Nancy’s home was a favorite meeting place of the four friends. There was something very inviting about the old red brick house, with its low-ceiled, cheerful rooms and deep-silled windows.

Nancy’s family had been seafaring people for many generations, and the place was filled with curios from foreign countries: carved chests, swords with curved blades, ivory elephants, funny little cross-legged grinning gods, beautiful Japanese vases and Oriental rugs.

In cool weather there seemed to be a perpetual piece of old driftwood crackling on the hearth, and there was nothing the girls enjoyed more than sitting in a row on the floor in front of that cheerful blaze while they drank tea from curious Japanese cups and nibbled some of Mrs. Brown’s delicate cookies.

Nancy’s father was the very picture of a sea captain, sunburned, ruddy, eyes very blue and little side whiskers like an English Squire’s. He had a hundred stories to tell of the sea, and Billie could have listened to him all day without tiring. Nancy’s mother was a gay, cheerful little body who kept her house polished like a ship’s cabin, and Nancy’s brother, Merry, was the image of his father. He felt the call of the sea, too, as his father and grandfather had before him, but he was not to be the captain of a merchant ship. He intended to go to Annapolis.

Three weeks had passed since the great fire at Shell Island, when, one Saturday afternoon, a red motor car wound its way in and out of the country vehicles on Main Street, stopped at the express office, where the young mistress of the car alighted for a moment, returning with a package, and then, with a reckless flourish, turned into lower Cliff Street and presently stopped in front of Nancy’s house.

Billie entered without ceremony, so intimate had she now become with the Brown household. Concealing the package in her gray ulster, she left it in the hall. Then, with the boyish freedom which seemed to characterize all her ways, pulling off her gray hat and gloves, she marched into the parlor.

Nancy was huddled up on the settle doing the family darning, a Saturday task she loathed. Elinor was playing softly on the square piano between the front windows and Mary Price was reading a book.

“I hope I don’t disturb any one,” said Billie, laughing as she burst into the room. “Everybody seems to be so busy here. I’m the only idle creature living to-day. Even Cousin Helen is at work.”

“I hope she is doing something more to her taste than this,” said Nancy mournfully. “I’d rather dig for clams any day. Merry would wear out a sock made of steel chains.”

“Hark, a doleful voice from the tombs,” cried Merry, who always made it an excuse to hunt for something in the parlor when Billie appeared.

“It’s the truth,” complained Nancy. “If you would just keep still two minutes at a time, I wouldn’t have to give up my Saturdays slaving for you.”

“‘When I hear the music play, I can’t keep right still,’” sang Merry, executing a double shuffle on the floor to a jig tune Elinor had struck up.

“You’ll have to dance to a different tune when you go to Annapolis,” cried Nancy. “And who’ll do your darning there?”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Nancy,” answered her brother. “Perform your daily task and cease to murmur. You’ll be a professional grumbler like Belle Rogers if you keep on.”

“Do you know that she and her whole family are denouncing me as a sort of would-be murderer?” put in Billie. “All because I lost Ben and the rest of you at the Shell Island fire and took her into the wrong room.”

“I heard that she was an early Christian martyr who had come near to being burned at the stake,” said Merry.

“Yes,” continued Billie, “she tells how I enticed her into the room, and then climbed up onto the roof and left her, so that she had to follow and she even blames me because she would slide down the rope first and cut her hands so that she will never be able to play the piano. I am very sorry for that, because she liked music, but it was her own fault.”

“It’s really making a sort of split-up in the town,” observed Elinor. “Mrs. Rogers and mamma almost had words on the subject the other day. As much as mamma will ever have words with any one. Mrs. Rogers tried to tell her that Belle was going one way and you made her go another, and all mamma said was, ‘My dear Julia, I have heard the correct version of the story,’ and swept away.”

“Exactly as you will do, Elinor, when you begin to wear long dresses,” said Nancy.

“Oh, she can sweep without a train,” cried Merry, giving a very good imitation of Elinor as he made for the door with his baseball bat and glove.

“Now, don’t be silly, Americus Brown,” called Elinor after him. “Remember that you are to be a soldier of the nation some day, and you’ll have to stop walking pigeon-toed, then, and keep your bow-legs straight and stop grinning. It will be very difficult, I fear.”

Merry shot a coffee bean at her with his thumb and forefinger as he left the room.

“That boy will be the death of me,” exclaimed Nancy. “He reminds me of our sailor weather-cock in the garden that waves his arms and legs and turns every time there is the slightest breeze.”

“He’s a nice boy,” said Billie, who always took Merry’s side in the arguments. “But I am here this morning, as the preacher says, to ask your advice in a grave matter. Several grave matters, in fact.”

“Have you heard from Mr. Lafitte?” demanded the three girls in unison.

“No,” said Billie, “and it’s been nearly three weeks since we sent my name and address. Perhaps there hasn’t been time, but I should think they might have cabled, or something.”

“It only postpones the evil day of telling them the jewels were lost in the fire,” observed Mary.

Billie disappeared in the hall for a moment and returned with the package she had hidden in her ulster.

“The jewels came back by express this morning,” she said.

“For heaven’s sake!” cried the others.

“I don’t know whether to be glad or sorry,” said Billie. “I am sure Pandora’s box didn’t have any more troubles locked inside of it than this one has. What shall I do with it now?”

“Why don’t you tell Miss Campbell all about it?” suggested Elinor, for the second time.

“But, Elinor, it wouldn’t be right,” answered Billie. “Didn’t we give the woman our word of honor, Nancy, that we would keep the box for her until she sent for it, and tell no one? Even you and Mary would not have known about it if you hadn’t attacked Nancy like two wild Comanche Indians and knocked the box open.”

“Don’t you think the woman was crazy, honestly now?” Elinor asked for the hundredth time. This was an old argument between the girls.

“No, I don’t,” answered Billie emphatically.

“She was much too beautiful and fascinating to be crazy,” put in Nancy.

“They are the craziest of all sometimes,” said Elinor.

“But to return to the jewels,” interrupted Mary, the peacemaker. “Did the hotel people send them back?”

“No, that’s the queerest thing of all, and that’s what I’m here for to tell you now. The hotel people wrote me a letter which came this morning, saying that it was believed that the fire had been started by thieves who robbed the safe and that they, therefore, were not responsible for things lost.

“In the same mail came another very nice letter from a strange man named Johnston. He said the night of the fire he saw a man who was carrying this package faint dead away on the bridge. He believes now the man was one of the thieves. Anyway, he took him into his automobile and the thief must have come to and not known where he was, because he escaped somehow, probably to go back and look for the package, which Mr. Johnston has expressed to me.”

“Well, of all the strange stories!”

“But the question is now, what to do with the thing?” continued Billie.

If Billie had been a few years older, she would probably have gone straight to Miss Campbell, or to Miss Campbell’s lawyer, Mr. Richard Butler, Elinor’s uncle, for advice. The jewels would then have been stored in the bank for safe-keeping and proper means taken to find the owner. But it seemed to her that having given her word she must keep it, and hide the jewels herself in some safe place until she heard from Mr. Lafitte. After all, he might be on a journey somewhere, and they could only wait patiently.

“Let’s go and consult our guide, counsellor, and friend,” suggested Mary.

“Who?” asked the other girls, in some doubt.

“Why, the motor car, of course. Isn’t he the cheerfullest, finest friend in the world; always ready to give pleasure; always smiling and ruddy, and ready to come and go, stay still or move on—bless him?”

“He is a dear,” said Billie, pleased with this extravagant praise of her beloved car.

The girls had come to consider “The Comet” almost as a living thing, like a pet horse or a favorite dog. They loved it as ardently as children love a pony which has borne them all on his back at one time around the garden.

It was decided then to take a spin in the car and the four friends were soon in their accustomed places on the red leather seats.

The scarlet car, full of young girls, was no longer an unusual sight in the town of West Haven, and people had ceased now to turn and stare at the “Motor Maids,” as Captain Brown had christened them one morning when they had taken him for a drive in the automobile.

Through the town they sped and out to the open road. The crisp autumn air nipped their cheeks and brought the color to their faces. As they passed Boulder Lane they looked curiously at the fisherman’s house in the distance.

“I am certain those men who took your car were smugglers,” announced Nancy. “Father says there are lots of them.”

“Perhaps,” said Billie, “and I am certain of another thing: that it was the same one-armed man who was on the roof of the hotel the night of the fire.”

“But there are lots of one-armed men in the world, child,” replied Nancy.

“Perhaps, but there was something familiar about him. And, besides, why did he ask me those questions about the girls at the hotel in the red automobile?”

“And, ‘curiser and curiser,’ what did he want with the box of jewels? And how did he know we had them?” said Elinor.

“I really couldn’t say,” answered Nancy. “Ask me something easier.”

Seeing nothing ahead of them in the road, Billie had let the car go full speed. It was what they all loved, even Mary Price, who had gradually got over a certain timidity she used to feel when the car shot through the air like a sky-rocket, and it was Mary Price now, grown unusually bold from familiarity with speeding, who suddenly jumped up and cried in her high, sweet voice:

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”

“Got what?” demanded the others.

“Why, a place to put the jewels in, of course. Mother’s safe.”

“But would she like us to use her safe?” asked Billie.

“She won’t mind. I’ll tell her it’s something of yours. She never uses it. We haven’t anything to keep in it now,” Mary added simply. “Father used it in his life time and Mother has just kept it since because we are always expecting to make lots of money, you know, and then we might need it. I know the combination, and we can go straight home and put them in. No one would ever think of looking for jewels in our little house, and they ought to be as safe there as any place in the world.”

“Mary, dear, you are a trump,” exclaimed Billie. “It’s a perfect idea.”

In another moment, they had faced about and were on their way back to town.

“Dear old car,” ejaculated Elinor, patting the red leather tenderly. “Mary’s right, we couldn’t get on without you. We consult you exactly as the ancients consulted oracles. I think all your cushions must be stuffed with good advice, instead of horse hair, and your big all-seeing eye is always on the lookout for danger——”

“And his heart is true to his jolly crew,” sang Nancy.

“He is better than a horse,” put in Mary, “because he never gets tired.”

“And when he’s empty we fill him with gasoline, and he’ll go ahead as fresh as ever,” went on Billie.

“And he always avoids broken glass and tacks in the road,” Elinor was saying, when “bang!” went one of the rear tires with a report as loud as a pistol shot.

The “jolly crew” could not restrain their ever-ready laughter at this disconcerting behavior on the part of “The Comet” just at the very moment when their boasts were loudest.

“Oh, well,” said Billie apologetically, “it’s time we had a puncture. We’ve never had one yet. We’ll take him to the garage and have him mended properly.”

“Chocolates, marshmallows, peanut brittle, and other candies, fresh and dee-lishus!” called a voice from behind the motor as they pulled into the garage.

It was Percival Algernon St. Clair, wearing a most engaging smile on his rosy, good-natured face, as he tipped his boyish cap at Nancy in particular in the most approved grown-up fashion.

“Have you any ice cream sodas, Percy-Algy?” demanded Nancy impudently.

“I don’t think the fountain’s dry yet, Nancy, and we’ll have a party, if you say so. The gang is close by. Shall I give the signal?”

“I have no objections,” said Nancy, “if the girls haven’t.”

“Why should we?” answered Billie. “Isn’t pineapple soda water my favorite beverage?”

Percy put two fingers to his lips and gave three whistles, and, as if by magic, Ben Austen, Charlie Clay, and Merry Brown emerged from the shadow of a neighboring doorway.

In spite of his theatrical name, his girlish complexion, and blond hair, Percy was a great favorite with his friends. He had received a spoiling from his doting and indulgent mother that would have turned many another boy into a selfish, vain egoist. But Percy had been saved from this wretched fate partly by his own frank and engaging disposition and partly by association with his three chums, Charlie, Ben, and Merry, wholesome, manly boys, who had never been mollycoddled in their lives.

“Will some one carry this parcel then?” asked Billie, pulling the box of jewels from under the seat, and tearing the wrapping paper off of a corner as she did so.

“I will,” said Merry promptly, taking charge of the box. “Why, it’s rather heavy,” he observed, weighing it in his hand. “It must be full of gold nuggets.”

Billie was silent. She was beginning to be a little superstitious about that box, and she could have wished that the punctured tire and the soda water party, pleasant as was this last diversion, had not interrupted their plan to store the box in Mrs. Price’s safe.

But Billie enjoyed being with girls and boys of her own age so much that she soon forgot her doubts and joined in the gay conversation of the little company.

On Saturday afternoons a crowd of High School boys and girls was always congregated around the soda water fountain in the West Haven Pharmacy, as it was called, and the place was filled with gay talk and laughter, when the Motor Maids and their friends pushed their way up to the marble counter, while Percy, who had more pocket money in a week than some of the others had in a year, paid for the checks.

As luck would have it, Billie and Americus Brown had found places next to Belle Rogers, who, very daintily and delicately, though with some thoroughness, was consuming a maple-nut sundae.

Merry pushed the box onto the counter while he plunged into a glass of chocolate soda water without even noticing that Belle had turned a scornful glance, first at him and then at the much soiled and travel-stained wrapper on the package. Then, suddenly, something very particular claimed her attention. Mary Price, who was standing around the curve of the counter, saw the whole thing and reported it later to the girls. Where Billie had torn the paper, the polished rosewood surface of the box, with its silver mounting, was plainly visible. Belle gave one long, astonished stare of recognition.

“After we leave this package at Mary’s, I invite all of you to take a ride in the motor,” Billie was saying to Merry Brown. “Do you think eight can sit where five are in the habit of sitting?”

“One seat will be big enough for the midgets,”—a nickname given to Mary and Charlie,—Merry answered. “One of us can sit on the floor and the other four can squeeze onto the back seat. The chauffeur is the only person who must have plenty of room.”

“Can’t you move up and give us a little room?” interrupted Nancy, pushing her way between her brother and his neighbor, while Percy stood patiently by with two glasses of soda water.

Without meaning it, she had jostled Belle Rogers. The two girls turned and faced each other.

“How do you do, Belle? Are you quite well again?” asked Nancy politely, but with a look in her eyes which meant mischief.

Belle had not been back to school since the fire.

“Miss Brown,” said Belle, bowing stiffly.

“How well your hair stays in curl this foggy weather, Belle,” continued Nancy, in a high, pleasant voice, which could be heard by all the boys and girls at the counter. “You must put it up almost every night now, don’t you?”

“Nancy!” expostulated Billie, as Belle sailed from the drug store, followed by several of her loyal friends.