Missing at Marshlands
Cleo F. Garis
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Dave Morgan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
They were afraid, yet they knew they must go in. (_Frontispiece_) (MISSING AT THE MARSHLANDS)
_The Arden Blake Mystery Series_
MISSING AT MARSHLANDS
_By_ CLEO F. GARIS
A. L. BURT COMPANY _Publishers_ New York Chicago
_The Arden Blake Mystery Series_
BY CLEO F. GARIS
The Orchard Secret Mystery of Jockey Hollow Missing at Marshlands
COPYRIGHT, 1934, BY A. L. Burt Company
Missing At Marshlands
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO MY FRIEND DOROTHY O'CONNOR
_Who saw the Czar's snuffbox and told me its tragic story._
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE I A Stalled Car 9 II A Man, a Dog, and a Girl 19 III The Russian 29 IV A Girl and a Bracelet 42 V The Stranger 50 VI The Unwelcome Guest 56 VII A Noise in the Night 65 VIII Hard to Believe 72 IX The Snuffbox 78 X Beauty That Dazzled 85 XI Still They Come 92 XII A Friend in the Deep 98 XIII The Tragic Messenger 105 XIV Missing at Marshlands 110 XV Downhearted; Not Discouraged 115 XVI That Dark Woman 123 XVII Olga Makes Light of It 130 XVIII Reilly on the Case 136 XIX Tania Howls 142 XX Mrs. Landry Helps 147 XXI Melissa Has a Pin 157 XXII The Policewoman 164 XXIII On the Water Trail 170 XXIV The Man Arrives 178 XXV The Man in the Marsh 187 XXVI Melissa Again 192 XXVII Terry's Tactics 199 XXVIII Driven Away 205 XXIX The Barking of Tania 219 XXX All Is Well 227
CHAPTER I A Stalled Car
A bold morning sun thrust its warm glow into the crowded, cheerful roomat Cedar Ridge, glinting on half-filled suitcases and revealing with acruel indifference the dust gathered on the abandoned textbooks flung ina pile on the window seat. It was a hot sun, for summer was upon theland, and the school term was at an end. Arden, Terry, and Sim werepacking to go home.
It had been a year full of interesting activity and some genuine fun, butit had not been without hard work in the scholastic field. So, happy thatexaminations were over at last, and overjoyed that they had passed allsubjects, except for a condition in mathematics for Sim, the three girlswere losing no time in leaving their beloved college behind them andheading for a summer of rest and hoped-for adventure.
Sim Westover was sitting on a suitcase that refused to close and bouncingup and down in an effort to bring the yawning leather jaws together.
"Oh--Terry--help! I'll never get this old suitcase fastened, and we won'tget down till after dark, and your mother will be worried and----" Sim'slist of worries and trials was ended by Terry, a smiling, sandy-hairedcreature, thrusting Sim aside and putting a silk-covered knee on theoffending luggage, which closed obediently under such superior pressure.
"There, little one, it's shut. Are you all packed now?" Terry Landryasked, patting Sim maternally on her fair head.
Sim ducked. "Don't _do_ that!" she wailed. "You act like a maiden aunt."
"Phew!" A black-haired, blue-eyed girl crawled out from under a bed. "Howdid that shoe ever get under there in the first place? I suppose youthrew it at a mouse, Sim. I should have made _you_ crawl after it." ArdenBlake straightened her smart tan-wool dress as she rose from the floor.
"No," answered Terry before Sim could reply, "you did it yourself threenights ago, I remember. And, incidentally, I seem to be the only oneready, even though you two say I'm always late."
Terry stood surveying the jumbled scene with amused eyes. Her tworoommates at once renewed their activity. Arden thrust the recovered shoeinto a bag with its fellow and announced that she too was finished. Sim,powdering an uptilted nose, declared that if Arden was ready there wasnothing to wait for, so, opening the door of their room, called theporter to take their bags.
Down the long corridor they went, calling "goodbyes" at each open doorand gayly knocking at those closed, as they marched down the hall.
For the last time that year they descended the five flights of stairs upwhich they had so often raced. At the outer door of the building theycast a quick look behind them, then piled into the waiting car. Afive-passenger touring car, it was, belonging to Arden's father. In itthe three girls were to drive down to Oceanedge, on the coast, where theywould spend a month or two visiting Terry and her mother in a seasidecottage. Oceanedge was the development name of the resort. Natives calledit Marshlands.
It was the first time the three girls had been permitted to take such along drive alone, and they were anxious to conduct themselves creditably.Early as the start was, and it was not yet nine o'clock, the girls wouldnot reach the shore until nearly evening, so they were anxious to getgoing.
Relaxing comfortably against the cool leather upholstery, they soon leftCedar Ridge behind them. Mile on mile piled up as they drove along theuncrowded roads leading out of Morrisville. They talked little; thoughtswere too insistent, for leaving school was indeed a big event, and allseemed completely to realize its importance.
At noon they stopped at a wayside Tea Shoppe for lunch, and whenfortified by sandwiches and tea and a generous helping of chocolate cakethey continued on their journey, becoming less like students and morelike ordinary girls as they left college farther in the distance.
The country was now taking on a seashore look, maple trees giving placeto patchy-barked sycamores and stunted, conventional pines, and grassymeadows fading into sandy wastes and dunes; the road stretching alwaysbefore them, a dark ribbon between the yellow hills of sand, pebbles, andbroken shells.
It was at just such a portion of country that they came upon the stalledcar.
"Wait, Arden," Sim begged as they approached it, "let's see what thetrouble is. There hasn't been a garage for miles."
"No, and there won't be another one for miles, either, not until we getto Oceanedge," Terry announced. "Perhaps we should see if we could help."
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Arden promptly turned in to the side of the road, where they inspected arather ancient car, sagging over a flattened tire and looking likeanything but the power to move along.
"A blowout," Terry remarked laconically. "The owner is probably walkinginto town."
Curiously they looked into the abandoned vehicle when, suddenly, a hugewhite and tan dog, apparently aroused from a pleasant sleep, began tobark ferociously.
"No one could go near that car with that--that--what is it, Arden?" Simquestioned.
"A Russian wolfhound, and a beauty too," Arden replied, pursing her lipsinto a crooning little whistle and trying to soothe the animal withfriendly assurance.
"Look at all the stuff in the back there," Terry called, where, from asafe distance, she was gazing in at the rear window. "Looks like a lot ofpictures."
"I guess that's what they are. Well," Arden suggested, "shall we go on?We'll probably overtake the owner."
"Might as well," agreed Sim, and Terry nodded as she got back intoArden's car.
The dog stopped its barking, and as they drove off they could see itcurled up again on the front seat to finish its interrupted nap; a noseof silky white and taffy-colored tan. It certainly was a beauty.
Again the road lay straight before them, without even a tree on eitherside to break the monotony. On the right, some distance away, they knew,the blue inviting ocean lay shining in the sunlight, and on the leftmiles of pine woods with a carpet of brown needles.
They had not much farther to go, Terry told them, pointing out awary-looking wooden hand which indicated "Oceanedge, 5 mi."
"Whoever do you suppose might own the old car?" Arden asked curiously asthey sped along.
"I don't care whose dog it is, or car, or what's in the back or anythingabout it," Sim said firmly. "I'm going to enjoy this summer, and I refuseto become interested in another mystery. That car looked to me just likeone all ready to sprout."
"That's just talk, Sim," Terry remarked. "If we meet a handsome stranger,trudging slowly toward the village, would you say--pass him by?"challenged Terry.
"No, of course not," Sim amended. "We could give him a lift, and unlessmy eyes deceive me, we are even now approaching the person in question."
"You're right, little one," Arden announced, "it could be no other. ShallI pull over?" She had taken her foot off the accelerator, and the carslowed down.
Sim and Terry nodded "Yes," vigorously, and Arden drove over to the sideof the road, stopping by the stranger.
"May we give you a lift?" she asked pleasantly.
The man looked at her sharply and seemed startled. He took a soft grayhat from his head politely but still hesitated in answering.
"Why, I--er--thank you very much," he faltered finally. "My car is backthere. I was unable to get the tool chest open, and, really," he smiledruefully, "I have no spare."
The girls thrilled inwardly. He was so good-looking! A "handsomestranger" in every respect, with just a suggestion of a foreign accent.
"We are going to Oceanedge," Arden continued, "but we could drop you at agarage on our way."
"Oh, now," protested the man, "that would be too much. I am used towalking. Besides," he said disarmingly, "your parents would perhaps notapprove."
"Our parents," Sim flung in, "have faith in us--in our judgment. Yousimply must let us take you. It is absurd to walk in this hot sun when weare going that way."
He shrugged in complaisance and, dusting off his clothes a bit, climbedin the back seat, murmuring his thanks.
"I, too, will be at Oceanedge for the summer," he said as if to break theembarrassing pause. "I paint. I have rented a houseboat out where I canbe alone and have quiet. I do not need people around me. I have Tania, mydog, and my paints, and so I am happy." He talked in a jerky fashion, asthough translating from a foreign tongue, as he went on.
Sim, always the most loquacious of the three, volunteered the informationthat they were visiting Terry and her mother, that they were fastfriends, and added, in a little burst of indignation, that of course theywould not bother him or attempt to break up his "quiet." The girlsfrowned at her, but Sim was ever high-spirited.
At Reilly's garage, the only one in the sleepy village, they set him downafter he had thanked them charmingly, and they continued on their way.They had to go back again to the main road a short distance, for thehouse, gayly called "Buckingham Palace" because it was so unlike thegreat palace, was on a neck of land reaching out between ocean and bayand south of the town.
"Queer fellow, didn't you think, Arden?" Sim questioned, still wonderingabout their reluctant passenger.
"Mysterious would be a better word, I think. Really, I got thatimpression of him. Very mysterious, as if he had something to hide."
"Rather fond of himself, I'd say," Terry flung in. "We won't bother him.He'll be quite alone on that old houseboat, and I hope the water ratsfind his best cheese."
"He was a little strange," Arden reasoned, ignoring Terry's joke. "Quitedifferent, I expect, from the usual village Romeo, eh, Terry?"
"That dog, too, I'd hate to have that animal mad at me," Sim remarked,pulling a blonde curl into further prominence from under her beret.
"I can't imagine what a man like that would come to this forsaken placefor," Terry mused. "Heaven knows it's quiet enough, if that's what hewants, but no scenery for painting. And wait until he sees thathouseboat! It's been tied up in the bay for years," and she sighedcomfortably. "Oh, well, as Sim says, let's not worry about _him_. We'llprobably never see him again."
"He said he was happy, but he didn't look that way to me," Arden went on."I thought he looked rather sad, and we don't even know his name. If thatshould ever matter."
"Arden Blake!" Sim exclaimed, "if you make another mystery out of thissimple incident, after all we've just gone through, I'll never forgiveyou! I'm pos-i-tive-ly off mysteries for life."
"Terry's right. We'll probably never see him again. He would certainlyknow how to hide himself and his dog," Arden said slowly, and then,stepping on the gas, she drove as fast as she dared in the direction of"Buckingham Palace."
