NIGHT VISITORS
A moment later they were listening to the creak of rusty oarlocks and the
almost inaudible dip-dip of the oars as the child herself sent the boat
out from the beach to bring it half about and skirt the shore.
The boat was some sixteen feet long. A clinker-built craft, it was light
and buoyant, but for all that, with three persons aboard, the rowing of
it was a tax on the strength of the child's slender arms. To add to her
troubles, the water began to rubber up a bit. Small waves came
slap-slapping the boat's side. Once a bit of spray broke in Florence's
face.
"Here," she whispered, "it's too heavy for you. Let me have the oars,
then you tell me which way to go."
"Straight ahead, only not too close in. There's a wall."
"A wall?" Lucile thought to herself. "Sounds like a prison. There's a
parole camp out here somewhere. It can't be!" she shuddered. "No, of
course not. What would that old man and child have to do with prisons?"
Then, suddenly an ugly thought forced its way into her mind. Perhaps
after all these two were members of a gang of robbers. Perhaps a member
of the gang had been in prison and was at this moment in the parole camp.
What if this turned out to be a jail-breaking expedition?
"No, no!" she whispered as she shook herself to free her mind of the
thought.
"There's the wall," whispered Florence, as a gray bulk loomed up to the
right of them.
They passed it in silence. To Lucile they seemed like marines running a
blockade in time of war.
But Florence was busy with other thoughts. That wall seemed vaguely
familiar to her. It was as if she had seen it in a dream, yet could not
recall the details of the dream.
A storm was brewing off in the west. Now and then a distant flash of
lightning lighted up the surrounding waters. Of a sudden one of these,
more brilliant than the rest, lighted up the shore, which, at a word from
the child, they were now nearing. What Florence saw was a small,
artificially dredged buoy with a dock and large boathouse at the back.
Instantly what had been a dream became a reality. She had seen that wall
and the little buoy and boathouse as well. Only the summer before she had
spent two nights and a day with a party on the dunes. They had hired a
motor boat and had skirted the shore. This place had been pointed out to
her and described as the most elaborate and beautiful summer cottage on
the shore.
"Why," she whispered, with a sigh of relief, "this is the summer cottage
of your friend, R. Stanley Ramsey, Jr., the young man you saw at Frank
Morrow's place and whom we saw later at the mystery cottage. This isn't
any brigandish thieving expedition. It is merely a business trip.
Probably the old man has sold him one of his books."
Lucile's first reaction to this news was intense relief. This was not a
jail-breaking expedition; in fact, was not to be in any way an adventure.
But the next instant doubt came.
"What would that young man be doing in a summer cottage at this time of
year?" she demanded. "All the cottages must have been closed for nearly a
month. Society flies back to the city in September. Besides, if it's
plain business, why all this slipping in at the lake front instead of
passing through the gate?"
Florence was silent at that. She had no answer.
"Does seem strange," she mused. "There's a very high fence all about the
place, but of course there must be a gate."
The next instant the boat grated on the sandy beach and they were all
climbing out.
Lucile shivered as she caught sight of a large, low, rambling building
which lay well up from the shore.
"What next?" she whispered to herself.
The storm was still rumbling in the west. The sky to the east was clear.
Out from the black waters of the lake the moon was rolling. Its light
suddenly brightened up the shore. The girls stared about them.
Up from the beach a little way was an affair which resembled an Indian
tepee. It was built of boards and covered with birch bark. Its white
sides glimmered in the moonlight. Through the shadows of trees and
shrubbery they made out a rustic pavilion and beyond that the cottage
which was built in rustic fashion as befits a summer residence of a
millionaire, although little short of a mansion.
"Wouldn't you like to see the inside of it?" breathed Florence. "I've
always wondered what such a place was like."
"Yes," whispered Lucile, "but I'd prefer daylight."
They had been following the child. She had led them as far as a rustic
arbor. Built of cedar poles with the bark left on, this presented itself
as an inviting place to rest.
"You stay here," the child whispered. "I'll come back."
She vanished into the shadows.
"Well!" whispered Lucile.
"What do you make of it?" Florence asked.
"Nothing yet."
"Is someone here to meet her or is she entering the place to get
something?"
"Don't know. I--"
Lucile stopped short. "Did you see that?" she whispered tensely as she
gripped her companion's arm.
"What?"
"There was a flash of light in the right wing of the building, like the
flicker of a match."
"She can't have reached there yet."
"No."
"Do you think we should warn her? I can't help thinking she's going to
break into the place."
"If she is, she should be caught. If we think she is, perhaps we should
notify the police."
"The police? In such a place? You forget that we are many miles from the
city and two or three miles from even a railroad station. Guess we'll
have to see it through."
"Let's do it then?"
The two girls rose and began making their way stealthily in the direction
the child had taken.
Now and again they paused to listen. Once they heard a sound like the
creaking of a door. Lucile caught a second flash of light.
They paused behind two pine trees not ten feet from the side entrance.
The wind rustled in the pine trees. The water broke ceaselessly on the
shore. Otherwise all was silence.
"Creepy," whispered Lucile.
"Ghostly," Florence shivered.
"I believe that door's ajar."
"It is."
"Let's creep up close."
The next moment found them flattened against the wall beside the door.
This door stood half open. Suddenly they caught a flash of light. Leaning
far over to peer within, they saw the child bent over before a huge
bookcase. The room, half illumined by her flashlight, was a large
lounging room. The trimmings were rustic and massive. Beamed ceiling and
heavy beams along the walls were flanked by a huge fireplace at the back.
The furniture was in keeping, massive mission oak with leather cushions
on chairs.
"What a wonderful place!" Florence whispered. "What wouldn't one give to
have it for a study?"
The child had taken three books from the shelves. All these she replaced.
She was examining the fourth when Lucile whispered, "That's the one she
has come for."
"Why?"
"The light fell full upon the inside of the cover. I saw the gargoyle
there."
The prediction proved a true one, for, after carefully closing the case,
the child switched off the light.
Scarcely realizing what they were doing, the girls lingered by the door.
Then suddenly Lucile realized their position. "She'll be here in a
second," she whispered.
They turned, but not quickly enough, for of a sudden a glare of light
from a powerful electric flashlight blinded them while a masculine voice
with a distinctly youthful ring to it demanded:
"Who's there?"
To their consternation, the girls felt the child bump into them as she
backed away and there they all stood framed in a circle of light.
The glaring light with darkness behind it made it impossible for them to
see the new arrival but Lucile knew instantly from the voice that it was
the millionaire's son.
For a full moment no one spoke. The tick-tock of a prodigious clock in
one corner of the room sounded out like the ringing of a curfew.
"Oh! I see," came at last in youthful tones from the corner; "just some
girls. And pretty ones, too, I'll be bound. Came to borrow a book, did
you? Who let you in, I wonder. But never mind. Suppose you're here for a
week-end at one of the cottages and needed some reading matter. Rather
unconventional way of getting it, but it's all right. Just drop it in the
mail box at the gate when you're done with it."
The girls suddenly became conscious of the fact that the child was doing
her best to push them out of the door.
Yielding to her backward shoves, they sank away into the shadows and,
scarcely believing their senses, found themselves apparently quite free
to go their way.
"That," breathed Florence, "was awful decent of him."
"Decent?" Lucile exploded. "It--it was grand. Look here," she turned
almost savagely upon the child, "you didn't intend to give that book back
but you're going to do it. You're going to put it in that mail box
to-night."
"Oh, no, I'm not," the child said cheerfully.
"You--you're not?" Lucile stammered. "What right have you to keep it?"
"What right has he? It does not belong to him. It belongs to Monsieur Le
Bon."
"Why, that's nonsense! That--" Lucile broke off suddenly. "Look!" she
exclaimed. "The boat's gone!"
It was all too true. They had reached the beach where they had left the
boat. It had vanished.
"So we are prisoners after all," Florence whispered.
"And, and he was just making fun of us. He knew we couldn't get away,"
breathed Lucile, sinking hopelessly down upon the sand.