"Good idea, Ard! Of course we have time for that. And, anyway, we'd better do it while you still remember the words," Terry said.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't forget them," Arden replied with the first show of relief they had felt in some time. "A Blake never forgets!"

They piled into the car and rode along the deserted road to the village.

The drug store was fortunately empty except for a rather stupid-looking boy clerk.

Arden entered the phone booth, and her chums crowded around her. They waited impatiently for the really short interval it took to make the connection with the New York office. As the clear sharp voice of the girl sang out "Information," Arden explained the difficulty.

"We are trying to get the phone number of an address in New York," she said, "but we've torn the paper. I'll give you as much as I can. Do you think you can help us?"

"Sorry, madam," came the voice, "but I can't possibly trace the name."

Arden hung up and turned sorrowfully toward her friends.

"I might have known it," she said. "Of course we couldn't do anything that way. It was a desperate chance at best."

"Too bad, Arden," Terry soothed. "I still think it was a good idea. But let's get out of here; our young friend," she indicated the curious clerk, "is awfully interested in us."

"We'd better be starting for home, anyway," Arden suggested. "Your mother might worry."

So they left the little village, which was quite deserted now in the late afternoon, and wearily put the car away for the night in the garage of the little white house.

Mrs. Landry was interested to learn all that had happened, and urged them to keep up their spirits. Somewhat woefully, the girls smiled at her and agreed at least to try further.

After the evening meal, when they gathered in the living room, Arden and Sim decided to write letters home but thought it best not to mention the new "mystery."

Arden sat at the small wicker desk, pen and paper before her, and got as far as "Dearest Mother." But her mind was far away and after this auspicious beginning she looked up from the paper dreamily.

Poor Dimitri! Where could he be? And Olga-and the paper and the snuffbox.

Then Arden, drawing a line through the beginning of her letter, wrote down the queer words from the envelope.

_Ser_ _Ninth S_ _New Y_

What could that possibly be? What man's name began with the letters S E R?

"Terry," Arden said suddenly, "have you a dictionary here? One that would have proper names in it?"

"I have one that I brought down with some books from Cedar Ridge. Will that help you?" Terry replied.

"Get it, will you, please," Arden continued. "I'm going to try and work out this puzzle and send a telegram to an address. If it isn't delivered, we'll know it's no good. I'd rather spend the last of my allowance that way than on candy."

"Swell plan, Arden!" Sim exclaimed. "Get the trusty dictionary, Terry, and let's start to work."

Terry dashed up the stairs and rummaged hurriedly in the pile of almost forgotten college books in her room and at length returned carrying the volume.

Arden flicked back the flimsy pages and ran her hand down the line.

There were biblical first names as well as Greek and Latin ones, and Arden was somewhat at sea as she murmured:

Serah Seraphim Sered Seres Sergia Sergius Seriah Seron Serug

"Do you like any of them, or does any one sound logical?" she asked her chums.

"Sergius!" exclaimed Sim. "That sounds Russian to me."

"Sergia," Terry voted. "That's also Russian, but one may be a woman's name. How can we get around that? There's no way of finding out from this list. It's very impartial."

"We can get around it this way," Arden declared. "Just use Serg. Then we'll be safe if it's a man or woman. You know a boy's name could be Ted, and they call some girls Ted. I'm in favor of just Serg."

"It sounds good," admired Terry.

"I'm for it," added Sim. "But what about a last name?"

"There's going to be a rub," said Terry. "We took the easiest part first."

"It seems almost impossible, doesn't it?" sighed Arden.

"Yes, it does. It might be Smith or Brown or Jones," Sim remarked. "This is quite an undertaking, I'm afraid."

"Well, there's no harm in trying," Arden protested. "Working with Dimitri in mind, it's logical to suppose that, being Russian, he'd have Russian friends or relatives, isn't it?"

Sim and Terry agreed silently.

"I guess relatives, Arden," said Sim suddenly. "I think that man who came here looked like Dimitri."

"Maybe you're right, Sim. Shall we try Uzlov?" Arden looked to them for agreement.

"Yes!" exclaimed Terry. "Serg Uzlov! That's a good start."

"Of course, we may not gain anything by this, and besides, perhaps we should have told Rufus Reilly what we intend to do. Do you think so?"

questioned Arden, chewing the little ring on the top of the fountain pen.

"Not at all!" Sim protested. "If Dimitri was a brother, or something, I think we'd do just this, and I think we're perfectly justified in doing it."

This outburst gave them new courage, and they puzzled for some time over the address. Then Terry finally called in her mother.

"What would be the Russian quarter in New York, Mother?" she asked, explaining what they were trying to do.

"Let me try to remember," said Mrs. Landry. "Perhaps if I looked again at the address as you have it, something might suggest itself to me."

They showed it to her, Arden writing it out from memory again.

"There seems to be no question but what this address is in New York,"

Mrs. Landry went on, after several seconds of obvious concentration.

"Now, as to the street. From the way the address is written it must be Ninth Street. It cannot be Nineteenth Street for there was no part of a word before the Ninth, was there?"

"No." The girls were agreed on that point.

"And it cannot have been Twenty-ninth, or Thirty-ninth or any of the higher numbered streets in the pines. Because the word Ninth was too near the left side of the envelope. So I think it is safe to a.s.sume that Ninth Street was intended."