“Imagination!” Anne laughed. “The responsibility of keeping the book is making you nervous.”
“I guess so. Still, this hiding place doesn’t entirely suit me. Let’s go back and get it!”
“Nonsense!” Anne protested. “The place is all right. No use treating that book as though it were a bag of gold. Come along. I must be getting on home.”
Reluctantly, Madge permitted herself to be led away.
“All right,” she gave in, “but if anything happens, don’t blame me!”
CHAPTER XII
The Awaited Message
For the first time in many nights Madge slept at home. Although she would not have admitted it, Kim was responsible for her reluctance to return with Anne to Stewart Island. She did not retire until after the guests had gone to their rooms, and then tossed restlessly. Finally she dozed off, only to be awakened by an unusual sound.
She sat up in bed. The house was quiet but she was sure she had heard someone stumble over a chair in the kitchen. Ordinarily, she would have gone back to sleep. Instead, she thought of the key in the cupboard. What if it were stolen?
Slipping into a dressing gown, she stole quietly downstairs. On the bottom step she paused and listened. She heard someone moving about. Then distinctly, but very softly, a door closed.
Now thoroughly alarmed, Madge hurried to the kitchen. Groping about, she found a lamp and lighted it. To her relief, the key still hung on its hook in the cupboard.
“My imagination is getting the best of me!” she chuckled. “I’d have sworn someone was down here. I more than half expected the key to be gone.”
She returned to her bedroom, taking the key with her. Placing it carefully under her pillow she jumped into bed and soon was fast asleep.
In the morning her fears seemed ridiculous, so when she made her bed, she returned the key to its old place in the kitchen.
Directly after breakfast, Mr. Brady left the lodge, saying that he must examine some timber land and would not return until nightfall. Mrs. Brady was confined to her room with a headache and Mr. Brownell had taken one of the boats and rowed away toward Stewart Island. That left only Clyde who loitered about the kitchen while Madge fried doughnuts.
“You’re not a bad cook,” he complimented, helping himself to a crisp, brown fried cake. “This one tastes a little soggy though.”
“I’d think it would after you’ve eaten six,” Madge observed.
She was glad when he finally left the kitchen. Dipping the last doughnut in sugar, she too slipped outside and was just in time to sight Jack French paddling toward the beach in his canoe.
“Hello, Jack,” she greeted, “I haven’t seen you in days.”
“Well, the government didn’t plant us in the forest for ornaments, you know,” he replied cheerfully. “I just returned from Luxlow where they gave me a message for Anne. Since you two stick together like burrs I thought I might find her here.”
“I haven’t seen her today,” Madge returned, an eager note creeping into her voice. “It isn’t a wire from Washington?”
“I can’t say, but it is a telegram. It may be important so I’ll be paddling along.”
“I’m going over to the island before long. If you like, I can take the message.”
“I know you want to find out what it’s all about,” he teased, handing over the yellow envelope. “Oh, well, I’ll be glad to be saved the trip. On your way.”
Madge lost no time in going to the island. She marched into the kitchen where Anne was working, waving the telegram triumphantly.
“It’s not an answer to our wire?” Anne demanded hopefully.
“It must be. Open it quick before my nervous system explodes!”
Anne’s hand shook so that it was difficult for her to rip open the envelope. Her face was a study as she scanned the message. Then she fairly glowed with pleasure.
“Oh, it is from that Washington man!”
“What does he say?”
“Listen to this! He thinks the formula may have been written on the blank pages of the book with just ordinary water.”
Madge stared incredulously. “Water?” she echoed.
“Yes, I recall now that Father once mentioned the same. Strange it slipped my mind.”
“I never heard of writing with water. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“I believe the method was discovered during the late war,” Anne explained. “Anyway, a secret message can be written on certain types of paper merely by using a clean pen and water. The water disturbs the fibers of the paper—it isn’t visible to the eye, of course.”
“Then how could the writing be brought out?”
“It’s all explained here,” Anne said, offering the telegram. “You insert the paper in a glass case and shoot in a thin iodine vapor which settles into all tissues disturbed by the pen. He’s sending complete instructions by mail.”
“It sounds dreadfully complicated.”
“Not to me. I’ve helped Father with other experiments and I know how to go about this. Let’s get the book now and see if we can bring out the secret writing.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for complete instructions?”
“Oh, I can’t wait! So much depends on getting the formula within the next few hours. We’ll not ruin the book. I’m sure I know just how to go about it.”
Madge gave in and they made a quick trip to the Brady lodge which seemed strangely quiet and deserted.
“Aunt Maude must be sleeping,” Madge observed. “Clyde was here when I left but he appears to have taken himself off.”
They let themselves into the kitchen. Madge went directly to the cupboard for the key to the new cabin. It was not on its usual peg.
“Don’t tell me it’s lost,” Anne said nervously.
Madge did not answer immediately. Then her face relaxed.
“No, it dropped into this cup. Gave me a scare for a minute.”
In relief, they hurried to the newly built cabin. Madge unlocked the door and they entered. Everything appeared exactly as they had last seen it.
Madge went confidently to the fireplace and ran her hand up to the hidden ledge. A startled expression passed over her face. She groped about the ledge a second time, more carefully than before.
“What’s the matter?” Anne asked, though she read the answer in her friend’s tense face.
“It’s gone!” Madge answered. “Someone has stolen our book!”
CHAPTER XIII
The Missing Book
“Gone,” Anne echoed blankly. “Oh, it must be there.”
“It isn’t,” Madge insisted. “Oh, I knew something would happen to it!”
“Let me look.”
Madge stepped back to permit Anne to take her place at the chimney. Both were trying desperately to remain calm, attempting to make themselves believe the book had only been misplaced.
“You’re right, it’s not here,” Anne murmured, after feeling carefully along the ledge. “You don’t suppose either your aunt or uncle could have put it away?”
Madge shook her head doubtfully. A conviction that the book had been deliberately stolen was growing in her mind.
“We can soon find out,” she replied.
They rushed back to the house. Mrs. Brady had finished her nap and was sewing. The girls found her in the living room and incoherently poured out their story.
“Now, don’t get excited,” she advised kindly. “The book will turn up. Mr. Brady hasn’t been near the cabin, but one can’t be sure about Bill. He’s into everything. Why not question him?”
Frantic with anxiety, they hurried to the old workman’s cabin. He denied taking the key.
“What would I be doin’ with it anyhow?” he demanded crossly. “After buildin’ that fireplace and luggin’ all that heavy stone, I’d be right well pleased if I never saw the place agin.”
“Then who did take the key?” Madge fairly wailed. “Someone used it and put it back in the wrong place.”
Bill s
hrugged and would have retreated into the cabin had not Madge halted him with an abrupt question.
“Have you seen anyone prowling about the new cabin or acting suspiciously? I know you’re something of a detective. Perhaps you noticed Clyde Wendell or one of the guests acting strangely.”
Bill could not resist this direct appeal to his vanity. He assumed an important pose and his brows came together in a thoughtful pucker.
“I wasn’t aimin’ to mention it,” he informed regally, “’cause Mr. Brady’s warned me more ’n once not to talk about the guests—”
“This is different,” Madge urged impatiently. “Tell us everything. It’s very important and time means everything!”
Bill’s blue eyes opened wider. Here was something which smacked of mystery. He decided to make the most of it.
“I been watchin’ that guy Wendell fer a long time,” he reported. “My suspicions was aroused when he kept trying’ to pump me.”
“What sort of questions did he ask?”
“Most everything. About the fishin’ and the like. He asked about whether Miss Faraday stayed alone nights and if she’d sold any of her books and things. He’d pester me when I was tryin’ to work on the new fireplace. Come to think of it, he even asked me where the key to the cabin was kept!”
Bill had intended to tell a good story. He was surprised to find that by cudgeling his memory he had no need to call upon imagination to furnish interesting details.
“When did Clyde ask about the key?” Madge questioned.
“Lemme see,” Bill scratched his head thoughtfully. “Las’ night.”
It was all clear to Madge now. The book had been hidden only the previous afternoon. She had sensed then that someone was hiding in the bushes near the cabin. Undoubtedly, Clyde Wendell had witnessed everything.
“Anne, Clyde was after your book from the very first!” she cried. “Probably his own formula is worthless, and he hoped to get possession of your Father’s work and claim it as his own.”
“But if he saw us hide the book, why didn’t he take it last night?”
“I think he did try. I heard someone in the kitchen during the night. When I went down to get the key, he must have heard me coming and ducked into his bedroom which is on the first floor. Oh, if only I’d kept that key instead of returning it to the cupboard!”
“It was all my fault. I chose the hiding place.”
“Clyde won’t get away. We’ll make him give the book back.”
Old Bill had been listening attentively to the conversation which he only partially understood. Now he decided it was time to add his startling contribution.
“Guess you’ll have to ketch him first. He checked out more ’n an hour ago.”
“Checked out?” Madge asked sharply.
“He cleaned out bag and baggage while you was over to the island. I offered to row him across the lake but he said he’d do it himself. Guess he was afraid he’d have to give me a quarter.”
“Which way did he go, Bill?”
“He said a car was to meet him across the lake and take him on to Luxlow. I would have watched only I was snowed under with work.”
“We must go after him! Bill, get over to the lookout as fast as you can and ask one of the rangers to come here. Get Jack if he’s there. Tell him it’s urgent.”
Bill moved away with alacrity and the girls flew to the house to acquaint Mrs. Brady with the startling news. As Madge had guessed, she knew nothing of the chemist’s departure. A survey of his room disclosed that he had taken all his luggage. He had gone without paying his bill.
“If only your uncle were here!” Mrs. Brady expressed indignantly. “And where is Mr. Brownell?”
“You saw him this morning, didn’t you, Anne?” Madge asked.
“Why, no,” the other returned in surprise. “He never came to the island unless it was after I left.”
“Men are always gone when you need them!” Mrs. Brady exclaimed impatiently. “The best we can do is to telephone to Luxlow and try to have someone stop Clyde there.”
She rushed away to the telephone and just then the girls saw a boat rounding the point of the mainland. Mr. Brownell drew up to the wharf. His face brightened as he saw Anne, but realizing that something was amiss, he made no attempt to engage her in conversation.
A few minutes later Bill returned with Jack French in the latter’s canoe. The ranger had gleaned most of the facts from the old workman. He asked Madge and Anne only a few, terse questions. Mr. Brownell listened intently to the excited discussion.
“So Wendell got away with the formula?” he broke in. “I knew there was something queer about the whole deal but I couldn’t figure it out. Ranger, I’ll pay you well if you bring him back.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Jack told him quietly, “and pay doesn’t enter into it. We’re not sure which way he went.”
“Even if he did say he was going to Luxlow, I’d guess he headed for Bryson,” Madge interposed. “If he reached there by afternoon he could get a train out for New York. His Luxlow connections would be very poor.”
“He was askin’ me about the Elf Lake portage only yesterday,” Bill volunteered.
“But if he did go the other way, we’ll lose him,” Anne said anxiously, as the ranger moved toward his canoe.
“I’m striking for Elf Lake,” Jack said crisply. “Mr. Brownell, you go to Luxlow and try to head Clyde off there. Bill can drive you in.”
The plan was instantly adopted. Jack sprang into his canoe but Madge was directly behind.
“Let me go too! You can make faster time with two paddling.”
Jack hesitated briefly, then nodded. Madge slid into the bow and caught up a paddle. Anne gave the canoe a shove, wading far out into the water.
“Oh, I hope you catch him!” she shouted. “Paddle for all you’re worth!”
Jack and Madge cut directly across the lake, taking a course straight as a die. Madge realized that to overtake the chemist they must travel at double his speed. She had a muscular arm and made each stroke count. Several times the ranger warned her to take it easier.
They passed Black Rock, coming at last to the first portage marked by the birches. Abandoning the canoe they started unencumbered through the forest, for Jack knew where a Forest Service canoe had been hidden at Elf Lake. Twice he paused to examine the trail.
“He came this way all right.”
Emerging from among the trees at Elf Lake, they scanned the water. There was no sign of a boat or canoe. Jack frowned. Apparently, the chemist had traveled fast.
A moment later, the frown changed to a distinct scowl as he searched the bushes in vain for the hidden government canoe. Almost at once he noted the long marks on the sand, disclosing where it had been dragged to the water.
“Clyde’s made off with our canoe! Now we are in it!”
Madge’s eye fastened upon an unpainted rowboat abandoned upon the sand.
“It’s a regular tub and probably leaks like a sieve,” she announced, “but it’s our only hope.”
They found the oars and quickly launched the boat. All of Madge’s dire predictions were found true. She bailed steadily to keep the boat afloat.
“We’re losing time,” Jack said gruffly. “Wendell has a fast canoe now.”
“But he’s a dub at paddling,” Madge added hopefully. “We have a chance of overtaking him at the Rice Lake portage.”
“It’s a short one and we’re a good ways behind.”
The prospect of portaging the boat was discouraging. They both knew that unless they overtook the chemist by the time he reached Rice Lake, they likely would lose him. Once he had covered the second portage, a short paddle would take him to Bryson, a city of sufficient population to offer protection.
“Look here,” Jack said as they grounded the boat at the extreme end of Elf Lake. “We’ll never overtake him if we try to tote this old tub. I know a shortcut through the forest but it’s hard going even without dunnage. What do you say?”<
br />
Madge hesitated. She realized that if they left the boat behind, they must overtake Clyde at the end of the portage or lose him entirely.
“It’s a long chance,” Jack said, reading her thoughts, “and the trail is too hard for you.”
Madge shook her head stubbornly.
“No,” she returned with firm decision. “I’ll manage to keep up. We’ll leave the boat behind and try the shortcut!”
CHAPTER XIV
The Shortcut
Jack led Madge a short distance down the shore. After surveying the locality intently to be certain of his bearings, the ranger parted the thick growth of bush which fringed the water, and they plunged into the forest. At first they followed a thinly worn path, but presently thorny vines and underbrush impeded their progress. It was unpleasantly warm; mosquitoes and insects were a torment.
Once Jack slackened his pace and looked back at his companion but Madge urged him on. She knew that everything depended upon speed. Rather than hold Jack back she would drop by the wayside.
She managed to keep up with him, never uttering a word of complaint, but when at last they came within sight of Rice Lake she felt that she could not have continued a hundred yards farther. Emerging from the forest they paused to survey the lake. There was no sign of a canoe or a boat.
“Do you think we’re too late?” Madge asked.
“Hard to tell,” Jack returned briefly.
They hurriedly made their way along the muddy shore toward the point which marked the end of the portage Clyde Wendell must have taken. Jack studied the soft ground along the shore but the only footsteps visible had been made many days before. They walked a few steps down the portage and paused to listen. Only the wild cry of a bird greeted their ears. No broken twigs or bushes disclosed that anyone had passed along the trail that day.
“Either we’re here ahead of him, or he didn’t come this way,” the ranger said in a low tone.
Madge sank down on an old log to rest. The ranger stood beside her staring meditatively down the trail. Suddenly he straightened, and Madge, hearing the same sound, looked quickly up. She stifled the exclamation upon her lips.
She could plainly hear the crackle of twigs underfoot. Someone was coming down the trail! Madge quietly arose and looked questioningly at the ranger. His expression had not changed.
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