“With forged credentials, he got a job with the detective agency and was assigned the duty of finding Uncle John. Guessing that Uncle John was dead, he planned to get hold of the stock certificates, and, with more forged credentials, prove that he was his sole heir.”
Phil turned to Penny who was holding hands with Peter. “If it hadn’t been for you, Taggart might well have succeeded. A girl not quite so level-headed might have screamed when she saw those ‘cowboys’ drawing real guns from their holsters.”
Peter squeezed her hand more tightly. “I can’t bear to think about what might have happened if those gunmen had seen you darting up the stairs.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Penny protested, blushing. “Get on with the story, Phil!”
“Okay,” Phil said, smiling. “Taggart finally traced Uncle John to the Lodge only to find that he was dead and that we had started our business venture here. He had hoped to find the Lodge deserted so he could search undisturbed for the certificates. He knew that people leave old stocks and bonds in all sorts of places. Sometimes they slip them under the paper lining of bureau drawers or cupboards, or between the pages of books. False-bottom trunks and secret drawers in old safes, and so forth, and so forth. Taggart realized that one of us, while we were getting the Lodge ready for guests, might come across the certificates. So the first thing he did was to try to frighten us away.”
“That was silly of him,” Marjorie said with a sniff. “He might have known that the Allens don’t frighten easily.”
“Be quiet, imp,” Jimmy said. “He didn’t know anything about us then.” He added to Philip: “So it was Taggart who wrote the two threatening letters? And left his footprint on the ground under the shed floor?”
“That’s right,” Phil told him. “He confessed that he wrote the one to Penny after she fell down the well. And he also confessed that he was our night prowler. Actually he did a lot of prowling we didn’t know about, trying to find out if his anonymous letters had any effect. The first night he came snooping around he listened outside the living room window and heard us joking about digging in the well for buried treasure. That gave him the idea of keeping us busy digging outside, instead of searching around inside.”
“I can guess what he did next,” Marjorie said with a rueful laugh. “He wrote that note on an old piece of paper, put one half in the bottle Judy and I found down on the beach, and the other half in the pocket of the old suit Brook found when the boys were out camping.” She stopped suddenly, her blue eyes wide with amazement. “But how and when did he manage to put that map in the lid of the costume jewelry box?”
“I can answer that one,” Penny said with a sigh. “The day our first guests arrived, I heard someone rummaging around in the storage room. I thought it was you, Marjorie, and thought you were fibbing later when you insisted you were out in the Donahues’ cabin helping Ann Mary count their laundry.” She laughed. “I owe you an apology, honey. While you and Ann Mary were busy, and Phil and I were upstairs hanging curtains, Taggart must have sneaked into the storage room and pasted that map behind the rotten lining of the old jewelry box.”
“You’re both two jumps ahead of me,” Philip said, laughing. “Taggart did put the map where you found it, but first he had to have some excuse for coming out here. He heard in the village that we were looking for someone who would take the soiled linen in to the laundry-mat and applied to Penny for the job.”
Penny moaned, covering her pretty face with both hands. “Oh, why did I fall into his trap so easily? I should have guessed when he offered to do it so cheaply, that something was wrong.”
“Not at all,” Peter said protectively. “Taggart did handle the laundry situation in a very satisfactory manner, so I don’t think anyone can blame you for not suspecting him of an ulterior motive.”
Phil nodded. “That’s right, Penny, nobody blames you. The trouble was that no one paid much attention to him when he came out here. I imagine Ann Mary didn’t always have the bundle ready, or his pay when he brought out the clean wash. Once when she left him alone in the kitchen he slipped down to the beach and stuck the bottle containing half the note under a rock.”
“We made everything so easy for him,” Marjorie groaned. “He was there in the kitchen, I remember, the day Ann Mary suggested that Judy and I search for rare shells. He was also there the time I asked her if it would be all right for us to spend the first rainy day rummaging through the old trunks in the storage room.”
“And,” Penny added, “he knew exactly when the boys left on their camping trip. Remember? Ann Mary told him he had to bring back their clean shirts before they left. I imagine it was simple for him to find out from her where they were going.”
“Uh huh,” Phil said. “Very simple. Ann Mary had no reason to suspect him. He followed them to Uncle John’s fishing camp only to find that they had moved deeper into the woods. He saw the Bronc’s tire tracks and followed them to the lake. Early in the morning before Brook’s adventure, he rigged up the coat with the other half of the note in the pocket. He could count on the fact that one of the boys, while out canoeing, would be sure to notice what looked like the torso of a human body.” Phil smiled. “Taggart also knew that Jimmy, like Marjorie, was sure treasure was buried around here and was looking for clues.”
“And,” Peter added, “the man knew that no boy could resist going through the pockets of an old coat he found.”
Jimmy’s tanned cheeks were very red. “Well,” he said, “that clears up all the mysterious clues and letters. And we certainly all played right into his hands when we issued invitations to the masquerade.”
“And,” Penny added, “when I dropped hints all over the village that we were going to show our guests the secret room that night.” She sighed. “What I don’t understand is how Taggart knew there was a secret drawer in the safe.”
“Because,” Philip explained, staring at Marjorie, “one day when he was out here he caught a glimpse of the safe. Not only is he a notorious forger, but, in between sessions in jail, he’s made an exhaustive study of safes. He knew that the particular style and make of the one in the secret room had a hidden drawer in the top. Since we obviously hadn’t found the certificates while we were cleaning up the Lodge, he guessed that they might be in the secret compartment of the safe.”
“But,” Jimmy interrupted. “When on earth did he get a glimpse of the safe? Up until tonight—I mean last night—nobody but you and Pat ever went into the secret room. And I’m sure neither of you was careless enough to open the door unless you were sure no one was lurking around.”
It was now Marjorie’s turn to cover her red cheeks with both hands. “I can answer that one,” she confessed miserably. “One day when Mr. Taggart was here, I showed Judy how the door opened. He must have been hiding in the alcove when the bookshelves moved back. I heard someone moving down the hall just before we left, and thought it was Ann Mary with a bundle of soiled laundry. But I guess there’s no doubt that it was Mr. Taggart.” She raised her face, on the verge of tears. “Thinking back, I remember now that he was in the kitchen, and Judy and I had just left there when she begged me to show her how the secret door worked. Oh,” she finished, “how can I be so dumb?”
“’Tain’t easy,” Jimmy said, grinning. “You’ve got to have a lot of practice before you can be as hopeless as you are!”
“Never mind, honey,” Penny said to Marjorie in a comforting voice. “After all, in a way you helped to set the trap that caught Mr. X.” She turned to Philip. “We’re all trying to tell your story for you, and I, for one, am getting confused. Once Taggart got a glimpse of the safe and knew how to get into the secret room, why did he wait until the masquerade to go in there?”
Phil chuckled. “Because he didn’t know the combination of the safe. He could, of course, have sneaked out here at night after we’d all gone to bed and used dynamite to open the safe, but that would have been pr
etty risky. Soon after he saw the safe and the room, we issued blanket invitations to the masquerade and you slyly hinted that part of the evening’s entertainment would be a visit to the secret room. Taggart promptly decided that the safest way of getting what he wanted was to let us lead him right to it.”
“In other words,” Peter added, “while we were setting our little trap, Mr. X was setting one of his own. While his gangster friends were holding up the rest of the party, he planned to force one of you Allens to accompany him into the secret room and open the safe.”
“That’s right,” Philip said. “And I made things easy for him when I asked him to lend atmosphere by posing by the safe; and then, to cap the climax, I stayed behind after everyone else had left. The only thing I can say for myself,” he finished, “is that I did have the presence of mind to close the door as soon as I realized I’d walked into the trap we had set for him. And even that,” he admitted, “was sort of a reflex action.”
“Call it what you like,” Jimmy said, “but it was important. Otherwise, Taggart would have heard the outraged cries of his gunmen when they walked into the arms of the police. During that commotion he might have escaped—with the real loot.” He leaned forward to tap Phil’s knee. “Now that we’ve all, with the exception of the inlaws-to-be, confessed to being dimwits in one way or another, let’s hear more about those stock certificates, Phil. Answer me, yes, or no, are they worth enough so I can get a sailboat?”
CHAPTER 15
HAPPY ENDING
“I object,” Peter cried. “My wife-to-be isn’t a dimwit. She’s a heroine.”
“I object, too,” Adra said. “Phil’s a hero.”
“All right, all right,” Jimmy said. “But it’s getting on toward dawn. Marjorie and I are dimwits. Just tell me whether or not we’re rich or poor.”
“We’re rich,” Philip said as he drew from his pocket the bulging envelope he had earlier been forced to hand over to Taggart. He handed it to Penny. “Open it, Sis.”
Her hands shaking with excitement, Penny lifted the flap and pulled out a wad of musty-smelling, yellowed stock certificates.
“Those ancient documents,” Phil told her quietly, “don’t look like much. But, according to Taggart’s confession, when we turn them in we’ll collect about $50,000—their cash value plus back dividends and interest.”
For a moment no one spoke. Then Jimmy yelled: “WHOOPEE! The hidden treasure is found at last. And boy oh boy, will I ever get the finest sailboat that was ever launched!”
“I can’t believe it,” Marjorie said in an awed voice. “Why, I—I’m an heiress!”
“I can believe it,” Peter said, pretending to be mournful. “Penny will never marry poor penniless me now.”
“Of course not,” Penny said with a laugh. “And now Phil doesn’t have to marry Adra for her money either.”
Everyone laughed then, almost hysterically. They were all tired and over-stimulated. Dawn was pinking the sky in the east.
“If you ask me,” Jimmy said, stretching and yawning, “I’d say we all ought to catch a little shut-eye. I for one won’t believe any part of Phil’s yarn until I hear it all over again in broad daylight.”
But the next morning, after consulting the older men who were staying at the Lodge, the Allens learned that the old stock certificates were worth even more than Taggart had estimated.
“I know the company well,” Mr. Curtis told Phil. “Bought stock in it myself a few years ago when it got a government loan and staged a comeback.”
And then, to the delight of everyone, Adra’s father, Mr. Prentice, arrived by plane. They were all eager for the advice of such an experienced businessman.
“I wouldn’t sell,” he said, after hearing the whole story. “You couldn’t invest your money in a safer concern. When you collect your back dividends you’ll each have a tidy sum if you need cash now. If not, I would reinvest that money and thus provide yourselves with a comfortable yearly income from it and the original investment.” He smiled at them. “I’ll handle the whole matter for you, if you like.”
“Please do,” Penny cried. “Oh, it’s all so wonderful! Peter and I can get married right away and Marjorie and Jimmy are assured of college educations.”
“What about us?” Philip crossed over to stand beside Adra who was perched on the arm of her father’s chair. “Sir,” he said with old-fashioned formality, “your daughter has done me the honor of promising to become my wife. With your permission we would like to be married sometime this fall.”
Marjorie could not suppress a giggle. Phil did look as though he ought to be wearing a Prince Albert coat instead of a sports jacket and slacks.
Mr. Prentice stood up to shake hands gravely with Philip. “You have my permission, sir,” he said, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “And my blessing.”
Peter grabbed Penny’s hand. “Come on, let’s celebrate! No more work today for any of the Allens.”
But Phil and Penny could not take a holiday so soon. Most of the guests were making arrangements for their departures. Phil and Penny had to be everywhere at once to help them pack and ship off their luggage, or to make reservations for them on planes and buses.
Judy flatly refused to leave with her parents and Alf. “I’ve just got to stay here for Penny’s wedding,” she begged. “Marjorie and I are going to be bridesmaids.”
“Then we’ll stay too,” Mrs. Powell said and added to Penny, “That is, if we’re invited.”
“Of course, you are,” Penny cried. “The Curtises and Adra and her father are going to stay on for the great event, so we’ll have one grand houseparty until then.”
By Labor Day evening all of the other guests had left the Lodge. To celebrate the first dinner of the wedding day houseparty, Pat opened a bottle of champagne that he claimed to have held over from his wedding for another special occasion.
“Ugh,” Marjorie spluttered after one sip. “What horrible tasting stuff!”
Jimmy, Judy and Alf heartily agreed with her and gratefully accepted the ginger ale Ann Mary hastily substituted for the bubbling wine.
Peter proposed a toast. “Here’s to the Allens of Allen Lodge. May they always be happy and prosperous!”
“You’d better include the Wylands in that toast,” Marjorie said with an impish smile. “Penny won’t be an Allen much longer.”
A few days later, on a beautiful, bright September morning, the wedding took place. Marjorie and Judy were so excited they couldn’t fasten the zippers on their crisp organdie frocks. Penny, sweetly serene, came to the rescue, wearing her lovely flowing gown of white tulle over taffeta. Marjorie finally conquered her nervousness long enough to pin on the clusters of orange blossoms which held Penny’s lace veil in place.
Then, carrying Pat’s enormous bridal bouquet of long-stemmed white chrysanthemums, Penny came from the house on Philip’s arm to join Peter under the trees.
Marjorie held her breath while Penny and Peter made their vows in clear, steady voices. After the ceremony was over, Charles was the first to congratulate the bridegroom, and Marjorie, the first to kiss her sister.
“You didn’t act scared at all,” she whispered. “I know I would have said I don’t instead of I do, just because I was so nervous.” She turned to give Peter a hug. “It’s so nice to have another brother,” she cried. “And to know that soon I’ll have another sister.”
A merry wedding breakfast was served on the sunny porch and this time it was Marjorie who proposed a toast. “To Allen Lodge,” she cried, holding her punch glass high, “where there’s never a dull moment. Here’s hoping that it holds some new adventure just waiting to be discovered.”
“I’m with you there, Sis,” cried Jimmy.
But Peter and Penny only smiled happily.
THE SILVER RING MYSTERY, by Helen Wells
Originally published in 1960.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The author acknowledges with thanks the generous co-operation of the Eastern Region Stewardess Division of American Airlines and Miss Mary Cody and Miss Joan McGuckin, Supervisors of Stewardesses, for the information given in the preparation of this book.
CHAPTER I
Aboard the Electra
“That’s why,” Vicki explained to her family, “the Electra is so challenging. Mary Carter warned us stewardesses, while she was retraining us for the Electra, that this beauty flies so fast there’s hardly time to get all our jobs done.”
“You mean it’s a hard assignment, don’t you?” said Ginny. She was fourteen, and Vicki’s younger sister.
Their mother, Betty Barr, said, “I’m sure if I had your job on a jet-prop—Or is it a jet? Which is it, Lewis?”
Professor Barr looked amused. “You know perfectly well. The all-jet without propellers,” he said, “the Boeing 707, is used more for long hauls—nonstop coast to coast, or across oceans. The Electra 188, with jet engines and propellers, is used mainly for intercity travel. I trust I have the facts correct, Victoria.”
He smiled at Vicki who looked so much like him—fair hair, light-blue eyes, the thoughtful Barr gaze—that it was a family joke.
“Well, anyhow,” said Vicki’s mother, “if I had to get sixty-eight passengers safely on, off, and fed, in two hours—Whew!”
“Fortunately I’m not going to have to do everything all by myself,” Vicki answered. “Jean Cox and I will work the New York-Chicago-San Francisco run together on the Electra.”
The Third Girl Detective Page 63
