AT DAWN
"How do you mean--it might be the best thing to get acquainted with her?"
demanded Phyllis, indignantly.
"Why, if we could do so in some way that wasn't like forcing ourselves on
her, it might lead to a good many things--solving our mystery mainly. And
then,--who knows?--she _might_ be pleasant when you come to know her
better."
"No chance!" declared Phyllis, and dismissed that subject. "Well, Aunt
Sally didn't do much toward clearing up things, did she?" she went on. "I
was in hopes she'd be able to give us a good many more ideas. One thing's
certain though. That girl evidently came here in the car that rainy
night, but--Look here! Something strange has just occurred to me--Aunt
Sally didn't say _which_ rainy night, and there have been two in the past
ten days. I judge that the girl must have been with her for at least a
couple of weeks, for the hotel closed up more than two weeks ago."
"I've been thinking of that, too," replied Leslie. "And, do you know, I'm
almost certain Aunt Sally must have meant the _last_ one, because she
only said _'rainy'_ night. If she'd meant that other, wouldn't she have
said 'the night of the hard storm,' or something like that? Because it
really _was_ unusual, and if this Miss Ramsay had gone out _that_ night,
I believe Aunt Sally would have been considerably more shocked and would
have said so. What do you make of it?"
"The only thing I can make out of it is that she didn't go out that first
night. But if she _didn't_ visit Curlew's Nest that night, then who in
the world _did_?"
This certainly was a poser, and neither of the two girls could find an
adequate conjecture that would answer.
"Then, this Horatio Gaines who hired the bungalow must be her
grandfather. Of course, the _name_ is different, but he may be the
grandfather on her mother's side. But if that is the case, who is the
'Hon. Arthur Ramsay'?" questioned Phyllis.
"Perhaps her father or her other grandfather," ventured Leslie.
"That's possible; but I wish I had found out from Aunt Sally if she knew
the name of the grandfather who is ill. That might explain something. I
wish I had asked her at the time. I believe I'll go for the broilers
myself to-morrow and see if I can find out any more in some way that
won't make her suspect," declared Phyllis.
The next morning Phyllis was as good as her word. She went down to the
village alone, as Leslie had matters that kept her at home that day. But
she came flying back breathless, to impart her news.
"I managed to lead the conversation around--to that grandfather
business--again," panted Phyllis, to Leslie, when she had induced her
chum to come down to the beach for a moment, "and what do you think she
said? That his name was _'Ramsay'!_ Now what do you make of _that?_ If
his name is Ramsay, he can't be the man who hired that bungalow--and
we're all on the wrong track!"
"No, it doesn't prove that at all," insisted Leslie. "The one who rented
the bungalow, no matter what his name was, certainly had an envelop in
his possession addressed to _Ramsay_. So you see there's a connection
somewhere!"
Phyllis had to admit that this was so. "But here's something else
stranger than that--what do you think of my having been introduced to and
becoming acquainted with our 'exclusive young friend'?"
Leslie certainly opened her eyes in astonishment. "You're surely joking!"
she exclaimed.
"No, positive truth! It happened this way: I was just about to leave with
my chickens under my arm, when in walks this precious Miss Ramsay, right
into the room. I could see she was prepared to turn on that cold stare
effect again, but I never so much as noticed her existence. And then Aunt
Sally bustled in,--she'd been upstairs a minute,--and blest if she didn't
introduce us after all! Said the most complimentary things about yours
truly, and how I was staying at my bungalow on the beach; and then she
mentioned you, too, and told about you being in the 'Rest Haven'
bungalow. It struck me that our young lady sort of pricked up her ears at
that (though it _may_ have been only imagination). But she just said
'How-de-do,' rather carelessly--didn't offer to shake hands or anything.
"I muttered something about it being a pleasant day and hoping she was
enjoying the place. But she only replied, 'Oh, ya-as, thanks!' with that
awfully English accent, and walked out of the room. Well, anyhow, we're
formally acquainted now (whether either one of us enjoy it or not!), and
that may be a useful thing later, perhaps."
It was still dark the next morning when Leslie awoke from a dreamless
sleep--awoke suddenly, with the distinct impression that something
unusual was happening. She lay perfectly still for several moments,
trying to localize the sensation more definitely. In her room were two
windows--a small one facing Curlew's Nest and a large, broad one facing
the sea. Leslie always had this window wide open, and her bed was so
placed that she could easily look out of it.
She did so now, and noticed the first light streak of dawn along the
east, and a brilliant star so close to the horizon that it seemed to be
resting on the edge of the tossing ocean. Then her heart leaped and felt
as if it almost turned over--for between her and the light, at the
window, she descried the shape of a dark head!
Involuntarily Leslie sprang up to a sitting position. Then the tension
relaxed and she drew a deep breath of relief. It was only Rags, standing
on his hind legs at the window, his great shaggy head silhouetted against
the light. In another instant he had uttered his low, rumbling growl of
uneasiness.
"What is it, Rags? What do you see?" she called softly to him. He forsook
the window for a moment and trotted over to nuzzle his head on her
pillow, but almost immediately hurried back to his post at the window.
"There's something worrying him!" she thought. "Now I wonder what it can
be. Suppose--suppose it were some one around that other bungalow again!
I'd better get up and see."
She rose softly, slipped on a warm dressing-gown and slippers, and peered
first out of the side window at Curlew's Nest. But the darkness was still
intense on this side, there was no tell-tale light in the chinks of the
shutters, and she was forced, after watching for several moments, to
conclude that nothing was amiss in this region.
Then she went to the window facing the ocean, pushed Rags aside a trifle,
and cuddled down beside him on the window-seat. The dawn was growing
every moment brighter. The streak of gray along the horizon had grown to
a broad belt of pink, and very faintly the objects on the beach were
beginning to be visible. Rags still rumbled his uneasy growl at
intervals, and stared intently at something Leslie's eye could not yet
discern.
It was only by following the direction of his gaze that she presently
realized there was something moving on the beach somewhere in front of
Curlew's Nest. Then her heart actually did seem to stop beating for an
instant, for in the growing light she at last could distinguish a dark
form moving stealthily about by the old log where Rags had dug up the
"Dragon's Secret!"
"Oh! who can it be? And what are they doing there?" she whispered
distractedly to Rags. The dog's only reply was to growl a little louder,
and she promptly silenced him.
"Be a good dog, Rags! Don't make a sound! It will rouse Aunt Marcia, and
besides I _must_ see who is there, if possible!" Rags settled down again
to a quieter watch with evident reluctance.
With every passing moment, day was approaching nearer, and the scene out
over the ocean was one of surprising beauty, had Leslie only been less
occupied and had time to observe it. The band of pink had melted into
gold, and a thousand rosy little clouds dimpled the sky above. It was now
so light that the dark shape on the beach stood out with comparative
clearness. It had been bending down and rising up at intervals, and it
took little guessing on Leslie's part to conjecture what was happening.
Some one was digging in the spot where the "Dragon's Secret" had been
hidden!
"What if it is Miss Ramsay?" thought Leslie. "Oh, it _must_ be she! Who
else could it be? She's looking for that box, and she can't find it
because we've taken it away. Oh, what ought I to do about it? If only
Phyllis were here!"
At this moment she realized from the actions of the unknown person that
the search was evidently abandoned. The figure stood upright, struck its
hands together, and threw away some implement like a board, with which
the digging had been done. Then, with a discouraged shrug of the
shoulders and a hasty glance back at the two cottages, it turned and
walked away down the beach and was shortly out of sight.
And it was then that Leslie sank back on the window seat with a little
gasp of sheer astonishment.
The figure was not--_could_ not have been that of Miss Ramsay! It was a
_man_--a tall, burly man; and as he walked away, his gait gave evidence
of a decided limp!