The Missing 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!”