Melissa stopped and faced Terry. “What?” she asked abruptly. “What’ve you got?”
“Something nice,” Terry assured her, and then, because she could think of nothing else, she asked the frightened girl, “Do you like chocolate cake?”
“Sure do,” Melissa replied shyly. “Heaps!”
“Come on back, then,” Terry coaxed, and Melissa came towards her.
Terry took her into the bright little kitchen and gave her a large glass of milk and a big piece of chocolate cake. Melissa ate greedily, and Terry spoke gently to her to gain her confidence.
“That certainly is a lovely pin,” Terry remarked. “Would you mind if I showed it to my mother? She’s in the other room, but I’ll bring it right back.”
“I guess so,” Melissa agreed reluctantly, and taking the stick pin from her collar she handed the ornament to Terry. Her rather pale blue eyes were questioning her benefactor, and she looked not at all sure that she liked the situation.
Terry took the pin and pushed in the swinging door that led to the dining room.
“Come, finish your dinner,” Mrs. Landry said. “What happened to Melissa?”
“She’s out in the kitchen,” Terry replied and put a warning finger to her lips. “Don’t let her hear you. I just wanted to show this to Mr. Uzlov.” She held the pin out to Serge. “Isn’t this your brother’s?”
Serge took it and examined it closely.
“I gave it to Dimitri years ago,” he said. “He always liked it. I don’t believe he would have parted with it willingly.”
“We didn’t think so, either,” Arden remarked, taking what small satisfaction there was in the fact.
“Go back to her, Terry,” Mrs. Landry directed, “and talk to her a bit. See if she will tell you anything. But don’t frighten her,” she cautioned, and then to Serge she explained, “Melissa is like some woodland creature. She runs at the first hint of danger. Poor child! The girls have done all they can to help her, but she doesn’t trust anyone.”
Terry, taking the pin, they all having decided it would excite Melissa if they kept it, returned to the kitchen.
Ida, the maid, was rattling pans and knives in the sink, but Melissa was gone.
“Where’s Melissa?” Terry asked.
“She went,” Ida answered briefly.
“Why? Did you say anything to frighten her?” Terry wanted to know.
“Never said a word,” Ida insisted. “She et the cake and got up and walked out.”
Terry clenched her fists. Melissa gone again, and just when they thought they would learn something. If the girl really wanted to hide, they could never find her. There was only one thing to do. Follow her at once before she got too far away.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Terry flung over her shoulder, and still holding the pin clutched in one hand she slipped out the back door after the elusive Melissa Clayton.
CHAPTER XXVII
Terry’s Tactics
Melissa was just about to push off in her old rowboat when Terry, without asking permission, hopped in and sat smiling at the startled girl.
“You’re in a great hurry, Melissa,” Terry said in an effort to be friendly. “You forgot your pin.”
Without saying a word Melissa held out her hand. But Terry, holding up the piece of jewelry, teased Melissa.
“I’ll give it to you when you tell me where you really got it,” Terry said.
“I found it, just like I told you,” Melissa insisted.
“Come, now, Melissa, that’s hard to believe. But don’t let me stop you from having your sail. I’d be glad to have someone row me for a change. I’m always giving other people a ride.”
“Well, I ought to be gettin’ home. Pa will wonder about me,” Melissa said.
“Don’t forget that piece of cake I just gave you. And you left before I got back to you. Why? Is anything worrying you?”
“No, I just thought I’d better go,” Melissa murmured sulkily. “Thanks for the cake.”
“That’s all right, I’d give you something a lot better than that if you could help me,” Terry said. Perhaps if Melissa thought she could be of some definite use she would tell where she really got the pin.
“What? What would you give me?” Melissa asked craftily.
“What would you like—jewelry?” Terry questioned with a quiet sort of emphasis on the last word.
“Jewelry?” Melissa’s eyes lit up greedily. “I got some jewelry now that’d be better than any you could give me. No, you better not come along. I got to be goin’ home.”
“How could you have?” Terry asked, deliberately trying to antagonize the girl. “The only jewelry you ever got was that old bracelet Sim gave you weeks ago and that your father made you give back.”
“It is not,” Melissa insisted. “I’ve got—No, I won’t tell you; you’re just jealous.”
“Come on, Melissa, be a sport. You tell me about the secret you know and I’ll tell you something I know about you. Something fine. You’ll love it. What do you say, is it a bargain?”
Terry waited. It would never do to rush things. If Melissa got stubborn it would be hopeless, and Terry was almost positive, now, that the queer girl was in possession of something.
Melissa looked at her uninvited guest in the boat distrustfully. There was no reason for not trusting her. The three girls had been very kind to her this summer and had tried to give her the bracelet. Still, she hesitated. Her father was also to be reckoned with. What would be his attitude? Oh, well, Melissa mentally shrugged.
“I did take the pin, but no one was there, and I knew the man wouldn’t care,” Melissa said, watching Terry closely.
“When, Melissa? When did you take it?” Terry asked, hoping that the girl could throw some light on Dimitri’s disappearance.
“One day when the man was out with his dog, painting,” Melissa replied. “I sneaked in just to have a look around. Some of the village people said he might be a spy, so I went over to see what a spy was. What is a spy, anyway?” Melissa asked, forgetting for the minute that she had just told Terry that the pin had not been found after all.
“Never mind that. Dimitri’s not a spy. That’s foolish. Tell me the secret you know.” Terry was becoming impatient.
Melissa hedged. This girl was too wise. Melissa’s father might punish her severely, send her away, even, where she’d have to dress up and wear shoes in hot weather and do other uncomfortable things.
“You won’t tell my father?” Melissa begged Terry.
“Not if you don’t want me to,” Terry replied.
“Well,” Melissa began, “over at my house I’ve got the prettiest box!”
Terry jumped. The snuffbox! But she mustn’t seem too surprised.
“You have? Tell me about it. I won’t tell your father,” Terry said, smiling confidentially.
“I got it on the houseboat. It was in a little closet on the wall and I broke the door open to see it,” Melissa confessed, now trusting Terry completely.
“But how did you know it was there?” asked Terry.
“The pretty lady told me about it. She gave me a dollar to bring it to her, but after I found it, I liked it so much I couldn’t bear to give it up,” Melissa explained.
“But don’t you know, Melissa, that you shouldn’t take things that belong to other people?” Terry said gently.
“This was only a yellow box, and the lady said it was hers, anyway.”
“It wasn’t, Melissa. It was Dimitri’s, and the lady had no right to it. Where is it now?”
“I’ve got it safe,” the girl said briefly.
“Melissa,” began Terry in a tone that commanded attention, “that was a very wrong and dangerous thing to do, to take that box. I want you to come back with me, while I explain to my friends and the Russian man’s brother just what happened. Then I want you to go over to your house with us and give back the box.”
“Oh, no,” pleaded Melissa. “I won’t do it. My father would do something aw
ful to me if I did.”
“You’ve got to. If you don’t,” threatened Terry, “you’ll probably be arrested, and then what will become of you?”
Melissa’s eyes widened with fright. “Arrested?” she echoed dully.
Terry nodded her head.
“You better come back with me,” she said quietly. Slowly Melissa began to turn the boat. She was cornered, and she knew it. Terry spoke quietly as they rowed back to the cottage, explaining to the worried girl that she and her friends would see that no harm came to her. So well did she plead that by the time they docked the boat, Melissa had grown confident, and even eager to do Terry’s bidding.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Driven Away
A great deal of tact was necessary to keep Melissa in a helpful frame of mind. One careless word, and Terry knew Melissa would run. So, hoping her chums would understand, she walked back to the house, talking cheerfully to the girl as they went.
“Melissa is going to help us find the snuffbox,” Terry announced to the astonished group that awaited them on the porch. “She knows where it is, and she’s going to take us over to her house for it.”
Frantic looks and powerful concentration seemed to do the trick, for Arden fell in with Terry’s plan.
“That’s fine, Melissa,” Arden complimented her. “Let’s start at once, before it gets too dark. Terry, you and Melissa go together, and the rest of us will follow in our boat.”
“Give her back the pin, at least for a time,” suggested Arden. “It will make her trust us more.”
“Not a bad idea,” agreed Terry. “I will.”
“Yes, do,” said Serge in a low voice.
Terry slipped the pin back to Melissa, and she and the girl started for the boats.
“All right, Mother?” Terry asked. “Do you want to come too?”
“No,” replied Mrs. Landry. “I might be of some use here. Come back as quickly as you can, and good luck to you.”
They needed no urging, and with Melissa leading and the others following, they crossed the peaceful bay and landed close to the pitiful shack that Melissa called “home.”
“It’s in my room,” the girl told them, proud in her simple way to be the center of so much excitement.
“You show us,” Arden urged.
Melissa entered the solitary house, the door of which swung loosely on its hinges. The front room, furnished with an unpainted wooden table and three rickety chairs, was dreary and uninviting. The girl, clumping along in the boots which were much too large for her, entered a small room to one side. It was little bigger than a large closet with a white-painted bed and an old bureau topped by a cracked looking glass.
After much shaking and pulling, Melissa succeeded in opening the top drawer. She rummaged under some old clothes and thrust her hands far back in the bureau.
Suddenly, with an unbelieving look on her face, she turned to the little group crowded in the narrow doorway.
“It’s gone!” she exclaimed. “The box, the pretty yellow one that I put there myself, is gone!”
Was it a trick that Melissa had played on them? Or had Terry argued so successfully that the girl had actually come to believe she really did possess the box?
“Are you sure you had it?” Arden asked gently. “When did you see it last?”
“This morning I took it out to look at it,” Melissa replied slowly.
“What did it look like?” Terry asked, not quite believing that Melissa ever had it now.
“It had a little bird on and the prettiest shiny stones all around the edge,” Melissa answered woefully. “Oh, I did like it so much! It was so pretty!”
The girls fell silent. They had met another stone wall. They had neither Dimitri nor the snuffbox. They were as much in the dark as ever.
“But, Melissa,” Sim began, “what could have happened to it?”
“I don’t know,” Melissa replied slowly.
They looked curiously at the bare little room. Poor child, it was not surprising that she loved bright shiny things so much. In a place such as this was, anyone would crave relief from its drabness.
Arden turned to go, and the others were about to follow when they were halted by the sound of heavy footsteps hastening up the wooden steps that led into the house.
The three girls drew together. Serge stepped forward as though to protect them.
“It’s Pa,” Melissa said, looking fearfully at them.
“What’s going on in here?” an angry voice was heard before they saw the owner of it.
Melissa shrank back to the wall between the bed and bureau.
“What are you people doing here? Who let you in here?” It was George Clayton, wildly angry at this invasion of his property.
“We came by ourselves,” Terry said, boldly anxious to keep her pledge with Melissa.
“You did! Well, I advise you to go by yourselves before I run you off!” Clayton bellowed, reaching for a shotgun on the wall.
“Now, see here, Clayton,” Serge began, standing fearlessly before the angry man. “Be careful how you handle that gun. You don’t want to do anything you might be sorry for later.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Melissa’s father insisted. “You people get out of here! This is my property. You’ve got to get a warrant before you can come snooping around my place!”
“All right, we’ll go,” Serge said in a low voice. “But you watch your step. I’ve heard you’re not very popular in these parts.”
Clayton made an angry motion as though to strike Serge, but with an effort controlled himself and, spluttering and fuming, literally drove them from the shack.
They all piled into the little rowboat and made their way slowly back across the bay, disappointed and defeated, hardly knowing what to say—what to believe.
Serge decided to go at once back to New York.
“Dimitri might have gone to my place. I will get in touch with you tomorrow and let you know,” he said and, not going into the house again, he thanked Mrs. Landry, who was anxiously waiting at the small dock and, climbing in his car, drove quickly out of sight.
For a little while there was silence among them. Even Sim, who often could find humor in matters where others could not, had nothing to say. Mrs. Landry looked at the faces of the girls, and, guessing their thoughts, said:
“Never mind, my dears. It isn’t your fault.”
“But I did so hope something would come of this,” said Terry. “After getting Melissa to admit she had the box, then not to find it!”
“Do you really think she had it?” asked Arden.
“That’s hard to answer,” Terry replied. “I don’t see why she would want to deceive us. She described the cupboard, told how she slipped aboard the houseboat while Dimitri was out in the marsh, painting, and we all know she’s crazy about such objects as that bright and beautiful snuffbox.”
“And to think it may be gone forever,” sighed Sim.
“We’re not going to let it be lost forever!” suddenly declared Arden.
“What are you going to do about it?” challenged Terry.
“I’m going to see to it that a thorough search is made of that shack, in spite of George Clayton!” Arden’s head went up bravely, and there was a determined look in her eyes.
“How?” questioned Terry.
“With the help of the police or that detective woman, Emma Tash!”
“I think it is time you got the authorities more actively interested, my dears,” said Mrs. Landry, who had heard, with some alarm, the actions of the crabber in the matter of the shotgun. “That man must be curbed. He is standing in the way of good to his daughter. If we could get in touch with Emma Tash she might bring some man with her who would proceed in spite of Clayton and his gun. This father of Melissa’s may be just ‘bluffing,’ as the boys say.”
“Didn’t Miss Tash leave you her address?” asked Arden.
“Yes,” Mrs. Landry answered, “she did. But it may take a few days to get in communicatio
n with her and get her down here. Instead of her, I would suggest our local chief.”
“Rufus Reilly?” asked Sim. “Oh, my goodness, he and his duck that can’t fly on one leg!”
“Besides,” added Terry, “he claims to have been working on the case, but all he does is to tinker with that old car.”
“Still,” decided Arden, “I think we should go to him again. It is up to him to do something. If we bring another officer here, he would first go to Mr. Reilly. I believe that is police law. So let’s go see our proverb-splitting chief and tell him what happened today. We can say we feel sure the stolen snuffbox is in the shack, and he can get a search warrant if he needs to.”
“I am coming around to your way of thinking, Arden,” admitted Sim. “Perhaps, when the chief hears about Clayton’s gun, it will stir him up to something like fighting rage, and we’ll get some action.”
“Well, then, let’s,” agreed Terry. “It’s too late now, but we’ll get the chief to go to the shack the first thing in the morning.”
However, when morning came, after an anxious night in which no news came of the missing artist, Mrs. Landry decided it might be well to wait for another day.
“Dimitri’s brother may learn something in New York,” she said, “and that may make it needless to go and beard this Clayton boor in his shack.”
“Yes, I suppose waiting another day will do no harm,” Arden agreed. “But I don’t believe Dimitri is in New York or has his box. He would not be where he is, a free agent, without sending some word to his brother Serge, at least, about himself. No, Dimitri is where he can’t get word to his friends.”
“And where do you think that place is?” asked Sim.
Arden shrugged her shoulders in a hopeless negative.
Time hanging heavy on their hands, the girls paid another visit to the houseboat but did not go on board. There was no sign of life about the Merry Jane save for Tania. She was shut up in what amounted to a kennel on the outside narrow deck, where the girls had put her on their last visit. There was plenty of food and water.
Poor Tania whined pitifully when she found that her friends were not coming to see her and departed without taking her with them.
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