A TRAP IS SET
They went indoors at last and tried to settle down to reading, but it was
very difficult to distract their minds from disturbing thoughts. Miss
Marcia retired early, as the ride had tired her, and they were left to
their own devices. At length they gave up the attempt to read and sat
talking in whispers over the dying fire. When there was nothing left but
ashes, Leslie suggested, with a shiver, that they go to bed, and they
withdrew to Leslie's room.
Needless to say they did _not_ go to bed at once, but sat long by the
side window, staring across at Curlew's Nest. And it was then that
Phyllis suddenly had her great idea.
"Now, see here, Leslie Crane, I have an idea and I'm going to do
something, and I don't want you to interfere with me. Do you understand?"
"What do you mean?" whispered Leslie, looking alarmed.
"I mean just this. You're going to stay right where you are, with Rags,
and keep watch. And I'm going to get out of the window and go over and
explore Curlew's Nest by myself!"
"Phyllis, are you crazy?" implored Leslie. "I think that is one of the
most dangerous things you could do!"
"Nothing of the sort. It's safer to-night than it would be almost any
other time. Because--can't you see?--some one has evidently been here all
the afternoon, when the coast was entirely clear, and no doubt they've
done all they wish to do there for _this_ day, anyhow! There couldn't
_be_ a better time than this very night, for there's not one chance in a
hundred that they'll be back again."
"But just suppose the hundredth chance did happen, what would you do?"
argued Leslie in despair.
"Do?--I'd shout like everything to you to turn Rags loose and call up the
village constable and Father. Or better yet, I'd blow this police whistle
which Father always insists on my carrying so that I can call them in to
meals when they're down on the beach. If you hear _that_--just start
things going. That's why I'm leaving you and Rags here on guard."
"Oh, I don't like it--I don't like it at all!" moaned Leslie. "It
wouldn't be so bad if you only met Eileen there--but you can't tell whom
you might encounter. I believe there's something more dangerous and
desperate about this affair than either of us have guessed. I don't know
why I think so--it's just come to me lately. It's a sort of--presentiment
I can't seem to shake off!"
"Nonsense!" declared Phyllis, not to be balked. "If I met any one there,
it could only be Eileen, and she's the one I'm crazy to encounter. After
the way she has treated us, I'd have a few things to say to that young
person for trespassing on Mrs. Danforth's property. Mrs. Danforth has
always asked that we keep an eye on these cottages of hers while we're
here,--it's an understood thing between us--so I'd be entirely within my
rights in going in there to look the place over, especially if I
suspected anything queer, and the other person would be quite in the
wrong. Don't you see?"
"Oh, yes, I see that, but it doesn't lessen the fact that it may be
dangerous!" sighed Leslie, wearily.
Phyllis ignored this. "If the hundredth chance should happen and I
encounter Eileen, or if I come across anything very unusual and think you
ought to see it, I'll let you know. Only in case of the hundred and
_first_ chance of real danger will I blow this whistle. Hold on tight to
Rags and don't let him try to follow me. By-by! See you later!" And
before Leslie could expostulate further, she had slipped out of the
window, her electric torch in her hand, and was out of sight around the
corner of the neighboring cottage.
Leslie remained half hanging out of the window, in an agony of suspense.
The night was moonless and very dark. Added to that, a heavy sea-mist
hung over everything like a blanket, and, out of the gloom, the steady
pounding of the surf came to her with ominous insistence. The chill of
the foggy air was penetrating, and she wrapped a sweater about her almost
without realizing that she had done so. Rags was on the seat beside her,
ears alertly cocked.
There was not a sound from the next house, nor could she even see a
single gleam of light from the chinks in the shutters. Where could
Phyllis be? Surely there had been time enough for her to have entered the
place, looked about, and come out again. What could she be doing?
Then her brain began to be filled with horrible pictures of all the
possible and impossible things that might have happened. So beyond all
bearing did this feature become at length that she came to the sudden
conclusion she would endure it no longer. She would get out of the
window, herself, and go in search of her friend. If the worst came to
worst, Rags could do some one a pretty bit of damage!
She had actually got as far as to put one foot over the low sill, when
she quickly pulled it back again. A dark form had slipped around the
corner of the other house and was hurrying toward her.
"Leslie! Leslie! Quick!--can you come here with me?"
Leslie almost collapsed, so swift was the reaction of relief at hearing
Phyllis's voice, after all her terrible imaginings.
"What is it? What have you found?" she managed to reply.
"I can't explain to you here," whispered Phyllis. "It would take too
long. Come along with me and see for yourself. It's perfectly safe.
There's not a soul around. I've been in the house. Bring Rags along--it
won't hurt. There have been queer doings here to-day--evidently. You can
see it all in five minutes. Do come!"
In spite of all her previous fears, the temptation was too much for
Leslie. If Phyllis had examined the ground and found it safe, surely
there was no need for fear, and her curiosity to see what her friend had
seen was now stronger than she could resist. She crept softly out of the
window, speaking to Rags in a whisper, and the dog leaped lightly out
after her.
They stole around the corner of the next house, three black shadows in
the enveloping mist, and not till Phyllis had closed the side door of
Curlew's Nest behind them was a word spoken.
"Follow me into the living-room," she ordered, "and if you don't see
something there that surprises you, I miss my guess!"
She switched on the electric torch, and Leslie and Rags followed after
her in solemn procession. From what she had said, Leslie expected to see
the place in a terrible disorder, at the very least, and was considerably
surprised, when she came into the room, to observe nothing out of its
place. In some bewilderment she looked about, while Phyllis stood by,
watching her.
"Why, what's wrong?" she whispered. "Everything seems to be just as it
was."
"Look on the center-table!" commanded Phyllis, and she turned the torch
full on that article of furniture.
Leslie tiptoed over to examine it. Then she uttered a little
half-suppressed cry. On the table was a slip of paper--not a very large
slip, and evidently torn from some larger sheet. And on this paper were a
few words, type-written. She bent to read them. It ran:
It is advisable that the article stolen from its hiding-place be
returned to it as speedily as possible, as otherwise, consequences
most serious to all parties concerned will result.
Leslie turned deadly pale as she read it and seized Phyllis spasmodically
by the arm.
"Oh, come out of here this moment!" she exclaimed. "I will not stay in
this house another instant. I told you it was dangerous!" and she dragged
her friend, with the strength of terror to the side door.
Outside, as the chill mist struck her, she breathed a great sigh of
relief.
"What a little 'fraid-cat you are!" laughed Phyllis. "What in the world
were you frightened about?"
Leslie shivered. "Oh, the whole thing strikes me as too uncanny for
words! Some one has been in here and left that warning. They may be
around here now, for all you know. Who do you suppose it can be?"
"I've a very good notion who it was, but it's too chilly to explain it
standing here. Go over to the house with Rags and I'll be there directly.
I want to go back a moment."
"Phyllis, Phyllis, _don't_ go back there again!" implored Leslie, almost
beside herself with an alarm she could hardly explain. "What do you want
to do?"
"Never mind! Go back! I'll be there in two minutes." And tearing herself
from Leslie's grasp, Phyllis ran back into the dark bungalow.
But Leslie would not return to her own house and desert her companion,
though she could not bring herself to enter again that fear-inspiring
place. So she lingered about outside in a state of unenviable desperation
till Phyllis once more emerged from the dark doorway.
"So you couldn't leave me, after all!" Phyllis laughed. "Well, come back
to bed now, and I'll tell you all about it."
They were chilled through with the drenching mist by the time they
returned, and not till they were enveloped in the warm bed-clothing did
Phyllis deign to explain her ideas about the newest development in their
mystery.
"You were mightily scared by that little piece of paper, and I confess
that I was startled myself, for a minute. But after I'd thought it over,
it suddenly dawned on me that there was precious little to be scared
about, and I'll tell you why. I'm perfectly convinced that that thing was
written and placed there by my brother _Ted_!"
Leslie sat up in bed with a jerk. "You can't possibly mean it!"
"I certainly do, and here's my reason: You yourself convinced me, earlier
this evening, that there was a chance of Ted's being mixed up in this
thing somehow. I can't imagine how he got into it--that's a mystery past
my explaining. But it looks very much as if he knew this Eileen, and that
he was poking around here this afternoon while we were away. Now he
suspects that _we_ are mixed up in it, too, for he saw us come out of the
bungalow that day. Well, if Eileen has told him about the Dragon's Secret
and its disappearance, perhaps he thinks we know what happened to it. At
any rate, he's taken the chance, and written this warning for our
inspection the next time we happened in. He thinks it will scare us, I
suppose! He'll presently find out that we don't scare for a cent! And I
have thought of a scheme as good as his!--Do you know what I did when I
went back there? I took a pencil and _printed_ on the bottom of that
paper just this:
"'_The article will be returned to its hiding-place_.'
"Now here's what I'm going to do next. In my trunk I have a little
jewel-case, very much the size and shape and weight of the Dragon's
Secret. It's one of those antimony things you've often seen, covered with
a kind of carving that might easily pass for what's on that other one, if
it weren't _seen_. I'm going to-morrow to make a burlap bag, just like
the one we found, and sew the jewel-case in it, and it will be a sharp
person who can tell the difference between them till the bag is opened.
Then we'll bury it in the place where Rags dug up the other, some time
to-morrow when the coast is clear. After that we'll wait and see what
happens next! Now what do you think of my scheme?"
"It sounds splendid to me," admitted Leslie, then she added uneasily:
"But there's something you haven't explained yet. You think Ted wrote
that thing, yet it is _type-written_! How do you explain _that_?"
"Oh, that's simple enough! We have an old typewriter down here that
Father uses occasionally, and Ted frequently practises on it."
"But did you notice the paper?" Leslie insisted. "It was queer, thin,
almost foreign-looking stuff. Do you folks use that kind, or happen to
have it about?"
"Oh, I don't know. I suppose he got it somewhere. What does it matter,
anyway?" answered Phyllis, sleepily. And in two minutes more she was in
the land of dreams.
But Leslie, still unconvinced, tossed the night through without closing
her eyes.