CHAPTER XI The Torn Page
"If that isn't the last straw!" Cara exclaimed indignantly. She permittedherself one glance at the place where the page had been torn from thediary and sank limply back against the settee. "After keying myself up tohear the grand solution, the whole thing falls flat!"
"I feel like wilted spinach myself," Madge admitted. She closed the diarywith an impatient snap, placing it on the table. "Well, we're at the end.The page that was torn out, was the last one."
"It would be," Cara groaned. "Our chance of helping Miss Swenster hasgone glimmering."
"What do you guess became of the missing page?"
"Probably Florence tore it out herself and burned it up."
Madge agreed that the theory was a likely one. However, she suggestedthat some other person might have taken the page. The thought left hereven more depressed, for in that case, it was likely that whoever hadlearned the hiding place, had long ago taken the pearls.
The girls were so thoroughly disheartened that it was some time beforethey summoned courage to report their failure to Miss Swenster. Her facefell at the news but she tried not to show how keen was herdisappointment.
"At any rate, I owe you both a great deal for your interest in thematter."
Before leaving the mansion, Madge asked permission to take the diary homefor a few days. In their haste to reach the end, the girls had not readevery paragraph but had skipped those that looked uninteresting. Madgehad little hope that she would find any new material, but at leastthought it would do no harm to reread the diary at her leisure.
"You never admit defeat, do you?" Cara asked as they walked hometogether. "As far as I'm concerned, I consider the adventure washed-up."
"I haven't completely given up," Madge returned. "But I must confess Ihaven't a tangible clue."
She did not have time to reread the diary that night, and in truth, sherather dreaded the ordeal. It was a long tedious task, one that offeredslight hope of success. Nevertheless, Madge continued to think of theSwenster pearls and to wonder if she had not overlooked some hithertounimportant clue.
"In the diary Florence said that she had taken old Uncle George Jacksoninto her confidence. Why didn't I think to ask Miss Swenster who shemeant?"
This seemed such an oversight that Sunday afternoon she dropped around atthe mansion.
"Uncle George?" Miss Swenster repeated, in response to her question."Why, he was the old Negro caretaker I told you about. You can't hope tolearn anything from him for he has been dead years and years. In fact,his son is an old man now. Or was the last time I heard. He too may bedead by this time."
Madge came to life at this scrap of information. Instantly it flashedthrough her mind that possibly Uncle George Jackson's son might knowsomething of the pearls.
"Can you tell me his name?" she questioned eagerly.
"Uncle George's son? Why, it must have been Ross. Yes, that was it. RossJackson."
Miss Swenster knew very little concerning either the old caretaker or hisson. When she had left Claymore eight years before, Ross Jackson had beenliving in a shack down by the railroad tracks but she did not know whathad become of him.
"I should have looked after him," she said regretfully. "I alwaysintended to, but I have had very little ready money. Now that he is anold man it must be difficult for him to find work. I wish I could affordto employ him."
Madge went away with the avowed intention of discovering what had becomeof old Uncle Ross Jackson. His name was not in the telephone or citydirectories. She inquired of any number of persons without success.
Then Jane Allen came to the rescue. Among others, Madge had asked her ifshe had ever heard of the old Negro. At the time, Jane could not helpher, but she had inquired of their negress wash woman and had learned thelocation of Uncle Ross' cabin.
"You're welcome to the information, but I'd not advise you to be goingdown there by the tracks alone," Jane warned. "I can't imagine what'sgotten into you lately. You're so quiet and secretive. Always wanting toknow such odd things too!"
Madge did not enlighten her as to what had caused the change, though shewas tempted to disclose everything. She knew that Jane and Enid both weresomewhat hurt because they felt they were being excluded from something.She must make it up to them later.
Madge had no intention of venturing alone down into the slum district ofClaymore. She broached the subject of the trip with Cara who was willingto accompany her when she comprehended that the visit might have animportant bearing on the missing pearls.
Monday night after school, Madge borrowed her uncle's car and they setforth upon their quest. The house they sought was set well back from theroad. They parked the car and walked toward a dilapidated shack with acaved-in roof. The place seemed deserted save for a Plymouth Rock henwhich fussed busily over her downy brood and a lank, hungry-looking houndthat lay on the door-step with eyes half closed as if he were dreaming ofsome exciting coon hunt of a long departed day when both he and hismaster were younger.
Cara was afraid of the hound and though he scarcely looked in herdirection, held timidly back. Madge went boldly to the door and knocked.There were stirrings within and presently Uncle Ross came to the door,knuckling his eyes as if he had been aroused from a nap, which indeed hehad.
"Howdy, Miss, howdy," he said to Madge and smiled at Cara. "Won't youstep right in--dat is, if you can find a groove to walk in with all thisdishevelment."
The girls returned the greeting, suggesting that they all sit under atree in the front yard where Uncle Ross had provided a bench for smokingand resting purposes.
"Uncle," Madge began when they were seated, "I have been told that yourfather was a caretaker at the old Swenster place years ago."
"'Deed he was, chile. He's tole me dat many a time. 'Sides dat, I used tolive dere myself when I was a boy."
"Do you remember that your father ever mentioned anything about thefamily pearls?" Madge inquired, watching him closely. "I mean the onesthat were lost."
"Oh, dem pearls! I used to hear heaps about 'em but dey just faded outwid de years. Sometimes I thinks dey neveh was any pearls--just ghostpearls dat went up in smoke if dey eveh was any such-like jewels in defamily."
"But can't you recall anything your father ever said about where hethought they had been hidden?" Madge persisted.
Uncle Ross scratched his white wool, assuming a pose of deep reflection.
"Mah ole memory is full o' holes now, Miss. It was so long ago dat de olehaid has lost its grip."
"But try and think, Uncle! What were your father's duties about theplace. He was a gardener for one thing, wasn't he?"
"Yes, Miss. De ole man was one of de expertest gardeners in dis town. Deywasn't anotheh family in dis whole town dat had a garden like demSwenster folks--roses a ramblin' around over de walls and honeysucklesloaded down wid hummin' birds. Dey don't have no more quality white folksdese days, no suh!"
"But Uncle," Madge insisted, smiling at the implication of her own socialstatus. "Surely you remember something your father said about the pearls.Maybe just a few words or even one word."
Uncle Ross reflected deeply again and then replied:
"I does remembeh dat de ole man was powerful wurrit 'bout what happenedto dem pearls. Fust place, he was 'fraid folks would say he stole 'em andhe was de honestest culled man in dis town. Yes, suh! Why, de ole man wasa Deacon in de church and de ministeh used to say--"
Madge saw he was going off on a new tangent so tried to draw him up.
"Yes, yes, Uncle. No one ever thought your father took the pearls. All wewant to know is if you recall anything he ever said about where hethought they might have been hidden."
The old Negro reflected deeply.
"Well, Miss, I does remembeh dat when de ole man was in dis here verysame house a passin' on to de otheh shore and sort of talkin' wild-likejest before he died, he said somethin' about de pearls. And den he saidanother word. Let me think. What wa
s it he said?"
While the girls waited patiently, hoping that he would be able to furnishthe clue they needed, Uncle Ross seemed to lose control of his brieflygathered memories. Madge could almost see them slipping away.
"Think hard, Uncle," she urged. "What was the word?"
Uncle Ross made one last grand effort to remember. He closed his eyes,shaking his head in a baffled sort of way.
Then speaking very slowly, as though probing his memory almost beyond itspowers, he said:
"Seems to me, Miss, he said somethin' about de sun. No, dat wasn't itneither. It was sun--"
"Not sundial," Madge supplied eagerly.
Uncle Ross' dark face brightened and he slapped his thigh a resoundingwhack.
"Dat was it! De word de ole man said was sundial!"
The Secret of the Sundial Page 11
