“I don’t know the first thing about heating the pages,” Madge confessed. “Aren’t you afraid we’ll burn them?”
Anne shook her head. She had aided her father with any number of minor experiments and knew how to handle laboratory apparatus. However, she was so excited and hopeful that her hand trembled as she held the first fly leaf above the flame. She moved it slowly back and forth.
“Nothing seems to be coming up,” Madge observed in disappointment.
“We’re only starting.”
Anne worked patiently, heating the blank pages and the front and back of the book. When the final sheet did not reveal the secret, her confidence fell. Madge suggested that they try the margins and they took turns warming the printed pages. At length Anne passed the last sheet over the lamp. They watched with bated breath. Nothing came up.
“Oh, Madge, I’m so disappointed I could cry,” she wailed, sinking down into a chair. “I was so sure we were right.”
“So was I.”
“This book was absolutely our last hope. If Mr. Brownell comes here tomorrow I must tell him the truth. I’ve kept him waiting so long he’ll be justified in feeling I’ve tricked him. Oh, dear! Why did I get into such a position?”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Madge relapsed into thoughtful silence. At length she said: “I think Clyde is trying to sell Mr. Brownell a formula of his own.”
“I suppose he’ll succeed where I have failed. His formula may not be half as good as Father’s, yet if Mr. Brownell learns there is no hope of getting it he may deal with Clyde.”
Madge acknowledged the truth of this. She had hoped matters might work out to Anne’s advantage but luck had never been with her. To admit defeat seemed the only course.
It was nearly midnight and the girls were tired as well as discouraged. They put aside the apparatus and went to their bedroom, leaving the book lying on the laboratory table. Few words were spoken as they prepared for bed. Anne blew out the light and soon was asleep.
Madge rolled and tossed and remained wide awake. Try as she would, she could not take her mind from the perplexing problem of the formula. She had no real hope of working out a solution yet she kept turning the matter over and over in her mind. Then like a flash, the answer came!
“Anne! Anne!” she cried jubilantly, shaking her chum rudely by the shoulder. “I’ve thought of it at last!”
Anne rolled over in bed and groaned.
“What did you say?” she murmured drowsily.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” Madge said, shaking her again. “I’ve had another inspiration about the formula.”
At the word “formula” which was magic to her ears, Anne sat upright, ready to listen.
“We’ve been hopeless duds trying to bring out the secret writing by heating the pages of the book!” Madge declared.
“And you awakened me to tell me that? Of all the—”
“I’m not through. Remember, you said your Father knew a great deal about secret inks and the like.”
“He was a government specialist,” Anne corrected; “He probably knew as much about secret inks as any man in Washington.”
Madge nodded eagerly.
“Exactly. And here we’ve been working on the theory that he would use the most simple means of hidden writing. Why, you can write with milk and bring it out by heating the paper. Any school child knows that.”
“Father always had an aversion to the obvious thing too,” Anne declared, catching her friend’s trend of thought. “He probably used the very latest method of secret writing.”
“That’s the conclusion I reached,” Madge announced eagerly. “I’m willing to wager that the formula is written in ‘Kim’ if only we can find the right method of bringing it out!”
“I’m sure I don’t know the way,” Anne returned. “You can’t find that sort of information in books either—that is, not the latest processes.”
“You don’t know anyone who might help us?”
“Clyde Wendell, if he would.”
“Let’s count him out. He wouldn’t help a blind man.”
“Then I fear—oh, wait! I just thought of a man who worked with Father in the Washington bureau. He knows everything about codes and ciphers and secret inks.”
“Can you reach him?”
“Why, I could write to Washington. I believe he’s still with the government.”
“That would take ages,” Madge protested. “We must have quick action or Mr. Brownell will leave. Why not telegraph?”
“I can,” Anne agreed instantly. “Why, where are you going?” she demanded as Madge slid out of bed.
“I’m going back to the laboratory after ‘Kim.’ It would be just our luck to have it stolen during the night. No use taking chances.”
Anne would not permit her to go alone so together they stole down the dark hallway. The floor creaked beneath their feet and the light from the lamp made weird shadows dance on the plaster walls.
To their relief they found the book where they had left it. For the remainder of the night they slept with it under Anne’s pillow.
At the first sign of dawn they arose and dressed. They planned to go to Luxlow as soon after breakfast as they could find means of transportation and the question arose as to what should be done with the book.
“I don’t like to leave it here while we’re gone,” Anne said. “The house has been entered once and we saw a prowler around at night. Why don’t you take it back to the lodge?”
“I’d prefer not to have the responsibility.”
“Do keep it, Madge. I’ll not have a comfortable moment if we leave it here.”
Unwillingly, Madge allowed herself to be persuaded. Shortly after eight o’clock, they locked the house and crossed the lake to the Brady lodge. Neither Mr. Brownell nor Clyde Wendell were abroad for they were late risers. The girls went to Madge’s room for her coat and hat and while there decided that for the time being “Kim” would be safe in the lower bureau drawer. They covered the book with a layer of clothing.
“No one ever comes in here save Aunt Maude and she wouldn’t think of disturbing anything,” Madge said.
How to get to Luxlow was the next problem for Mr. Brady had taken the car away early that morning. However, learning that one of the rangers was driving in, they received permission to ride with him. Madge rather wished that Jack might have been the one to take them but he was busy surveying a new road which the government intended to put through the forest.
Enroute to town the girls busied themselves with the telegram they intended to dispatch to the man in Washington. Anne had found his address on an old envelope in her father’s files. It was not easy to explain what they wanted to know in a few words without sounding utterly ridiculous. After several trials, the message finally suited them. Arriving at Luxlow, they sent it off and purchased supplies which Mrs. Brady had requested. The last item on the list she had given Madge, read: “magazines for Bill.”
“He always wants the cheapest kind,” she told Anne. “I have a notion to take him a few high-brow ones for a change.”
“He’ll never forgive you if you do.”
They sought a street stand which displayed magazines of all type. With considerable embarrassment they selected a half dozen of the melodramatic sort and Madge actually blushed as she paid the salesgirl.
“The next time, Bill buys his own trash or he goes without!” she fumed. “Did you see the pitying look that girl gave us? She thought we wanted them for ourselves.”
They walked slowly down the street, Madge carrying the magazines so that the jackets would not be noticed by the passersby. They were within sight of the ranger’s parked automobile when Anne heard her name called. She turned and saw Jake Curtis.
It was too late to retreat. They could only wait and face the music.
“I went out to Stewart Island last week to see you, Miss Fairaday,” the man began in an unpleasant tone. “You were gone.”
“I must have been at the Brady lodge,” Anne replied uneasily. “Or perhaps it was the day we went fishing. If I had known you were coming—”
“You’d have been away just the same!” the man finished harshly. “Well, I warn you it will do you no good to try to avoid me. I mean business. The mortgage must be paid by the first.”
“This isn’t the first,” Anne reminded him. “I have several days yet.”
“Not to sell the house, you haven’t. I’ll give you just twenty-four hours to decide what you want to do. I’ll wipe off the mortgage and give you five hundred dollars for the house and island. But the offer only holds until tomorrow noon.”
“It’s robbery!” Anne protested.
“Take it or leave it,” he retorted, and turning, walked away.
“My! My! Is Jake Curtis important?” Madge mocked. “Take it or leave it! I wish you had told him to jump in the lake!”
“I fear I’m at his mercy,” Anne returned in a disheartened tone. “What can I do in twenty-four hours? I can’t borrow enough money to pay off the mortgage. And if I sold the house and island at public auction it probably wouldn’t bring enough to get me out of debt.”
“Jake would see to that,” Madge said feelingly. “He has underhanded ways of managing things. But don’t take it so hard, Anne. We’ll find some way to best him.”
“The formula was my only chance of raising money and we couldn’t possibly unearth it in twenty-four hours.”
“That man in Washington may wire right back.”
“And again, he may never answer,” Anne added gloomily. “Oh, well, it does no good to moan. Let’s go back to the car.”
The girls reached the Brady lodge in time for a late luncheon. Learning that Mr. Brownell had gone fishing again and that Clyde Wendell had not been seen since breakfast, Madge persuaded Anne to remain for a few hours.
They had lunch and then sat on the veranda. As usual the conversation turned to the missing formula and to the book which they hoped would disclose the secret. Madge brought it from the house and they looked at it again. While they were pouring over the pages, Mrs. Brady came outside to suggest that Madge take the newly purchased magazines to Bill’s cabin.
“He’s laid up with rheumatism again today,” she explained, “and I know he’ll appreciate something to read.”
“Rheumatism, like fun!” Madge laughed as she arose to do her aunt’s bidding. “I notice his attacks always come on the days when Uncle George has planned a hard day’s work. You’re both too easy on him.”
She accepted the magazines, and with Anne, who still had the book in her hand, walked a short distance through the woods to Bill’s cabin. From afar they glimpsed the old workman smoking his pipe on the porch but he quickly vanished inside as he saw them coming. When they knocked, a muffled voice bade them enter.
They entered the room to see Bill stretched on his bunk, his face twisted with pain.
“Thet you, Miss Madge?” he mumbled, making an exaggerated effort to lift himself to a sitting position. “If Mr. Brady sent you to find out how I be, you kin tell him I ain’t no better. My back’s nigh to killin’ me. I didn’t git a wink o’ sleep last night and this mornin’ seems like me poor old body—”
“Never mind,” Madge interrupted. “Uncle George didn’t send me. I brought these magazines for you.”
Bill’s face brightened. He swung his feet to the floor with alacrity, then remembering his ailment, groaned and told Madge to leave the magazines on the table.
“I won’t be doin’ much readin’ fer several days yet,” he mumbled. “I’ll jes’ lie here quiet like and try to git me strength back.”
The girls soon left, but mischievously hid themselves behind a tree only a short ways from the cabin. Before long, Old Bill’s tousled head was thrust cautiously out the door. Seeing that the coast was clear he took up his seat in the sun and soon was lost in the depth of a bloodcurdling detective story. The girls stole quietly away.
“It’s always that way,” Madge declared. “For every honest day of labor he does, Bill rests six! I guess at that we couldn’t get along without him.”
Taking a different trail through the woods, the girls presently came to a newly constructed two-room log cabin.
“Uncle George plans to rent it out later in the summer,” Madge explained. “It’s all finished now.”
“Is it nice inside?”
“Lovely. I’ll open it up and show you.”
Madge dashed off through the woods, returned in a few minutes with the key, which after a few unsuccessful turns, unlocked the cabin door. The rooms had been furnished with rustic furniture that Mr. Brady had made himself. The unpainted log walls gave off a pleasant, fresh odor. Madge pointed out the huge stone fireplace.
“Bill will be proud of this until his dying day. He can tell you the number of stones in it too.”
“How did you ever keep him at it long enough to get it done?”
“It was a problem. Uncle George supervised the work, of course. Even then, Bill made several mistakes in placing the stones. See—” she indicated a deep ledge, well-hidden up the chimney. “No one knows why he did that. The chimney may not draw right now.”
“Madge, how long before this cabin will be used?” Anne asked suddenly.
“Probably not for a month or so. Why?”
“I was thinking—this ledge is made to order!” Anne glanced at the book she still carried in her hand. “We must hide ‘Kim’ somewhere. Why wouldn’t this shelf be an ideal place?”
“Perhaps it would. No one ever comes here now the cabin is finished. The key is kept in the kitchen cupboard and the windows are always locked from the inside. The only danger might be that someone would start a fire to test the chimney. And if Uncle George should decide to do that, I could rescue the book.”
“Let’s hide it here then, Madge. Somehow, I don’t feel that it is very safe in your bureau drawer.”
“Neither do I, with so many guests around. But I’m not convinced this is such a safe place either. I’d feel better if you took the book back home with you.”
“No, I’d much rather you kept it. And we can’t ask for a better place than this shelf. Who would think of looking here? It’s well hidden and the book just fits the space.”
Anne thrust an exploratory hand up the chimney. As she observed, the ledge seemed to have been built for “Kim.”
“I suppose we may as well leave it there,” Madge said, a trifle reluctantly. “At any rate, the book will be safer than in my bureau drawer.”
They left the cabin, locking the door behind them. Madge cast an uneasy glance about the clearing. “You—you didn’t hear anything?” she asked.
“Hear anything? Why, no. What do you mean?”
Madge did not reply immediately for her sharp eyes were searching the line of trees which circled about the little cabin. Gradually, the tense lines of her face relaxed.
“Just as we came out, I thought I saw someone—right close to the cabin. For a minute, I was sure I heard a stick crackle.”
“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!”
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!”
“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 shrugged 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 mor’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 Fairaday 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 mor’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!”