The Third Girl Detective

by Margaret Sutton

  “Do you suppose she’s angry with us?” whispered Sally. “Do you think we ought to stay?”

  “No, I don’t think she’s angry,” replied Doris in a low voice. “I think she’s so—so absorbed that she hardly realizes what she’s doing or that we are here. We’d better stay.”

  They stayed. But so long was Miss Camilla gone that even Doris began to doubt the wisdom of remaining any longer.

  But presently she came back. Her recently neat dress was grimy and dishevelled. There was a streak of dust across her face and a cobweb lay on her hair. Doris guessed at once that she had been in the old, unused portion of her house. But in her hand she carried something, and resuming her seat, she laid it carefully on her knee. It was a little book about four inches wide and six or seven long, with an old-fashioned brown cover, and it was coated with what seemed to be the dust of years. The two girls gazed at it curiously, and when Miss Camilla had got her breath, she explained:

  “I can never thank you enough for what you have told me today. It throws light on something that has never been clear to me—something that I have even forgotten for long years. If what you surmise is true, then a mystery that has surrounded my life for more than fifty years will be at last explained. It is strange that the idea did not occur to me when first you girls discovered the cave and the tunnel, but even then it remained unconnected in my mind with—this.” She pointed to the little book in her lap. Then she went on:

  “But, now, under the circumstances, I feel that I must explain it all to you, relying still on your discretion and secrecy. For I have come to know that you are both unusually trustworthy young folks. There has been a dark shadow over my life—a darker shadow than you can perhaps imagine. I told you before of my father’s opinions and leanings during the years preceding the Civil War. When that terrible conflict broke out, he insisted that I go away to Europe with my aunt and stay there as long as it lasted, providing me with ample funds to do so. I think that he did not believe at first that the struggle would be so long.

  “I went with considerable reluctance, but I was accustomed to obeying his wishes implicitly. I was gone two years, and in all that time I received the most loving and affectionate letters constantly, both from him and also my brother. They assured me that everything was well with them. My brother had enlisted at once in the Union Army and had fought through a number of campaigns. My father remained here, but was doing his utmost, so he said, in a private capacity, to further the interests of the country. Altogether, their reports were glowing. And though I was often worried as to the outcome, and apprehensive for my brother’s safety, I spent the two years abroad very happily.

  “Then, in May of 1863, my first calamity happened. My aunt died very suddenly and unexpectedly, while we were in Switzerland, and, as we had been alone, it was my sad duty to bring her back to New York. After her funeral, I hurried home here, wondering very much that my father had not come on to be with me, for I had sent him word immediately upon my arrival. My brother, I suspected, was away with the army.

  “I was completely astounded and dismayed, on arriving home, at the condition of affairs I found here. To begin with, there were no servants about. Where they had gone, or why they had been dismissed, I could not discover. My father was alone in his study when I arrived, which was rather late in the evening. He was reserved and rather taciturn in his greeting to me, and did not act very much pleased to welcome me back. This grieved me greatly, after my long absence. But I could see that he was worried and preoccupied and in trouble of some kind. I thought that perhaps he had had bad news about my brother Roland, but he assured me that Roland was all right.

  “Then I asked him why the house was in such disorder and where the servants were, but he only begged me not to make inquiries about that matter at present, but to go to my room and make myself as comfortable as I could, and he would explain it all later. I did as he asked me and went to my room. I had been there about an hour, busying myself with unpacking my bag, when there was a hurried knock at my door. I went to open it, and gave a cry of joy, for there stood my brother Roland.

  “Instead of greeting me, however, he seized my hand and cried: ‘Father is very ill. He has had some sort of a stroke. Hurry downstairs to him at once. I must leave immediately. I can’t even wait to see how he is. It is imperative!’

  “‘But, Roland,’ I cried, ‘surely you won’t go leaving Father like this!’ But he only answered, ‘I must. I must! It’s my duty!’ He seized me in his arms and kissed me, and was gone without another word. But before he went, I had seen—a dreadful thing! He was enveloped from head to foot in a long, dark military cape of some kind, reaching almost to his feet. But as he embraced me under the light of the hall lamp, the cloak was thrown aside for an instant and I had that terrible glimpse. Under the concealing cloak my brother was wearing a uniform of Confederate gray.

  “I almost fainted at the sight, but he was gone before I could utter a word, without probably even knowing that I had seen. This, then, was the explanation of the mysterious way they had treated me. They had gone over to the enemy. They were traitors to their country and their faith, and they did not want me to know. For this they had even sent me away out of the country!…

  “But I had no time to think about that then. I hurried to my father and found him on the couch in his study, inert in the grip of a paralytic stroke that had deprived him of the use of his limbs and also of coherent speech. I spent the rest of the night trying to make him easier, but the task was difficult. I had no one to send for a doctor and could not leave him to go myself, and of course the nearest doctor was several miles away. There was not even a neighbor who could be called upon for assistance.

  “All that night, however, my father tried to tell me something. His speech was almost absolutely incoherent, but several times I caught the sound of words like ‘notebook’ and ‘explain.’ But I could make nothing of it. In the early morning another stroke took him, and he passed away very quietly in my arms.

  “I can scarcely bear, even now, to recall the days that followed. After the funeral, I retired very much into myself and saw almost no one. I felt cut off and abandoned by all humanity. I did not know where my brother was, could not even communicate with him about the death of our father. Had he been in the Union Army I would have inquired. But the glimpse I had had that night of his rebel uniform was sufficient to seal my lips forever. There was no one in the village whom I knew well enough to discuss any such matters with, nor any remaining relative with whom I was in sympathy. I could only wait for my brother’s return to solve the mystery.

  “But my brother never returned. In all these years I have neither seen him nor heard of him, and I know beyond doubt that he is long since dead. And I have remained here by myself like a hermit, because I feel that the shame of it all has hung about me and enveloped me, and I cannot get away from it. Once, a number of years ago, an old village gossip here, now long since gone, said to me, ‘There was something queer about your father and brother, now wasn’t there, Miss Camilla? I’ve heard tell as how they were “Rebs” on the quiet, during the big war awhile back. Is that so?’ Of course, the chance remark only served to confirm the suspicions in my mind, though I denied it firmly to her when she said it.

  “I also found to my amazement, when I went over the house after all was over, that many things I had loved and valued had strangely disappeared. All the family silver, of which we had had a valuable set inherited from Revolutionary forefathers, was gone. Some antique jewelry that I had picked up abroad and prized highly was also missing. But chief of all, my whole collection of precious porcelains and pottery was nowhere to be found. I searched in every conceivable nook and cranny in vain. And at last the disagreeable truth was forced on me that my father and brother had sold or disposed of them, for what ends I could not guess. But it only added to my bitterness to think they could do such a despicable thing without so much as consulting me.


  “But now, at last, I come to the notebook. I found it among some papers in my father’s study desk, a while after his death, and I frankly confess I could make nothing of it whatever. It seemed to be filled with figures, added and subtracted, and, as my father had always been rather fond of dabbling with figures and mathematics, I put it down as being some quiet calculations of his own that had no bearing on anything concerning me. I laid it carefully away with his other papers, however, and there it has been, in an old trunk in the attic of the unused part all these years. When you spoke of a ‘secret code,’ however, it suddenly occurred to me that the notebook might be concerned in the matter. Here it is.”

  She held it out to them and they crowded about her eagerly. But as she laid it open and they examined its pages, a disappointed look crept into Sally’s eyes.

  “Why, there’s nothing here but numbers!” she exclaimed, and it was even so. The first few lines were as follows:

  56 + 14 - 63 + 43 + 34 + 54 + 64 + 43 +

  16 - 52 + 66 + 52 + 15 + 23 - 66 + 24 -

  15 + 44 + 43 - 43 + 64 + 43 + 24 + 15 -

  61 + 53 - 36 + 24 + 14 - 51 + 15 + 53 +

  54 + 43 + 52 + 43 + 43 + 15 - 16 + 66 +

  52 + 36 + 52 + 15 + 43 + 23 -

  And all the rest were exactly like them in character.

  But Doris, who had been quietly examining it, with a copy of the code in her other hand, suddenly uttered a delighted cry:

  “I have it! At least, I think I’m on the right track. Just examine this code a moment, Miss Camilla. If you notice, leaving out the line of figures at the top and right of the whole square, the rest is just the letters of the alphabet and the figures one to nine and another ‘o’ that probably stands for ‘naught.’ There are six squares across and six squares down, and those numbers on the outside are just one to six, only all mixed up. Don’t you see how it could be worked? Suppose one wanted to write the letter ‘t.’ It could be indicated by the number ‘5’ (meaning the square it comes under according to the top line of figures) and ‘1’ (the number according to the side line). Then ‘51’ would stand for letter ‘T,’ wouldn’t it?”

  “Great!” interrupted Sally, enthusiastically, who had seen the method even quicker than Miss Camilla. “But suppose it worked the other way, reading the side line first? Then ‘T’ would be ‘15.’”

  “Of course, that’s true,” admitted Doris. “I suppose there must have been some understanding between those who invented this code about which line to read first. The only way we can discover it is to puzzle it out both ways, and see which makes sense. One will and the other won’t.”

  It all seemed as simple as rolling off a log, now that Doris had discovered the explanation. Even Miss Camilla was impressed with the value of the discovery.

  “But what is the meaning of these plus and minus signs?” she queried. “I suppose they stand for something.”

  “I think that’s easy,” answered Doris. “In looking over it, I see there are a great many more plus than minus signs. Now, I think the plus signs must be intended to divide the numbers in groups of two, so that each group stands for a letter. Otherwise they’d be all hopelessly mixed up. And the minus signs divide the words. And every once in a while, if you notice, there’s a multiplication sign. I imagine those as the periods at the end of sentences.”

  They all sat silent a moment after this, marveling at the simplicity of it. But at length Doris suggested:

  “Suppose we try to puzzle out a little of it and see if we are really on the right track? Have you a piece of paper and a pencil, Miss Camilla?” Miss Camilla went indoors and brought them out, quivering with the excitement of the new discovery.

  “Now, let’s see,” began Doris. “Suppose we try reading the top line first. ‘56’ would be ‘1’ and ‘14’ would be ‘2.’ Now ‘12’ may mean a word or it may not. It hardly seems as if a note would begin with that. Let’s try it the other way. Side line first. Then ‘56’ is ‘m,’ and ‘14’ is ‘y.’ ‘My’ is a word, anyway, so perhaps we’re on the right track. Let’s go on.”

  From the next series of letters she spelled the word “beloved” and after that “sister.” It was plain beyond all doubting that at last they had stumbled on a wonderful discovery.

  But she got no further than the words, “my beloved sister,” for, no sooner had Miss Camilla taken in their meaning than she huddled back in her chair and, very quietly, fainted away.

  CHAPTER XIII

  WORD FROM THE PAST

  None of the three had ever seen any one unconscious before. Sally stood back, aghast and helpless. Genevieve expressed herself as she usually did in emergencies, with a loud and resounding howl. But Doris rushed into the house, fetched a dipper of cold water and dashed it into Miss Camilla’s face. Then she began to rub her hands and ordered Sally to fan her as hard as she could. The simple expedients worked in a short time, and Miss Camilla came to herself.

  “I—I never did such a foolish thing before!” she gasped, when she realized what had happened. “But this is all so—so amazing and startling! It almost seemed like my brother’s own voice, speaking to me from the past.” Again she sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, but this time only to regain her poise. And then Doris did a very tactful thing.

  “Miss Camilla,” she began, “we’ve discovered how to read the notebook, and I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with it. I think we had better be getting home now, for it is nearly five o’clock. So we’ll say good-bye for today, and hope you won’t feel faint any more.”

  Miss Camilla gave her a grateful glance. Greatly as she wished to be alone with this message left her by a brother whose fate she did not dare to guess, yet she was too courteous to dismiss these two girls who had done so much toward helping her solve the problem. And she was more appreciative of Doris’s thoughtful suggestion of departure than she could have put into words.

  “Thank you, dear,” she replied, “and come again tomorrow, all of you. Perhaps I shall have—something to tell you then!”

  And with many a backward glance and much waving of hands, they took their departure across the fields.

  * * * *

  It was with the wildest impatience that they waited for the following afternoon to obey Miss Camilla’s behest and “come again.” But promptly at two o’clock they were trailing through the pine woods and the meadow that separated it from the Roundtree farmhouse.

  “Do you know,” whispered Sally, “crazy as I am to hear all about it, I almost dread it, too. I’m so afraid it may have been bad news for her.”

  “I feel just the same,” confided Doris, “and yet I’m bursting with impatience, too. Well, let’s go on and hear the worst. If it’s very bad, she probably won’t want to say much about it.”

  But their first sight of Miss Camilla convinced them that the news was not, at least, “very bad.” She sat on the porch as usual, knitting serenely, but there was a new light in her face, a sweet, satisfied tranquillity that had never been there before.

  “I’m glad you’ve come!” she greeted them. “I have much to tell you.”

  “Was it—was it all right?” faltered Doris.

  “It was more than ‘all right,’” she replied. “It was wonderful. But I am going to read the whole thing to you. I spent nearly all last night deciphering the letter—for a letter it was—and I think it is only right you should hear it, after what you have done for me.” She went inside the house and brought out several large sheets of paper on which she had transcribed the meaning of the mysterious message.

  “Listen,” she said. “It is as wonderful as a fairy-tale. And how I have misjudged him!”

  “‘My beloved sister,’” she read, “‘in the event of any disaster befalling us, I want you to know the danger and the difficulties of what we have undertaken. It is only right that you should, and I know of no other way to communicate
it to you, than by the roundabout means of this military cipher which I am using. You are away in Europe now, and safe, and Father intentionally keeps you there because of the very dangerous enterprise in which we are involved. Lest any untoward thing should befall before your return, we leave this as an explanation.

  “‘Contrary to any appearances, or anything you may hear said in the future, I am a loyal and devoted soldier of the Union. But I am serving it in the most dangerous capacity imaginable—as a scout or spy in the Confederate Army, wearing its uniform, serving in its ranks, but in reality spying on every move and action and communicating all its secrets that I am capable of obtaining to the Government and our own commanders. I stand in hourly danger of being discovered—and for that there is but one end. You know what it is. Of course, I am not serving under my own name, so that if you never hear word of my fate, you may know it is the only one possible for those who are serving as I serve.

  “‘Father is also carrying on the work, but in a slightly different capacity. There are a set of Confederate workers up here secretly engaged in raising funds and planning new campaigns for the South. Father has identified himself with them, and they hold many meetings at our house to discuss plans and information. Apparently he is hand in glove with them, but in reality is all the while disclosing their plans to the Government. They could doubtless kill him without scruple, if they suspected it, and get away to the safety of their own lines unscathed, before anything was discovered. So you see, he also stands hourly on the brink of death.

  “‘For two years we have carried on this work unharmed, but I suppose it cannot go on forever. Some day my disguise will be penetrated, and all will be over with me. Some day Father will meet with some violent end when he is alone and unprotected, and no one will be found to answer for the deed. But it will all be for the glory of the Union we delight to serve. Now do you understand the situation?