  Like her daughter, Mrs. Gay did not go to sleep until dawn of the following morning. Her mental torture was even keener than Mary Louise’s, for her imagination suggested all sorts of horrible fates, worse than the one the girl was actually enduring. Physical violence, association with hardened criminals, hunger, thirst—and—death. That was the most terrifying thought of all—the fear that Mary Louise might already be dead! Like her daughter’s, too, Mrs. Gay’s suffering was all the more intense because she had to bear it alone through the long, silent night. Freckles and Jane, tired out from their vigorous search, had fallen instantly asleep. There was nobody to sympathize with the poor frenzied mother. She swallowed dose after dose of aspirin, until finally, with the first gray streaks of dawn, she at last fell asleep. Freckles was the first person awake in the household the next morning, and he immediately started the breakfast. Jane, arriving on the scene fifteen minutes later, was surprised and delighted at the boy’s progress. “We better not waken Mother,” he said. “I don’t suppose she got much sleep last night.” “I’m afraid not.” Tears came to Jane’s eyes as they rested on the forlorn little dog sitting so disconsolately in the corner of the kitchen. “Freckles, what do you think could have happened to Mary Lou?” she asked. “I think Tom Adams did something to her. Kidnaped her, probably. But I had one idea this morning, Jane, while I was making the coffee. Maybe he hid her in his own house somewhere! We never thought to search that.” “Bright boy!” exclaimed Jane, so loudly as to awaken Mrs. Gay, who heard her from her bedroom. For one ecstatic moment the woman hoped that her daughter had been found. But Freckles’ next remark dispelled any such idea. “It’s worth looking into,” he continued. “But I don’t really think she’s there, or Hattie would come and tell us. I can’t believe Hattie is an enemy—or on Tom’s side. She’s too fond of Mary Lou.” Mrs. Gay, attired in a kimono and looking white and exhausted, peered in at the kitchen door. “That coffee smells so good,” she said, “that I just can’t wait for a cup of it.” Freckles grinned in delight and poured out the steaming liquid. It seemed to revive his mother, and she drank it eagerly. But she could not eat any breakfast. “We’re going up to Adams’ first,” announced the boy. “I’ll get Stu Robinson to drive us in his car—and we’ll take Silky along. If Mary Lou should be hidden there, Silky’d find her.... And, Mother—if the police come, be sure to have them talk to Horace Ditmar and get a look at that threat he found shoved under his door yesterday!” “I will, dear,” returned Mrs. Gay, smiling to herself at the idea of taking orders from her small son. But the boy was proving himself both practical and businesslike in the management of the whole affair. “I wonder whether Adelaide Ditmar will open her dining room today as she planned,” remarked Jane. A lump came into Mrs. Gay’s throat, but she managed to reply calmly: “I think so. She has all her food bought, and besides, the people are expecting it. Mrs. Reed told me last night that Sue and Mabel are both going to help her—if—if—Mary Lou doesn’t come back in time. You had better tell Hattie Adams to come down to the Ditmars’ as soon as she can, though I don’t believe Adelaide is planning to serve lunch.” Jane nodded, and finished her breakfast. After she and Freckles and the little dog had gone, the people from the other bungalows began to arrive at the Gays’, to start upon a new search for the missing girl. Horace Ditmar sent them off in various directions while he and several of the older women stayed behind to help and to advise Mrs. Gay. At nine-thirty a small red car drove into Shady Nook and stopped at the Gays’ bungalow. Three plainclothes men got out, displaying their badges for identification. “We want the whole story,” they said. “So far we know nothing—except that Mary Louise Gay, of Riverside and Shady Nook, is missing.” “We don’t know much more ourselves,” sighed Mrs. Gay. Then she proceeded to tell the story of the girl’s disappearance the preceding afternoon. “As far as we know, the last person who saw her alive is Rebecca Adams, a feeble-minded woman who lives over at a farm where we know that Mary Louise started to go. Nobody saw her after that.” “Have you any suspicions at all?” inquired the detective. Horace Ditmar answered that question by telling about the three fires at Shady Nook and by showing the paper which had warned him of the possibility of a fourth. “Mary Louise suspected Tom Adams—the brother of this feeble-minded woman—though we don’t know yet upon what clues she based her suspicions,” he concluded. “But it looks as if Adams was guilty, for he ran away. He didn’t take Mary Louise with him—we know that, because his sister drove him to the Junction—but we’re afraid he did something to her first.” “So our first duty is to find this Tom Adams,” announced the detective, rising. “Can you take us over to the farm now, Ditmar? Or rather, just one of us, for the other two better stay here and investigate that threat. And we want a picture of Miss Mary Louise Gay. We’ll get one of Adams and print them both in every newspaper in the country.” “But that’s not the only clue we’ll work on,” put in another of the men. “That may be entirely wrong, and Miss Gay may just have met with an accident, or even lost her memory. There are many cases of that, you know.” Mrs. Gay nodded. That was just the trouble: so many dreadful things might have happened to Mary Louise! However, she resolved to keep up her spirits until she actually heard bad news. She could endure the tension in the daytime, she thought, by keeping herself active; perhaps, before night, her husband would come. So she hunted out some pictures of Mary Louise for the detectives and answered their questions for an hour. Just as the two men left to go to Ditmars, to investigate the threat and guard Adelaide, the roar of an airplane in the sky drew Mrs. Gay’s attention. It was an auto-giro, fluttering over a near-by field where there did not happen to be any trees. Breathlessly she waited while it made its landing. But the motor did not stop, and only one man got out of the cockpit. Then, as the auto-giro speeded away, the man on the field began to run towards Shady Nook. In another moment she identified him as her husband—Detective Gay, of the police force! He took the porch steps two at a time and, out of breath as he was, lifted his trembling wife into his arms. For the first time since the disaster Mrs. Gay broke down and sobbed. But what a relief it was to give way to her feelings at last! Her husband shared her anguish and understood, comforting her as best he could with words of assurance. “We’ll find her, dear, I’m sure we will!” he said. “Mary Lou isn’t a baby: she’ll show lots of pluck and courage. I’m counting on that daughter of ours every time!” “Have you any plans at all, dear?” she inquired. “Yes. Lots. I’m going to do a lot of telegraphing as soon as I get the whole story. I was never so thankful before that I’d chosen the detective profession.” “Have you had anything to eat?” Mr. Gay smiled. “Now that you mention it, I don’t believe I have. You might fix me some coffee while you tell me just what happened.” Freckles and Jane returned while Mr. Gay was eating his meal, but they had nothing to report. Hattie was sure that Tom could not be guilty; she believed that he was running away from his gambling debts. Nevertheless, she had consented immediately to a thorough search of the house and barn for the missing girl. Yet even Silky’s sharp nose could not find her. The boy was delighted to find his father at home; he felt immediately that a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For, like Mary Louise, he believed that his father could almost accomplish the impossible. “We’re going over to the other shore after lunch—with Silky,” he said, “and hunt some more.” “That’s right, Son,” approved Mr. Gay. “We’ll never give up till we find Mary Lou!” None of the other searchers returned with any news all that afternoon. The day was hot and sultry, and to Mrs. Gay, interminable. Everything was so strangely quiet at the little resort; no radios played, no young people shouted to each other or burst into singing. Even the birds seemed hushed, as if they too sensed the tragedy of the usually happy little colony. Late in the afternoon the four girls who were working at the Ditmars’ went into the river to cool off with a swim, and Mr. Gay decided to join them. But it was more like a bath than a swim, and nobody seemed to enjoy it. Mr. Gay dressed and joined his wife on the porch, waiting for the detectives to return. Suddenly a noisy car came towards them—a bright green roadster which was somehow familiar yet did not belong at Shady Nook. It was dusty and dirty; its two occupants wore goggles, as if they had been participating in a race, and until they spoke neither of the Gays recognized them. Then they identified them instantly as Max Miller and Norman Wilder, from Riverside. “Any news yet?” demanded Max eagerly as he jumped out of the car. “No, not a bit,” replied Mr. Gay. “How did you boys find out about it? Is it in the papers?” “It’s in the afternoon edition,” replied Norman, handing a newspaper to the other. “But of course we started before that. There was a wire to the Riverside police last night, that we got wind of. So we started early this morning.” “I think it’s fine of you both to come,” said Mrs. Gay, though she could not at the moment see what possible help they might afford. “We’re going to have a swim, clean up our car, and eat,” announced Max; “then we’re going to drive all around here within a radius of a hundred miles, tooting our horn and going slowly.” “I didn’t know you boys knew how to drive slowly,” remarked Mr. Gay teasingly. “Well, we really won’t need to toot our horn,” returned Norman in the same light manner, “because the color of our car is loud enough to shriek for us!” Mabel and Sue Reed, passing by the bungalow on their way back to the Ditmars’, stopped in and met the boys. Mrs. Gay asked them to put two extra places at the dinner table for them. Gradually the searchers returned—without any success—and everybody went to Ditmars to dinner. It was a lovely meal. Adelaide Ditmar proved that she knew how to prepare food and serve it attractively, and, in spite of their anxiety, everybody enjoyed it. Everybody except Mrs. Gay, who could only pick at her food. True to their resolve, Max and Norman drove off in their car immediately after supper, with Freckles and Jane along with them. The rest of the inhabitants of Shady Nook settled down to a quiet evening of waiting. Waiting and hoping for news. About eight o’clock Mr. and Mrs. Frazier came over from the hotel to offer their sympathy to the Gays. “I don’t want to alarm you, Gay,” said Frazier, “but I think you haven’t given enough thought to the river. Mary Louise was playing tennis on our court early in the afternoon, and the most natural thing in the world would be for her to take a swim afterwards. You know yourself that even the best of swimmers have cramps.” Mrs. Gay clutched her husband’s arm tightly in an effort to control herself. What a horrible suggestion! “Terrible as it is, drowning is better than lots of things that might happen,” remarked Mrs. Frazier. Mrs. Gay glared at the woman with hatred in her eyes. How could she sit there and talk like that? She rose abruptly. “You’ll have to excuse us now, Mrs. Frazier,” she said unsteadily. “My husband and I have things to do.” The hotelkeeper and his wife got up from their chairs just as the detectives’ car stopped at the bungalow. Everybody waited tensely. “No news of your daughter, Mrs. Gay,” announced one of the detectives, immediately. “But we are on Adams’ trail. He’s been spotted, speeding across the country in a stolen car. This afternoon they found the car, abandoned near a woods. Undoubtedly he’s guilty.” Frazier’s white face became even more pasty-looking. Nobody noticed it, except Mr. Gay, who made it his business to watch people’s reactions. “If I may say something,” put in the hotelkeeper, looking straight at the detective, “I think you’re on the wrong track. Adams is guilty of a small theft—he stole two hundred dollars from me, and he left some gambling debts. That’s why he’s running away. But I believe your real criminal is right here at Shady Nook!” “Who?” demanded all the detectives at once. “Ditmar. Horace Ditmar. These fires have proved to be a good thing for him. Ditmars took over all that boarding-house trade after Flicks’ Inn burned down. Mary Louise was on the inside, so they were probably afraid she’d find out too much—and—disposed of her.” “I don’t believe a word of it!” cried Mrs. Gay angrily. “I’d trust both Adelaide and Horace anywhere. And how about that threat they got? You saw that?” she asked the detectives. “That was just a clever trick,” explained Frazier lightly, “to throw off suspicion. You notice it has not been carried out!” Almost in hysterics, Mrs. Gay felt that she could not bear those dreadful Fraziers another minute. Desperately she clung to her husband’s arm for support. “Will you men come inside?” suggested Mr. Gay, realizing how his wife was suffering. “Good-night, Mrs. Frazier. Good-night, Frazier.” And so another long night passed without any news of Mary Louise. But it was not so terrible for Mrs. Gay as the first one, because her husband was with her. And Max Miller and Norman Wilder comforted her with the assurance that they were going to find Mary Louise the following day. Somehow, by intuition, perhaps, Mrs. Gay believed them! |
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