CHAPTER XI The Secret Hiding Place

“My! My! Is Jake Curtis important?” Madge mocked. “Take it or leave it! I wish you had told him to jump in the lake!”

“I fear I’m at his mercy,” Anne returned in a disheartened tone. “What can I do in twenty-four hours? I can’t borrow enough money to pay off the mortgage. And if I sold the house and island at public auction it probably wouldn’t bring enough to get me out of debt.”

“Jake would see to that,” Madge said feelingly. “He has underhanded ways of managing things. But don’t take it so hard, Anne. We’ll find some way to best him.”

“The formula was my only chance of raising money and we couldn’t possibly unearth it in twenty-four hours.”

“That man in Washington may wire right back.”

“And again, he may never answer,” Anne added gloomily. “Oh, well, it does no good to moan. Let’s go back to the car.”

The girls reached the Brady lodge in time for a late luncheon. Learning that Mr. Brownell had gone fishing again and that Clyde Wendell had not been seen since breakfast, Madge persuaded Anne to remain for a few hours.

They had lunch and then sat on the veranda. As usual the conversation turned to the missing formula and to the book which they hoped would disclose the secret. Madge brought it from the house and they looked at it again. While they were pouring over the pages, Mrs. Brady came outside to suggest that Madge take the newly purchased magazines to Bill’s cabin.

“He’s laid up with rheumatism again today,” she explained, “and I know he’ll appreciate something to read.”

“Rheumatism, like fun!” Madge laughed as she arose to do her aunt’s bidding. “I notice his attacks always come on the days when Uncle George has planned a hard day’s work. You’re both too easy on him.”

She accepted the magazines, and with Anne, who still had the book in her hand, walked a short distance through the woods to Bill’s cabin. From afar they glimpsed the old workman smoking his pipe on the porch but he quickly vanished inside as he saw them coming. When they knocked, a muffled voice bade them enter.

They entered the room to see Bill stretched on his bunk, his face twisted with pain.

“Thet you, Miss Madge?” he mumbled, making an exaggerated effort to lift himself to a sitting position. “If Mr. Brady sent you to find out how I be, you kin tell him I ain’t no better. My back’s nigh to killin’ me. I didn’t git a wink o’ sleep last night and this mornin’ seems like me poor old body—”

“Never mind,” Madge interrupted. “Uncle George didn’t send me. I brought these magazines for you.”

Bill’s face brightened. He swung his feet to the floor with alacrity, then remembering his ailment, groaned and told Madge to leave the magazines on the table.

“I won’t be doin’ much readin’ fer several days yet,” he mumbled. “I’ll jes’ lie here quiet like and try to git me strength back.”

The girls soon left, but mischievously hid themselves behind a tree only a short ways from the cabin. Before long, Old Bill’s tousled head was thrust cautiously out the door. Seeing that the coast was clear he took up his seat in the sun and soon was lost in the depth of a bloodcurdling detective story. The girls stole quietly away.

“It’s always that way,” Madge declared. “For every honest day of labor he does, Bill rests six! I guess at that we couldn’t get along without him.”

Taking a different trail through the woods, the girls presently came to a newly constructed two-room log cabin.

“Uncle George plans to rent it out later in the summer,” Madge explained. “It’s all finished now.”

“Is it nice inside?”

“Lovely. I’ll open it up and show you.”

Madge dashed off through the woods, returned in a few minutes with the key, which after a few unsuccessful turns, unlocked the cabin door. The rooms had been furnished with rustic furniture that Mr. Brady had made himself. The unpainted log walls gave off a pleasant, fresh odor. Madge pointed out the huge stone fireplace.

“Bill will be proud of this until his dying day. He can tell you the number of stones in it too.”

“How did you ever keep him at it long enough to get it done?”

“It was a problem. Uncle George supervised the work, of course. Even then, Bill made several mistakes in placing the stones. See—” she indicated a deep ledge, well-hidden up the chimney. “No one knows why he did that. The chimney may not draw right now.”

“Madge, how long before this cabin will be used?” Anne asked suddenly.

“Probably not for a month or so. Why?”

“I was thinking—this ledge is made to order!” Anne glanced at the book she still carried in her hand. “We must hide ‘Kim’ somewhere. Why wouldn’t this shelf be an ideal place?”

“Perhaps it would. No one ever comes here now the cabin is finished. The key is kept in the kitchen cupboard and the windows are always locked from the inside. The only danger might be that someone would start a fire to test the chimney. And if Uncle George should decide to do that, I could rescue the book.”

“Let’s hide it here then, Madge. Somehow, I don’t feel that it is very safe in your bureau drawer.”

“Neither do I, with so many guests around. But I’m not convinced this is such a safe place either. I’d feel better if you took the book back home with you.”

“No, I’d much rather you kept it. And we can’t ask for a better place than this shelf. Who would think of looking here? It’s well hidden and the book just fits the space.”

Anne thrust an exploratory hand up the chimney. As she observed, the ledge seemed to have been built for “Kim.”

“I suppose we may as well leave it there,” Madge said, a trifle reluctantly. “At any rate, the book will be safer than in my bureau drawer.”

They left the cabin, locking the door behind them. Madge cast an uneasy glance about the clearing. “You—you didn’t hear anything?” she asked.

“Hear anything? Why, no. What do you mean?”

Madge did not reply immediately for her sharp eyes were searching the line of trees which circled about the little cabin. Gradually, the tense lines of her face relaxed.

“Just as we came out, I thought I saw someone—right close to the cabin. For a minute, I was sure I heard a stick crackle.”

“Imagination!” Anne laughed. “The responsibility of keeping the book is making you nervous.”

“I guess so. Still, this hiding place doesn’t entirely suit me. Let’s go back and get it!”

“Nonsense!” Anne protested. “The place is all right. No use treating that book as though it were a bag of gold. Come along. I must be getting on home.”

Reluctantly, Madge permitted herself to be led away.

“All right,” she gave in, “but if anything happens, don’t blame me!”