The Secret Compartment
“Well, blow me down!” Madge exclaimed, relapsing into comic-strip slang
as she always did when greatly excited. “A spring panel!”
Cara had rushed to her side and was staring wide-eyed at the secret
compartment revealed in the desk.
“There’s something inside!” she cried. “Oh, I hope it’s the pearls!”
Madge thrust her hand into the dark opening. Her face brightened as she
felt something not unlike a leather jewel case. She brought it to light,
holding it up.
“Oh!” Cara exclaimed in disappointment. “It’s nothing but an old book.”
“A diary,” Madge corrected. “Well, I guess it was too much to expect that
we’d find the pearls. I suppose Miss Swenster knows about this
compartment but let’s ask her.”
They stepped to the door and called. Miss Swenster answered from the
kitchen, and later entered the study, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Look what we found in the desk,” Madge said, handing her the diary. “I
must have touched a hidden spring when I was dusting. The panel fell down
to reveal this.”
Miss Swenster moved quickly to the desk, her face showing that the
information astonished her.
“I never dreamed there was a secret compartment,” she said. “This desk
belonged to Florence Swenster, you know.”
“Then the diary may have been hers too,” Madge observed.
Miss Swenster opened the little book and quickly ran through the yellowed
pages. The writing was cramped and difficult to read.
“Yes, this is Florence’s diary, I am sure of it. I have seen her writing
on a number of old letters.”
“I wonder why she hid her diary in such a strange place?” Cara mused.
“Oh, I imagine it was just a girl’s desire for privacy,” Miss Swenster
returned. “Florence was a queer one in a good many ways though. I’m sure
she never told anyone about this secret compartment.”
She bent to examine it again. She closed the panel, hearing it click as
it went firmly into place. But try as she would, she could not open it
again.
“I think I can,” Madge offered. “I know about where my hand was when it
touched the spring.”
Miss Swenster stepped aside and Madge moved her hand over the panel
exploring its surface. At first she had no better success, then her
fingers pressed the spring in just the right manner and the panel popped
open.
“It takes a sideways pressure,” she explained.
Cara and Miss Swenster both experimented until they had learned the
secret. In the meantime, Madge had picked up the diary and was studying
it curiously.
“I wonder—could Florence have written anything in here about the pearls?”
Miss Swenster regarded Madge with frank admiration and approval. At first
she had thought the search for the pearls only a useless, amusing whim of
the girls. Now she recognized that a sound idea lay behind Madge’s
investigation.
“Why not read the diary?” she asked. “If Florence had any secrets to
hide, it’s time they were aired.”
This suggestion suited the girls admirably. Immediately forgetting their
intention to return home early, they dropped down on the black plush
settee and were soon lost to the world. Miss Swenster went quietly back
to the kitchen.
It was almost impossible at first to make out the cramped, fine writing.
The girls laboriously studied out several paragraphs which were
disappointingly trite. Florence had recorded in detail her trips to the
dressmakers, visits with relatives and parties attended.
Madge and Cara were becoming discouraged when they happened upon the
first notation concerning the necklace. It read:
“I attracted unusual attention tonight when I wore the pearls to the
Alstone’s ball. How Rose envied me!”
Cara gave a little squeal of delight and hugged her chum.
“There’s our proof that the pearls really did exist. The necklace wasn’t
a myth as so many folks thought!”
“I hope she tells what became of it. Read on!”
For another half hour they delved into the diary, finding little of
interest to reward their patience. Then they turned a page and read a
brief item disclosing that Florence’s jealousy of her sister was growing
more bitter.
“Rose is very sly,” she had written. “She is ingratiating herself with
father, hoping that he will will her the pearls.”
“She must have had a distorted view of things,” Cara observed. “From all
that we’ve heard, Rose wasn’t a bit designing.”
Madge had turned on ahead in the diary; She gazed at her chum with
startled eyes.
“Why, that’s almost the last notation. See all these blank pages.”
“Just when it became interesting,” Cara wailed.
“We’re not quite through. There are a few more paragraphs scattered
through the diary.”
She swiftly turned the pages. Cara leaned closer as they came to one
brief sentence. It read:
“Father died today.”
For a full minute, the girls stared at the notation, trying to make more
of it. Then Cara burst out:
“Wouldn’t you think she’d have written more about a thing like that? Not
a word of his sickness or anything. While she’d fill page after page with
drivel.”
“Perhaps she was too moved about his death.”
“Maybe,” Cara acknowledged doubtfully. “I’d quicker think she was
worrying about the pearls.”
Before they could read on, Miss Swenster came into the study to say that
luncheon was ready. The girls sprang guiltily to their feet, declaring
that they could not stay.
“It’s all right,” their hostess assured them, smiling. “I’ve already
telephoned to your homes. And everything is on the table.”
Miss Swenster was an excellent cook, and Madge and Cara who had healthy,
growing appetites, did justice to her fine luncheon. However, they were
so excited over the diary that had they eaten bread and milk, they would
not have noticed. All during the meal they chattered gaily, telling Miss
Swenster everything they had discovered.
“We scarcely can wait until we read the rest,” Cara laughed. “Oh, I’m
just sure Florence will tell what she did with the pearls.”
Miss Swenster had tried hard not to allow the enthusiasm of her young
friends to carry her away, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes
brighter than the girls had even seen them. She fairly beamed as she
urged them to second helpings.
“I’ll not count on the pearls until I see them,” she said. “But, oh! What
wouldn’t I do if they should turn up!”
Cara and Madge glanced at her with curious interest.
“Just what would you do?” Madge asked.
“First, I’d reward you girls for finding them! Then I’d call off that
sale. I’d get a gardener again and have this place restored to its former
condition. Oh, I would do so many things.”
It was the tone of Miss Swenster’s voice that told Madge and Cara exactly
how deep was her feeling for the old mansion. She had arranged her sale
with business-like indifference to sentiment, but underneath, it hurt.
Madge made a silent resolution that she would never give up until the
pearls were found. Surely, the old diary would furnish the clue she
needed!
The girls helped with the dishes. The instant they had stacked them away,
they hurried back to the study, burying themselves again in the diary.
“We’re nearly at the end,” Madge warned. “Hold your breath and hope.”
She turned several blank pages, and then in an awed voice read aloud:
“‘It was unfair of my father to will the pearls to Rose, though the
action did not surprise me greatly. I am determined she never shall wear
them! If I cannot have them myself, then I shall hide them where they
never will be found.’”
“Oh!” Cara breathed. “How mean!”
“Listen!” Madge commanded, reading on: “‘I have taken only old Uncle
George into my confidence and he has sworn that he will never tell. Last
night, when everyone was abed we hid the pearls in the—’”
“Go on! Go on!”
“That’s the end of the page.”
In her eagerness, Madge fumbled the sheets. At last she managed to get
the page turned over, but as she stared down, she uttered a startled
gasp.
“It’s missing! The page that told about the pearls has been torn out!”