“I’m not sure. Father worked on it when Clyde was here. Then they disagreed. Father thought Clyde wasn’t honest and finally discharged him.”
“Why do you think Clyde would know where it is then?”
“He was always interested in the formula, Madge. And he knew Father’s habits even better than I did. He could always recall what became of his misplaced things.”
“Strange he’d be coming back just at this time,” Madge mused. “Especially since he was discharged.”
“Yes, Clyde was bitter toward Father at the time although he was paid several month’s extra wages. He seemed friendly toward me though and he’s likely forgotten all the unpleasantness by this time.”
Madge did not wish to discourage her friend yet she found it difficult to believe Clyde Wendell would go far out of his way to be of service.
“Better not pin too much hope on him,” she cautioned. “If we get busy we may be able to find that formula ourselves.”
“I’ve given the house a general overhauling but we can search again. Shall we do it today?”
“Let’s!” Madge agreed eagerly. “If only you had a hint as to what became of the thing! I suppose you’ve exhausted every possibility.”
“I’m afraid so,” Anne admitted. She hesitated and then added: “But there’s one clue I’ve neglected and it may be important.”
“What’s that?”
Anne smiled mysteriously, and linking arms with Madge, drew her toward the house.
“I’m afraid it really isn’t much of a clue,” Anne confessed, escorting her friend into the living room. “Just before Father died he tried to tell where he had hidden the formula but it was hard for him to speak. The nurse handed him paper and pencil and he managed to write a few words. He wasn’t able to finish the message.”
Anne moved over to the desk and took a scrap of paper from a pigeon hole. She handed it to Madge, watching her face closely as she scrutinized the cramped writing.
“Why, this doesn’t make sense!” Madge protested. “It just says, ‘written in secret—’ Is this all of it?”
Anne nodded.
“Only three words. I’ve puzzled over it until my head whirls. I’ve finally figured out that he was trying to tell me the formula had been written in some secret code.”
“Why would he have done that? To protect it?”
“Yes, Father was obsessed with the idea that someone wanted to steal the formula, particularly after his trouble with Clyde. At the very last—” Anne’s voice broke. “—he wasn’t quite himself. He kept calling for some one. ‘Kim’ he would say, ‘Kim’ and looked at me so strangely.”
“He knew some one by that name?”
“Not to my knowledge. He probably was delirious.”
It occurred to Madge that the entire idea of the formula might have been a delusion as her Aunt Maude had hinted. Tactfully, she broached the subject.
“Oh, no,” Anne protested. “At one time the formula actually existed and it was an excellent piece of research—I know that. I’m confident it is here in the house somewhere. Probably in the most out of the way place. Since Father took pains to write it out in code, I’m sure he secreted it where one would never think of searching.”
“Then our work is cut out for us,” Madge laughed. “If we ever do find the formula we’ll still have the code to unravel.”
“And it will be a real one too! Father made a hobby of codes. Years ago he did work along that line for the government.”
Madge’s interest in the missing formula had somewhat cheered Anne and the girls began their search of the house with high hope. They spent the better part of an hour browsing about Mr. Fairaday’s laboratory on the second floor, hunting through old ledgers and desk drawers. Satisfied that the lost paper was not to be found there they made a similar inspection of the old chemist’s bedroom, examining discarded letters and even searching behind pictures which hung on the walls.
“We might try the library,” Anne suggested at length. “I’ve looked there of course, but I’ve never gone carefully through the book shelves.”
They returned to the first floor and undaunted by the vast array of volumes lining the walls, attacked the stacks, working on opposite sides of the room. They went about the task methodically, removing each book from the shelf and shaking it carefully to see that nothing had been hidden between the pages.
Madge experienced a genuine thrill when an envelope, yellow with age, dropped from a volume of Keats’ poems. The girls seized upon it only to be bitterly disappointed when it turned out to be of no value.
“How provoking!” Anne cried impatiently. “I guess you’ve wasted your morning, Madge.”
“Oh, I don’t consider it wasted,” the other corrected without glancing up from the volume she was examining. “Say, this book looks interesting.”
“What is it? Kipling? That particular volume was Father’s favorite. It’s a real good story too. Take it home if you like.”
“I don’t think I should since it was your father’s—”
“Please do. I know you’ll take good care of it.”
“All right, but I’ll bring it back in a few days.”
“Keep it as long as you like.”
Presently, Madge said that she must return to the lodge and Anne accompanied her to the boat landing. Both were discouraged but tried not to disclose it to the other.
“Well, if we never find the formula, there’s one thing I can always do—sell this house. Jake Curtis has been after me to sell it to him ever since Father died.”
“Jake Curtis!” Madge exclaimed sharply. “Don’t you ever do it. He wouldn’t give you half what it’s worth. He has the reputation of being the shrewdest real estate shark in these parts.”
“I know. He wants to turn the house into a summer hotel.”
“And ruin Loon Lake. Imagine this place swarming with the sort of folks Jake Curtis would attract. The fishing would be ruined in two seasons!”
“He practically wants me to give him the place,” Anne informed. “You see, he holds a first mortgage on it—not a very large one but sufficient to embarrass me. If the bank will loan me enough money to pay it off, I’ll tell him to jump in the lake. I’d rather sell to anyone but him.”
“When does the mortgage come due?”
“Next month.”
Madge had heard her uncle remark that the local bankers were very reluctant to make loans at the present time and Anne’s prospects appeared especially slim.
“Well, I wish you luck,” she said turning to leave. “Things may straighten themselves out before the mortgage falls due.”
The next few days found Madge too busy to paddle over to the island for three guests arrived from the city to try their fishing luck. They asked endless questions, demanded constant service and had enormous appetites. In spite of the extra housework, Madge had time to consider Anne’s problem but she could think of no way out. Often too, her eyes turned toward Lookout 48 but while she frequently saw Jack French glide by in his canoe he never stopped at the lodge. Once she saw him carry a large box of groceries to Stewart Island.
“He has other things to do besides come to see me,” she told herself. “Why should I care?”
Yet she knew she did care a great deal.
One afternoon toward the end of the week, Madge was snatching a few minutes rest on the veranda when the telephone rang. Mrs. Brady answered, and soon stepped outside to speak to her niece.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Madge, but a stranger just telephoned from the White farmhouse. Jack French is bringing him out from town. He wants us to put him up for a few days.”
“Friend of Jack’s?”
“No, he merely brought him out as an accommodation. I don’t know the stranger’s name. He wants someone to meet him across the lake.”
“Just my luck Uncle George is gone. Isn’t Bill around?”
“He is always missing when there’s work to be done,” Mrs. Brady smiled. “I think his intuition warns him. I’m sorry to call on you.”
“Oh, I don’t really mind, providing there’s not more than one suitcase to ferry across,” Madge assured her quickly. “And if our guest is a gentleman he may offer to row back.”
She took her time crossing the lake for there was no sign of a car at the landing. Beaching the skiff she sat down on an old log. After a short wait she heard an automobile pounding down the private road which joined Loon Lake with the main highway. Madge arose expectantly.
A battered car swung into view and halted with a jerk. Jack French stepped lightly to the ground. He was a tall, handsome man, built like an All-American half-back, strong and straight, his every movement graceful. His face was richly tanned and his brown eyes were always a-twinkle, as though the world amused their owner. One knew at a glance that he would be restless under a man-made roof. He loved the canopy of the blue sky, and a wood or a stream or some rare tree gave him a keener enjoyment than any artificial diversion could have done.
He grinned cheerfully at Madge, greeting her flippantly.
“Hello, child. Here’s your new boarder—guess you’ve seen him before. I packed him out from Luxlow along with the grub.”
Jack’s gaze lingered half-quizzically as he spoke, but Madge looked beyond him to the man who was slowly climbing from the car. It was Clyde Wendell. The ranger had never liked him.
“I don’t believe we ever really met,” Madge stammered, slightly embarrassed at the unexpected meeting. “Of course, I’ve seen you from a distance.”
The chemist turned, surveying her rather sharply. His eyes were penetrating and hostile.
“You’re Miss Sterling, I suppose? I telephoned from the White’s for a room at Mrs. Brady’s lodge. If you’re here to take me across the lake, let’s get started. I’ve had a hard trip and I’m tired.”
In spite of his desire for haste, the chemist made no move to lift his suitcases from the rear of the car. He waited impatiently for the ranger to stow them in the skiff. Jack was provokingly slow.
“Aiming to do a little fishing?” he asked casually.
“I may.”
“Then I’ll give you a permit. This is a timber berth, you know and we have to be careful about fires.”
“Do I look like I’d set one?”
“I didn’t mean that,” Jack returned amiably. “In your case the permit is only a matter of form.”
“Then why issue it? I lived here several months.”
Jack did not respond but wrote out the necessary form and gave it to him. Clyde took it without a word of thanks and climbed into the skiff. Madge looked surprised and then went to the vacant seat beside the oars. She had expected that the chemist would at least offer to row across the lake.
“See here, Madge,” Jack protested quickly. “You can’t tote those heavy suitcases. I’ll bring them over later tonight.”
She would have accepted gratefully had not the chemist broke in irritably:
“The bags must go with us. I’ll need them before evening.”
“Really, I don’t mind,” Madge assured Jack. “Shove us off, will you, please?”
He complied, bestowing a look upon Clyde’s back which was far from complimentary. At first the skiff moved steadily through the water but before Madge had covered half the distance her arms began to tire. Clyde Wendell did not seem to notice. He stared moodily across the lake. Frequently, his dark, piercing eyes roved in the direction of Stewart Island.
The strangely tense expression of his face was not lost upon Madge. What thoughts could be running through his mind, she wondered? Why had he returned to Loon Lake?
“It’s for no good purpose,” she decided. “My guess is that he intends to make trouble for Anne Fairaday!”
Madge was washing breakfast dishes the next morning when Clyde Wendell entered the kitchen. He appeared in a better mood than upon his arrival and greeted her pleasantly.
“Good morning. I’d like to go for a little row on the lake. Can you let me have a boat?”
“I’ll see what we have,” she returned, wiping soap suds from her hands.
She walked down to the landing with him although she knew without looking that all of the boats save one were gone. The skiff had been rented out earlier that morning to another guest and Bill had taken one of the boats across the lake to gather stone for a new fireplace Mr. Brady was building. That left only a heavy, cumbersome craft which leaked rather badly.
“Perhaps you would prefer to wait until the skiff comes in,” she suggested doubtfully. “We seldom rent out this boat. It’s rather heavy and—”
“You keep it in reserve for yourself, eh?” the chemist interrupted with a knowing laugh. “Well, it looks like a good boat to me and I’ll take it.”
Madge started to protest then changed her mind. Without a word, she went to the woodshed and brought back a pair of oars which she fitted into the locks. Carelessly, she dropped a tin bucket into the bottom of the boat.
“What’s that for?” Clyde demanded suspiciously.
“Oh, just in case of a leak.”
The chemist should have been forewarned but the bottom of the boat was dry and he had implicit faith in his own judgment. Stepping into the craft he rowed away. Madge smiled as she watched him strike out across the lake. She returned to her dishes, but a few minutes later, hanging dish towels on the back porch, she observed that the boat had taken a direct course for Stewart Island.
“I wonder what he’s up to?” she mused. “I don’t believe he wanted me to know he was going over there to see Anne. I’d like to follow him over but of course that wouldn’t do.”
Though somewhat ashamed of her curiosity, Madge kept close watch of Stewart Island all morning. Toward noon the chemist’s boat was sighted returning slowly across the lake. She was amused to see that he frequently dropped his oars to bail water.
Presently, the boat eased to a landing.
“Say, what do you mean by giving me an old leaky tub?” the chemist called out angrily as he caught sight of Madge on the veranda. “I darn near drowned!”
“I guess the boat does leak a trifle,” she admitted readily. “I tried to tell you but you were so determined not to wait for the skiff.”
“You didn’t hurt yourself trying to tell me! Look at my clothes—wet to the skin. If I hadn’t bailed like all get-out I’d have gone to the bottom.”
“The boat never entirely fills,” Madge corrected sweetly.
Clyde stalked angrily into the house to change his wet shoes and garments. Madge tied up the boat, chuckling at his discomfiture.
“Something must have gone wrong over at Stewart Island,” she thought shrewdly. “I’ll find out when I see Anne again.”
The opportunity was to present itself that very afternoon. Soon after luncheon, Clyde Wendell went for a walk in the forest and a short time later, Madge sighted Anne’s familiar red canoe on the lake. As the girl came toward the lodge, she raced down to the water’s edge to meet her.
Anne looked cautiously about before she beached her canoe.
“Clyde Wendell isn’t anywhere near, is he?” she asked in a low tone. “If he is, I can’t stay.”
“He left a half hour ago. What’s wrong, Anne? You look worried.”
“I am. Oh, Madge, everything has gone wrong. You were right about Clyde. He didn’t come here to help at all. He’s the meanest man in the world!”
“What has he done now?”
“He claims I owe him five hundred dollars. Or rather, that Father did. He insists that several months back wages were due him at the time he left here. It’s too ridiculous for words! Actually, Father paid him extra money to be rid of him.”
“Haven’t you a cancelled check or a receipt to prove it?”
“Not a thing. Father wouldn’t bother about a receipt. Clyde knows that he was more than paid for his services. I’m afraid he thinks I’m inexperienced about business matters and that he can bluff me into giving him the money.”
“I’d never do it.”
Anne laughed shortly.
“No danger of that. I couldn’t find five hundred dollars if my life depended upon it. The only way I can raise money is to borrow from the bank or sell my island. And in this country islands are as common as pine trees and about as cheap!”
“Not such islands as yours,” Madge corrected. “Uncle George says you have an ideal location and the place should bring a tidy sum if sold to the right party.”
“Well, Jake Curtis isn’t the right party. I’m sure of that. He knows it will be hard for me to pay the debt I owe him and I think he means to take advantage of me if he can. I’m to see the president of the First National bank today and ask him for a loan. Jack said he would take me to town in his car. Won’t you come with us?”
Madge replied that she should not leave but Anne coaxed her until she gave in. They crossed the lake and found Jack waiting with his car. He seemed well pleased that Madge was to go along.
At Luxlow he dropped the girls at the bank, promising to call for them in an hour. They entered the building and Anne was admitted to the private office of the president. Madge waited outside.
Fifteen minutes elapsed before Anne emerged. The expression of her face disclosed instantly that the interview had not been successful.
“It’s no use,” she reported when they were outside again. “He listened politely enough to my story but he wasn’t really interested. When I finished he said he was sorry he could do nothing for me. It seems the bank must have sound collateral and I’ve nothing to pledge.”
Madge tried to cheer her companion, and since over a half hour remained before Jack would return, suggested that they go to a nearby drug store for ice cream. They walked slowly down the street, gazing at the window displays.
Suddenly Anne clutched her friend’s arm, gripping it with a hard pressure. With a quick jerk of her head she indicated a man on the opposite side of the street.
“There’s Jake Curtis!” she said tensely. “I hope he doesn’t see me!”
No sooner had the words been spoken than the man turned toward the girls. He was a short, stout individual with ill-fitting, somewhat soiled clothing and a hard, shrewd face. Before Anne and Madge could dodge into a store he crossed the street and confronted them.
“Trying to avoid me, eh?”
“Why should I wish to avoid you, Mr. Curtis?” Anne countered.
“Well, there’s a little matter of a note between us, y’know.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Aiming to pay it off by the first, are you?”
“Why,—I—that is, I expect to,” Anne stammered.
“Better think over that proposition I made you. You’ll not find any other person in these parts who will take the house off your hands. I must warn you though, I’ll expect payment of one kind or another on the day my note falls due.”
“I’ll bear it in mind,” Anne returned coldly.
The girls turned their backs and walked hurriedly on. Anne was so agitated by the meeting that she did not care to stop at the drug store so they returned to the bank there to await Jack.
“Jake Curtis surely deserves his reputation!” Madge declared in disgust. “Oh, Anne, don’t ever sell him your island!”
“I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Perhaps Uncle George can find a buyer for you. I’ll speak to him tonight about it. And then we may locate the formula. That would solve everything.”
Jack soon returned and the three started for Loon Lake. Anne who was reticent by nature, made no mention of her discouraging bank interview, and although Madge would have liked to acquaint the ranger with the situation, she felt it was not her place to bring up the subject.
The sun was low over the lake when the car finally reached the end of the road. The girls thanked Jack for the ride and took leave of him. They crossed over to the lodge in Anne’s canoe.
“I mustn’t stop, Madge. It’s getting late.”
“Do come in for just a minute,” her friend pleaded. “I baked a chocolate cake this morning and I want you to have half of it.”
Anne permitted herself to be led toward the house. Madge quickly wrapped up the cake but scarcely had she finished than they heard a shout from the beach. The next instant Old Bill came hurrying toward the house.
“Come quick, folks! An airplane’s landin’ on the lake. You’ll miss it if you don’t hurry!”
Madge laughed indulgently.
“Don’t pay any attention, Anne. That’s an old trick of his. He thinks every day is April Fool’s. Think up something better, Bill.”
“Honest, I’m not foolin’ this time,” Bill maintained with a seriousness which left no room for doubt. “Hear it?”
By this time the girls had caught the unmistakable drone of an airplane motor. They rushed from the house, following Bill to the beach, and were in time to see an amphibian spiral down and land smoothly on the water.
“Didn’t I tell you!” Bill chortled proudly. “It was three years last month that a mail plane landed on Loon Lake. Engine must be out of whack.”
Madge did not respond though she saw clearly that the plane was not of the regular mail service. Nor was it one of the “Fire Eagles” occasionally sent out by the Forest Service to scout for fires. As far as she could tell the plane was disabled in no way. The steady throb of its motors carried plainly over the water.
“Well, of all things!” Madge exclaimed. “What do you think of that!”
The amphibian was taxiing slowly through the water, its nose pointed directly toward the beach.
The amphibian coasted slowly in toward the beach, throttled down its motors and finally came to a halt.
“Can you tell me if a Miss Fairaday lives anywhere on this lake?” the pilot called out.
Anne and Madge exchanged startled glances. The former stepped forward.
“I am she.”
To her further astonishment, the pilot said a few words to his passenger, a well-dressed, elderly gentleman, who immediately climbed from the front cockpit. He presented his card to Anne.
“I’m Brownell from the Alton Chemical Company. I happened to be this way on a business trip and thought I’d drop in to discuss that matter which I wrote you about some time ago. By the way, we didn’t hear from you.”
Anne looked embarrassed and said hesitantly:
“I hadn’t had time to write. You see, the formula—” she trailed off as Madge gave her a warning look. It would never do to tell Mr. Brownell that the paper was missing—not unless she wanted to throw away her chance of ever selling it to him if it were found.
“If the formula is all your Father claimed it to be, we may be willing to enter into an agreement with you,” Mr Brownell declared. “Now if you’ll just let me see the formula—”
“I’m afraid I can’t now,” Anne returned. “You see I don’t live here. My home is at Stewart Island.”
Mr Brownell brushed away her objections with a careless wave of his hand.
“Oh, I don’t mind going there. In fact, if you’re not afraid to ride in a plane, my pilot can take us both to the island.”
“Well,—you see—that is, the formula was put away for safe keeping,” Anne stammered.
“You mean you haven’t it at hand? How soon can you get it?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps I could write you later—”
“No, I’ve traveled a good many miles to see it. Fact is, our company is anxious to get just such a formula as your Father described to us. If you can get it in a day or so I’m of a mind to stay over. I can send my plane back to the city and return by train.”
Anne was at a loss to know what to say. She looked doubtfully at Madge who was unable to help her.
“I can’t make any promise about the formula,” she said after a slight hesitation.
“You’re not dealing with another company, I hope,” Mr. Brownell said quickly.
“Oh, no. Father wrote to several firms, I believe, but I’ve not entered into any correspondence.”
Mr. Brownell did not seem entirely convinced. He debated a minute, studying the lake meditatively.
“Any fish here?” he questioned abruptly.
“It’s the best fishing lake in this part of the country,” Madge informed quickly. “Only this morning my uncle caught a seven pound bass. And it put up a magnificent fight.”
“I’d enjoy meeting a bass like that. If I can find accommodations I’ll stay a day or so.”
Madge suggested that her aunt might take him in, and arrangements were soon made. As the amphibian taxied away without its passenger, Clyde Wendell came down the trail. Anne did not wish to speak to him and hurriedly took her departure.
“What shall I do about the formula?” she whispered to Madge as they said goodbye at the water’s edge. “Shall I tell him it’s lost?”
“Not for a day or so,” Madge advised. “If we can get him interested in the fishing it will give us a little time to search. We may find the thing yet.”
Mr. Brownell had followed Mrs. Brady into the lodge but Clyde Wendell lingered near the beach. As Madge turned toward the house he stopped her.
“Who is that fellow?”
“His name is Mr. Brownell.”
“What was he saying to Anne Fairaday just a minute ago?”
“Really, I think you should ask her,” Madge returned coldly.
She had no intention of telling him Mr. Brownell’s real mission. Before he could ask another question, she walked away. However, the chemist was not so easily discouraged and that night at the supper table, he skillfully drew from Mr. Brownell the purpose of his visit to Loon Lake.
“If you’re looking for a formula to prevent metals rusting, you may be interested in an idea of mine,” Clyde suggested. “I’ve been working on it for years. If you have the time, I’d like to go into the matter in complete detail.”
Mr. Brownell expressed a keen interest and the two retired to the veranda, there to talk more privately. They were still engrossed in deep conversation when Madge finished the supper dishes.
“If that isn’t just what you’d expect of Clyde Wendell!” she thought in disgust. “He wouldn’t care if he took the bread out of Anne’s mouth. I do hope his idea is a flop.”
After a time the two men went to their rooms. Madge was closing the doors for the night when she heard the faint put-put of a motor boat, far out on the lake.
“I wonder who can be out so late?” she thought. “It might be one of the rangers only it doesn’t sound like their boat.”
She shut the door and thought no more of it. It was her intention to paddle over to Stewart Island early the next morning to aid Anne in the search for the formula. Upon arising, she was startled to observe a white flag flying from a high point on the island.
Madge did not wait for breakfast, fearing that something had gone wrong during the night and that her friend might be in trouble. As she beached her canoe at Stewart Island, Anne came running down to meet her.
“Anything wrong?” Madge inquired anxiously.
“I’ll show you,” Anne said impressively.
She led her companion to the house and they entered the dining room. Anne went directly to a huge walnut buffet and jerked open the drawers. They were all empty.
“That’s what happened last night. All the silverware taken!”
“My word!” Madge scarcely could believe her eyes. “Why, I never heard of such a thing before at Loon Lake. Was the silverware very valuable?”
“I couldn’t afford to lose it. Still, it wasn’t such a costly grade of silver. I can’t see why a thief would go to so much risk to steal it unless he thought he would find other valuables.”
“What else was taken?”
“Nothing so far as I can tell. The library was ransacked but everything seems to be there.”
“The library! How very odd!”
“Yes, I can’t imagine what the thief thought he might find.”
Madge started to say something, then closed her lips firmly. She had a theory of her own but decided not to mention it yet. She followed Anne to the library. Books had been pulled from their shelves and tumbled out upon the floor. Papers were scattered about and the desk appeared to have been opened.
“I haven’t checked over all the books yet,” Anne said, “though to my knowledge Father had only a few of any real value. They’re all here.”
“What time of night do you imagine the house was entered?”
“Oh, Madge, I have no idea. I must have slept so well that I didn’t hear a sound. Strange that I didn’t, for I’m sure the thief came upstairs. The laboratory appears to have been entered.”
Madge expressed a desire to see Mr. Fairaday’s workroom and was conducted upstairs. The laboratory was in disarray. Boxes had been removed from the shelves, containers misplaced and files disturbed.
“It looks as if the thief were after something besides silverware,” she commented. “I suppose your Father’s bedroom was entered too?”
“No, apparently not. My room adjoins and I am sure I would have awakened if anyone had tried to open the door. Perhaps the intruder knew where I slept and avoided that part of the house.”
Madge moved thoughtfully about the laboratory examining articles which had been misplaced. In spite of the disorder, the thief had left behind no clue to his identity.
“Anne, you haven’t mentioned the formula to anyone save Mr. Brownell, have you?” she asked suddenly.
“Why, no. That is, except to Clyde Wendell. I asked him if he had any idea what could have become of it and he said he knew nothing about it. You don’t think the person who came here last night was after the formula?”
“Perhaps not. It merely occurred to me.” Madge lapsed into thoughtful silence. “I can’t think of anyone save Mr. Brownell who would want to lay hands on that missing paper,” she added, after a moment, “and I’m sure he never left the house last night. But just as I was going to bed, I do recall hearing a motor boat out on the lake and it sounded as though it might be heading toward Stewart Island.”