“Jake Curtis has one, Madge!”
“I thought of that right away but what reason would he have for coming here?”
“It’s beyond me. All I know is that my silverware is gone. You don’t suppose someone—Jake for instance, is trying to frighten me away from here?”
“That’s a possibility,” Madge conceded. “Jake is bent on getting this property by one means or another. Still, your theory doesn’t entirely satisfy me.”
From the laboratory the girls went to Mr. Fairaday’s bedroom. After a brief search which revealed no clues, they examined the other upstairs rooms and then returned to the first floor. The identity of the prowler remained a mystery.
“You can’t stay here alone another night,” Madge protested. “If you don’t care to come to the lodge, then I think I should remain here.”
“I wish you would!”
Madge did not look forward to a night at Stewart Island. She preferred her own comfortable room at the lodge to the gloomy, barn-like Fairaday home. However, for the sake of her friend, she was glad to undergo a little inconvenience. After promising to return before nightfall, she took her leave.
Half way across the lake, she swung her canoe toward the lookout tower. Before she could climb the long flight of iron stairs to the platform, Jack French came down the trail, whistling a cheerful tune. He broke off as he saw Madge and greeted her with a broad smile.
“Hello, there. Why the serious expression so early in the morning?”
“I’ve had no breakfast for one thing. And for another, exciting events have taken place during the night.”
“If this apple will help stave off the pangs of hunger, you’re welcome to it,” he said, taking a polished red Winesap from his jacket pocket. “Perhaps it will give you strength to tell me all about the excitement.”
Madge accepted the apple gratefully.
“I’m afraid you’d give away the shirt off your back, Jack,” she smiled.
“I would to you,” he returned quietly. She glanced up, surprised at the tone of his voice. Before she could divine his meaning, he laughed. “What’s an apple, Madge? No sense getting sentimental about one when I’ve a case at home.”
Madge felt slightly rebuffed and immediately changed the subject to the one foremost in her mind. Jack listened attentively as she told him all that had befallen the previous night at Stewart Island.
“I’ll drop around there this morning and look things over,” he promised. “Tracking down a thief isn’t my line exactly, but I’ll be glad to do anything I can to help you and Anne. This is the first theft that’s been reported since I came to Loon Lake.”
At the lodge, Madge repeated the story for her aunt’s benefit but she took care that neither Clyde Wendell nor Mr. Brownell were within hearing distance. The latter had gone fishing with Old Bill as his guide, and their boat could be seen trolling slowly along the far shore. The chemist stationed himself in a comfortable chair on the porch. He appeared to be drowsing, yet whenever Madge glanced in his direction she noticed that he was watching the fishing boat intently.
“He seems afraid he’ll miss something,” she thought. “I wonder how long he intends to remain here?”
The chemist made no announcement of his future plans. He seemed content to sit and dream and think. In contrast, Mr. Brownell was a bundle of energy. He arose at dawn to fish and did not return until late in the evening. Several times Madge heard him remark that he must get over to Stewart Island to see Anne Fairaday, but each day saw him fishing instead.
Madge and Anne welcomed the delay for although they had searched the house many times, the formula could not be found. Mrs. Brady had been reluctant to have her niece spend the nights at Stewart Island, but after several had passed with nothing amiss, she had grown more accustomed to the idea.
One evening, four days after Mr. Brownell’s arrival at the lodge, Madge was particularly anxious to get supper over with so that she might start for the island. It was nearly seven o’clock before Mr. Brownell and Bill came in with their string of fish. The president was proud of four large trout he had caught and after they were weighed, requested that they be prepared for supper. It was well after eight before the dishes were cleared away.
“I’ll do them,” Mrs. Brady offered. “You must hurry along, Madge.”
It was dark by the time she pulled up on the beach at Stewart Island. There was no moon and the stars were half-hidden by black clouds. Madge could not see the house. If a lamp had been lighted, it did not shine out through the trees.
“This is a spooky place after dark,” she thought uncomfortably. “Wish I had my flash.”
It was difficult to find the path leading to the house. Groping about, she stepped into a mud hole which let her in to her shoetops. The trees along the shore were dense and overgrown with vegetation. At length she found a trail but before she had followed it very far she discovered it was leading her deeper into the brush instead of toward the house.
She turned back, and impatient at the delay, walked hurriedly, paying slight attention to the ground underfoot. Unexpectedly, she stumbled over a vine. She tried to save herself but went down, striking her body against a hollow log which lay directly ahead.
Madge cried out but it was more from surprise than pain. In striking the log she distinctly had heard from within a strange metallic sound!
She gave the log an exploratory kick with her foot. Again she heard the sound.
“Something is hidden in there,” she thought. Stooping down, she groped about the opening at one end of the log. It was clogged with leaves and loose moss which she pulled away. She boldly plunged her arm into the opening.
“Hope I don’t get it chewed off!” she chuckled.
Her hand grasped something hard.
“What in the world?” she gasped.
Then she knew. It was Anne’s missing silverware.
“This is a discovery!” Madge assured herself as she made successive thrusts into the old log, tumbling out knives, forks and spoons. “Wait until Anne sees what I’ve found!”
Making certain that she had removed everything from the cache, she gathered up the silverware and hurried back to the beach. This time she made no mistake in selecting the path and a few minutes later saw the welcoming gleam of a light through the trees. She rapped on the door and after a brief wait, Anne flung it open.
“Oh, here you are! I was afraid you weren’t coming. Why, what do you have?”
“Your silver,” Madge laughed and thumped it down on the table. “See if it’s all here.”
“Where did you find it?” Anne was fairly dancing with excitement. “Oh, I’m so glad to get it back. Tell me, did the rangers capture the thief?”
“One question at a time,” Madge protested. “I’ll tell you everything while we check over the pieces. How many were there?”
“Twelve of everything.”
Already Madge had started to sort the forks. Anne began on the spoons and while they counted, she learned of the strange hiding place.
“I’ve gone by that log a dozen times,” she declared, “but it never occurred to me to look inside. Who could have hidden the silver there?”
“I wish you’d tell me. Why was it hidden there at all? If the thief broke into the house to steal it why didn’t he take it away with him?”
“Perhaps he was afraid of being caught.”
“Anne, I believe that the person who entered this house wasn’t after the silver at all.”
“Then why did he take it?”
“To throw you off the track or to frighten you,” Madge returned impressively. “Either someone is after the formula or else trying to make you give up this house.”
“It looks that way. I’d suspect Jake Curtis only it appears that if he were trying to frighten me, he would have taken a more effective means. We haven’t been disturbed since you began sleeping here nights.”
“I know,” Madge agreed. “It may not be Jake at all. It could be someone who is after the formula.”
“Mr. Brownell is the only one who wants it and you say he is so interested in fishing he can’t think of anything else.”
“Well, it seems that way. Of course, there’s Clyde. Why do you suppose he stays around here so long?”
“To collect that money he claims I owe him,” Anne returned with an angry toss of her head. “He rowed over here this afternoon to tell me that unless I paid him in a week’s time he intended to sue! Oh, I wonder if any girl was ever in such a situation? Everyone after me for money and I haven’t a cent!”
“Uncle George might be able to loan you some,” Madge said doubtfully. “I don’t know—”
“No, I’ll not borrow from him when I can’t be sure of paying it back,” Anne announced with decision. “I think the best thing to do is to tell Mr. Brownell the truth about the formula. Then I’ll sell my house to Jake Curtis and try to clear up my debts.”
“You’re discouraged tonight,” Madge said kindly, slipping her arm about the other. “I’m not fully convinced the formula can’t be found. What say we have one grand final search tomorrow?”
Anne agreed without enthusiasm. They finished counting the silver and accounted for all pieces save one knife which Madge thought must have been left in the log. Anne put everything away in its place and locked the doors and windows for the night. They went about it in businesslike fashion, trying not to show that they felt the slightest uneasiness. Nevertheless, both experienced a certain dread of spending the night alone in the house, an insecurity which they could not express in words. The feeling had steadily grown upon them since the discovery of the theft.
Mounting the spiral stairs to the bedroom they shared, the girls clung tightly to each other. They hurriedly undressed and Anne blew out the oil lamp. She made a running dive into bed, snuggling close to Madge who gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Save for the moaning of the wind, the house was quiet. Almost too quiet. In the dark the girls could easily imagine that someone was creeping up the stairs. Suddenly a door slammed.
“What was that?” Madge whispered.
“It must have been a screen door,” Anne returned nervously.
They listened intently for a minute or two but the only sound was the brushing of a tree-branch against the window. Gradually they relaxed and dropped off to sleep. And the next thing they knew it was morning.
“Get up, lazy thing!” Madge ordered, springing from bed and taking all the covers with her. “I feel like a swim this morning.”
They slipped into bathing suits and dashed down to the beach. Madge plunged boldly into the cold water and swam away with powerful crawl strokes. Anne timidly waded out knee depth and stood there shivering.
“Come on, don’t be afraid to get your ears wet!” Madge challenged.
Under her direction, Anne lost some of her timidity but she found it difficult to entirely forget her recent water fright. Before the swim ended she was able to float on her back and splash about with some resemblance to a stroke.
The water was too cold to encourage a long swim but it did stimulate two healthy appetites. After a brisk rub down, the girls did justice to a breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, toast and wild strawberries in thick cream.
“And now, let’s have a look at that old log,” Madge proposed.
She led the way to the place where she had found the silverware. The ground in the vicinity of the log was slightly damp and Madge noticed footprints. She bent down to examine them. Nearly all had been made from her own small shoe, but there were a few indistinct ones, left in the soft earth by a man’s tread.
“Here’s the missing knife!” Anne cried jubilantly. “You must have dropped it on the trail.”
Next the girls carefully investigated the inside of the log but it was empty. They tried to follow the footsteps leading away from the vicinity, only to lose the trail before they had gone a quarter of the way to the beach.
“I’d give plenty to know who took my silver,” Anne remarked as they returned to the house. “And I’d give even more to know if the thief really got away with anything valuable—the formula for instance.”
“I doubt it. My own opinion is that it will take a master mind to unearth it.”
After the breakfast dishes had been disposed of, the girls set about searching once more for the missing paper. They looked in every out-of-the-way cranny in the house and even poked into the attic; they emptied old trunks and boxes of rubbish. At last, weary and discouraged, they gave up.
“It’s no use,” Anne said miserably. “If Father ever wrote out that formula, it’s gone. The next time I see Mr. Brownell I’ll tell him he is only wasting his time to remain here.”
“Let’s go fishing and forget it,” Madge proposed suddenly. “If I think about formulas and silverware and what-not much longer, I’ll go crazy. Let’s go to Elf Lake on an all-day picnic.”
Anne fell in with the plan for she too was tired of trying to solve problems which appeared to have no solution. They agreed to meet at Black Rock at one o’clock since Madge must return home to acquaint Mrs. Brady with details of the trip. On her way back to the lodge she stopped at the lookout to inquire of Jack if they might use his boat which was kept at Elf Lake.
“Of course,” he assured her heartily. “You know you didn’t need to ask.”
Promptly at one o’clock Madge arrived at Black Rock to find Anne already waiting.
“We’ll not need to carry the canoe across the portage,” she informed Anne. “Jack left a boat there last week when he was doing ranger work. We’ll only have our oars to carry.”
The girls paddled until they came to a tiny cove which was distinguished by two large white birch trees, marking the portage trail. There they pulled their canoe out upon the beach and set off through the woods, carrying oars and fishing equipment. The portage was a long mile but the girls were accustomed to hiking and took it at a brisk pace.
Soon they came within sight of Elf Lake which glimmered brightly in the afternoon sun. At first they could find no sign of Jack’s boat but when they were about to despair Madge located it under a pile of brush near the water. They quickly launched it and rowed to the far side of the lake, anchoring near a stretch of lily pads.
“Now, old Mr. Bass, just sample my bait!” Madge coaxed.
Time and time again the girls cast into the weeds and lily pads, using all manner of appetizing worms, pork rind and artificial bait but for some reason, their efforts went unrewarded. They changed locations with no better luck.
“The fish in this lake must all have post graduate degrees,” Madge complained. “At least, they’re too foxy for me.”
After several hours under the blazing sun Anne was thoroughly discouraged but Madge would not give up. And then as the sun was sinking low, she was rewarded with a strike. She played her fish deftly and landed him. Anne had no time to applaud for a frisky bass had attached himself to her line at the identical moment.
After that, the fishing was good. The girls became so enthusiastic that they failed to notice how rapidly the sun was sinking. Madge was the first to observe that it was growing dark.
“Anne, we must start back this minute!” she exclaimed. “The sun has set and it will be pitch dark before we get through the portage.”
They rowed hurriedly to shore and left the boat where they had found it. Almost at a run they started down the trail. It was far darker in the forest than upon the lake. The path was not distinct. Though Madge had been over it any number of times, she knew it would be difficult to follow.
“Let’s run,” Anne suggested anxiously.
The oars and string of fish encumbered them and they soon were forced to a slow walk. Before they had gone far into the forest, darkness closed in. Madge took the lead, and more from instinct than sight, kept to the trail. Presently, she noticed that the going was more difficult. Vines and old stumps were always in the way; there seemed no distinct opening through the trees.
“We’re lost!” she thought in panic.
She tried to remain calm and not communicate her fear to Anne who was blindly following her lead. She went on for a time but presently encountered such a tangle of bushes and vines that to turn back was the only course. They tried to retrace their steps. Anne was on the verge of tears.
“We’ll be here all night,” she murmured apprehensively.
“No, we won’t,” Madge insisted stubbornly. “We’ll get out, only I think we’re wasting time trying to find the trail. If we cut straight through the woods in the direction we’re going we should strike Loon Lake eventually.”
Anne who was hopelessly confused in her directions was ready to follow wherever her chum led. Madge tried not to disclose that she too was uncertain. They kept close together, walking as swiftly as possible. Frequently, they tripped over vines or stumps and once Anne sank nearly to her knees in a muck hole.
“I can’t go much farther,” she half sobbed.
“Yes, you can,” Madge encouraged. “I think I see an opening through the trees. Yes, I do! It’s the lake!”
Anne found the strength to continue and soon they emerged at the shore. They looked about and saw that they were less than two hundred yards from the portage trail.
“Well, of all the stupidity!” Madge exclaimed and laughed. “We were only a few steps from the trail most of the time.”
“I thought we were in an African jungle,” Anne sighed wearily.
They followed the shore until they came to their canoe. Madge insisted upon paddling for Anne was even more tired than she.
“It’s fortunate Aunt Maude doesn’t expect me back home,” she remarked as they pushed off. “Otherwise, she would have a searching party out looking for us.”
Both were relieved when they came within sight of Stewart Island for their only desire was to tumble into bed and sleep the clock around. They were still several hundred yards from the landing when Madge stopped paddling and peered intently ahead.
“Anne,” she said in a low tone, “unless I’m dreaming, I saw a light just then. Someone is at the island.”
Anne turned to look. She too caught the flash of a lantern moving slowly along the shore.
“It must be Jack French or Bill Ramey,” she said with an attempt at carelessness. “I’ll call.”
Her voice carried clearly out over the water but no answering call greeted the “hallo.” The light stopped moving, as though its owner had turned to survey the lake. Then the lantern went out.
It was too dark for the girls to distinguish objects either on the water or along the shore, but a moment after the light went out they distinctly heard the sound of oars working in their locks. Apparently, someone was trying to get away from the island before their arrival.
“Let’s find out who it is,” Madge said in a low tone.
She snatched up the paddle again and sent the canoe skimming through the water. Presently she paused to listen.
“I can’t hear a thing now, Anne. Can you?”
“No, the boat must have pulled up along the mainland somewhere. I’m afraid we’ve lost him.”
Anne paddled slowly along the shore, peering toward the dense fringe of trees and underbrush. There was no sign of a boat.
“We’ve probably passed it by this time,” Madge said at last. “If the boat has been drawn up into the brush we could hunt all night and never find it.”
They cruised about for some minutes but finally turned back toward Stewart Island, convinced that they were only wasting time. Even after they had landed there, they stood for nearly fifteen minutes on the beach, watching for the mysterious boat to reappear upon the lake.
“He means to lie low,” Anne declared wearily. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starved.”
“I wonder if the house has been entered again?” Madge considered, as they started up the path carrying their string of fish.
“Well, I hope it isn’t turned topsy-turvy. I’m too tired to lift a hand tonight.”
They let themselves into the house and were relieved to find it in its usual order. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed.
“Perhaps it was only old Bill Ramey, after all,” Anne suggested. “He acts queerly sometimes.”
“It wasn’t Bill,” Madge insisted. “I’m sure of that. It may have been that thief returning for the silver he hid in the log.”
“That doesn’t fit in with our theory about the formula,” Anne pointed out. “We decided that the silverware was only taken to throw us off the track. Why then, would the thief risk coming back for it?”
“I guess he wouldn’t. Oh, I give it up. Let’s eat!”
She cleaned several of the bass, which soon were sizzling in a pan of butter. The girls ate heartily. They were too tired to wash the dishes, so stacked them neatly in the sink. When they dropped into bed a few minutes later, they were too weary to even consider that with a stranger prowling about, their situation might not be too secure. Scarcely had their heads touched the pillow than they were asleep.
The girls were awake early the next morning. Insisting that she could not remain for breakfast, Madge started for home. Rounding the point of the mainland not far from the lodge, her attention was attracted to an empty boat which was drifting close to shore.
“Why, that looks like one of ours,” she thought.
Drawing nearer, she saw that it was her uncle’s skiff. The waves were pounding it mercilessly upon the rocks.
“I’m afraid it’s already damaged,” she told herself as she fastened the rope to her own boat. “It must not have been securely tied to the dock. I wonder who used it last?”
She decided that it must have been either Clyde Wendell or Mr. Brownell, for her aunt seldom went out on the water and Mr. Brady was always careful. Old Bill had been warned repeatedly to see that the boats were firmly tied, but he was careless.
Mr. Brady was working along the shore when Madge came in with the boat in tow. He met the girl at the dock, asking where she had found it.
“I noticed the boat was missing this morning,” he added. “I told Bill to go out and look for it, but he’s been killing time at something or other.”
Mr. Brady pulled the boat out upon the sand and turned it bottom side up. Madge watched him as he examined the covering for stone cuts.
“Who used it last?” she asked curiously.
“I’d like to know myself,” her uncle returned grimly. “I didn’t rent it to any of the guests. Either someone sneaked it out after dark last night, or Bill used it. If I thought he was responsible, I’d fire him. This boat is practically ruined.”
“You’ve discharged poor old Bill three times already,” Madge reminded him impishly. “When he tells you his hard luck story, you always take him back.”
At this very moment the veteran workman slouched leisurely into view and Mr. Brady promptly hailed him. Old Bill approached warily, knowing from the tone of the voice, that something unpleasant was in store. Confronted with the evidence, he staunchly denied having used the boat the previous night.
“You think I’d go out on the lake after toting stone all day? Not me! I tell ye, a man’s dog tired arfter workin’ hard from mornin’ till night. An’ if I had a taken out the boat, you’d heve found it tied up ship-shape. No, sir, arfter I had me supper last night, I went straight to bed.”
He would have continued with a more elaborate denial but Mr. Brady cut him short. Bill went off looking affronted.
To question the guests was a delicate matter, but Mr. Brady was bent upon getting at the bottom of the matter. He politely brought up the subject at the dinner table, and both the chemist and Mr. Brownell insisted that they had not used the boat.
“Someone is telling a whopper,” Madge thought. “It wouldn’t surprise me if the person who took that boat used it to visit Stewart Island.”
Although the question had been put to him in a casual way, Clyde adopted the attitude that he was under suspicion. He sulked about the house the early part of the afternoon, scarcely addressing a pleasant word to anyone. Then, evidently upon sudden impulse, he rented the canoe and set out for Stewart Island.
Mr. Brownell who had been loafing about the lodge the better part of the morning, did not see him leave, but a few minutes later, he too expressed a desire to go out upon the lake. Madge explained that with the skiff damaged, the canoe in use, and Bill hauling stone in the boat, it would be impossible.
“But I must get over to Stewart Island,” he protested. “I’ve put it off too long now.”
“Unless you care to swim I’m afraid you must wait until Bill or Clyde return,” Madge returned.
She did not wish to help Mr. Brownell reach Stewart Island, knowing that Anne was not ready for his visit, but she had been truthful in saying that there was no way for him to make the trip.
“Anne will have trouble enough with Clyde,” she thought. “I imagine he’s bothering her about money again.”
Mr. Brownell wandered restlessly up and down the beach, watching the lake for a glimpse of the canoe or Old Bill. After a time he sat down on the veranda to read and Madge who had finished her work, brought out the books Anne had loaned her. Until now she had not had an opportunity to look them over. Propping herself in the porch swing, she settled down for an hour of pleasant reading.
She picked up the first volume and her face underwent a distinct change as she read the title of the Kipling book.
“‘Kim,’” she repeated to herself. “Strange I never thought of the connection before this! I’m sure Anne said Kim was the last word her father spoke before his death.”
She continued to stare at the little volume in her hand. The word seemed to burn deeply into her mind. It must have significance. She recalled Anne had told her the Kipling book was her father’s favorite. Could there be a connection between the hidden formula and the book?
“Anne probably never dreamed of such a thing or she wouldn’t have loaned the volume to me,” Madge reasoned. “It may be only another wild idea of mine and yet it’s barely possible I’ve stumbled upon a clue.”
She held the book up and shook it but nothing fell to the ground. Slightly disappointed, she began a systematic search, turning the pages one by one. She failed to find a paper of any description and there was not the slightest trace of writing on the margins or fly leaves.
Madge decided that she had made a mistake and tossed the book impatiently aside. Her interest in reading had vanished. She gazed meditatively out across the lake. Then her face brightened and she snatched up the Kipling book again.
Why hadn’t she thought of it before? When Mr. Fairaday had attempted to tell Anne where the formula was hidden he had broken off with the words: “Written in secret—” and kept repeating “Kim.” Perhaps he had tried to say: “Written in secret ink.” Wasn’t it possible that he had endeavored to convey the idea that the important message was written on one of the fly leaves or the page margins of “Kim”?
Overcome with enthusiasm for what she considered a most brilliant deduction, Madge broke forth in a little war whoop. She stopped short as she heard someone laugh. She had entirely forgotten Mr. Brownell.
“Well, well,” he remarked dryly, “that book must be interesting to affect you like that!”
Before Madge could prevent it, he moved over to the swing and curiously picked up the book she had been reading. Her face was the hue of a ripe tomato.
“I guess I’ll just take this along with me,” he said teasingly.
“Oh, no!” Madge exclaimed and then added hastily: “You see, it’s a borrowed book. I—I’m not through with it myself.”
Mr. Brownell laughed but he continued to study the book.
“When you’re through with it, I’d like to have it,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to read ‘Kim’.”
With that he dropped the book into Madge’s lap and vanished into the lodge. Scarcely had the door closed behind him that she snatched up the little volume and bore it triumphantly to her bedroom.
“Sorry, Mr. Brownell,” she chuckled, “but you’ll never get this book. Tonight I mean to take it with me to the island. And here’s hoping that when the pages are heated, the secret will be revealed!”
Madge was impatient to tell Anne her new theory regarding the missing formula but it was not easy to get away early that evening. Bill did not return with his load of stone until nearly dark, and Clyde Wendell, who had a habit of being late for meals, failed to appear until supper was nearly finished. Then he lingered over his coffee long after the others had gone outside. When he finally joined them on the veranda, Madge snatched the dishes from the table and had them in and out of the pan in a twinkling.
It was growing dark as she flew to her room for the things she meant to take with her to the island. She wrapped up a small bundle and tucked “Kim” under her arm.
Mr. Brownell and the chemist were arguing about something but they broke off as she crossed the veranda.
“That book must have a fascination,” the former remarked jokingly. “Do you sleep with it under your pillow, Miss Sterling?”
“What book?” Clyde asked.
She pretended not to hear but Mr. Brownell supplied the title.
“‘Kim,’” the chemist repeated. “Did I understand you correctly?”
Madge did not care to be drawn into the conversation nor did she wish to answer questions about the book. Without waiting for Mr. Brownell’s reply, she hastily made her way down to the lake.
Anne was waiting for her when she reached the island and immediately plunged into an account of Clyde’s afternoon visit.
“He made a dreadful scene, Madge. He said he’d give me just two days and if I don’t turn over five hundred dollars by that time, he’ll bring court action. I’m so worried I don’t know what to do.”
“Do nothing,” Madge advised. “He knows he can’t get anywhere if it comes to a legal fight. He’s only trying to bluff you, Anne. Sometimes, I think it wasn’t the money that brought him here at all.”
“So do I. All the time he was talking with me this afternoon, he kept looking around and sort of studying things.”
“Did he seem particularly interested in the library?”
“Why, he asked me if I had considered selling my books as a means of raising money. I told him I didn’t think they would bring much.”
“He didn’t ask you about that Kipling book you loaned me, did he?”
Anne shook her head. “Why?”
Madge lost no time in explaining her theory of the connection between the title and the words Mr. Fairaday had spoken at the time of his death. She half expected Anne to laugh at the idea, but instead, she became excited.
“Madge, you’re nothing less than a genius! Why didn’t I think of that myself?”
“It’s only a hunch. I may be wrong.”
“Everything fits in beautifully. ‘Kim’ was Father’s favorite book. And another thing, he was always interested in codes, secret inks and the like. During the war he worked for the government, deciphering messages which were thought to have been composed by spies. He was especially interested in secret inks.”
“Then we may be on the right track,” Madge declared enthusiastically. “The only way we can tell is to try to bring out the secret writing, if there is any.”
“That’s easy to do. Let’s go to the laboratory right now and see what we can do.”
With high spirits they raced up the stairs to Mr. Fairaday’s workroom. Anne brought out an alcohol lamp which she lighted.