The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  “Well!” she exclaimed. “Well, of all things!”

  For a moment, undecided whether to flee from that strange place, she stood stock still.

  The organ, for the moment, was stilled. The woods were silent. Such a hush as she had never experienced in all her life lay over all. Then, faint, indistinct, came a single note of music. Someone had touched a key. The next instant the world seemed filled with the most wonderful melody.

  “Handel’s Largo,” she whispered as she stood there enchanted. Of all pipe organ music, she loved Handel’s Largo best. Throughout the rendering of the entire selection, she stood as one enchanted.

  “It is enough,” she said when the sound of the last note had died away in the tree tops. “It’s all very mysterious, but any person who can play Handel’s Largo like that is not going to be unkind to two girls who are far from home. I’m going in.”

  With unfaltering footsteps she started forward.

  CHAPTER XV

  AN OLD MAN OF THE NORTH

  Having walked resolutely to the black hole in the snow bank, Marian looked within. There was no door; merely an opening here. A dim lamp in the distance sent an uncertain and ghostly light down the corridor. By this light she made out numerous posts and saw that a narrow passage-way ran between them.

  There was something so mysterious about the place that she hesitated on the threshold. At that moment a thought flashed through her mind, a startling and disheartening thought.

  “Radio,” she murmured, “nothing but radio.”

  She was convinced in an instant that her solution of the origin of the wonderful music was correct.

  The persons who lived in this strange dwelling, which reminded her of pictures she had seen of the dens and caves of robbers and brigands, had somehow come into possession of a powerful radio receiving set. Somewhere in Nome, or Fairbanks, or perhaps even in Seattle—a noted musician was giving an organ recital. This radio set with its loud speaker had picked up the music and had faithfully reproduced it. That was all there was to the mystery. There was no pipe organ, no skillful musician out here in the forest wilderness. It had been stupid of her to think there might be.

  This revelation, for revelation it surely seemed to be, was both disappointing and disturbing. Disappointing, because in her adventure-loving soul she had hoped to discover here in the wilderness a thing that to all appearances could not be—a modern miracle. Disturbing it was, too, for since a mere instrument, a radio-phone, has no soul, the character of the person who operated it might be anything at all. She could not conceive of the person who actually touched the keys and caused that divine music to pour forth as a villain. Any sort of person, however, might snap on the switch that sends such music vibrating from the horn of the loud speaker of a radiophone.

  For a full five minutes she wavered between two courses of action; to go on inside this den, or to go back to Attatak and attempt to pass it unobserved.

  Perhaps it was the touch of a finger on what she supposed to be a far off key—the resuming of the music; perhaps it was her own utter weariness that decided her at last. Whatever it was, she set a resolute foot inside the entrance, and the next instant found herself carefully picking her way down the dark passage toward the dim lamp.

  To her surprise, when she at last reached the lamp that hung over a door, she found not an oil lamp, but a small electric light bulb.

  “Will marvels never cease?” she whispered.

  For a second she hesitated. Should she knock? She hated spying; yet the door stood invitingly ajar. If the persons within did not appear to be the sort of persons a girl might trust; if she could see them and remain unobserved, there was still opportunity for flight.

  Acting upon this impulse, she peered through the crack in the door.

  Imagine her surprise upon seeing at the far end of a long, high-ceilinged, heavily timbered room, not a radio horn, but a pipe organ.

  “So,” she breathed, “my first thought was right. That enchanting music was produced on the spot. And by such a musician!”

  Seated with his side toward her, was the bent figure of an old man. His long, flowing white beard, his snowy locks, the dreamy look upon his face as his fingers drifted back and forth across the keys, reminded her of pictures she had seen of ancient bards playing upon golden harps.

  “‘Harp of the North that moldering long has hung,’” she recited in a low voice.

  The fingers on the keys suddenly ceased their drifting, the dreamy look faded from the musician’s face. A smile lighted his eyes as, turning about, he spoke in a cheery voice:

  “Come in. I have been waiting for you. You are welcome to an old man’s lonely house; doubly welcome, coming as you do in time for Sunday vespers.”

  This strange, almost uncanny proceeding so startled the girl that for a second she was tempted to turn and flee. The next second she had complete control of herself. Pushing the door open, as if entering the chamber of the king of fairies, she made a little bow and said:

  “Thank you.”

  Then, realizing how perfectly absurd her action had been, she broke into a hearty laugh and in this laugh the old man joined.

  So, with the ice broken, they became friends at once.

  To her vast relief she found that the old man, though he had undoubtedly been expecting them or someone else, did not know all about them. He asked if they travelled with dog team or reindeer. Upon being told that they drove reindeer, he smiled and said:

  “Good. It’s lucky I have feed for your deer. Reindeer people seldom come this way. Once I was caught unprepared to entertain them, so last autumn I put in a good stock of moss and willow leaves. Your deer shall be safely housed and richly fed, and so shall you. Go bring them at once. Or shall I go with you?”

  “Oh no; that is not necessary,” Marian hastened to assure him.

  “Very well then, while you go I will put the birds on to broil. You are doubtless very hungry.”

  Ten minutes later Marian was chattering to Attatak:

  “The queerest place you ever saw; and the strangest old gentleman. But really, I think he is a dear.”

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE BARRIER

  The curiosity of the two girls knew no bounds as they neared the strange abode. Who was this man? Why did he live here all by himself? How had he brought his pipe organ to this remote spot? Whence had come those peculiar skylights through which the yellow light gleamed? Whence came the power for those electric lights? How had this strange man known of their coming? Or had he known? Had he been expecting someone else and had he, as a perfect host, pretended it was Marian he had known to be at the door? These, and many other questions, flashed through Marian’s alert mind as she guided her deer over the remaining distance and up to the entrance to the cave-like structure.

  Lights flashed on here and there as they passed inside. A long corridor, walled on either side by hewn logs, led to a stall-like room where was food in abundance for their reindeer, and, what was better still, perfect protection from any night prowler.

  Marian was wondering what sort of meal was being prepared for them when they were at last led into the large room. Here, on the side opposite the pipe organ, great logs crackled merrily in a fireplace half as wide as the room itself.

  After taking their fur parkas, the host motioned them to seats beside the fire. There, charmed by the drowsy warmth, Marian experienced great difficulty in keeping awake. Strange fancies floated through her mind. She fancied she was aboard a ship at sea; the walls about her were the walls of her state-room; the huge beams above, the ship’s beams; the strange cupola affairs above, the lights to her cabin.

  As she shook herself free from this fancy, she realized that aside from the fireplace, the inside of the room was very like a cabin of a high class schooner.

  “It must all come from some vessel,” she reasoned. “Even the lighting fixtures look as if they had been taken from a ship. I wonder what ship, and why?”

  She thought of stories
she had read of beach combers who wrecked ships by displaying fake shore lights on stormy nights that they might gather the wreckage from the beach. For a moment she fancied this bearded patriarch playing such a role. Finding this too absurd even for fancy, she shook herself free from it.

  “Food,” she murmured to herself, “I’m ravenously hungry. He spoke of putting on the birds. I wonder what he could have meant?”

  She did not have long to wait. A moment later there came to her nostrils the delicious aroma of perfectly brewed coffee. Mingled with it were various savory odors which gave promise of a rich meal.

  “You are not yet fully warmed,” said their host, “so you may eat by the fire.”

  He was pushing before him a tea-wagon of wonderful design and craftsmanship. This was fairly creaking under its load of chinaware of exquisite design, and silver which did not require a second look to tell that it was sterling. Marian barely avoided a gasp at sight of it.

  If the service was perfect, the food was no less so. Four ptarmigan, those wonderful “quail of the Arctic,” broiled to a delicious turn, were flanked with potatoes, gravy, peas and apple sauce. The desert was blueberries preserved in wild honey.

  “Only idleness or indifference,” smiled their host as he caught their looks of appreciation, “can hinder one from securing appetizing foods in any land.”

  “And now,” he said as they finished, “there are questions you may wish to ask; information that you may wish to impart.”

  “Why—we—” Marian began in some confusion.

  He interrupted her with a wave of the hand. “It will all keep until morning. This habit young people have, of sitting up talking all hours of the night because life seems too exciting for sleep, is all wrong. You are in need of rest. ‘Everything in its good time’ is my motto. Fortunately my guest room is warm. The fire is not yet burned out. Last night I had the honor of furnishing a night’s lodging to the Agent of our Government.”

  “The Agent?” Marian asked in surprise.

  “Yes. He came up here to ask me about the lay of the land above here. I think,” there was a merry twinkle in his eye, “that I may lay claim to being the oldest resident of this town. No doubt I was able to give him some valuable information.”

  “And he is—is gone?” Marian gasped.

  “Left this morning. Why? Did you wish to see him? Surely—yes, you would. Being connected with the reindeer business, you would. Unfortunate that you did not reach here a few hours earlier. He left on foot. The trail around the rapids is rough. He did not try to bring his dogs and sleds through. Left them with his driver at the foot of the rapids. Well enough that he did. Couldn’t have made it.”

  Upon realizing that she had missed the man she had come so far to see, Marian could have burst into tears.

  “You may find him at the Station, though,” her host assured her. “I believe he means to stay there a day or two. His dogs are footsore from travelling over crusted snow.”

  Marian’s heart gave a leap of joy. But what was this about the trail and the rapids?

  “Did—did you say that one could not pass over the trail with a sled?” she asked in the calmest tone she could command. “Are the rapids not yet frozen over?”

  “Frozen?” he stared at her incredulously. “Have you not heard them? Ah, then, you came from up stream. The forest shuts out the sound. Slip on your parka and come with me, and you shall hear. It is grand music, that ceaseless rush and roar, that beating of waters and tumbling of ice.”

  It may have seemed glorious to the old man, but to Marian, who listened to the wild tumult of waters, it was frightening and disheartening.

  “Can a boat run the rapids?” she asked, though she knew the question was foolish and that no boat could run them.

  “None ever has.”

  “Can—can a sled pass over the trail above?”

  “None has. None can. The way is too rough; the trees too closely crowded together. Dogs, reindeer, men, yes; but sleds, no.”

  “How far is it to the station?” Marian faltered.

  “Three days journey.”

  “Are there any houses on the way?”

  “None.”

  “Then, without our sleds, we would not dare undertake the journey.”

  “No. It would not do. You would starve or freeze.”

  It required all Marian’s power of will to remain standing as she faltering said; “Then we are defeated. We—we must turn back. We—” She could not go on.

  The aged man studied her face for a moment. Then quietly he asked:

  “Is it very important that you get to the station; that you see the Agent?”

  “Oh, very, very important! We—”

  Again he motioned for silence. “Do not tell me now. I think it can be arranged that your sleds may pass the rapids. It shall be arranged. I promise it. Come, you are worn out. It is time you should sleep.”

  CHAPTER XVII

  AGE SERVES YOUTH

  The two girls had carried no suit-case, satchel or duffel bag on this trip. Their spare clothing was stowed away in their sleeping bags. When their host had lighted their way to the room that was to be theirs for the night, and had retired to his large room, they tip-toed back to their sleds, unlashed their sleeping bags and carried them as they were to their room.

  For some hours Marian had not thought of the ancient treasure found in the cave, but once she began unrolling her sleeping bag she was reminded of it. A piece of old ivory went clattering to the floor. With a cry of surprise she picked it up, then carefully removed the other pieces of ivory, copper and ancient pottery and stood them in a row against the wall.

  Again there came the temptation to give them a thorough examination. Events transpired later that caused her to wish that she had done so. But weary and troubled by the turn affairs had taken, she again put off this inviting task. She slipped at once into her sleeping gown and plunged beneath the covers of the most delightful bed she had ever known. Attatak followed her a few seconds later.

  They found themselves lying upon a bed of springy moss mixed with the fragrant tips of balsam. Over this had been thrown wolfskin robes. With one of these beneath them, and two above, they snuggled down until only their noses were showing.

  They did not sleep at once. Left to himself, the mysterious old man had seated himself at his organ, and now sent forth such wild, pealing tones as Marian had never heard before. He was doing Dvorjak’s wildest symphony, and making it wilder and more weird than even the composer himself could have dreamed it might be made.

  Throughout its rendition, Marian lay tense as a bow-string. As it ended with a wild, racing crash, she settled back with a shiver, wondering what could throw such a spell over an old man as would cause him to play in that manner.

  Had she known the reason she would have done little sleeping that night. The aged host was tuning his soul to such a key as would nerve him for a Herculean task.

  Since Marian did not know, she puzzled for a time over the trail they must travel in the morning; wondered vaguely how her host was to keep his promise of bringing their sleds safely past the rapids; then fell asleep.

  As for their host, fifteen minutes after the last note of his wild symphony had died away, he tip-toed down the silent corridor which led to the door of the room in which the girls were sleeping. Having convinced himself by a moment of listening that they were asleep, he made his way to the spot where their two sleds had been left. These he examined carefully. After straightening up, he murmured:

  “Took their sleeping-bags. That’s bad. Didn’t need ’em. Can’t disturb ’em now. Guess it can be managed.”

  After delivering himself of this monologue, he proceeded to wrap the contents of each sled in a water-proof blanket, then dragged them out into the moonlight.

  Having strapped an axe, a pick and a shovel on one sled, he tied the other sled to it and began pulling them over the smooth downhill trail that led toward the falls.

  For a full mile he plodd
ed stolidly on. Then he halted, separated the sleds, and with the foremost sled gliding on before him, plunged down a steep bank to the right. Presently he came toiling back up the hill for the other sled.

  At the bottom once more, he stood for a moment staring into the foaming depths of a roaring torrent.

  “Pretty bad,” he muttered. “Never did it before at this time of year. Might fail. Might—”

  Suddenly he broke off and began humming, “Tum—te—tum—tum—tum.” He was going over and over that mad symphony. It appeared to give him strength and courage, and seizing the pick, he began hacking away at some object that lay half buried in the snow.

  Fifteen minutes later he had exhumed a short, square raft.

  “Built you for other purposes, but you’ll do for this,” he muttered. “Other logs where you came from.”

  He set both sleds carefully upon the raft; then with yards upon yards of rawhide rope, lashed them solidly to it.

  This done, he began running out a heavier rope. This he carried up the bank to a spot where there was a mass of jagged rock covered here and there by hard packed snow.

  More than once he slipped, but always he struggled upward until at last he stood upon the topmost pinnacle. A heroic figure silhouetted in the moonlight, he stood for a full five minutes staring down at the racing waters below. Dancing in the moonlight, they appeared to reach out black hands to grasp and drag him down.

  Before him, on the opposite side, gleamed a high white bank. A sheer precipice of ice fifty feet high, this was the end of a glacier that every now and again sent a thousand tons of ice thundering into the deep pool at its foot.

  Beneath this ice barrier the water had worn a channel. A boat drifting down on the rushing waters would certainly be sucked down beneath this ice and be crushed like an eggshell.

  What the old man intended to do was evident enough. He meant to set the raft, laden with the sleds and trappings so precious to his young guests, afloat in those turbulent waters and then to attempt by means of the rope to hold it from being drawn beneath the ice, and to guide it a half mile down the river to quieter waters below. There was no path for him to follow. Jagged rocks and ice-like snow, slippery as glass, awaited him; yet he dared to try it.