They were afraid, yet they knew they must go in.
(_Frontispiece_) (MISSING AT THE MARSHLANDS)
_The Arden Blake Mystery Series_
MISSING AT
MARSHLANDS
_By_
CLEO F. GARIS
A. L. BURT COMPANY
_Publishers_
New York Chicago
_The Arden Blake Mystery Series_
BY CLEO F. GARIS
The Orchard Secret
Mystery of Jockey Hollow
Missing at Marshlands
COPYRIGHT, 1934, BY
A. L. Burt Company
Missing At Marshlands
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO MY FRIEND
DOROTHY O’CONNOR
_Who saw the Czar’s snuffbox
and told me its tragic story._
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Stalled Car 9
II A Man, a Dog, and a Girl 19
III The Russian 29
IV A Girl and a Bracelet 42
V The Stranger 50
VI The Unwelcome Guest 56
VII A Noise in the Night 65
VIII Hard to Believe 72
IX The Snuffbox 78
X Beauty That Dazzled 85
XI Still They Come 92
XII A Friend in the Deep 98
XIII The Tragic Messenger 105
XIV Missing at Marshlands 110
XV Downhearted; Not Discouraged 115
XVI That Dark Woman 123
XVII Olga Makes Light of It 130
XVIII Reilly on the Case 136
XIX Tania Howls 142
XX Mrs. Landry Helps 147
XXI Melissa Has a Pin 157
XXII The Policewoman 164
XXIII On the Water Trail 170
XXIV The Man Arrives 178
XXV The Man in the Marsh 187
XXVI Melissa Again 192
XXVII Terry’s Tactics 199
XXVIII Driven Away 205
XXIX The Barking of Tania 219
XXX All Is Well 227
CHAPTER I
A Stalled Car
A bold morning sun thrust its warm glow into the crowded, cheerful room
at Cedar Ridge, glinting on half-filled suitcases and revealing with a
cruel indifference the dust gathered on the abandoned textbooks flung in
a pile on the window seat. It was a hot sun, for summer was upon the
land, and the school term was at an end. Arden, Terry, and Sim were
packing to go home.
It had been a year full of interesting activity and some genuine fun, but
it had not been without hard work in the scholastic field. So, happy that
examinations were over at last, and overjoyed that they had passed all
subjects, except for a condition in mathematics for Sim, the three girls
were losing no time in leaving their beloved college behind them and
heading for a summer of rest and hoped-for adventure.
Sim Westover was sitting on a suitcase that refused to close and bouncing
up and down in an effort to bring the yawning leather jaws together.
“Oh—Terry—help! I’ll never get this old suitcase fastened, and we won’t
get down till after dark, and your mother will be worried and——” Sim’s
list of worries and trials was ended by Terry, a smiling, sandy-haired
creature, thrusting Sim aside and putting a silk-covered knee on the
offending luggage, which closed obediently under such superior pressure.
“There, little one, it’s shut. Are you all packed now?” Terry Landry
asked, patting Sim maternally on her fair head.
Sim ducked. “Don’t _do_ that!” she wailed. “You act like a maiden aunt.”
“Phew!” A black-haired, blue-eyed girl crawled out from under a bed. “How
did that shoe ever get under there in the first place? I suppose you
threw it at a mouse, Sim. I should have made _you_ crawl after it.” Arden
Blake straightened her smart tan-wool dress as she rose from the floor.
“No,” answered Terry before Sim could reply, “you did it yourself three
nights ago, I remember. And, incidentally, I seem to be the only one
ready, even though you two say I’m always late.”
Terry stood surveying the jumbled scene with amused eyes. Her two
roommates at once renewed their activity. Arden thrust the recovered shoe
into a bag with its fellow and announced that she too was finished. Sim,
powdering an uptilted nose, declared that if Arden was ready there was
nothing to wait for, so, opening the door of their room, called the
porter to take their bags.
Down the long corridor they went, calling “goodbyes” at each open door
and gayly knocking at those closed, as they marched down the hall.
For the last time that year they descended the five flights of stairs up
which they had so often raced. At the outer door of the building they
cast a quick look behind them, then piled into the waiting car. A
five-passenger touring car, it was, belonging to Arden’s father. In it
the three girls were to drive down to Oceanedge, on the coast, where they
would spend a month or two visiting Terry and her mother in a seaside
cottage. Oceanedge was the development name of the resort. Natives called
it Marshlands.
It was the first time the three girls had been permitted to take such a
long drive alone, and they were anxious to conduct themselves creditably.
Early as the start was, and it was not yet nine o’clock, the girls would
not reach the shore until nearly evening, so they were anxious to get
going.
Relaxing comfortably against the cool leather upholstery, they soon left
Cedar Ridge behind them. Mile on mile piled up as they drove along the
uncrowded roads leading out of Morrisville. They talked little; thoughts
were too insistent, for leaving school was indeed a big event, and all
seemed completely to realize its importance.
At noon they stopped at a wayside Tea Shoppe for lunch, and when
fortified by sandwiches and tea and a generous helping of chocolate cake
they continued on their journey, becoming less like students and more
like ordinary girls as they left college farther in the distance.
The country was now taking on a seashore look, maple trees giving place
to patchy-barked sycamores and stunted, conventional pines, and grassy
meadows fading into sandy wastes and dunes; the road stretching always
before them, a dark ribbon between the yellow hills of sand, pebbles, and
broken shells.
It was at just such a portion of country that they came upon the stalled
car.
“Wait, Arden,” Sim begged as they approached it, “let’s see what the
trouble is. There hasn’t been a garage for miles.”
“No, and there won’t be another one for miles, either, not until we get
to Oceanedge,” Terry announced. “Perhaps we should see if we could help.”
Arden promptly turned in to the side of the road, where they inspected a
rather ancient car, sagging over a flattened tire and looking like
anything but the power to move along.
“A blowout,” Terry remarked laconically. “The owner is probably walking
into town.”
Curiously they looked into the abandoned vehicle when, suddenly, a huge
white and tan dog, apparently aroused from a pleasant sleep, began to
bark ferociously.
“No one could go near that car with that—that—what is it, Arden?” Sim
questioned.
“A Russian wolfhound, and a beauty too,” Arden replied, pursing her lips
into a crooning little whistle and trying to soothe the animal with
friendly assurance.
“Look at all the stuff in the back there,” Terry called, where, from a
safe distance, she was gazing in at the rear window. “Looks like a lot of
pictures.”
“I guess that’s what they are. Well,” Arden suggested, “shall we go on?
We’ll probably overtake the owner.”
“Might as well,” agreed Sim, and Terry nodded as she got back into
Arden’s car.
The dog stopped its barking, and as they drove off they could see it
curled up again on the front seat to finish its interrupted nap; a nose
of silky white and taffy-colored tan. It certainly was a beauty.
Again the road lay straight before them, without even a tree on either
side to break the monotony. On the right, some distance away, they knew,
the blue inviting ocean lay shining in the sunlight, and on the left
miles of pine woods with a carpet of brown needles.
They had not much farther to go, Terry told them, pointing out a
wary-looking wooden hand which indicated “Oceanedge, 5 mi.”
“Whoever do you suppose might own the old car?” Arden asked curiously as
they sped along.
“I don’t care whose dog it is, or car, or what’s in the back or anything
about it,” Sim said firmly. “I’m going to enjoy this summer, and I refuse
to become interested in another mystery. That car looked to me just like
one all ready to sprout.”
“That’s just talk, Sim,” Terry remarked. “If we meet a handsome stranger,
trudging slowly toward the village, would you say—pass him by?”
challenged Terry.
“No, of course not,” Sim amended. “We could give him a lift, and unless
my eyes deceive me, we are even now approaching the person in question.”
“You’re right, little one,” Arden announced, “it could be no other. Shall
I pull over?” She had taken her foot off the accelerator, and the car
slowed down.
Sim and Terry nodded “Yes,” vigorously, and Arden drove over to the side
of the road, stopping by the stranger.
“May we give you a lift?” she asked pleasantly.
The man looked at her sharply and seemed startled. He took a soft gray
hat from his head politely but still hesitated in answering.
“Why, I—er—thank you very much,” he faltered finally. “My car is back
there. I was unable to get the tool chest open, and, really,” he smiled
ruefully, “I have no spare.”
The girls thrilled inwardly. He was so good-looking! A “handsome
stranger” in every respect, with just a suggestion of a foreign accent.
“We are going to Oceanedge,” Arden continued, “but we could drop you at a
garage on our way.”
“Oh, now,” protested the man, “that would be too much. I am used to
walking. Besides,” he said disarmingly, “your parents would perhaps not
approve.”
“Our parents,” Sim flung in, “have faith in us—in our judgment. You
simply must let us take you. It is absurd to walk in this hot sun when we
are going that way.”
He shrugged in complaisance and, dusting off his clothes a bit, climbed
in the back seat, murmuring his thanks.
“I, too, will be at Oceanedge for the summer,” he said as if to break the
embarrassing pause. “I paint. I have rented a houseboat out where I can
be alone and have quiet. I do not need people around me. I have Tania, my
dog, and my paints, and so I am happy.” He talked in a jerky fashion, as
though translating from a foreign tongue, as he went on.
Sim, always the most loquacious of the three, volunteered the information
that they were visiting Terry and her mother, that they were fast
friends, and added, in a little burst of indignation, that of course they
would not bother him or attempt to break up his “quiet.” The girls
frowned at her, but Sim was ever high-spirited.
At Reilly’s garage, the only one in the sleepy village, they set him down
after he had thanked them charmingly, and they continued on their way.
They had to go back again to the main road a short distance, for the
house, gayly called “Buckingham Palace” because it was so unlike the
great palace, was on a neck of land reaching out between ocean and bay
and south of the town.
“Queer fellow, didn’t you think, Arden?” Sim questioned, still wondering
about their reluctant passenger.
“Mysterious would be a better word, I think. Really, I got that
impression of him. Very mysterious, as if he had something to hide.”
“Rather fond of himself, I’d say,” Terry flung in. “We won’t bother him.
He’ll be quite alone on that old houseboat, and I hope the water rats
find his best cheese.”
“He was a little strange,” Arden reasoned, ignoring Terry’s joke. “Quite
different, I expect, from the usual village Romeo, eh, Terry?”
“That dog, too, I’d hate to have that animal mad at me,” Sim remarked,
pulling a blonde curl into further prominence from under her beret.
“I can’t imagine what a man like that would come to this forsaken place
for,” Terry mused. “Heaven knows it’s quiet enough, if that’s what he
wants, but no scenery for painting. And wait until he sees that
houseboat! It’s been tied up in the bay for years,” and she sighed
comfortably. “Oh, well, as Sim says, let’s not worry about _him_. We’ll
probably never see him again.”
“He said he was happy, but he didn’t look that way to me,” Arden went on.
“I thought he looked rather sad, and we don’t even know his name. If that
should ever matter.”
“Arden Blake!” Sim exclaimed, “if you make another mystery out of this
simple incident, after all we’ve just gone through, I’ll never forgive
you! I’m pos-i-tive-ly off mysteries for life.”
“Terry’s right. We’ll probably never see him again. He would certainly
know how to hide himself and his dog,” Arden said slowly, and then,
stepping on the gas, she drove as fast as she dared in the direction of
“Buckingham Palace.”