"Yes. You see, the burden of proof must be on you."

"But--but don't you believe me?" she murmured.

"Does it matter what I believe?" he asked her gently. "Remember, this man has entrusted me with a ma.n.u.script that he says is original. At least it is written in his own hand. I cannot go back of that unless you have some means of proof that his story is your story. Who did you tell about your plot, and how you worked it out? Did you read the finished ma.n.u.script--or any part of it--to any person who can corroborate your statements?"

"Oh, Mr. Hammond!" she cried, with sudden anguish in her voice. "Not a soul! Never to a single, solitary person. The girls, nor Aunt Alvirah, nor Tom----"

She broke down again and he could not soothe her. She wept with abandon, and Mr. Hammond was really anxious for her. He went to the door, whistled for one of the boys, and sent for Mrs. Paisley.

But Ruth recovered her composure--to a degree, at least--before the motherly old actress came.

"Don't tell anybody! Don't tell anybody!" she sobbed to Mr. Hammond. "They will think I am crazy! I haven't a word of proof. Only my word----"

"Against his," said the manager gravely. "I would accept your word, Miss Ruth, against the world! But we must have some proof before we deliberately accuse this old man of robbing you."

"Yes, yes. I see. I will be patient--if I can."

"The thing to do is to find out who this hermit really is," said Mr.

Hammond. "Through discovering his private history we may put our finger on the thing that will aid you with proof. Good-night, my dear. Try to get calm again."

CHAPTER XX

THE GRILL

Ruth did not go back to her chums until, under Mother Paisley's comforting influence, she had recovered a measure of her self-possession. The old actress asked no questions as to the cause of Ruth's state of mind. She had seen too many hysterical girls to feel that the cause of her patient's breakdown was at all important.

"You just cry all you want to, deary. Right here on Mother Paisley's shoulder. Crying will do you good. It is the Good Lord's way of giving us women an outlet for all our troubles. When the last tear is squeezed out much of the pain goes with it."

Ruth was not ordinarily a crying girl. She had wept more of late, beginning with that day at the Red Mill when her scenario ma.n.u.script had been stolen, than in all her life before.

Her tears were now in part an expression of anger and indignation. She was as mad as she could be at this man who called himself "John, the hermit."

For, whether he was the person who had actually stolen her ma.n.u.script, he very well knew that his scenario offered to Mr. Hammond was not original with him.

The worst of it was, he had mangled her scenario. Ruth could look upon it in no other way. His changes had merely muddied the plot and cheapened her main idea. She could not forgive that!

The other girls were drowsy when Ruth kissed Mother Paisley good-night and entered the small shack. She was glad to escape any interrogation. By morning she had gained control of herself, but her eyes betrayed the fact that she had not slept.

"You certainly do not look as though you were enjoying yourself down here," Tom Cameron said to her at breakfast time, and with suspicion.

"Maybe we did come to the wrong place for our vacation after all. How about it, Ruth? Shall we start off in the cars again and seek pastures new?"

"Not now, Tom," she told him, hastily. "I must stay right here."

"Why?"

"Because----"

"That is no sensible reason."

"Let me finish," she said rather crossly. "Because I must see what sort of scenario Mr. Hammond finds--if he finds any--in this contest."

"Humph! And you said you and scenarios were done forever! I fancy Mr.

Hammond is taking advantage of your good nature."

"He is not."

"You are positively snappish, Ruth," complained Tom. "You've changed your mind----"

"Isn't that a girl's privilege?"

"Very well, Miladi!" he said, with a deep bow as they rose from the table.

"However, you need not give all your attention to these prize stories, need you? Let's do something besides follow these sun-worshippers around to-day."

"All right, Tommy-boy," acclaimed his sister. "What do you suggest?"

"A run along the coast to Reef Harbor where there are a lot of folks we know," Tom promptly replied.

"Not in that old _Tocsin_," cried Jennie. "She's so small I can't take off my sweater without tipping her over."

"Oh, what a whopper!" gasped Helen.

"Never mind," grinned her twin. "Let Jennie run to the superlatives if she likes. Anyway, I would not dream of going so far as the Harbor in that d.i.n.ky little _Tocsin_. I've got my eye on just the craft, and I can get her over here in an hour by telephoning to the port. It's the _Stazy_."

"Goody!" exclaimed Jennie Stone. "That big blue yacht! And she's got a regular crew--and everything. Aunty won't be afraid to go with us in her."

"That's fine, Tom," said his sister with appreciation.

Even Ruth seemed to take some interest. But she suggested:

"Be sure there is gasoline enough, Tom. That _Stazy_ doesn't spread a foot of canvas, and we are not likely to find a gas station out there in the ocean, the way we did in the hills of Ma.s.sachusetts."

"Don't fear, Miss Fidget," he rejoined. "Are you all game?"

They were. The girls went to "doll up," to quote the slangy Tom, for Reef Harbor was one of the most fashionable of Maine coast resorts and the knockabout clothing they had been wearing at Beach Plum Point would never do at the Harbor hotels.

The _Stazy_ was a comfortable and fast motor-yacht. As to her sea-worthiness even Tom could not say, but she looked all right. And to the eyes of the members of Ruth Fielding's party there was no threat of bad weather. So why worry about the pleasure-craft's balance and her ability to sail the high seas?

"It is only a short run, anyway," Tom said.

As for Colonel Marchand, he had not the first idea about ships or sailing.

He admitted that only continued fair weather and a smooth sea had kept him on deck coming over from France with Jennie and Helen.

At the present time he and Jennie Stone were much too deeply engrossed in each other to think of anything but their own two selves. In a fortnight now, both the Frenchman and Tom would have to return to the battle lines.

And they were, deep in their hearts, eager to go back; for they did not dream at this time that the German navy would revolt, that the High Command and the army had lost their morale, and that the end of the Great War was near.

Within Tom's specified hour the party got under way, boarding the _Stazy_ from a small boat that came to the camp dock for them. It was not until the yacht was gone with Ruth Fielding and her party that Mr. Hammond set on foot the investigation he had determined upon the night before.