Then, suddenly an ugly thought forced its way into her mind. Perhaps after all these two were members of a gang of robbers. Perhaps a member of the gang had been in prison and was at this moment in the parole camp.

What if this turned out to be a jail-breaking expedition?

"No, no!" she whispered as she shook herself to free her mind of the thought.

"There's the wall," whispered Florence, as a gray bulk loomed up to the right of them.

They pa.s.sed it in silence. To Lucile they seemed like marines running a blockade in time of war.

But Florence was busy with other thoughts. That wall seemed vaguely familiar to her. It was as if she had seen it in a dream, yet could not recall the details of the dream.

A storm was brewing off in the west. Now and then a distant flash of lightning lighted up the surrounding waters. Of a sudden one of these, more brilliant than the rest, lighted up the sh.o.r.e, which, at a word from the child, they were now nearing. What Florence saw was a small, artificially dredged buoy with a dock and large boathouse at the back.

Instantly what had been a dream became a reality. She had seen that wall and the little buoy and boathouse as well. Only the summer before she had spent two nights and a day with a party on the dunes. They had hired a motor boat and had skirted the sh.o.r.e. This place had been pointed out to her and described as the most elaborate and beautiful summer cottage on the sh.o.r.e.

"Why," she whispered, with a sigh of relief, "this is the summer cottage of your friend, R. Stanley Ramsey, Jr., the young man you saw at Frank Morrow's place and whom we saw later at the mystery cottage. This isn't any brigandish thieving expedition. It is merely a business trip.

Probably the old man has sold him one of his books."

Lucile's first reaction to this news was intense relief. This was not a jail-breaking expedition; in fact, was not to be in any way an adventure.

But the next instant doubt came.

"What would that young man be doing in a summer cottage at this time of year?" she demanded. "All the cottages must have been closed for nearly a month. Society flies back to the city in September. Besides, if it's plain business, why all this slipping in at the lake front instead of pa.s.sing through the gate?"

Florence was silent at that. She had no answer.

"Does seem strange," she mused. "There's a very high fence all about the place, but of course there must be a gate."

The next instant the boat grated on the sandy beach and they were all climbing out.

Lucile shivered as she caught sight of a large, low, rambling building which lay well up from the sh.o.r.e.

"What next?" she whispered to herself.

The storm was still rumbling in the west. The sky to the east was clear.

Out from the black waters of the lake the moon was rolling. Its light suddenly brightened up the sh.o.r.e. The girls stared about them.

Up from the beach a little way was an affair which resembled an Indian tepee. It was built of boards and covered with birch bark. Its white sides glimmered in the moonlight. Through the shadows of trees and shrubbery they made out a rustic pavilion and beyond that the cottage which was built in rustic fashion as befits a summer residence of a millionaire, although little short of a mansion.

"Wouldn't you like to see the inside of it?" breathed Florence. "I've always wondered what such a place was like."

"Yes," whispered Lucile, "but I'd prefer daylight."

They had been following the child. She had led them as far as a rustic arbor. Built of cedar poles with the bark left on, this presented itself as an inviting place to rest.

"You stay here," the child whispered. "I'll come back."

She vanished into the shadows.

"Well!" whispered Lucile.

"What do you make of it?" Florence asked.

"Nothing yet."

"Is someone here to meet her or is she entering the place to get something?"

"Don't know. I--"

Lucile stopped short. "Did you see that?" she whispered tensely as she gripped her companion's arm.

"What?"

"There was a flash of light in the right wing of the building, like the flicker of a match."

"She can't have reached there yet."

"No."

"Do you think we should warn her? I can't help thinking she's going to break into the place."

"If she is, she should be caught. If we think she is, perhaps we should notify the police."

"The police? In such a place? You forget that we are many miles from the city and two or three miles from even a railroad station. Guess we'll have to see it through."

"Let's do it then?"

The two girls rose and began making their way stealthily in the direction the child had taken.

Now and again they paused to listen. Once they heard a sound like the creaking of a door. Lucile caught a second flash of light.

They paused behind two pine trees not ten feet from the side entrance.

The wind rustled in the pine trees. The water broke ceaselessly on the sh.o.r.e. Otherwise all was silence.

"Creepy," whispered Lucile.

"Ghostly," Florence shivered.

"I believe that door's ajar."

"It is."

"Let's creep up close."

The next moment found them flattened against the wall beside the door.

This door stood half open. Suddenly they caught a flash of light. Leaning far over to peer within, they saw the child bent over before a huge bookcase. The room, half illumined by her flashlight, was a large lounging room. The tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs were rustic and ma.s.sive. Beamed ceiling and heavy beams along the walls were flanked by a huge fireplace at the back.

The furniture was in keeping, ma.s.sive mission oak with leather cushions on chairs.

"What a wonderful place!" Florence whispered. "What wouldn't one give to have it for a study?"