The Missing Formula

  CHAPTER IV A Fruitless Search

  "I'm afraid it really isn't much of a clue," Anne confessed, escortingher friend into the living room. "Just before Father died he tried totell 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 fewwords. 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 thecramped writing.

  "Why, this doesn't make sense!" Madge protested. "It just says, 'writtenin secret--' Is this all of it?"

  Anne nodded.

  "Only three words. I've puzzled over it until my head whirls. I'vefinally figured out that he was trying to tell me the formula had beenwritten 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 theformula, particularly after his trouble with Clyde. At the very last--"Anne's voice broke. "--he wasn't quite himself. He kept calling for someone. '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 beena delusion as her Aunt Maude had hinted. Tactfully, she broached thesubject.

  "Oh, no," Anne protested. "At one time the formula actually existed andit was an excellent piece of research--I know that. I'm confident it ishere 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 itwhere one would never think of searching."

  "Then our work is cut out for us," Madge laughed. "If we ever do find theformula we'll still have the code to unravel."

  "And it will be a real one too! Father made a hobby of codes. Years agohe did work along that line for the government."

  Madge's interest in the missing formula had somewhat cheered Anne and thegirls began their search of the house with high hope. They spent thebetter part of an hour browsing about Mr. Fairaday's laboratory on thesecond floor, hunting through old ledgers and desk drawers. Satisfiedthat the lost paper was not to be found there they made a similarinspection of the old chemist's bedroom, examining discarded letters andeven searching behind pictures which hung on the walls.

  "We might try the library," Anne suggested at length. "I've looked thereof course, but I've never gone carefully through the book shelves."

  They returned to the first floor and undaunted by the vast array ofvolumes lining the walls, attacked the stacks, working on opposite sidesof the room. They went about the task methodically, removing each bookfrom the shelf and shaking it carefully to see that nothing had beenhidden 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 tobe bitterly disappointed when it turned out to be of no value.

  "How provoking!" Anne cried impatiently. "I guess you've wasted yourmorning, Madge."

  "Oh, I don't consider it wasted," the other corrected without glancing upfrom the volume she was examining. "Say, this book looks interesting."

  "What is it? Kipling? That particular volume was Father's favorite. It'sa 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 Anneaccompanied her to the boat landing. Both were discouraged but tried notto disclose it to the other.

  "Well, if we never find the formula, there's one thing I can alwaysdo--sell this house. Jake Curtis has been after me to sell it to him eversince Father died."

  "Jake Curtis!" Madge exclaimed sharply. "Don't you ever do it. Hewouldn't give you half what it's worth. He has the reputation of beingthe 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 folksJake 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 toembarrass me. If the bank will loan me enough money to pay it off, I'lltell 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 veryreluctant to make loans at the present time and Anne's prospects appearedespecially slim.

  "Well, I wish you luck," she said turning to leave. "Things maystraighten themselves out before the mortgage falls due."

  The next few days found Madge too busy to paddle over to the island forthree guests arrived from the city to try their fishing luck. They askedendless questions, demanded constant service and had enormous appetites.In spite of the extra housework, Madge had time to consider Anne'sproblem but she could think of no way out. Often too, her eyes turnedtoward Lookout 48 but while she frequently saw Jack French glide by inhis canoe he never stopped at the lodge. Once she saw him carry a largebox 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 fewminutes 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 theWhite farmhouse. Jack French is bringing him out from town. He wants usto put him up for a few days."

  "Friend of Jack's?"

  "No, he merely brought him out as an accommodation. I don't know thestranger'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 toferry across," Madge assured her quickly. "And if our guest is agentleman he may offer to row back."

  She took her time crossing the lake for there was no sign of a car at thelanding. Beaching the skiff she sat down on an old log. After a shortwait she heard an automobile pounding down the private road which joinedLoon Lake with the main highway. Madge arose expectantly.

  A battered car swung into view and halted with a jerk. Jack Frenchstepped lightly to the ground. He was a tall, handsome man, built like anAll-American half-back, strong and straight, his every movement graceful.His face was richly tanned and his brown eyes were always a-twinkle, asthough the world amused their owner. One knew at a glance that he wouldbe 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 thanany 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. Ipacked him out from Luxlow along with the grub."

  Jack's gaze lingered half-quizzically as he spoke, but Madge lookedbeyond him to the man who was slowly climbing from the car. It was ClydeWendell. The ranger had never liked him.

  "I don't believe we ever really met," Madge stammered, slightlyembarrassed at the unexpected meeting. "Of course, I've seen you from adistance."

  The chemist turned, surveying her rather sharply. His eyes werepenetrating and hostile.

  "You're Miss Sterling, I suppose? I telephoned from the White's for aroom 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 hissuitcases from the rear of the car. He waited impatiently for the rangerto 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 wehave 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 isonly 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. Madgelooked surprised and then went to the vacant seat beside the oars. Shehad expected that the chemist would at least offer to row across thelake.

  "See here, Madge," Jack protested quickly. "You can't tote those heavysuitcases. I'll bring them over later tonight."

  She would have accepted gratefully had not the chemist broke inirritably:

  "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 fromcomplimentary. At first the skiff moved steadily through the water butbefore Madge had covered half the distance her arms began to tire. ClydeWendell did not seem to notice. He stared moodily across the lake.Frequently, his dark, piercing eyes roved in the direction of StewartIsland.

  The strangely tense expression of his face was not lost upon Madge. Whatthoughts could be running through his mind, she wondered? Why had hereturned to Loon Lake?

  "It's for no good purpose," she decided. "My guess is that he intends tomake trouble for Anne Fairaday!"