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.