 CHAPTER I The Night of the Storm It had been a magnificent afternoon, so wonderful that Leslie hated to break the spell. Reluctantly, she unrolled herself from the Indian blanket, from which she emerged like a butterfly from a cocoon, draped it over her arm, picked up the book she had not once opened, and turned for a last, lingering look at the ocean. A lavender haze lay lightly along the horizon. Nearer inshore, the blue of sea and sky was intense. A line of breakers raced shoreward, their white mains streaming back in the wind. Best of all, Leslie loved the flawless green of their curve at the instant before they crashed on the beach. Oh, but the ocean's wonderful in October, she murmured aloud. I never had any idea how wonderful. I never saw it in this month before. Come, rags! A black-and-white English sheepdog, his name correspondingly close to his appearance, came racing up the beach at her call. Did you find it hard to tear yourself away from the hermit crabs, ragsy? She laughed. You must have gobbled down more than a hundred. It's high time you left off. She started to race along the deserted beach, the dog leaping ahead of her and yapping ecstatically. Twice she stopped to pick up some driftwood. We'll need it to get supper, rags, she informed the dog. Our stock is getting low. He cocked one ear at her intelligently. They came presently to a couple of summer bungalows, set side by side about two hundred feet from the ocean edge. They were long and low, each with a wide veranda stretching across the front. There were no other houses near, the next bungalow beyond being about half a mile away. With a sigh of relief, Leslie deposited the driftwood in one corner of the veranda of the nearest bungalow. Then she dropped into one of the willow rockers to rest, the dog panting at her feet. Presently the screen door opened and a lady stepped out. Oh, are you here, Leslie? I thought I heard a sound. Then it was so quiet that I came out to see what it meant. Every little noise seems to startle me this afternoon. I'm so sorry, Aunt Marsha, I should have called to you, said Leslie, starting up contritely to help her aunt to a seat. I hope you had a good nap and feel rested. But sometimes I think it would do you more good if you'd come out with me and sit by the ocean than to try to lie down in your room. It was simply glorious today. Miss Marsha Crane shook her head. I know what's best for me, Leslie dear. You don't always understand, but I believe this place is doing me a great deal of good. I confess, I thought Dr. Crawford insane when he suggested it, and I came here with the greatest reluctance. For a nervous invalid like myself to go and hide away in such a forsaken spot as this is in October, just you and I, seemed to me the wildest piece of folly. But I must say it appears to be working out all right, and I am certainly feeling better. Why shouldn't it have been all right? argued Leslie. I was always sure it would be. The doctor said this speech was noted for its wonderfully restful effect, especially after the summer crowds had left it, and that it was far better than a sanatorium. And as for your being alone with me, why, I'm sixteen and a quite competent housekeeper, as mother says, and you don't need a trained nurse, so I can do most everything for you. But your school, objected Miss Crane, it was lovely of your mother to allow you to come with me, for I don't know another person who would have been so congenial or helpful, but I worry constantly over the time you are losing from high school. Well, don't you worry another bit, laughed Leslie. I told you that my chum Elsie is sending me down all our notes, and I study an hour or two every morning, and I'll probably go right on with my classes when I go back. Besides, it's the greatest lark in the world for me to be here at the ocean, at this unusual time of year. I never in my life had an experience like it. And then, I didn't think at first that it could possibly be safe, went on her end. We seem quite unprotected here. We're miles from a railroad station, and not another inhabited house around. What would happen if? Again Leslie laughed. We have a telephone in the bungalow, and can call up the village doctor or the constable in case of need. The doctor said there weren't any tramps or unwelcome characters about, and I've certainly never seen any in the two weeks we've been here. And last but not least, there's always rags. You know how extremely unpleasant he'd make it, for anyone who tried to harm us. No, Aunt Marsha, you haven't a ghost of an excuse for not feeling perfectly safe. But now, I'm going to start supper. You stay here and enjoy the view. But her aunt shivered and rose when Leslie did. No, I'd prefer to sit by the open fire. I started it a while ago. And I'm glad you brought some more wood. It was getting low. As they went in together, the girl glanced up at the faded and weather-beaten sign over the door. Isn't it the most appropriate name for this place? Rest Haven. It is surely a haven of rest to us. But I think I like the name of that closed cottage next door even better. What is it? asked her Aunt Idly. I've never even had the curiosity to look. Then you must come and see for yourself, laughed Leslie, turning her aunt about and gently forcing her across the veranda. They plowed their way across a twenty-foot stretch of sand and stepped on the veranda of the cottage next door. It was a bungalow somewhat similar to their own, but plainly closed up for the winter. The windows had their board shutters adjusted, the door was padlocked, and a small heap of sand had drifted in on the veranda. Leslie pointed to the signboard over the door. There it is, Curlou's Nest. There's something about the name that fascinates me. Don't you feel so too, Aunt Marsha? I can imagine all sorts of curious and wonderful things about a closed up house called Curlou's Nest. It just fairly bristles with possibilities. What a romantic child you are, Leslie, smiled her aunt. When you are as old as I am, you'll find you won't be thinking of interesting possibilities in a perfectly ordinary shut-up summer bungalow. It's a pretty enough name, of course. But I must confess, it doesn't suggest a single thing to me, except that I'm cold and want to get back to the fire. Come along, dearie. Leslie sighed and turned back, without another word, to lead her aunt to their own abode. One phase of their stay, she had been very, very careful to conceal from Miss Marsha. She loved this aunt devotedly, all the more, perhaps, because she was ill and weak and nervous, and very dependent on her niece's care. But down in the depths of her soul, Leslie had to confess to herself that she was lonely, horribly lonely, for the companionship of her parents and sisters and school chums. The loneliness did not always bother her, but it came over her at times like an overwhelming wave, usually when Miss Marsha failed to respond to some whim or project or bubbling enthusiasm. Between them gaped the abyss of forty years difference in age, and more than a score of times, Leslie had yearned for someone of her own years to share the joy she felt in her unusual surroundings. As they stepped on their own veranda, Leslie glanced out to see with a start of surprise. Why, look how it's clouding up, she exclaimed. It was as clear as a bell a few minutes ago, and now the blue sky is disappearing rapidly. I knew today was a weather breeder, avert Miss Marsha. I felt it in my bones that a storm was coming. We'll probably get it tonight. I do hope the roof won't leak. We haven't had a real bad storm since we came, and I dread the experience. At eight o'clock that evening it became apparent that they were in for a wild night. The wind had whipped around to the northeast and was blowing a gale. There was a persistent crash of breakers on the beach. To open a door or window was to admit a small cyclone of wind and sand and rain. Miss Marsha sat for a while over the open fire, bemoaning the fact that the roof did leak in spots, though fortunately not over the beds. She was depressed and nervous, and finally declared she would go to bed. But Leslie, far from being nervous, was wildly excited and exhilarated by the conflict of the elements. When her aunt had finally retired, she hurried on a big Mackinaw and cap and slipped out to the veranda to enjoy it better. Rags, whimpering, followed her. There was not much to see, for the night was pitch black, but she enjoyed the feel of the wind and rain in her face and the little occasional dashes of sand. Wet through at last, but happy, she crept noiselessly indoors and went to her own room on the opposite side of the big living room from her aunt's. I'm glad Aunt Marsha is on the other side, she thought. It's quieter there on the south and west. I get the full force of things here. It would only worry her, but I like it. How lonesome Curlew's nest seems on a wild night like this. She switched off her electric light, raised her shade, and looked over at the empty bungalow. Rags, who always slept in her room, jumped up on the window seat beside her. The mingled sand and rain on the window prevented her from seeing anything clearly, so she slipped the sash quietly open and heedless for a moment of the drenching inrush stood gazing out. Only the wall of the house twenty feet away was visible, with two or three windows all tightly shuttered, a deserted and lonely sight. She was just about to close her window when a curious thing happened. The dog beside her uttered a rumbling, half-suppressed growl and moved restlessly. What is it, rags? she whispered. Do you see or hear anything? I'm sure there's no one around. The dog grumbled again, half audibly, and the hair along his spine lifted a little. Hush, rags! For gracious sake, don't let Aunt Marcia hear you whatever happens. It would upset her terribly, breathed Leslie distractedly. The dog obediently lay quiet, but he continued to tremble with some obscure excitement, and Leslie remained stock still, gazing at the empty house. At length, neither seeing or hearing anything unusual, she was about to close the window and turn away when something caused her to lean out, regardless of the rain, and stare fixedly at a window in the opposite wall. Was she mistaken? Did her eyes deceive her? Was it possibly some freak of the darkness or the storm? It had been only for an instant, and it did not happen again, but in that instant she was almost certain that she had seen a faint streak of light from a crack at the side of one of the heavily shuttered windows. CHAPTER II The next morning dawned windy and wet. A heavy northeast gale had whipped the sea into gray, mountainous waves, a fine drizzle beaten one's face through the slightest opening of door or window. Leslie loved the soft, salt-tang of the air, and in spite of her aunt's rather horrified protest, prepared for a long excursion out of doors. Don't worry about me, anti-deer, she laughed gaily. One can't possibly catch cold in this mild, beautiful air, and if I get wet, I can always get dry again before any damage is done. Besides, we need some more wood for the fires very, very badly. And they say you can simply find heaps of it on the beach after a storm like this. I want some nice, fat logs for our open fire, and I see at least a half a dozen right down in front of this house. And last, but not least, rags need some exercise. She found a wealth of driftwood at the water's edge that surpassed her wildest dreams. Again and again she filled her basket and hauled it up to the bungalow, and three times she carried up a large, water-soaked log balanced on her shoulder. But when the supply at last appeared ample, she returned to the beach on another quest. Rather to her surprise, she found that the stormy ocean had cast up many things beside driftwood, articles that in size and variety suggested that there must have been a wreck in the night. Yet she knew that there had been no wreck, else the Coast Guard Station, less than a mile away, would have been very busy, and she herself must surely have heard some of the disturbance. No, there had been no wreck. Yet all about her lay the waves sodden flotsam and jetsam of many past disasters. A broken mast dump was embedded upright in the sand at one spot. In another, a ladder-like pair of stairs suggesting a ship's companion way lay half out of the water. Sundry casks and barrels dotted the beach, some empty, some still untouched. Rusty tins of canned goods, oil and paint, often intact, intermingled with the debris. Bottles, either empty or full of every conceivable liquid, added to the list, and sprinkled through and around all the rest were broken dishes, shoe brushes, combs, and other household and personal articles in surprising quantities. Leslie roamed about among this varied collection, the salt spray in her face, the surging breaker sometimes unexpectedly curling around her rubber boots. There was a new and wonderful fascination to her in examining this ancient wreckage, speculating on the contents of unopened tins, and searching ever farther and farther along the shore for possible treasure trove of even greater interest or value. Why shouldn't I find a chest of jewels or a barrel full of golden coins, or a pocketbook crammed with bills, rags? She demanded whimsically of the jubilant dog. I'm sure something of that kind must go down with every ship, as well as all the rest of this stuff. And why shouldn't we be lucky enough to find it? But rags was busy investigating the contents of some doubtful looking tin, and had neither time nor inclination to respond, his own particular quest being quite in another line and far more interesting to him. So Leslie continued on her own way, absorbed in her own investigations and thoughts. The affair of the previous night was still occupying a large place in her mind. Nothing further had occurred, though she had watched at her window for nearly an hour. Even rags at length ceased to exhibit signs of uneasiness, and she had gone to bed at last, feeling that she must have been mistaken in imagining anything unusual. The first thing she had done this morning after leaving the house was to walk around Curlew's Nest, examining it carefully for any sign of occupation. It was closed and shuttered, as tight as a drum, and she could discern no slightest sign of a human being having been near it for days. But still, she could not rid her mind of the impression that there had been something last night out of the ordinary, or rags would not have behaved as he did. He was not the kind of dog that unnecessarily excited himself about nothing. It was a little bit strange. Oh, dear, I beg your pardon. I'm awfully sorry," exclaimed Leslie, reeling backward from the shock of collision with someone she had unseeingly bumped into as she plowed her way along, her head bent to the wind, her eyes only on the beach at her feet. The person with whom she had collided also recovered a lost balance and turned to look at her. Leslie beheld a figure slightly taller than herself, clothed in yellow slickers and long rubber boots, a sow-wester pulled closely over plump rosy cheeks and big inquiring blue eyes. For a moment she could not for the life of her tell whether the figure was man or woman, boy or girl. Then a sudden gust of wind tore the sow-wester aside and a long brown curl escaped and whipped into the blue eyes. It was a girl, very little older than Leslie herself. Don't mention it, laughed the girl. I didn't know there was another soul on the beach beside Father and Ted and myself. And then for the first time Leslie noticed two other figures standing just beyond, each clad similarly to the girl, and each with a fishing rod in hand and a long line running out into the boiling surf. The girl too held a rod in her hand. You've just spoiled the loveliest bite I've had this morning, the girl laughed again. But I'll forgive you if you'll tell me who you are and how you come to be out here in this bad weather. It's quite unusual to see anyone on the beach at this season. I'm Leslie Crane and I'm staying at Rest Haven with my aunt, Miss Crane, who is not well and is trying to recuperate here according to the doctor's orders, responded Leslie, feeling somewhat like an information bureau as she said it. Oh, so you're staying here, are you? How jolly! I've never met anyone staying here at this season before. I'm Phyllis Kelvin and this is my father and my brother Ted. Father, Miss Leslie Crane, Ted! She made the introductions at the top of her voice as the wind and roar of the ocean almost drowned it and each of the two figures responded politely, keeping one eye all the while on his line. We always come down here for three weeks in October. Father Ted and I for the fishing, Phyllis went on to explain. Father adores fishing and always takes his vacation late down here so that he can have the fishing in peace and at its best. And Ted and I come to keep him company and keep house for him, incidentally. That's our bungalow right back there. Fisherman's luck. Oh, I'm so glad you're going to be here, sighed Leslie happily. I've been horribly lonesome, yet Marsha does not go out very often and sleeps a great deal and I absolutely long to talk to someone at times. I don't know anything much about fishing, but I hope you'll let me be with you some if I promise not to talk too much and spoil things. You're not a bit happier to find someone than I am, echoed Phyllis. I love fishing too, but I'm not so crazy about it as they are and I've often longed for some girl chum down here. We're going to be the best of friends, I know, and I'll call on you and your aunt this very afternoon if you'll come up to our bungalow now with me and help carry this basket of driftwood. Daddy and Ted won't move from the beach for the rest of the morning, but I'd like to stop and talk with you. I get tired sooner than they do. Leslie agreed joyfully and together they tugged a heavy basket of wood up to the one other bungalow on the beach beside the one Leslie and her aunt were stopping at and curled his nest. She found Fisherman's luck a delightful abode full of the pleasant intimate touches that could only be imparted by owners who inhabited it themselves most of the time. A roaring fire blazed invitingly in the big open fireplace in the living room. Come, take off your things and stay a while, urged Phyllis, and Leslie removed her Mackinaw and cap. The two girls sank down in big easy chairs before the fire and laughingly agreeing to drop formality proceeded as Phyllis and Leslie to exchange confidences in true girl fashion. I mustn't stay long, remarked Leslie. Aunt Marsha will be missing me and I must go back and see about lunch, but what a delightful bungalow you have. Are you here much of the time? We're here a good deal in the off seasons, April to June and September through November, father Ted and I, but we don't care for it so much in the summer season when the beach is more crowded with vacation folks and that big hotel farther up the beach is full. We have some cousins who usually take the bungalow for July and August. I was never at the ocean in October before, sighed Leslie comfortably, and it's perfectly heavenly. We have that dear little bungalow rest haven, but the one right next to it is not occupied. No, said Phyllis, and it's queer too. I never knew either of them to be occupied at this season before. They are both owned by the Dan Force, and they usually shut them both up on September 30th and refused to open them until the beginning of the next season. How did you come to get one of them, may I ask? Oh, I think Aunt Marsha's doctor managed it. He happened to know the Dan Force personally and got them to break their rule as a great favor to him. We appreciate it very much, but do you know, and here Leslie unconsciously sank her voice, I saw such a queer thing about that other bungalow late yesterday evening, and she recounted to her new friend a history of the previous night's experience. Oh, how perfectly gorgeous, sighed Phyllis, thrilled beyond description by the narrative. Do you suppose it's haunted? I've heard of haunted houses, but never heard of a haunted bungalow. Now don't laugh at me. That's what Ted and Father do when I speak of such things, for Leslie could not suppress a giggle at this suggestion. Phyllis, you know there are no such things as haunted houses, really, she remonstrated. Well, I'm not so sure of it, and anyway, I've always longed to come across one, and what other explanation can there be for this thing anyway? But do me one favor, won't you Leslie? Let's keep this thing to ourselves, and do a little investigating on our own account. If I tell Father and Ted and let them know what I think, they'll simply hoot at me, and go and spoil it all by breaking the place open, and tramping about it themselves, and scaring away any possible ghost there might be. Let's just see if we can make anything out of it ourselves, will you? Why, of course I will, agreed Leslie heartily. I wouldn't dare to let Aunt Martian know there was anything queer about the place. She'd be scared to death, and it would upset all the doctor's plans for her. I don't believe in the ghost theory, but I do think there may have been something mysterious about it, and it will be no end of a lark to track it down if we can, but I must be going now. I'm coming with you, announced the impetuous Phyllis. I want to go up there right away and do a little looking about myself. I simply can't wait. So they set off together, trudging through the sand at the edge of the ocean, where the walking was easiest. All the way Leslie was wondering what had become of Rags. It was not often that he deserted her even for five minutes, but she had not seen him since her encounter with Phyllis. It was not till their arrival at Curlew's nest that she discovered his whereabouts. Directly in front of this bungalow's veranda, and about fifty feet away from it, lay the remains of a huge old tree trunk, half buried in the sand. Almost under this trunk, only his rear quarters visible, was the form of Rags, digging frantically at a great hole in the wet sand. So deep now was the hole that the dog was more than half buried. There's Rags. He's after another hermit crab, cried Leslie. I was wondering where he could be. They both raced up to him and reached him just as he had apparently attained the end of his quest and backed out of the hole. Why, what has he got? exclaimed Phyllis. That's no hermit crab! And in truth it was not. For out of the hole the dog was dragging a small burlap sack which plainly contained some heavy article in its folds. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of the Dragon's Secret This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Dragon's Secret by Augusta Huell Seaman Chapter 3 The Mysterious Casket Both girls dashed forward to snatch the dog's treasure trove from him. But Rags had apparently made up his mind that, after his arduous labours, he was going to have the privilege of examining his find himself. At any rate he would not be so easily robbed. Seizing the burlap bag in his mouth he raced to the water's edge and stood there, guarding his treasure with mock fierceness. Phyllis, being a stranger, he would not even allow to approach him, but growled ominously if she came within ten feet of his vicinity. And when Rags growled it behooved the stranger to have a care. Leslie he pretended to welcome, but no sooner had she approached near enough to lay her hand on the bag than he seized it triumphantly and raced up the beach. Oh, do grab him somehow! cried Phyllis in despair. He'll drop the thing in the water and the next breaker will wash it away, and we'll never know what it was. Leslie herself was no less anxious to filch his treasure. But Rags had by now acquired a decidedly fawlexome spirit, and the chase he led them was long and weary. Three times he dropped the bag directly in the path of a breaker, and once it was actually washed out, and the girls groaned in chorus as they saw it flung into the boiling surf. But another wave washed it ashore only to land it again in the custody of Rags before Leslie could seize it. Finally, however, he wearied of the sport, and sensing the sad fact that his prize was in no wise edible, he dropped it suddenly to pursue an unsuspecting hermit crab. The girls fell joyfully upon the long sought treasure, and bore it to the veranda of Curlew's Nest for further examination. What under the sun can it be? marveled the curious Phyllis. Something heavy, and all sewn up in a coarse bag like that. It's as good as a ghost story. Let's get at it right away." They sat down on the wet steps while Leslie unrolled the bag, not much larger than a big salt bag, and tried to tear an opening at the top. But her slender fingers were not equal to the task, so Phyllis undertook it. Let me try, she urged. I play the piano a great deal, and my fingers are very strong. And sure enough, it did not take her more than a moment to make an opening and thrust her hand into it. What she found there she drew out and laid in Leslie's lap, while the two girls gassed simultaneously at the singular object they had discovered. To begin with, it was encrusted with sand and corroded by the contact of salt air and sea water. But when they had brushed off the sand and polished it as well as they could with the burlap bag, it stood forth in something of its original appearance. A small box or casket of some heavy metal, either bronze or copper, completely covered with elaborate carving. It was about six inches long, three wide, and two in height. It stood on four legs and upon examination the carving proved to be the body of a winged serpent of some kind, completely encircling the box, the head projecting over the front edge, where the lock or fastening of the cover would be. The legs of the receptacle were the creature's claws. The carving was remarkably fine and delicate in workmanship. My gracious, breathe, Phyllis. Did you ever see anything so strange? What can it be? And isn't it beautiful? added Leslie. What can that queer creature be that's carved on it? Looks to me like the pictures of dragons that we used to have in fairy story books. That's just what it is. You've hit it. I couldn't think what it was at first. It's a wound around the box, cried Phyllis. But this thing is certainly a box of some kind and there must be some opening to it and probably something in it. Let's try now to get it open. But that was easier said than done. Try as they would. They can find no way of opening the casket. The dragon's head came down over the lock or clasp and there was no vestige of keyhole or catch or spring. And so intricate was the carving that there was not even any crack or crevice where the lid fitted down over the body of the box into which they could insert Phyllis's pen knife blade to pry it open by force. The casket and its contents was a baffling mystery and the wicked looking little dragon seemed to guard the secret with positive glee so malicious was its expression. Phyllis at last threw down her knife in disgust and rattled the box impatiently. Something bumps around in there, she declared. I can hear it distinctly. But I don't believe we'll ever be able to get at it. I never saw such a queer affair. Let's try to break it with an axe, have you one? Oh, don't do that! cried Leslie horrified. It would surely spoil this beautiful box and might even injure what's in it. There must be some other way of getting it open if only we take our time and go at it carefully. They both sat for several moments regarding their find with resentful curiosity. Suddenly Leslie's thoughts took a new tack. How in the world did it ever come there buried in the sand like that? Throne up on the beach by waves of course, declared Phyllis positively. No doubt from some wreck and buried in the sand after a while just naturally, as lots of things are. The explanation was a very probable one, but it's rather far from the water's edge, objected Leslie. Oh no, indeed. Why in winter the surf comes up right under the bungalows, remarked Phyllis, in quite an offhanded way. Mercy, don't ever tell Aunt Marsha that or she'd go straight home, exclaimed Leslie. But isn't it queer that it just happened to be right in front of Curlew's nest? Everything queer seems to happen right around that place. That's so! I'd almost forgotten the other thing, but what I can't understand is how your dog happened to dig the thing up. Oh that's simple. He's always chasing hermit crabs. It's a great sport of his, and I suppose it just happened that one dug itself down in the sand right here, and he dug after it and came across this. Phyllis had a sudden brilliant idea. Let's go and examine the hole. Perhaps there's something else in it. They both raced over to the stump, and Leslie thrust her hand into the hole. There's nothing else in there, she averred. But perhaps it might be worthwhile to dig around here and see if there might be some other article buried near it. I'll get a shovel. She disappeared behind her own bungalow for a moment and returned with a shovel. They dug furiously for ten minutes and turned up the sand all around the original hole. Nothing of the slightest interest came to light, however, and they presently abandoned the attempt and filled in the hole again. This is all there was, that's plain, declared Phyllis, and all we can think is that it was cast up from some wreck and got buried here. But Leslie had been thinking, has it occurred to you, Phyllis, that it might have something to do with Curlew's nest and the queer thing that happened here? I wonder how long it has been lying in that hole. They examined the find again. I can tell you one thing, said Phyllis. If it had been in that sand a long time, I think it would look rather different. To begin with, the burlet bag is in very good condition, whole and strong. It wouldn't take very long in there for it to become ragged and go to pieces, and besides that, the box would look different. You know that metal like this gets badly corroded and tarnished in a very little while when it's exposed even to this salt air, not to speak of the water, too. I know, because we have some copper trays at the bungalow and they're always a sight, I have to keep polishing and polishing them to make them look nice. Now this box is very little tarnished since we rubbed it up. It makes me sure it hasn't been buried long. Well, has there been a wreck then, very lately? demanded Leslie, not since last July, and that was only a fishing schooner, no chance in the world that such as this would be a board of her. Then as far as I can see, this box must have been buried here deliberately, and very recently, too, declared Leslie solemnly. Can you think of any other explanation? Leslie, could it have been done last night? demanded Phyllis in an odd whisper. Oh, I never thought of that. Perhaps it was. Perhaps that was the meaning of the light and all. Phyllis, there's some queer mystery here. I wonder if we ought to tell folks about it. Oh, don't, implored Phyllis. Not for a while, at least. It would be so wonderful to have this as a secret of our own and see what we can make of it. Just suppose we could work it out for ourselves. Well, it would be a lark, and I only hope it's all right, but I'm going to ask you one favor, Phyllis. Please take the little box and keep it at your house, for I don't want Aunt Marsha to be worried about the matter, and she might come across it if I kept it here, and I must be going in now, or she'll be worried, and she thrust the box into Phyllis's hand. Indeed, I'll keep it gladly and hide it safely, too. This is one secret I won't have Ted meddling in, declared Phyllis. Let's call the box the Dragon's Secret. He seems to be guarding very successfully. I'll come back this afternoon and call, and we can talk this over some more. Goodbye! And she turned away toward the direction of her own bungalow, with the Dragon's Secret carefully concealed beneath her rainproof coat. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of the Dragon's Secret This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Dragon's Secret by Augusta Hülsemin. Chapter 4 In the Sand The Nor'easter lasted three days. Then it blew itself out, the wind shifted to the north west, and there was beautiful sparkling weather for the rest of the week. During this time the two new friends came to know each other very well indeed. It was not only their little shared mystery that united them. They found they had congenial tastes and interests in very many directions, although they were so different in temperament. Leslie was slight and dark in appearance, rather timid in disposition, and inclined to be shy and hesitant in manner. Phyllis was quite the opposite, large and plump and rosy, courageous and independent, jolly, and often headlong and thoughtless in action. Her mother had died when she was very little, and she had grown up mainly in the care of nurses and servants, from whom she imbibed some very queer notions, as Leslie was not long in discovering. One of these was her firm belief in ghosts and haunted houses, which not even the robust and wholesome contempt of her father and older brother Ted had succeeded in changing. But Phyllis had a special gift which drew the two girls together with a strong attraction. She was a devoted lover of music, and so accomplished a pianist as to be almost a genius for one of her age. The whole family seemed to be musical. Her father played the cello and Ted the violin, but Phyllis's work at the piano far surpassed theirs, and Leslie too loved music devotedly, though she neither sang nor played any instrument. It was a revelation to her when, on the next rainy afternoon, she accompanied Phyllis to the living-room of Fisherman's Luck and listened to a recital such as she had never expected to hear outside of a concert hall. Oh Phyllis, it's wonderful, simply wonderful, she sighed blissfully, when the last liquid ripples of a Chopin waltz had died away. I don't see how you ever learned to play like that, but what in the world are you going to do now? For Phyllis had jumped up with an impatient exclamation, laid back the cover of the grand piano, and was hunting frantically in the music cabinet for something. Why, I'm going to tune the old thing, she declared. This salt air is enough to wreck any piano, and this one is so old that it's below pitch most of the time. But of course it wouldn't do to have a very good one here. That's why Dad sent this one down. I just had to learn to tune it in self-defense, or we would never have used it. So here goes. And to Leslie's breathless amazement, she proceeded to tune the instrument with the most professional air in the world. Phyllis, you're amazing, remembered Leslie at length, but tell me, what do you intend to do with this wonderful gift you have? Surely you'll make it your career, or something like that. Well, of course I want to, confided her friend. To be candid, I'm crazy to. It's about the only thing I think of, but Father won't hear of it. He says he will let me have all the advantages he can for an amateur, but that's all he's willing or can afford to do. Of course I'm only 17 and I've got to finish high school at least, but I'm wild to go afterward to some one of the great European teachers and study for a year or two, and then see what happens. That, however, would cost at least two or three thousand dollars, and Father says he simply can't afford it. So there you are. It's awful to have an ambition and no way of encouraging it, but I'm always hoping that something will turn up, and Phyllis returned to her tuning. Two or three thousand dollars would be a pretty handy sum to have, laughed Leslie. I've been rather on the lookout for some such about myself, but for a somewhat different reason. Oh, I'll warrant you have an ambition too. Now tell me about it, cried Phyllis, pouncing on her and ignoring the piano. Yes, it is an ambition, acknowledged Leslie, but it isn't a bit like you. I hardly think you could call it an ambition, just a wish. You say it's this way. We're rather a big family at home, four of us children, and I'm the oldest, and Father's rather delicate and has never been able to hold a good position long because he's out so much with illness. We get along fairly well, all but little Ralph. He's my special pet four-year-old, but he's lame. Had some hip trouble ever since he was a baby. He could be cured, the doctors say, by a very expensive operation and some special care, but we haven't the money for it just yet. We're always hoping something will turn up too, and my plan is to hurry through high school and training school and then teach and save every spare penny for Ralph, but it seems an awfully long time to wait, and all the while that little tot isn't getting any better. There were tears in her eyes as she reached this point, and the impetuous Phyllis hugged her. You darling thing, I think you're too unselfish for words. It makes me feel ashamed of my own selfish, foolish little wish. Wouldn't it be gorgeous if we could find four or five thousand dollars lying around on the beach? Wouldn't it just—she stopped abruptly. What's the matter, inquired Leslie? Anything wrong? No, something just occurred to me. What if that wretched little dragon of ours was guarding just such a fortune? It might be jewels or banknotes or or something equally valuable. I'm going to get it right away and make another try at opening it. It makes me furious every time I think of it to be so so balked about getting at anything. But Phyllis objected Leslie, even if there were any such thing. I don't believe we'd have a right to keep it. It must belong to somebody, and we ought to make an effort to find out who. Don't you think so? Oh yes, if there's any real person, I suppose so, admitted Phyllis. But what if—she stopped significantly. Now don't tell me it was hidden there by ghosts, and Leslie's infectious laugh peeled out. Oh hush, or Ted will hear. He can't be far away, implored Phyllis guiltily. Of course I don't say what or whom it was hidden by, but there's something mighty queer to me about an empty bungalow being inhabited by living folks. What about burglars, interrupted Leslie quickly? Never was such a thing around these parts in anyone's experience, Phyllis hastened to assure her, much to her secret relief. Then perhaps it's the people who own the cottage offered Leslie. No chance. They're all gone off to spend the winter in California, every one. Ted had a letter from Leroy Danforth, who's a great chum of his, last week. Well, I know there is some other explanation besides a—a ghostly one, declared Leslie, nothing daunted. But anyway, we might have another look at the dragon. Phyllis went and got it out from its hiding place in her trunk, and they spent a fruitless half-hour wrestling with its secret fastening. They broke their fingernails trying to pry it open. They pressed and poked every inch of it in an endeavor to find a possible secret spring. They rattled and shook it, rewarded in this case by the dull thought of something shifting about. It was this last sound only that kept up their courage. Finally, they gave it up. I believe we could break it open with an axe, perhaps. But you don't seem to approve of that. So how are ever going to find out? I'm sure I can't imagine, declared Phyllis discouraged. Do you, Del? I think this metal is so strong it would resist even an axe, Leslie soothed her, and we'd only damage the box without accomplishing anything. There must be some other way. Why not show it to Ted and your father? Perhaps they could do what we can't. I will not share this secret with Ted, declared Phyllis obstinately. He's nearly nineteen and he thinks he's the most important thing in creation, and he's perfectly insufferable in some ways now. To have his advice asked in this thing would set him up worse than ever. I won't do it. Leslie had to smile inwardly at this outburst. To her, Ted had seemed just a jolly agreeable and rather companionable boy, with a very friendly, likable attitude. But she realized that she had not had Phyllis's sisterly experience, so she said nothing more. They put the dragon back in his hiding place, and sadly admitted themselves more baffled than ever. On the evening of the third day after this, however, a strange thing happened. To the surprise of Leslie, Miss Marsha had been induced to walk along the beach after supper, and stop in at Fisherman's Luck to hear a concert, an impromptu one, given by Phyllis and her father and brother. Leslie had learned that the Kelvin family amused itself in this fashion every night, when the fishing was not particularly good. I'd love to hear them play. Shouldn't you, Aunt Marsha? Phyllis is a wonder, just by herself, and they must make a delightful trio. She said this without any hope that her aunt would express much interest, but to her astonishment Miss Marsha replied, Well, suppose we walk down there after tea. I'm feeling so much better that I don't believe it would hurt me, and I'm just hungry to hear some music myself. Leslie joyfully imparted the news to Phyllis, and they planned an elaborate program. It was an evening that they long remembered, so absorbed were they, in the music that they all loved, and it was not till the end of an ensemble rendering of a Bach Concerto that someone remarked, Why, it's raining! No one had noticed it until then. Miss Marsha was quite aghast, for she seldom ventured out in the rain, and she had brought no adequate raps. But Leslie settled that question speedily. I'll take rags and run up the beach to our bungalow and bring them to you, if Phyllis will lend me her stickers, she declared. No, you mustn't come with me, Ted. I'll be perfectly safe with rags, and while I'm gone, you can all be giving that Beethoven Sonata that you promised Aunt Marsha. I won't be fifteen minutes. They finally let her go and settle down to the music once more. She was much more than fifteen minutes in returning, but no one noticed it, so deeply immersed were they in the rendering of the Sonata. At last, however, she was back, breathless and dripping, and with a curious light in her eye that no one noticed but Phyllis. What is it, Phyllis managed to whisper, when the others were talking and putting on raps? Just this, replied Leslie breathlessly and jerkily, while I was in the house, I happened to look out of my window, as I often do, no light in my room, and I saw that light again next door. Rags saw it too, at least he growled in that queer way. I waited and watched a long time. I wanted to go out nearer the place, but didn't dare, then it disappeared, and I didn't see it any more, then I came on here. Phyllis listened to the whispered, jerky sentences in a thrilled silence. Then she replied, I'm coming up first thing tomorrow morning, early, but watch out the rest of the night, if you can. Phyllis was as good as her word, better in fact, for she was actually knocking at the door of rest haven, before Leslie was out of bed, much to Miss Marcia's astonishment. Did you see anything else? Was her first whispered greeting. But Leslie shook her head. There wasn't another thing happened. I watched nearly all night till I fell asleep at the window, in fact. Well, something happened at some time or other, replied Phyllis provocatively. How do you know? demanded Leslie in a Twitter. I've seen the sign of it. Come outside and I'll show you. They made some excuse to Miss Marcia for immediately vacating the house and hurried outdoors. Phyllis led the way to a certain side of Curlew's Nest, on the opposite side from Rest Haven, where a sheltering projection of roof extended out for two or three feet over the ground. The hard rain of the night before had beaten out the sand all about the wooden footpath to an unbroken smoothness. But just under the protecting roof, Phyllis pointed to something at their feet. There it is, she muttered, and Leslie, staring down, beheld the impression of a single footprint, a footprint very different from either of their own in the sand. Well, was Leslie's first remark. That proves one thing beyond a doubt. What, demanded Phyllis, that it wasn't a ghost around here, I never yet heard of a ghost who made a footprint, the deduction somewhat staggered Phyllis and her pet belief. I suppose that's true, she had to admit. I never did either. But the question is, who did it and what did he want? But Leslie had been carefully examining the footprint. You say what did he want. Have you noticed that this footprint doesn't look very much like a man's? Phyllis stooped over it. You're right! It's a woman's or a girl's. Here's the deep imprint of the little French heel and the narrow pointed toe. Must have been a mighty small foot, she measured her own beside it. Still, even mine would look much smaller in pumps or slippers instead of these comfortable sneakers. Might be either a small woman or a girl like ourselves. But why is there only one, I wonder, mused Leslie. I think the answer to that is simple. She walked on this narrow boardwalk up from the back road, probably because it was easier or even perhaps so as not to make any footprints, and just at the doorstep she may have stumbled or stepped off by mistake in the darkness. Perhaps she didn't even realize it. Again Leslie had bent over the footprint. She was coming in when she made it. Do you notice that it points toward the door? Phyllis stared at her. What a perfectly dandy detective you'd make, she exclaimed. You've simply taken everything. You're just as good and even better, laughed Leslie, secretly pleased, however. Hurrah for us, cried Phyllis. We're just a pair of natural Sherlock Holmes's. Now here's what I propose. There's something mighty queer going on here, I believe, and I'm willing to give up my ghost theory because it does seem silly. But I want to investigate the thing pretty thoroughly, and the only way to do it is to get into that bungalow and see what has been going on inside. But Phyllis, cried the shock Leslie, you wouldn't break into someone else's bungalow, would you? And besides, how could you? Poo! declared Phyllis in scorn, as if I didn't know this bungalow as well as our own, and that Danforce almost as well as my own family, too, for that matter. I've been in here a thousand times. That Danforce would be only too grateful to me for keeping an eye on their place for them. They do the same for us. And as for getting in—why, I've always known a private way of getting in when everything's locked up—that Danforce themselves showed me. We'll get in this afternoon. This morning I promised head and father I'd fish with them a while, but this afternoon I'm free. Where are you two girls? They heard Ms. Crane calling from next door, and they started guiltily, not realizing how long they had been away. I must be more careful, or Aunt Marsha will begin to suspect something and question me, whispered Leslie. It would never do in the world to have her realize there was anything queer going on so close to us. She'd pack up for home in a minute. Her nerves are still so uncertain. Coming in, Marsha! That's so, agreed Phyllis, between keeping it from your aunt and from Ted and father. We're going to have some tight squeezes, I foresee. Well, I'll be back after luncheon and we'll do a bit of investigating. Goodbye. It was between half past one and two that afternoon when Phyllis again appeared at Rest Haven. A very auspicious time, for Ms. Marsha was in her room, taking her usual long nap, and Ted and his father had gone a mile or more down the beach to an inlet to try the fishing there. The two girls had the whole vicinity to themselves. What shall we do with rags? questioned Phyllis. I hardly think we ought to take him in. Can't you chain him up? Oh, I wouldn't dare. He'd howl himself sick and wake Aunt Marsha. You see, he's never chained. But I can turn him loose on the beach and let him chase hermit crabs, and when he's well occupied we can slip away. They strolled down to the water's edge with the dog, who was speedily absorbed in the one occupation he found of never failing interest. Then they slipped back to the bungalow, without his even noticing that they had gone. It was only when they stood by the side door of Curler's Nest that Leslie noticed something bulky concealed under Phyllis's sweater. What in the world have you got there? she demanded. Phyllis produced a large-sized electric torch. How do you suppose we're going to see anything in that dark place without something like this? We certainly mustn't open any windows. Leslie confessed she hadn't thought of it, and then watched with amazement while Phyllis skillfully inserted the blade of a knife in the crack of the door, wiggled it about a moment, and triumphantly lifted the hook inside from its ring and swung open the door. Hurry in, she whispered. We must close this quickly before anyone can notice. They shut the door in haste, and Phyllis flashed on her light. Then she replaced the hook in its ring. Now we're safe. You see, this is a little side closet like a pantry where the ice-box is kept. They had the door made so that the ice may not be carried in through the kitchen. But that's a very poor catch for the door, just that little hook, cried Leslie. I should think they'd have something more secure than that. I suppose it is, agreed Phyllis, and they've often said so themselves, and yet it's just one of those things that never gets changed. Anyhow, nobody ever locks anything down here. Only fastens things up when the season is over. There's nothing really valuable enough here to lock up or to be attractive to thieves, and so it has just gone on, and I suppose that hook will remain there forever. But come along, let's get down to business. This way to the living room. And she led the way along a passage and into the big main room of the bungalow. It was very much on the style of that of Rest Haven, furnished with attractive willow furniture and with a large brick open fireplace at one side, as Phyllis flashed the torch about in a general survey, Leslie noticed that the cottage was obviously dismantled for the winter. The furniture stood huddled against the walls. There were no dainty draperies at the shuttered windows, and the rugs were rolled up, tied, and heaped in one corner. Nothing seems out of the way here, said Phyllis. It's just as the Danforts usually leave it. Now let's look in the bedrooms. They journeyed through the four bedrooms with no different result. Each wore the same undisturbed air of being shorn of its summer drapery, with beds starkly stripped of all but their mattresses, and these covered with heavy paper. Then on to the kitchen, which seemed of all the rooms, to wear mournfully its normal aspect, but even there everything apparently appeared as it should. It was in the kitchen that Phyllis stopped short and faced Leslie. Well, doesn't it beat everything, she exclaimed, after all we've seen and heard, yes, and found. There's not a thing here that looks as if a living soul had been in it since Mrs. Danfort closed it up. Now what do you make of it? Perhaps we haven't looked closely enough. Let's go over it again. Was all Leslie could offer. And isn't it possible that a person might come in here for some reason and not disturb anything? Yes, of course it's possible. But is it likely? countered Phyllis. But as you say, we better go over the place again more carefully. If we don't find something, I shall certainly go back to believing in my ghost, and I guess you'll admit I have foundation for it now. I'll tell you what, suggested Leslie. Suppose we each take a turn with the flashlight and go over every room twice, first you, then myself. I noticed that when you held the light, I had to follow behind and look over your shoulder or get in your way, and I really couldn't see very well. Now I'll sit in this chair while you go over the place, and then you give the torch to me. How does that strike you? Good idea. You're full of them, Leslie. I ought to have thought of it before. And while Leslie sat down rather gingerly in one of the willow rockers against the wall, Phyllis systematically examined the room again, diving into all the nooks and corners, and at last came back to hand the torch to her friend. No luck. It's as clean as a whistle of any clues as far as I can see. You take your turn. When Leslie had completed her search, they proceeded to treat the other rooms in similar fashion, and so had come to the last bedroom when they were startled by a sound from outside the house. What in the world is that? cried Phyllis in a panic. It's the most uncanny sound I ever heard. They listened again and caught the intonation of a long moan, ending in a rising note like a wail. It was truly a little hair-raising in the closed, forsaken spot. Suddenly Leslie giggled, oh, it's only rags. He's missed me at last and traced me here, and is probably sitting by that side door now, protesting against having been deserted. Phyllis was both relieved at the explanation and annoyed at the interruption. Let's go and stop him right away, or he'll have the whole neighborhood here. They hurried to the little side door in the pantry and snapped off their light, rags from outside, sniffing at the threshold, sensed their approach and yapped joyously. But how are you going to lock that door after you? whispered Leslie in sudden terror. It isn't possible. Trust me, smiled the capable Phyllis. Do you suppose I'd have unfastened it if I couldn't fasten it up again? I just keep the hook in a certain position with my knife as I close the door and then gently drop it into the ring through the crack. I have done it a dozen times, Leroy Danforth taught us how. Leslie breathed a sigh of relief, and Phyllis cautiously opened the door. Then both girls started back in genuine dismay. Sitting cross-legged in the sand, directly in front of the door, and holding back the delighted rags by his collar was, of all people most unwelcome to Phyllis, her grinning brother, Ted. The consternation of the guilty pair was almost ludicrous. At least Ted found it so. Then Phyllis recovered her self-possession and demanded, What are you doing here, I'd like to know. Please, ma'am, that's the question I prefer to ask of you, and with a great deal more reason, returned Ted. Of all the nervy things I ever saw, it's you prowling around the Danforth's closed bungalow and sneaking out like a thief when you thought no one was around. Leslie felt herself turned red and uncomfortable at the accusation, but Phyllis seemed in no wise daunted. I guess if I wanted to show the place to Leslie, there isn't any particular harm in it. She's been asking me what it looked like in there and how it differed from their house. You know perfectly well the Danforths wouldn't care a brass farthing. This statement happened to be entirely true, for Leslie had questioned her only the day before, as to the interior arrangements, and expressed some curiosity to see it. She breathed a sigh of relief at the ease with which Phyllis seemed to be explaining a rather peculiar situation. Ted, however, seemed only half convinced. If that's so, it's mighty queer that you look so guilty and caught in the acty when you came out and saw me. And for goodness sake, how long have you been in there anyway? This rags-dog came running up the beach to us at least an hour ago, and I thought, of course, you girls were somewhere about. But when you didn't appear after a while I began to get worried, and rags and I started off to find you. He led me straight here, good old chap, and we'd been sitting waiting at least fifteen minutes. Then he began to how, and gave the game away. Now please explain all this. I'll explain nothing further, replied Phyllis loftily, and I'll trouble you to attend to your own affairs in the future, with which crushing rejoinder she marched away, dragging the unhappy Leslie after her. All right, just you wait. I'll dig out your little secret, he called after them. And he will, too, muttered Phyllis. That is, if we don't use the greatest caution. Isn't it unfortunate that that wretched dog led him right here? However, I've settled him for the present. Now let's think about other things. But it was not so easy for Leslie to forget the unpleasantness of the recent encounter and the implication that she had been caught trespassing. But Phyllis settled down to a steady talk about their investigations, and she presently forgot the impression. It's mighty strange that in all our careful search we didn't find a single thing that would indicate a recent visitor, mused Phyllis. Didn't you see anything? Any least little thing? questioned Leslie. Phyllis stared at her in some surprise. Why, you know I didn't. What makes you ask? Because I did, Leslie quietly returned. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of The Dragon's Secret This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Dragon's Secret by Augusta Huell Seaman Chapter 6 Leslie Makes Some Deductions Well of all things, ejaculated the astonished Phyllis, and you never said a word. What was it? I didn't say anything, explained Leslie, because there was hardly a chance. It was just before we came out and... But what was it? Never mind how it happened, cried Phyllis impatiently. Well, this is a part of it. In that southwest bedroom, the one facing our house, I saw a tiny string of beads lying under the bureau, just by the front leg of it. The string was just a thread about three inches long, with some little green beads on it. A few of the beads had come off and rolled farther away. I picked one of them up, and here it is. She held out a little bead to Phyllis. But what on earth is there to this, exclaimed Phyllis, staring at it disappointedly? I don't see what an insignificant little object like this proves. It was probably left by the Danforce anyway. No, I don't think it was, returned Leslie quietly, because the Danforce seemed to have cleaned the place very thoroughly. The rest of the floor was spick and span as could be. I think the string of beads was part of a fringe, such as they wear so much nowadays to trim nice dresses. It probably caught in the leg of that bureau and was pulled off without its owner realizing it. Now did any of the Danforce, as far as you know, have any bead-trimmed dresses that they wore down here? Phyllis shook her head. I begin to see what you're driving at, Leslie. No, there's only Mrs. Danforce to wear dresses. The rest of the family consists of her husband and the boys. I'm perfectly certain I never saw her in a beaded dress. And even if she had one, I'm sure she wouldn't think of wearing it down here, not even to travel home in. People don't bring elaborate clothes to this place, and she's never been known to. I believe you're right. If the beads had been there when the place was cleaned, they would have disappeared. They must have come there since. The mysterious she of the footprint must have left them. But what else was there? Then I noticed another thing that was curious and very puzzling. I confess I can't make much out of it, and yet it may mean a great deal. It was out by the fireplace in the living room. Did you happen to notice that one of the bricks in the floor of it looked as if an attempt had been made to pry it loose or something? The cement all along one side had been loosened and then packed down into place again, and way in the corner, I picked up this. She held up the blade of a pen knife, broken off halfway. No, I hadn't noticed it at all, explained Phyllis roofily. The truth is, Leslie, I went into that place expecting to see it all torn up or uptived, or something of the kind, something very definite anyway, and when I didn't notice anything of the sort, I was awfully disappointed, and hardly stopped to notice any of these small things. But I believe what you found may be very important, and I think you're awfully clever to have noticed them too. Why, it actually sounds like a regular detective story. And now that you've found these things, what do you make out of them? Have you any ideas? Leslie wrinkled her brows for an interval in silent thought. At last she said, Yes, I have a good many ideas, but I haven't had time to get them into any order yet. They're all sort of chaotic. Oh, never mind, cried the ever-impatient Phyllis. Tell me them anyway. I don't care how chaotic they are. Well, to begin with, has this occurred to you? Whoever comes here selects only a stormy rainy night for a visit. Now, why, unless they think it's the best kind of time to escape observation? They just calculate on few people going out or even looking out of their houses on that kind of night. Isn't that so? It certainly seems to be, agreed Phyllis, but what do you prove by that? I don't prove anything, but I've drawn a conclusion from it that I'll tell you later. Then there's the matter of this little bead. I know you rather scored it when I first showed it to you, but do you realize one thing? We may be able to identify the owner by means of it. Phyllis stared at her incredulously, but Leslie continued, Yes, I really think so, and I'll tell you why. This isn't an ordinary bead. In the first place, it's a rather peculiar shade of green, one you don't ordinarily see. Then, though it's so small, it's cut in a different way too, sort of melon-shaped, only with about six sides. Do you see? On closer examination Phyllis did see, and she had to acknowledge that Leslie was right. Then there's the broken pen knife with the brick with one side-pride out, went on Leslie. It's pretty plain that the person was trying to pry up that brick with the pen knife, and found it hard work because the mortar or cement is solid. Then the blade of the knife broke, and the attempt was probably given up. Now, why did they want to pry up that brick? I know, I know! cried Phyllis triumphantly. They wanted to bury the dragon's secret under it. Maybe they did, and maybe they didn't, replied Leslie more cautiously. They certainly tried to pry up the brick, but perhaps it was to look for something under it rather than to hide anything. However, I rather think it was to hide it, and because they didn't succeed, they went out and buried it in the sand instead. How about that? Phyllis sprang up and hugged her impetuously. You have a brain like a regulation sleuth hounds, she laughed. What else? Well, this is what I can't understand. Suppose this person, we're sure now it must be a woman, came down here that first stormy night with the dragon's secret, and tried to hide it somewhere, and finally buried it in the sand outside. The question is, what did she come for the second time? To get it again? suggested Phyllis. I'm almost absolutely certain not, because if so, all she would have had to do was to go outside and dig. Of course, she wouldn't have found it because we had it, but she never went outside at all. I know that positively. I passed right by the place where Rags dug the hole, on my way up from your bungalow, and it was quite untouched, just as we left it after we filled it up again that day, and when we came back again I looked a second time, and still it was the same. And I watched half the night and would certainly have seen if anyone had gone there. No, I'm sure it wasn't for that, but what was it for? Give it up, advise Phyllis, at least for the present. Anything else? No, except the conclusion I drew about the person's coming on a stormy night. Do you realize this? There's quite a big chance that they, or rather she, will come again on the next stormy night, perhaps. Well, if that's the case, exclaimed Phyllis, I've drawn a little conclusion of my own. The next stormy night I'm going to spend at your bungalow, and we're going to keep awake all night. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of The Dragon's Secret This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Dragon's Secret by Augusta Huell Seaman Chapter 7 A New Development But the weather remained quite clear for several nights after this, and meantime other things happened that gave a new twist to the girl's conjectures. Two mornings after the events of the last chapter Phyllis appeared at Rest Haven with a mysterious wrapped parcel in her hand, answering Leslie's curious glance, she whispered, I want you to take this thing and keep it here and hide it. It's the Dragon's Secret. I don't feel safe a minute with it around our place, since Ted's performance the other day. You know he boasted he'd find out our secret, and he will certainly make every effort to, or I don't know him. Whether he'll succeed or not depends on how clever we are in spoiling his plans. If he found this though, we might as well not try to keep the rest from him. I discovered him snooping around my room rather suspiciously yesterday. This was locked up in my trunk, and he said he was only hunting for fudge. But anyhow, you'd better keep it now, if you can think of some safe place to hide it. I'm sure I don't know where to put it, sighed Leslie, rather worried by the responsibility. Aunt Marcia and I shared one big trunk because it didn't seem worthwhile to bring two, when one needs so few things here. So of course I couldn't put it in there, and the lock of my suitcase is broken. There isn't a bureau drawer with a key in the whole bungalow, so what am I going to do? For a time Phyllis was equally puzzled. Then suddenly she had a bright idea. I'll tell you! That top shelf in your pantry where the refrigerator is. You said you'd put quite a few kitchen things that you didn't use there, and it's dark and unhandy, and neither your aunt or anyone else would think of disturbing it. Wouldn't that be the best place, really? I guess you're right, admitted Leslie, considerably relieved. Wait till Aunt Marcia has gone to sit on the front veranda, and we can put it there. The dragon's secret had probably known some strange resting places in its time, but doubtless none stranger than the one in which it now found itself. A dark rather dusty top shelf in a pantry, hobnobbing with a few worn-out pots and pans, and discarded kitchenware. But the girls tucked it far into a corner, and wrapped in its burlap bag, it was as successfully concealed as it would have been in a strongbox. And now there's something I've been wanting to ask you, said Leslie, as the two girls strolled down to the beach. Do you happen to know anything about the people who hired Curlew's Nest, the latter part of this summer? Oh, yes, cried Phyllis, though I didn't happen to see them myself. Mrs. Danforth told me that in July their remsons had it, as they always do, but in August and September she rented it to an elderly gentleman. I can't think of his name just this minute, who stayed there all by himself, with only his man or valet to do all the work. He wasn't very well, was recovering from some kind of fever, I think, and wanted to be alone in some quiet place. You know, Mrs. Danforth herself spent all summer in your bungalow, and she said she saw very little of the man in Curlew's Nest, though they were such near neighbors. He sat on his porch or in the house a great deal, or took long walks by himself on the beach. He used to pass the time of day with her and make some other formal remarks, but that was about all. She was really rather curious about him. He seemed so anxious not to mix with other people or be talked to. But he left about the middle of September, and she closed up that bungalow for the winter. That's about all I know. It's too bad. You can't think of his name, exclaimed Leslie. Why, demanded Phyllis, suddenly curious. You surely don't think that has anything to do with this affair, do you? But Leslie countered that question by asking another. Has it ever occurred to you as strange, Phyllis, that whoever got into that bungalow lately knew the little secret about the side door and worked it so cleverly? Phyllis's eyes grew wide, and she seized Leslie's arm in so muscular a grip that Leslie winced. No, it didn't. You little pocket-addition surlock homes, but I see what you're driving at. To know about that side door, one must have been pretty well acquainted with that bungalow, lived in it for a while. Aha! No wonder you're curious about the last occupant. We'll have to count that old gentleman in on this. Yes, but here's the mystery, reminded Leslie. You said he lived there alone except for his manservant. Remember, please, that the footprint we saw was a woman's. Phyllis tore at her hair and mocked a spare. Worse and more of it, she groaned, but the deeper it gets, the more determined I grow to get to the bottom of it. They strolled on a while in silence. Suddenly, Phyllis asked, where's Rags this morning? He doesn't seem to feel very well today. Something seems to have disagreed with him. Perhaps too many hermit crabs. Anyway, he's lying around on the veranda, and seems to want to stay near Aunt Marsha and sleep. She said she'd keep him there. Best news I've heard in an age, exclaimed Phyllis delightedly. That dog is the most faithful article, Leslie, but he's a decided nuisance sometimes. And now I have a gorgeous idea that I've been wanting to try for two days. Father and Ted have gone off for the day up the inlet, and Rags is out of commission. Here's our chance. Do you realize that there's one bedroom in Curlis Nest we didn't have a chance to explore the other day? Let's go and do it right now. I'll run down to our house for the electric torch and meet you at the side door. There's not a soul around to interfere with us. Oh no, Phyllis! I really think we ought, objected Leslie, recalling all too vividly the unpleasantness of their former experience. But Phyllis was off and far away while she was still expostulating, and in the end Leslie found herself awaiting her companion in the vicinity of the side door of Curlis Nest. They entered the dark bungalow with beating hearts, more aware this time than ever that mystery lurked in the depths of it. Straight to the unexplored bedroom they proceeded, for as Leslie reminded them, they had no time to waste. Rags might have an untimely recovery and come seeking them as before. Ted might also be prompted by his evil genius to descend on them, or even Aunt Marsha might be minded to hunt them up. The bedroom in question, as Phyllis now recalled, was the southwest one, and the one Mrs. Danforth said that the last tenant had chosen for his own. Therefore it ought to be more than ordinarily interesting, went on Phyllis. I remember now that Mrs. Danforth said he had asked permission to leave there, as a little contribution to the bungalow, a few books that he had finished with and did not wish to carry away. She left them right where they were on a shelf in his room, instead of putting them in the bookcase in the living room. I'm sort of remembering these things she told me piecemeal, because Mrs. Danforth is a great talker, and is always giving you a lot of details about things you're not particularly interested in, and you try to listen politely, but often find it an awful bore, then you try to forget it all as soon as possible. They found the bedroom in question somewhat more spacious and better furnished than the others, but though they examined every nook and cranny with care, they discovered nothing thrilling or even enlightening within its walls until they came to the shelf of books. These, with the exception of two books of recent fiction, were all of travel and politics in foreign countries. My, but he must have been interested in India and China and Tibet, and those countries exclaimed Leslie reading the titles. I wonder why. She took one of them down and turned the pages idly. As she did so, something fluttered out and fell to the floor. Oh, she cried, picking it up and examining it. Phyllis, this may prove very valuable. Do you see what it is? It was an envelope of thin, foreign-looking paper, an empty envelope, forgotten and useless, unless perhaps it had been employed as a bookmark. But on it was a name, the name no doubt of the recipient of the letter it had once contained, and also a foreign address. Do you see what it says? Went on Leslie excitedly. Honorable Arthur Ramsey, Hotel de Wagon Lee, Peking. Why, Phyllis, that's his name, which you couldn't remember, and he was evidently at some time in Peking. But Phyllis was puckering her brows in an effort of memory. There's some mistake here, I guess, she remarked at length. For now I recall that Mrs. Danforth said his name was Mr. Horatio Gaines. Leslie dropped the envelope back in the book, the picture of disappointment. It doesn't seem likely he'd have someone else's envelopes in his books, she remarked, and I think Honorable Arthur Ramsey of Peking sounds far more thrilling than plain Horatio Gaines. Let's look through the rest of the books and see if we can discover anything else. They examined them all, but found nothing more of interest and Leslie suggested uneasily that they had better go. But there's one thing I must see first, decided Phyllis. The beads and the broken penknife you found. I've been wild to look at them for myself. Come along. We'll have time for that. They made their way cautiously into the next bedroom, bent down and turned the torch toward the floor under the bureau where Leslie had made the discovery. Then both girls simultaneously gassed. There was not a sign of the beads anywhere to be seen. Phyllis! breathed Leslie in fright and wonder. It's gone! The whole string! What can be the meaning of it? Come! cried Phyllis, dragging Leslie after her. Let's go and see if the broken penknife blade is there yet. If that's gone too, something new has happened here. They hurried to the living-room and bent over the fireplace. The half-lucine brick was there as Leslie had described it, but of the broken penknife blade in the corner there was not a vestige to be seen. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Dragon's Secret This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Dragon's Secret by Augusta Huell Seaman Chapter 8 The Clue of the Green Bead With shaking knees and blank dismay on their faces, they crept out of Curlew's Nest and fastened the door. Then they hurried down to the water's edge and sat on a rise of sand to talk it over. What can it all mean, Phyllis? quaver Leslie. It means that someone has been in there again since day before yesterday, declared her companion. Though it's been bright moonlight for the past two nights, and how they got in without being seen, I can't quite understand. You said you kept some sort of watch, didn't you? I certainly did. I haven't gone to bed till late, and every once in a while during the night I've waked up and looked over there. It doesn't seem possible they would dare to come with the moonlight brightest day, all night long. Of course, that side door is on the opposite side from us, and the only way I could tell would be by seeing a light through the cracks of the shutter. Perhaps if they hadn't a very bright light, I wouldn't know. But what did they come for? question Phyllis. Why, that simple, they came back to get the beads and the knife blade. Probably it was the mysterious she, and she came to get those things because she realized they'd been left there and might be discovered by someone else. What else could it be? Of course, you must be right, agreed Phyllis. But it's the queerest thing I ever heard of. Anyway, there's one thing the lady doesn't know, that we have still one of the beads. I wonder how she'd feel if she did realize it. Do you ever wonder what that mysterious lady is like? Asked Leslie. I often try to picture her from the very, very little we know about her. I think she is tall and dark and slender, and very, very stylishly dressed. She has rather sad brown eyes and is quite foreign looking, and would be very interesting to know. Well, I don't imagine her that way at all, replied Phyllis. To me, it seems as if she must be large and imposing, with light hair and blue eyes, and very quick, vivacious manners. I agree that she is no doubt dressed in a very up-to-date style, and is probably about thirty-five or forty years old. I don't know whether I'd like to know her or not, but I would like to know what she's after in that bungalow. So they continued to conjecture and imagine, till Phyllis finally exclaimed, Why, there are father and tad back already. Fishing must have been poor this morning. Thank goodness we got out of that place when we did. But that reminds me. I ought to go to the village and order some supplies. The grocer doesn't come here again for two days. Don't you want to walk down with me? It's a gorgeous morning for a hike. I believe I will, agreed Leslie. That is, if Aunt Marsha can get along without me. I haven't had a good walk in so long that I fairly ache for one. I'll go and see if Aunt Marsha would like me to get her anything, and I'll meet you in five minutes. It was indeed a glorious morning for a walk. The crisp October air was as clear as crystal, and the salt metals back of the dunes were still gay with golden rod and the deeper autumn colorings. The creek that wound through them was a ribbon of intense blue, and a thousand marsh birds twittered and darted and swooped over its surface. But the two girls were, for once, almost blind to the beauty of it all, so absorbed were they in the never-failing topic of their mystery, and the village was reached almost before they realized they were in its vicinity. Phyllis did her shopping first in the general grocery store, then Leslie suggested that they visit the little fancy-good store and look up some wool for Miss Marsha's knitting. It was a very tiny little store, kept by a tiny rather sleepy old lady, who took a long time to find the articles her customers required. It seemed as if she would never, never locate the box with the right shade of wool in it. While they were waiting, not altogether patiently, a handsome automobile drew up in front of the store. Its only occupant was a young girl, scarcely older than Leslie and Phyllis, and by the ease with which she handled the car it was plain to be seen that she was an accomplished driver. In another moment she had entered the store and was standing beside the two girls, waiting to be served. She was short and slender in build, with a pink and white complexion of marvelous clearness and fluffy red-brown hair. Under the heavy coat which she had unbuttoned on entering the store could be seen a stylish suit of English tweeds very tailor-made and up-to-date, and a smart tan crowned her red-brown hair. After the pleasant manner of the villagers and accustomed summer people, Phyllis bathed her, Good morning! But to the astonishment of both girls, instead of replying in an equally pleasant manner, she stared at them both up and down for a moment, then turned away with only an ungracious nod. The indignant pair left her severely alone after that, except for a furtive glance or two when she was looking the other way. But when they had at last ascertained that old Mrs. Selby had, after all, no wool of the shade required, Leslie hurried Phyllis out with what seemed almost unnecessary haste. The little wretch, sputtered Phyllis, once safely outside. Did you ever see worst manners? But she's never mind about her manners, whispered Leslie excitedly. Did you notice anything else? Notice that she was very smart-looking and quite pretty. That is, I thought so at first. But after she acted that way, she seemed positively hateful. No, no, I don't mean that. Did you notice anything about her dress? Her clothes? Oh, do tell me what you mean, cried Phyllis. How you do love to mystify a person. Well, whispered Leslie, her eyes still on the door of the little store. When she threw open her coat, I happened to glance at her dress, and noticed that it had a girl of some dark green creepy material, and the two ends had fringes of beads. And the beads were just like the ones in Curlew's Nest. Phyllis simply stared at her, open-mouthed and incredulous. It can't be, she muttered at length. Even if the beads were like the ones you found, there are probably more persons than one who have some like them. Yes, that's true, admitted Leslie. But the color and the queer shape, everything, at least it's something worth investigating, it's the first real clue we've had. At that moment, the girl in question came out of the store, sprang into the car, whirled the wheel about, and was off down the street in a cloud of dust. They stood gazing after her. It doesn't seem possible, exclaimed Phyllis, it just can't be. And yet, tell you what, I'm just wondering whether she's staying anywhere around here, or is just a casual stranger passing through town. Let's go in and ask old Mrs. Selby if she knows anything about her. If she's staying here, Mrs. Selby will positively know it. I'll make the excuse of having forgotten to buy something. Come along. She hustled Leslie back into the little shop, and soon had little Miss Selby hunting for a size and variety of shell hairpin, of which she had no need whatever, as she possessed already a plentiful supply at home. But it was the only thing she could think of at the moment. When they were being wrapped, she asked quite casually, was that young girl who just went out a stranger here, Mrs. Selby, or is she stopping in the village? Seems to me I don't recall her face. Oh, she ain't exactly a stranger, replied Mrs. Selby with alacrity, quite waking up at the prospect of retailing a bit of gossip. But she ain't been around here so long, only a couple of weeks or so. She comes in here once in a while, but she ain't very friendly like, never passes the time of day or nothing. Just ask her what she wants and goes out. I never did quite take to manners like that. Nobody else here acts so, not even the summer folks. I can't think how she was brung up. They do say she ain't an American, that she's English or something. But I don't know for sure. Anyhow, she don't mix with no one, just runs around that automobile all the time. Where's she stopping, went on Phyllis. The hotel is closed. I thought all the summer people but ourselves had gone. Oh, she's boardin' up to Aunt Sally Blake's. I don't know how she come to go there, but there she is. I wonder how Aunt Sally gets along with her. Have you heard what her name is? Pursued Phyllis, as she received her parcel. They do say her name is Ramsay, Ms. Ramsay. Good morning, young ladies, and thank you. Coming again soon. When they were out on the street, Leslie clutched Phyllis spasmodically, and her eyes were almost popping out of her head. Is there the least out on your mind now, Phyllis Kelvin? She demanded her name is Ramsay, the very same name that was on the envelope in the book. And Phyllis was obliged to acknowledge herself, convinced. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of The Dragon's Secret This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Dragon's Secret by Augusta Hewle Seaman Chapter 9 Aunt Sally adds to the mystification The two girls walked home in a state bordering on stupefaction. Every little while Phyllis was stopped to ejaculate. Who would have thought it? The hard little snob. I really can't believe yet that it is she. Leslie, our mysterious she. I'm sure there must be some mistake. Well, of course, it may not be so, Leslie admitted. But you must see how many things point to it. The beads are identical. I stood so near her that I had a fine chance to see them closely. Her name is the same as the one on the envelope in the book. Yes, but it isn't the name of the man who hired the bungalow, objected Phyllis. That's quite true. But even so, you can't tell what connection there may be with the other name. It isn't exactly a common one, and that makes it all the more likely that we may be right. And then there's the fact of her being so near here, right in the village. I have always imagined that whoever it was had to come from quite a distance, and I've always wondered how she managed it, so late at night. But Leslie, why on earth should she come to that bungalow in the dead of night, in a storm, and hide that dragon's secret? What mysterious affair can she be mixed up with, anyway? Leslie, however, had no solution to offer to this poser, but she did have a sudden idea that made her stop short in the road and gasped. Do you realize, Phyllis Kelvin, that we are doing a very questionable, yes, a wrong thing in keeping the dragon's secret when it evidently belongs to this girl? How do you know it belongs to this girl, countered Phyllis? You only guessed that it may when all said and done. You didn't see her hide it there. You didn't even see her at the bungalow. We may be way off track for all you know, and we'd be a pretty pair of geese to go and meekly hand it to her, shouldn't we? And do you know, even if I were simply positive it was hers, I just wouldn't give it to her anyway for a while. I'd let her stew and fret for a good long spell after such hatefulness. Phyllis' manner was so vindictive that Leslie had to smile in spite of herself. But oh, see here, Phyllis went on. I have an idea, a glorious idea. It may help to clear up a lot of things. I know Aunt Sally Blake very well, and we'll go and see her this very afternoon. Perhaps she can give us more light on the subject. But wouldn't that seem too plainly like tracking down this Miss Ramsey, objected Leslie? Especially as she doesn't appear to care for our acquaintance. Not a bit, declared Phyllis positively. You don't realize how well I know Aunt Sally. Why, she's a regular village institution. Everybody knows her and thinks the world of her. She's a plump, jolly, delightful old lady who lives in a delightful old house full of dear old fashioned furniture. She keeps a lot of chickens and often sells them and the fresh eggs, and she does a little sewing and sometimes takes a border or two and goes out nursing occasionally. And oh, I don't know what all. But I know that we couldn't get along at all around here without Aunt Sally. We'll go down to her house this afternoon and call. I really haven't been to see her since I came down this time, and I'll ask her if she has a nice roasting chicken that I can have. That'll be a perfectly good excuse. And if our polite young lady isn't around, I'll try to get her to talk. Aunt Sally loves to talk. But she isn't a gossip like old Mrs. Selby, and we'll have to go at it a little more carefully. They solace themselves with this thought and awaited with more than a little impatience the visit that afternoon. Surely Aunt Sally, if any one, would be able to solve some of their mysteries. By afternoon the weather had turned warm, almost sultry, and they found Aunt Sally sitting on her front porch, rocking gently and humming to herself over her sewing. She was delighted to see Phyllis again and to make the acquaintance of Leslie, whom Phyllis introduced as her neighbor and very dear friend. When they had chatted about topics of common interest for a while, Phyllis introduced the subject of the chicken. Blast your heart, dear! cried Aunt Sally. I'm so sorry I haven't a roasting chicken just now in the whole yard. Nothing but fowls. But I can give you a couple of nice young broilers, and I've plenty of fresh eggs. Phyllis straightway arranged to have two broilers ready for her when she called for them next day, and skillfully changed the subject. Oh, Aunt Sally! Do show Leslie those begonies you've been raising all summer. I do think they are the most beautiful things. You certainly are very successful at making things grow. Highly flattered, Aunt Sally rose to lead the girls indoors, to the sunny room where she kept her plants. While they were admiring them, she asked them to sit down and rest a while and talk, an invitation they accepted with great alacrity. At length, after a detailed account of the health and affairs of her entire family, Phyllis craftily led the conversation back to Aunt Sally herself. And are you alone now, Aunt Sally? Or is your sister still with you? I heard she was going back to Ohio. Yes, she's gone, and I'm alone, said Aunt Sally. At least, I'm not quite alone. I have a border at present. I'll have you, exclaimed Phyllis guilefully, as if this were news to her. Why, that's very nice. I hope the border will stay a long while. It will be some company for you. Well, I don't know how long she'll stay. And she ain't much company for me. I must confess, admitted Aunt Sally with a somewhat worried air. The truth is, I can't exactly make her out. This was precisely the line that Phyllis wished her to take. Yet even now, caution must be observed, or Aunt Sally might shy away from it. Oh, it's a lady then, remarked the artful Phyllis. Well, no, it ain't exactly a lady. It's a young girl, about the age of you two, I should guess. Still, I don't see why she shouldn't be company for you. Even so, argued Phyllis. Quite as if she were still completely in the dark as to this new border. The reason she ain't much company, went on Aunt Sally, is because, well, I don't know as I ought to say it, but I guess she thinks she's too sort of high-toned to associate with the person who keeps her boarding-house. Aunt Sally laughed, an amused throaty little chuckle at this, and then the worried frown came back. Why, she must be rather horrid, I think, commented Phyllis, with more heartfelt reason than Aunt Sally could guess. No, I don't think she means to be hard. She's just been brought up that way, I guess. I wish she could be more friendly. I sort of feel a responsibility about her. You see, she's here all alone. She was staying at the hotel with her grandfather, and he suddenly took awful sick, and had to be taken to the hospital up at Branchville. She stayed on at the hotel, sows to be near him. She runs up there every day in her car, and then the hotel had to close down for the season. The manager came to me and asked if I could take her in, because he was kind of sorry for her, her grandfather being so ill, and she could seem to find no other place. So I did, but she worries me a lot, somehow. I don't like to see a young girl like that with no one to look after her, and she running around loose in that auto all the time. Why, she even took it out one rainy night last week at ten o'clock, said she was worried about her grandfather, but I didn't approve of her running all the way up there to Branchville in the rain. Here Phyllis glanced significantly at Leslie and interjected a question. Did she and her grandfather have one of the bungalows on the beach this summer? Do you know Aunt Sally? Why not did I know of? She said she'd been visiting some friends somewhere in Maine, and then come on here to join her grandfather just a few days before he was taken sick. I don't think it likely she ever stayed in one of the bungalows. She didn't seem to know anything about this region at first, and I'd likely have heard of it if she had, but laws, I got biscuits in the oven and I'm clean forgetting them. And with a whisk of skirts, Aunt Sally vanished for a moment into the kitchen. What did I tell you? whispered Leslie. Went out in the rain one night last week, about ten o'clock. I warrant she didn't go to the hospital, or if she did, it was after she'd visited Curlew's Nest. But Aunt Sally was back almost immediately, bearing some hot biscuits and jam, which she hospitably invited her guests to try. And while they were partaking of this refreshment, she sighed, My, how I've been gossiping about that poor girl! I sort of feel conscience-stricken, for I could like her real well if she'd only let me. She's a sort of lovable-looking child. I wish she knew you two girls. I believe it would do her a lot of good to be around with you. There she is now, she cried, as a car flashed past the window, and up the driveway toward the barn. Just wait till she comes in and I'll introduce you. A no-no, exclaimed Phyllis hastily springing up. Better not, Aunt Sally, if she doesn't care for you. I'm sure she wouldn't for us. Besides, we must go right away. Remember, we're both the cooks in our families, and even as it is, we won't be back very early. It's a long walk. Good-bye, and thank you, and I'll send for the broilers to-morrow. And with Leslie in tow, she hurried away, leaving a somewhat bewildered Aunt Sally gazing after them. Well, I guess not. The idea of trying to get acquainted a second time with that difficult young person, Phyllis, exploded, when they were out of earshot. And yet, mused Leslie as they swung along, unpleasant as the thought of it is, I wonder if it wouldn't be a good idea to get acquainted. Why, if we could do so in some way that wasn't like forcing ourselves on her, it might lead to a good many things, solving our mystery mainly. And then, who knows, she might be pleasant when you come to know her better. No chance, declared Phyllis, and dismissed that subject. Well, Aunt Sally didn't do much toward clearing things up, did she? She went on. I was in hopes. She'd be able to give us a good many more ideas. One thing's certain, though, that girl evidently came here in the car that rainy night. But, look here, something strange has just occurred to me. Aunt Sally didn't say which rainy night, and there have been two in the past ten days. I judge that the girl must have been with her for at least a couple of weeks, for the hotel closed up more than two weeks ago. I've been thinking of that, too, replied Leslie. And do you know, I'm almost certain Aunt Sally must have meant the last one, because she only said rainy night. If she'd meant that other, wouldn't she have said the night of the hard storm or something like that? Because it really was unusual. And if this Miss Ramsay had gone out on that night, I believe Aunt Sally would have been considerably more shocked and would have said so. What do you make of it? The only thing I can make out of it is that she didn't go out that first night. But if she didn't visit Curlou's Nest that night, then who in the world did? This certainly was a poser, and neither of the two girls could find an adequate conjecture that would answer. Then this Horatio Gaines, who hired the bungalow, must be her grandfather. Of course, the name is different, but he may be the grandfather on her mother's side. But if that is the case, who is the honorable author Ramsay? questioned Phyllis. Perhaps her father or her other grandfather ventured Leslie. That's possible. But I wish I had found out from Aunt Sally if she knew the name of the grandfather, who was ill. That might explain something. I wish I had asked her at the time. I believe I'll go for the broilers myself tomorrow, and see if I can find out more in some way that won't make her suspect, declared Phyllis. The next morning Phyllis was as good as her word. She went down to the village alone, as Leslie had matters that kept her at home that day. But she came flying back, breathless, to impart her news. I managed to leave the conversation around to that grandfather business again. Panted Phyllis to Leslie when she had induced her chum to come down to the beach for a moment. And what do you think she said? That his name was Ramsay. Now what do you make of that? If his name is Ramsay, he can't be the man who hired that bungalow, and we're all on the wrong track. No, it doesn't prove that at all, insisted Leslie. The one who rented the bungalow, no matter what his name was, certainly had an envelope in his possession addressed to Ramsay. So you see, there's a connection somewhere. Phyllis had to admit that this was so. But here something else stranger than that. What do you think of my having been introduced to, and becoming acquainted with our exclusive young friend? Leslie certainly opened her eyes in astonishment. You're surely joking, she exclaimed. No, positive truth. It happened this way. I was just about to leave with my chickens under my arm, when in walks this precious Miss Ramsay, right into the room. I could see she was prepared to turn on the cold stair effect again. But I never so much as noticed her existence. And then, and Sally bustled in. She'd been upstairs a minute, and blessed if she didn't introduce us after all. Said the most complimentary things about yours truly, and how I was staying at my bungalow on the beach. And then she mentioned you, too, and told about you being in the rest haven bungalow. It struck me that our young lady sort of pricked up her ears at that, though it may have been only my imagination. But she said, how do you do, rather carelessly? Didn't offer to shake hands or anything. I muttered something about it being a pleasant day, and hoping she was enjoying the place. But she only replied, oh yes, thanks. With that awfully English accent, and walked out of the room. Well, anyhow, we are formally acquainted now, whether either one of us enjoy it or not. And that may be a useful thing later, perhaps. It was still dark the next morning, when Leslie awoke from a dreamless sleep. Awoke suddenly, with the distinct impression that something unusual was happening. She lay perfectly still for several moments, trying to localize the sensation more definitely. In her room were two windows, a small one facing Curler's Nest, and a large, broad one facing the sea. Leslie always had this window wide open, and her bed was so placed that she could easily look out of it. She did so now, and noticed the first light streak of dawn along the east, and a brilliant star so close to the horizon that it seemed to be resting on the edge of the tossing ocean. Then her heart leaped, and felt as if it almost turned over. For between her and the light at the window, she described the shape of a dark head. Involuntarily Leslie sprang up to a sitting position. Then the tension relaxed, and she drew a deep breath of relief. It was only rags. Standing on his hind legs at the window, his great shaggy head silhouetted against the light. In another instant he had uttered his low, rumbling growl of uneasiness. What is it, rags? What do you see? She called softly to him. He forsook the window for a moment, and trotted over to nuzzle his head on her pillow, but almost immediately hurried back to his post at the window. There's something worrying him, she thought. Now I wonder what it can be. Suppose—suppose it were someone around that other bungalow again. I'd better get up and see. She rose softly, slipped on a warm dressing gown and slippers, and peered first out of the side window at Curlew's Nest. But the darkness was still intense on this side. There was no telltale light in the chinks of the shutters, and she was forced, after watching for several moments, to conclude that nothing was amiss in this region. Then she went to the window facing the ocean, pushed rags aside a trifle, and cuddled down beside him on the window seat. The dawn was growing every moment brighter. The streak of gray along the horizon had grown to a broad belt of pink, and very faintly the objects on the beach were beginning to be visible. Rags rumbled his uneasy growl at intervals, and stared intently at something Leslie's eye could not yet discern. It was only by following the direction of his gaze that she presently realized there was something moving on the beach, somewhere in front of Curlew's Nest. Then her heart actually did seem to stop beating for an instant, for in the growing light she at last could distinguish a dark form moving stealthily about by the old log where Rags had dug up the dragon's secret. Oh! Who can it be? And what are they doing down there? She whispered distractedly to Rags. The dog's only reply was to growl a little louder, and she promptly silenced him. Be a good dog, Rags. Don't make a sound. It will rouse Aunt Marsha, and besides, I must see who is there, if possible. Rags settled down again to a quieter watch, with evident reluctance. With every passing moment a day was approaching nearer, and the scene out over the ocean was one of surprising beauty, had Leslie only been less occupied, and had time to observe it. The band of pink had melted into gold, and a thousand rosy little clouds dimpled the sky above. It was now so light that the dark shape on the beach stood out with comparative clearness. It had been bending down and rising up at intervals, and it took little guessing on Leslie's part to conjecture what was happening. Someone was digging in the spot where the dragon's secret had been hidden. What if it is Miss Ramsay, thought Leslie? Oh! It must be she! Who else could it be? She's looking for that box, and she can't find it because we've taken it away. Oh! What ought I to do about it, if only Phyllis were here? At this moment she realized from the actions of the unknown person that the search was evidently abandoned. The figure stood upright, struck its hands together, and threw away some implement like a board with which the digging had been done. Then, with a discouraged shrug of the shoulders and a hasty glance back at the two cottages, it turned and walked away down the beach and was shortly out of sight. And it was then that Leslie sank back on the window-seat, was a little gasp of sheer astonishment. The figure was not, could not have been, that of Miss Ramsay. It was a man, a tall, burly man, and as he walked away, his gait gave evidence of a decided limp. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of the Dragon's Secret This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Dragon's Secret by Augusta Huell Seaman Chapter 11 An Unexpected Visitor So anxious was Leslie to impart this newest development to Phyllis that morning that she ate no breakfast at all, a departure which worried Miss Marsha not a little. But Leslie was out of the house and off the moment she had finished washing the dishes. It was some time before she could locate her companion, as the Kelvins had gone off early on a fishing expedition a short way up the inlet, having persuaded Phyllis to join them, a thing she had done but little of late. After a long walk and much hallowing, however, Leslie sighted their boat, and it took considerable time before she could persuade Phyllis to come ashore, as she could not very well impart to her, standing on the bank, that she had news of vital importance concerning their secret. When Phyllis had at last been lured ashore and the two had walked away out of sight, she told the tale of her curious experience at dawn. And now Phyllis, what do you make of it? She demanded wide-eyed. There's only one thing to make of it, returned Phyllis gravely, and that is, there's someone else mixed up in this, someone we haven't known about or counted on at all. I thought Miss Ramsey all along was the only one concerned in it. Now we can only guess that that isn't so. But how to make head or tail of the whole thing is beyond me. What kind of man did you say he was? Leslie described him again. Of course it was still hardly light, and I couldn't see him plainly at all, she ended. I never even got a glimpse of his face, nor how he was dressed, but he was tall and broad-shouldered, and I think stooped a little, and walked with quite a decided limp. That last fact ought to help identify him, if nothing else, mused Phyllis. But I confess, I'm more at sea than ever about the whole thing. I was beginning to think I'd reduced things to some kind of a theory, but this upsets everything, and it annoys me to think I'm always out of it, being so far away from Curlew's Nest. I do believe I'll have to come and spend my nights with you, or I'll never be on the scene of action at the most interesting time. Oh, I do wish you would, urged Leslie earnestly. I'm really beginning to be quite nervous about all this. It's so uncanny, not being able to say a word about it to Aunt Marcia or anyone, being all alone there, or as good as alone, when these queer things happen. Don't you suppose we could arrange it somehow, that you could come over and stay with me, without having it seem odd or out of the way to the others? They both thought hard over the problem for a moment, suddenly Phyllis cried. I have it, I think. I heard Father and Ted planning today to be off fishing tonight, and as many nights after as the conditions are good. They just adore that kind of thing, and have done very little of it this time. As a rule, I don't mind a bit staying alone at the bungalow, if I don't happen to go with them. But I've never before had the excuse of having you here to be with. It will seem perfectly natural for me to say that, as there to be away, I'll spend the night with you. How's that? Oh, just the thing, exclaimed Leslie enthusiastically. And now let's go back and take a swim. It's fairly mild, and the best time of day for it. You left your suit at our house last time, so it's very convenient. You won't have to walk all the way back to your place. They strolled back to Rest Haven in a leisurely fashion, and had just turned the corner of the house, and come inside of the front veranda, when what they saw there almost took them off their feet. On the veranda sat Aunt Marsha, rocking comfortably back and forth, and opposite her in another rocker sat, could their eyes have deceived them? Who put the redoubtable Miss Ramsay? She was dressed as they had seen her in the village store, and she was chatting with an appearance of the greatest affability with Miss Marsha. The two girls stared at her in ill-concealed amazement, so ill-concealed, in fact, that even Miss Marsha noticed it. Miss Ramsay and I have been getting acquainted while we waited for you to come back, she remarked, somewhat bewildered by their speechless consternation. She says she made your acquaintance at Aunt Sally Blakes in the village, where she is boarding. Oh, er, yes! stuttered Phyllis, remembering her manners. It's very pleasant to see you here, Miss Ramsay. I see you are acquainted with Miss Crane. This is Miss Leslie Crane, her niece. Leslie bowed, and murmured something in articulate, but Miss Ramsay was affable to a degree. I drove over to your cottage first, Miss Kelvin, she chatted on, after her introduction, with some eggs and Sally promised you. She was going to send them by the butcher boy, but he did not stop this morning, so as I was going out I offered to take them. But I found no one at your place, so I came on here, introduced myself to Miss Crane, and we've been having a nice time together. The astonishment of the girls at this amazing change of front in the difficult Miss Ramsay was beyond all expression. Her intonation was slightly English, her manner charming. They had not dreamed that she could be so attractive, and so fresh and pretty was she, that she was a real delight to look upon. What delightful little cottages these are, she went on. They look so attractive from the outside. I'm sure they must be equally so from the inside. We have nothing quite on this style in England where I come from. Would you like to go through ours? said Miss Marsha hospitably. Leslie, take Miss Ramsay through. Perhaps she will be interested to see the interior. Oh, I'd be delighted, exclaimed Miss Ramsay, and rose to accompany Leslie. It did not take them long to make the round of rest-haven. Rather to her hostess's astonishment, the girl seemed more enthusiastic over Leslie's room than any of the others, and lingered there the longest, though it was by no means the most attractive. What a wonderful view you have of the sea, she said, and then she strolled to the other window and looked out, long and curiously. That's an interesting little cottage next door, she remarked presently. Is it—is it just like this one? Why, no, it's larger and differently arranged, and furnished more elaborately, too. I—I believe, faltered Leslie, hoping she had not appeared to know too much about it. I wondered if we could go through it, went on the visitor. I—I just love to see what these little seashore places look like. They're so different from ours. Oh, I hardly think so, cried Leslie. You see, it's all locked up for the winter, and Mrs. Danforth, who owns it, has the key. The girl looked at her intently. And there's no other way, I suppose, beside the front door. How should I know, countered Leslie, suddenly on her guard. If there were, would it be right to try it, do you think? Wouldn't it be too much like trespassing? Oh, of course, laughed Miss Ramsay. I only meant that it would be fun to look it over, if there were any proper way of doing so. You see, grandfather and I might be here another summer, and I'd just love to rent a little cottage like either one of these two. She turned away from the window, and they sauntered out of the room and back to the veranda. And now that you've seen Leslie's bungalow, you must run over and see ours. Especially as it was at ours you first intended to call, said Phyllis. Come along, Leslie, and we'll show Miss Ramsay over Fisherman's luck. It struck the girls that Miss Ramsay showed a triflescent enthusiasm about returning to the other cottage. Still, she agreed, with a fair assumption of polite interest, and they tramped back along the beach, chatting agreeably. But she showed very genuine pleasure in the entirely different appearance of Phyllis's abode, and a large surprise at the presence of a grand piano in so unusual a place. And when Leslie informed her of Phyllis's talent, she eagerly demanded that they be given an immediate concert. And it was Phyllis's sudden whim to render a very charming and touching program ending with the Chopin Berqueuse. The music died away in a hushed chord, and Leslie, who had been gazing out at the ocean during its rendering, was astonished when she looked around to see the visitor, furtively wiping away a few tears. I'm a perfect goose about some kinds of music, she muttered apologetically, and then abruptly, won't you two girls please call me Eileen? I'm so lonely here, and I haven't any friends, and-and I'd like to see you often. And then the impulsive Phyllis put a comradely arm about her shoulder. Just come as often as you like. We'll always be delighted to see you. I'm sure we three can have a jolly time together, and be sure to call us by our first names, too. Thank you, Phyllis and Leslie, she said simply. You are more than kind to me, but I must be getting back now. It's most time for me to go to the hospital to see grandfather. He's so ill, and I'm so worried about him. Again the tears came to her eyes. But, good-bye, I'm coming over to Mara with the car to take you all out for a spin, and she was gone, running down the path to where she had parked the car. When they were alone, the two girls looked at one another. It's the most amazing thing I ever heard of. There's change in her, Marvelled Phyllis. Have you the slightest idea what caused it? I think I have, answered Leslie, and she told of the girl's curious conduct when she was being shown through Rest Haven. I believe she had a purpose in coming here. She may have thought she could find out something from us, and she certainly thought she could get into Curler's Nest. Though I don't believe for a minute the reason she gave was the only one. I think she didn't particularly want to go see your place, either, but when she got here she liked it. Yes, and I like her. Strange as you may think it, declared Phyllis. I've quite changed my mind about her. Do you know? I think that girl's having a whole lot of trouble, somehow or other. Trouble she can't tell us about. What the mystery is, and how it is connected with that cottage, I don't see. But I do believe that she likes us, and if we're ever going to solve this mystery at all, it will probably be through her. Shall we, do you think we ought to, give her the dragon's secret? Faulted Leslie. I certainly do not, at least not yet. I'll wait till I know a few things more before I make a move like that, declared the emphatic Phyllis. And now come along and let's have our swim. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of The Dragon's Secret This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Dragon's Secret by Augusta Huell Seaman Chapter 12 The Curious Behavior of Ted True to their previous arrangement, Phyllis spent the night with Leslie at Rest Haven. They read together till a very late hour, and then sat up even later, in the dark, watching from Leslie's window to see if there were any further developments at Curlough's Nest. But nothing unusual happened. Isn't it exactly my luck, complained Phyllis? If I weren't here, I suppose there'd be half a dozen spooky visitors. Oh no, laughed Leslie. Probably nothing will happen again for some time. Remember how very few times it has happened, anyway? But it is provoking, just when we're all ready for it. Do you know, exclaimed Phyllis suddenly, this is the time when I just love to go through that place again. What do you say if we get out of this window and try it? Oh no, no, cried Leslie. You mustn't think of such a thing. Can't you see how awfully dangerous it would be? Just suppose someone should take it into their heads to visit the place again tonight, and find us in there. It would be a terrible position for us. I wouldn't be afraid of Eileen, stately declared Phyllis. I'd rather enjoy meeting her there. It would give her something to explain. But there's someone else you might meet there who might not be so amusing. The man with the limp, Leslie reminded her. Phyllis had to acknowledge that this was so, and the subject was dropped, much to Leslie's relief. Next afternoon Eileen came over with her car and invited the girls in Miss Marsha to go for a long ride. They all accepted with alacrity, enjoying the prospect of a change. Eileen insisted that Miss Marsha sit by her while she drove, and as she did this with remarkable ease, she was able to converse pleasantly with her guests most of the time. She took them for a very long drive, and they were all astonished at her familiarity with the roads in that part of the country. She assured them that she had grown to know them well during the long days lately when she had little else to do than to explore them with the car. It was dusk when they returned at last to the beach, and having deposited Phyllis first at her bungalow, Eileen drove the others to theirs. They bade her good night at the foot of the wooden path that led up the slope to their cottage, and she sat and watched them without starting the car till they had disappeared in doors. But it so happened that Leslie turned around, opened the door, and came out again almost at once to get an armful of wood for the fire from the bin on the back veranda, and in so doing it happened also that she witnessed a curious little incident. Eileen seemed to have had a slight difficulty in starting the car, but it was in motion now, going slowly, and had advanced only about as far as the path leading up to Curlough's Nest. Leslie stood in the darkness of her porch, idly watching its progress, when something that happened caused her heart to leap into her throat. Out from some thick bushes at the edge of the road, there appeared a dark form which signaled to the car. Eileen whirled the wheel around, applied the brake, and the car almost came to a stop, almost, but not quite, for the figure leaped into it while it was still going. Then Eileen stepped on the accelerator, the car shot forward, and was almost instantly out of sight. Leslie got her wood and went indoors in a daze. What could it all mean? What duplicity had Eileen been guilty of now? The thing certainly looked very, very sinister. Consider it how you would, and she could breathe no word of it to her aunt, who as Leslie entered straightway began on a long eulogy of Eileen, her delightful manners, her thoughtfulness, and her kindness in giving them an afternoon of such enjoyment. It seemed to Leslie, considering what had just happened, that she must certainly scream with nervousness if Miss Marsha did not stop, and she tried vainly several times to steer her to another theme. But Miss Marsha had found a topic that interested her, and she was not to be diverted from it till it was exhausted. With all her strength Leslie longed for the time to come when Phyllis should appear, for she had promised to come again for the night, and when the supper was eaten and the dishes had been disposed of, Leslie went outside and paced and paced back and forth on the front veranda, peering vainly into the darkness to watch for her friend. Miss Marsha, indoors with rags by the blazing fire, called several times to her to come in and share the warmth and comfort, but she felt she could not endure the confinement in the house and the peaceful sitting by the hearth when her thoughts were so upset. Would Phyllis never appear? What could be keeping her? It was a small but very active indignation meeting that was held when the two girls were at last together. Leslie would not permit Phyllis to go indoors for a time after she arrived, though the night was rather chilly, but kept her on the veranda to explain what had happened. That is seatful little thing, cried Phyllis. Now I see exactly what she took us all out for this afternoon, even Miss Marsha, to get rid of us all for a good long time, while some accomplice of hers did what they pleased in Curlew's Nest, quite undisturbed by anyone around. That's exactly what it must have been, agreed Leslie, but who could that other person have been? The man with the limp, suggested Phyllis. No, I'm very sure it was not he. This person sprang into the car while it was still in motion, was very active, evidently. I'm certain the man with the limp could never have done that. Well, was it a man or a woman? Surely you could tell that. No, actually I couldn't. It was getting so dark, and the figure was so far off, and it happened so quickly that I couldn't see. But Phyllis, I'm horribly disappointed in Eileen. I had begun to think she was lovely, and that we had misjudged her badly, and now this. She's simply using us. That's plain, agreed Phyllis. She evidently intended to do so from the first, after she found out we were right on the spot here. She deliberately came out to cultivate our acquaintance, and make it seem natural for her to be around here. Then she, and the one she's working with, planned to get us away from here for the whole afternoon, and have the field free for anything they pleased. Fuck! It makes me sick to think of being duped like that. But after yesterday, and the way she acted when you played Japan, and what she said about our friendship and all that, was anything genuine at all? Not a thing, declared Phyllis positively. All put on to get a little farther into our good graces. Well, I'll never be caught like that again. We'll continue to seem very friendly to Miss Eileen Ramsay, but we won't be caught twice. By the way, what made you so late to-night? questioned Leslie, suddenly changing the subject. I thought you'd never come. Oh! I meant to tell you right away, but all this put it out of my head. When I got home after the ride, I found only Father there. He said Ted had been away most of the afternoon. He'd gone down to the village after some new fishing tackle, and hadn't come back yet. I started in and got supper, and still he didn't appear. Then we began to get worried, and phoned down to Smithsons in the village where they sell tackle, to see if he could be there. They said he had been early in the afternoon, but they hadn't seen him since. We called up every other place he could possibly be, but nowhere was he to be found. I was beginning to be quite upset about him, when in he walked. He was very quiet and uncommunicative, and wouldn't explain why he was so late, and then presently he said in a very casual manner that his hand was hurt, and when he showed it to us, I almost screamed, for it was very badly hurt, all torn and lacerated. He had it wrapped in his handkerchief, but we made him undo it, and I bathed it, and Father put iodine on it, and I fixed him a sling to wear it in. The thing about it was that he didn't seem to want to tell us how it happened. Said he met a friend who invited him to ride in their car, and had taken him for a long drive, and on the way home they'd had a little breakdown, and Ted had tried to help fix it, and had got his hand caught in the machinery somehow. But he was plainly very anxious not to be questioned about it, and Father says that Ted is old enough now to be trusted, and should not be compelled to speak when he doesn't wish to, and so nothing more was said. But it all seemed a little strange to me, for honestly, I don't know a single soul in this village that Ted knows who owns a car, or any other of our friends who would be likely to be around these parts just now. They're all home, at their schools or colleges. When I asked him whose car he was in, he just glared at me, and said I always did ask too many impertinent questions, but I can't make much out of it, and I hate any more puzzles to think about. Leslie, however, could cast no light on this new problem, and she was somewhat more interested moreover in their other puzzle, but as she was about to revert to that subject again, Phyllis suddenly interrupted. Oh, by the way! Soon after I got home, Aunt Sally phoned, to ask if we were back from the ride yet, and when I said we'd been back some time, she said she was quite worried, because Eileen had not yet appeared, and it was late and dark. I said perhaps she had stopped somewhere in the village, as she had left us a good while before. Quite a little later, just before Ted got in, Aunt Sally phoned again to say that Eileen had just arrived. She'd had some trouble with the car after she left us, and had to stop and fix it. I wonder what was the matter there? Suddenly Leslie clutched her friend's arm. Phyllis Kelvin, are we going crazy, or is there some strange connection in all this? Can't you see? Ted late and mixed up with some breakdown. Eileen late and had trouble with the machinery, and with my own eyes I saw someone jump into her car. Could it? Could it be possible that person was Ted? Phyllis stared at her as if she thought Leslie had gone crazy. There's not the slightest chance in the world, she declared positively. Why, only last night, when I was explaining to Ted about Eileen, and how we'd become friends, all he said was, well, so you've taken up with some other dame, have you? Might as well not have brought you down here, all the good you are to us this time, haven't been fishing with us more than twice since we came. Whoever this Eileen is, don't, for goodness sake, have her around here. If he'd known her, he certainly would have shown it in some way. He acted utterly disgusted with me for having made her acquaintance. That all may be true, but it doesn't prove that he is not acquainted with her, stubbornly affirmed Leslie. And Phyllis was driven to acknowledge the force of the argument.