day or so I’m of a mind to stay over. I can send my plane back to the city and return by train.”
Anne was at a loss to know what to say. She looked doubtfully at Madge who was unable to help her.
“I can’t make any promise about the formula,” she said after a slight hesitation.
“You’re not dealing with another company, I hope,” Mr. Brownell said quickly.
“Oh, no. Father wrote to several firms, I believe, but I’ve not entered into any correspondence.”
Mr. Brownell did not seem entirely convinced. He debated a minute, studying the lake meditatively.
“Any fish here?” he questioned abruptly.
“It’s the best fishing lake in this part of the country,” Madge informed quickly. “Only this morning my uncle caught a seven pound bass. And it put up a magnificent fight.”
“I’d enjoy meeting a bass like that. If I can find accommodations I’ll stay a day or so.”
Madge suggested that her aunt might take him in, and arrangements were soon made. As the amphibian taxied away without its passenger, Clyde Wendell came down the trail. Anne did not wish to speak to him and hurriedly took her departure.
“What shall I do about the formula?” she whispered to Madge as they said goodbye at the water’s edge. “Shall I tell him it’s lost?”
“Not for a day or so,” Madge advised. “If we can get him interested in the fishing it will give us a little time to search. We may find the thing yet.”
Mr. Brownell had followed Mrs. Brady into the lodge but Clyde Wendell lingered near the beach. As Madge turned toward the house he stopped her.
“Who is that fellow?”
“His name is Mr. Brownell.”
“What was he saying to Anne Fairaday just a minute ago?”
“Really, I think you should ask her,” Madge returned coldly.
She had no intention of telling him Mr. Brownell’s real mission. Before he could ask another question, she walked away. However, the chemist was not so easily discouraged and that night at the supper table, he skillfully drew from Mr. Brownell the purpose of his visit to Loon Lake.
“If you’re looking for a formula to prevent metals rusting, you may be interested in an idea of mine,” Clyde suggested. “I’ve been working on it for years. If you have the time, I’d like to go into the matter in complete detail.”
Mr. Brownell expressed a keen interest and the two retired to the veranda, there to talk more privately. They were still engrossed in deep conversation when Madge finished the supper dishes.
“If that isn’t just what you’d expect of Clyde Wendell!” she thought in disgust. “He wouldn’t care if he took the bread out of Anne’s mouth. I do hope his idea is a flop.”
After a time the two men went to their rooms. Madge was closing the doors for the night when she heard the faint put-put of a motor boat, far out on the lake.
“I wonder who can be out so late?” she thought. “It might be one of the rangers only it doesn’t sound like their boat.”
She shut the door and thought no more of it. It was her intention to paddle over to Stewart Island early the next morning to aid Anne in the search for the formula. Upon arising, she was startled to observe a white flag flying from a high point on the island.
Madge did not wait for breakfast, fearing that something had gone wrong during the night and that her friend might be in trouble. As she beached her canoe at Stewart Island, Anne came running down to meet her.
“Anything wrong?” Madge inquired anxiously.
“I’ll show you,” Anne said impressively.
She led her companion to the house and they entered the dining room. Anne went directly to a huge walnut buffet and jerked open the drawers. They were all empty.
“That’s what happened last night. All the silverware taken!”
“My word!” Madge scarcely could believe her eyes. “Why, I never heard of such a thing before at Loon Lake. Was the silverware very valuable?”
“I couldn’t afford to lose it. Still, it wasn’t such a costly grade of silver. I can’t see why a thief would go to so much risk to steal it unless he thought he would find other valuables.”
“What else was taken?”
“Nothing so far as I can tell. The library was ransacked but everything seems to be there.”
“The library! How very odd!”
“Yes, I can’t imagine what the thief thought he might find.”
Madge started to say something, then closed her lips firmly. She had a theory of her own but decided not to mention it yet. She followed Anne to the library. Books had been pulled from their shelves and tumbled out upon the floor. Papers were scattered about and the desk appeared to have been opened.
“I haven’t checked over all the books yet,” Anne said, “though to my knowledge Father had only a few of any real value. They’re all here.”
“What time of night do you imagine the house was entered?”
“Oh, Madge, I have no idea. I must have slept so well that I didn’t hear a sound. Strange that I didn’t, for I’m sure the thief came upstairs. The laboratory appears to have been entered.”
Madge expressed a desire to see Mr. Fairaday’s workroom and was conducted upstairs. The laboratory was in disarray. Boxes had been removed from the shelves, containers misplaced and files disturbed.
“It looks as if the thief were after something besides silverware,” she commented. “I suppose your Father’s bedroom was entered too?”
“No, apparently not. My room adjoins and I am sure I would have awakened if anyone had tried to open the door. Perhaps the intruder knew where I slept and avoided that part of the house.”
Madge moved thoughtfully about the laboratory examining articles which had been misplaced. In spite of the disorder, the thief had left behind no clue to his identity.
“Anne, you haven’t mentioned the formula to anyone save Mr. Brownell, have you?” she asked suddenly.
“Why, no. That is, except to Clyde Wendell. I asked him if he had any idea what could have become of it and he said he knew nothing about it. You don’t think the person who came here last night was after the formula?”
“Perhaps not. It merely occurred to me.” Madge lapsed into thoughtful silence. “I can’t think of anyone save Mr. Brownell who would want to lay hands on that missing paper,” she added, after a moment, “and I’m sure he never left the house last night. But just as I was going to bed, I do recall hearing a motor boat out on the lake and it sounded as though it might be heading toward Stewart Island.”
“Jake Curtis has one, Madge!”
“I thought of that right away but what reason would he have for coming here?”
“It’s beyond me. All I know is that my silverware is gone. You don’t suppose someone—Jake for instance, is trying to frighten me away from here?”
“That’s a possibility,” Madge conceded. “Jake is bent on getting this property by one means or another. Still, your theory doesn’t entirely satisfy me.”
From the laboratory the girls went to Mr. Fairaday’s bedroom. After a brief search which revealed no clues, they examined the other upstairs rooms and then returned to the first floor. The identity of the prowler remained a mystery.
“You can’t stay here alone another night,” Madge protested. “If you don’t care to come to the lodge, then I think I should remain here.”
“I wish you would!”
Madge did not look forward to a night at Stewart Island. She preferred her own comfortable room at the lodge to the gloomy, barn-like Fairaday home. However, for the sake of her friend, she was glad to undergo a little inconvenience. After promising to return before nightfall, she took her leave.
Half way across the lake, she swung her canoe toward the lookout tower. Before she could climb the long flight of iron stairs to the platform, Jack French came down the trail, whistling a cheerful tune. He broke off as he saw Madge and greeted her with a broad smile.
“Hello, there. Why the serious expression so early in the morning?”
“I’ve had no breakfast for one thing. And for another, exciting events have taken place during the night.”
“If this apple will help stave off the pangs of hunger, you’re welcome to it,” he said, taking a polished red Winesap from his jacket pocket. “Perhaps it will give you strength to tell me all about the excitement.”
Madge accepted the apple gratefully.
“I’m afraid you’d give away the shirt off your back, Jack,” she smiled.
“I would to you,” he returned quietly. She glanced up, surprised at the tone of his voice. Before she could divine his meaning, he laughed. “What’s an apple, Madge? No sense getting sentimental about one when I’ve a case at home.”
Madge felt slightly rebuffed and immediately changed the subject to the one foremost in her mind. Jack listened attentively as she told him all that had befallen the previous night at Stewart Island.
“I’ll drop around there this morning and look things over,” he promised. “Tracking down a thief isn’t my line exactly, but I’ll be glad to do anything I can to help you and Anne. This is the first theft that’s been reported since I came to Loon Lake.”
At the lodge, Madge repeated the story for her aunt’s benefit but she took care that neither Clyde Wendell nor Mr. Brownell were within hearing distance. The latter had gone fishing with Old Bill as his guide, and their boat could be seen trolling slowly along the far shore. The chemist stationed himself in a comfortable chair on the porch. He appeared to be drowsing, yet whenever Madge glanced in his direction she noticed that he was watching the fishing boat intently.
“He seems afraid he’ll miss something,” she thought. “I wonder how long he intends to remain here?”
The chemist made no announcement of his future plans. He seemed content to sit and dream and think. In contrast, Mr. Brownell was a bundle of energy. He arose at dawn to fish and did not return until late in the evening. Several times Madge heard him remark that he must get over to Stewart Island to see Anne Fairaday, but each day saw him fishing instead.
Madge and Anne welcomed the delay for although they had searched the house many times, the formula could not be found. Mrs. Brady had been reluctant to have her niece spend the nights at Stewart Island, but after several had passed with nothing amiss, she had grown more accustomed to the idea.
One evening, four days after Mr. Brownell’s arrival at the lodge, Madge was particularly anxious to get supper over with so that she might start for the island. It was nearly seven o’clock before Mr. Brownell and Bill came in with their string of fish. The president was proud of four large trout he had caught and after they were weighed, requested that they be prepared for supper. It was well after eight before the dishes were cleared away.
“I’ll do them,” Mrs. Brady offered. “You must hurry along, Madge.”
It was dark by the time she pulled up on the beach at Stewart Island. There was no moon and the stars were half-hidden by black clouds. Madge could not see the house. If a lamp had been lighted, it did not shine out through the trees.
“This is a spooky place after dark,” she thought uncomfortably. “Wish I had my flash.”
It was difficult to find the path leading to the house. Groping about, she stepped into a mud hole which let her in to her shoetops. The trees along the shore were dense and overgrown with vegetation. At length she found a trail but before she had followed it very far she discovered it was leading her deeper into the brush instead of toward the house.
She turned back, and impatient at the delay, walked hurriedly, paying slight attention to the ground underfoot. Unexpectedly, she stumbled over a vine. She tried to save herself but went down, striking her body against a hollow log which lay directly ahead.
Madge cried out but it was more from surprise than pain. In striking the log she distinctly had heard from within a strange metallic sound!
She gave the log an exploratory kick with her foot. Again she heard the sound.
“Something is hidden in there,” she thought. Stooping down, she groped about the opening at one end of the log. It was clogged with leaves and loose moss which she pulled away. She boldly plunged her arm into the opening.
“Hope I don’t get it chewed off!” she chuckled.
Her hand grasped something hard.
“What in the world?” she gasped.
Then she knew. It was Anne’s missing silverware.
CHAPTER VII
In a Hollow Log
“This is a discovery!” Madge assured herself as she made successive thrusts into the old log, tumbling out knives, forks and spoons. “Wait until Anne sees what I’ve found!”
Making certain that she had removed everything from the cache, she gathered up the silverware and hurried back to the beach. This time she made no mistake in selecting the path and a few minutes later saw the welcoming gleam of a light through the trees. She rapped on the door and after a brief wait, Anne flung it open.
“Oh, here you are! I was afraid you weren’t coming. Why, what do you have?”
“Your silver,” Madge laughed and thumped it down on the table. “See if it’s all here.”
“Where did you find it?” Anne was fairly dancing with excitement. “Oh, I’m so glad to get it back. Tell me, did the rangers capture the thief?”
“One question at a time,” Madge protested. “I’ll tell you everything while we check over the pieces. How many were there?”
“Twelve of everything.”
Already Madge had started to sort the forks. Anne began on the spoons and while they counted, she learned of the strange hiding place.
“I’ve gone by that log a dozen times,” she declared, “but it never occurred to me to look inside. Who could have hidden the silver there?”
“I wish you’d tell me. Why was it hidden there at all? If the thief broke into the house to steal it why didn’t he take it away with him?”
“Perhaps he was afraid of being caught.”
“Anne, I believe that the person who entered this house wasn’t after the silver at all.”
“Then why did he take it?”
“To throw you off the track or to frighten you,” Madge returned impressively. “Either someone is after the formula or else trying to make you give up this house.”
“It looks that way. I’d suspect Jake Curtis only it appears that if he were trying to frighten me, he would have taken a more effective means. We haven’t been disturbed since you began sleeping here nights.”
“I know,” Madge agreed. “It may not be Jake at all. It could be someone who is after the formula.”
“Mr. Brownell is the only one who wants it and you say he is so interested in fishing he can’t think of anything else.”
“Well, it seems that way. Of course, there’s Clyde. Why do you suppose he stays around here so long?”
“To collect that money he claims I owe him,” Anne returned with an angry toss of her head. “He rowed over here this afternoon to tell me that unless I paid him in a week’s time he intended to sue! Oh, I wonder if any girl was ever in such a situation? Everyone after me for money and I haven’t a cent!”
“Uncle George might be able to loan you some,” Madge said doubtfully. “I don’t know—”
“No, I’ll not borrow from him when I can’t be sure of paying it back,” Anne announced with decision. “I think the best thing to do is to tell Mr. Brownell the truth about the formula. Then I’ll sell my house to Jake Curtis and try to clear up my debts.”
“You’re discouraged tonight,” Madge said kindly, slipping her arm about the other. “I’m not fully convinced the formula can’t be found. What say we have one grand final search tomorrow?”
Anne agreed without enthusiasm. They finished counting the silver and accounted for all pieces save one knife which Madge thought must have been left in the log. Anne put everything away in its place and locked the doors and windows for the night. They went about it in businesslike fashion, trying not to show that they felt the slightest uneasiness. Nevertheless, both experienced a certain dread of spending the night alone in the house, an insecurity which they could not express in words. The feeling had steadily grown upon them since the discovery of the theft.
Mounting the spiral stairs to the bedroom they shared, the girls clung tightly to each other. They hurriedly undressed and Anne blew out the oil lamp. She made a running dive into bed, snuggling close to Madge who gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Save for the moaning of the wind, the house was quiet. Almost too quiet. In the dark the girls could easily imagine that someone was creeping up the stairs. Suddenly a door slammed.
“What was that?” Madge whispered.
“It must have been a screen door,” Anne returned nervously.
They listened intently for a minute or two but the only sound was the brushing of a tree-branch against the window. Gradually they relaxed and dropped off to sleep. And the next thing they knew it was morning.
“Get up, lazy thing!” Madge ordered, springing from bed and taking all the covers with her. “I feel like a swim this morning.”
They slipped into bathing suits and dashed down to the beach. Madge plunged boldly into the cold water and swam away with powerful crawl strokes. Anne timidly waded out knee depth and stood there shivering.
“Come on, don’t be afraid to get your ears wet!” Madge challenged.
Under her direction, Anne lost some of her timidity but she found it difficult to entirely forget her recent water fright. Before the swim ended she was able to float on her back and splash about with some resemblance to a stroke.
The water was too cold to encourage a long swim but it did stimulate two healthy appetites. After a brisk rub down, the girls did justice to a breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, toast and wild strawberries in thick cream.
“And now, let’s have a look at that old log,” Madge proposed.
She led the way to the place where she had found the silverware. The ground in the vicinity of the log was slightly damp and Madge noticed footprints. She bent down to examine them. Nearly all had been made from her own small shoe, but there were a few indistinct ones, left in the soft earth by a man’s tread.
“Here’s the missing knife!” Anne cried jubilantly. “You must have dropped it on the trail.”
Next the girls carefully investigated the inside of the log but it was empty. They tried to follow the footsteps leading away from the vicinity, only to lose the trail before they had gone a quarter of the way to the beach.
“I’d give plenty to know who took my silver,” Anne remarked as they returned to the house. “And I’d give even more to know if the thief really got away with anything valuable—the formula for instance.”
“I doubt it. My own opinion is that it will take a master mind to unearth it.”
After the breakfast dishes had been disposed of, the girls set about searching once more for the missing paper. They looked in every out-of-the-way cranny in the house and even poked into the attic; they emptied old trunks and boxes of rubbish. At last, weary and discouraged, they gave up.
“It’s no use,” Anne said miserably. “If Father ever wrote out that formula, it’s gone. The next time I see Mr. Brownell I’ll tell him he is only wasting his time to remain here.”
“Let’s go fishing and forget it,” Madge proposed suddenly. “If I think about formulas and silverware and what-not much longer, I’ll go crazy. Let’s go to Elf Lake on an all-day picnic.”
Anne fell in with the plan for she too was tired of trying to solve problems which appeared to have no solution. They agreed to meet at Black Rock at one o’clock since Madge must return home to acquaint Mrs. Brady with details of the trip. On her way back to the lodge she stopped at the lookout to inquire of Jack if they might use his boat which was kept at Elf Lake.