The Missing
Formula

By
Ann Wirt

The Madge Sterling Series

The Missing Formula
The Deserted Yacht
The Secret of the Sundial

THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK

Copyright, 1932
The Goldsmith Publishing Company
Made in U. S. A.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE [I Caught in the Storm] 11 [II A Rescue] 20 [III A Puzzling Letter] 29 [IV A Fruitless Search] 38 [V Clyde Wendell’s Mission] 47 [VI Startling Developments] 55 [VII In a Hollow Log] 67 [VIII A Night Caller] 78 [IX A Significant Title] 86 [X An Unsatisfactory Test] 91 [XI The Secret Hiding Place] 97 [XII The Awaited Message] 103 [XIII The Missing Book] 108 [XIV The Shortcut] 117 [XV What the Book Revealed] 121

THE MISSING FORMULA

CHAPTER I
Caught in the Storm

“You couldn’t hire me to spend a night alone at Stewart Island! Imagine how lonely and terrifying it must be for Anne Fairaday!”

Madge Sterling did not give the impression of a girl easily daunted. Gazing out across the stretch of ruffled water toward the pine-covered isle which drowsed like a huge green sea turtle in the heat of a midsummer sun, she made a most striking picture. Her auburn hair had been whipped carelessly back from her face by the wind. She was tanned to a healthy, mellow bronze, and the blue of her sweater exactly matched the blue of her eyes—eyes which at the moment were troubled and serious.

“It doesn’t seem right for Anne to stay there without a companion,” she continued, addressing the kindly-faced, elderly woman who stood beside her at the boat landing.

Mrs. Brady nodded soberly.

“We really should do something about it. I had no idea she was staying alone until Jack French told us this morning. Of course, the Fairadays always have kept to themselves. This girl may not care to have us interfere in her private affairs.”

“Everything is changed now, Aunt Maude,” Madge protested quickly. “I’m sure Anne would have mixed more with folks if her father hadn’t kept her so close at home. Now that he is dead she needs friends more than ever.”

“Why not go over there this afternoon and find out how matters stand?” Mrs. Brady suggested quietly. “The least we can do is to invite her to stay here at the lodge until she has had time to plan her future.”

Madge’s face brightened and she gave her aunt an affectionate squeeze.

“I knew you’d say that! I’ll start this very minute!”

She promptly untied a canoe moored at the landing but before she could launch it two men with axes swung over their shoulders came down the shore trail. Recognizing Mr. Brady and Old Bill Ramey, the man-of-all-work about the lodge, Madge was in the act of stepping into the canoe when her uncle hailed her.

She did not attempt an answer but waited until he drew nearer the landing. He came at a brisk pace, carrying his fifty-two years with a jaunty vigor that was the envy of many a younger man. His ruddy cheeks were framed in a healthy tan acquired by a life-long devotion to the out-of-doors and his alert, blue eyes snapped with the joy of being alive.

“Where away, Chick-a-dee?” he inquired with interest.

“I thought I’d paddle over to Stewart Island,” Madge informed. “Do you want the canoe, Uncle George?”

“No, you’re welcome to it, only I wonder if you noticed the clouds.” Mr. Brady turned to survey the horizon. “It looks to me as though a storm may blow up. It probably won’t amount to much but I believe you’ll be safer in the skiff.”

“Oh, bother!” Madge grumbled, casting an aggrieved glance at the boat. “It would take me all day to get over to the island in that cumbersome thing!”

After a brief study of the sky she thought better of it and reluctantly launched the skiff. She bent to the oars and with practiced skill sent the craft skimming over the water. Rounding the point, she lost sight of her aunt and uncle who had turned back toward the Brady lodge.

Madge had arrived at Loon Lake only three days before, but already she found herself slipping naturally back into the easy, carefree ways of a wilderness environment. She sniffed the fragrant balsam air contentedly and allowed the boat to drift while she watched a long-necked crane sail majestically over the water.

“Oh, I wish the summers were years and years long,” she thought wistfully. “I could live here forever and never tire of it.”

Madge always looked forward to the vacations spent at the Brady’s Canadian fishing lodge, located on secluded Lake Loon, in a timber berth twenty miles from the nearest town of Luxlow. During the remaining nine months of the year, she lived with her aunt and uncle at Claymore, Michigan, but since Mr. Brady was an enthusiastic fisherman, each summer saw the trio headed northward.

Madge regarded Mr. and Mrs. Brady as parents for her mother had died when she was a baby and a short time later, her father, Graham Sterling had gone West on a prospecting expedition, never to be heard from again. Although the Bradys had built their lodge for private use, they had been induced to open it to a small number of select guests who appreciated good food and excellent fishing. Madge did not mind the extra work which fell to her lot since she always had time for the things she enjoyed. She liked all outdoor sports. She swam like a fish and was an expert with a canoe. Then too, she had a special talent for making friends and knew everyone in the vicinity of Loon Lake, including the guides, the tourists and the forest rangers.

Jack French, a handsome young ranger at Lookout 48, had not been slow in meeting Madge. He had taught her how to handle a canoe, where to look for bass and how to make a fire without matches; from him she had learned the names of trees and strange shrubs. He teased her too and laughed when she accused him of treating her as a child.

“Just you wait!” she had stormed. “I’ll grow up one of these days—and when I do—”

“And when you do,” he had picked her up, but with an undercurrent of seriousness, “well, then I guess it will be time for Jack French to watch out.”

Madge caught herself gazing intently toward the lookout station visible on a distant hillside. Jack had called at the lodge only that morning yet somehow he had seemed changed, more reserved. He had tried to tease her in the old manner, but his kidding had lacked its usual carelessness.

During the three summers spent at Loon Lake, Madge scarcely had spoken a dozen words either to Anne Fairaday or her father. Often she had gazed speculatively at the fine home they had built upon Stewart Island, wondering why the two were so aloof. It was generally known that Mr. Fairaday was a noted chemist who had come North for his health and the belief was that Anne remained close at home to care for him.

“Now that he’s gone I hope she’ll agree to stay at the lodge,” Madge thought as she sent the skiff smoothly through the water. “I believe we’d become friends if we could ever really meet.”

It was pleasant on the lake with the sun half-hidden under a cloud. More often than she realized, Madge rested on her oars to watch queer insects swimming in the water or birds winging low in search for fish.

She had covered little more than half the distance to Stewart Island, when abruptly, she ceased rowing. Toward the south shore of the lake, a red canoe could be seen cutting through the water at a lively rate.

“There’s Anne Fairaday now!” she exclaimed. “Where’s she going, I wonder?”

A moment later she saw the girl head directly for the main landing, apparently to obtain mail and supplies which were left there for her by the forest rangers or old Bill Ramey who made weekly trips to town.

“She’s too far away to hail,” Madge decided. “Unless I catch her as she returns to the island, I’ll have made my trip for nothing.”

After a brief mental debate, she again snatched up the oars, rowing steadily toward a rocky point on the south shore. It had occurred to her that while she awaited Anne’s return she could busy herself resetting her uncle’s minnow trap.

She crossed the lake and located the wire trap which had floated a short distance from its usual place. After baiting it with some bread which her uncle kept in a box under the boat seat, she anchored the trap in shallow water near the rocks.

Glancing up from her work, she was startled to see how dark it had grown. Dark clouds were rolling up fast.

“We’re in for a real storm,” she told herself uneasily. “I didn’t think it would come up so quickly. Guess I’d better not wait for Anne. Unless I strike for home, I’ll be caught in it.”

A low, ominous roll of thunder warned her that she must act quickly if she wished to reach the mainland ahead of the rain. She turned the boat, and began rowing with all her strength. The breeze had quickened noticeably. As she passed beyond the lee of the point, waves struck the bow of the skiff with great force.

“Uncle George was wise to make me take the boat,” she told herself grimly. “I’d hate to be out in a canoe in these waves.”

She thought of Anne and glanced anxiously toward the far landing. The red canoe had turned back toward Stewart Island. Apparently, Anne realized the danger and she too was trying to race the storm. Her paddle slashed into the water with vicious force, but she made slow progress.

It was only a matter of minutes now until the storm would break. Madge cringed as a vivid flash of lightning zigzagged across the sky to illuminate an ugly mass of dark clouds. She was more afraid for Anne than for herself. She knew that the skiff would carry her safely ashore but the Fairaday girl was far from expert in handling her canoe and when the wind strengthened, she could easily be thrown crosswise to a wave and upset.

Each pull of the oars carried Madge nearer the girl. Already she could see that Anne was in grave danger. The waves were buffeting the canoe about like a log in a whirlpool.

Looking ahead toward the shoreline, Madge saw a sheet of white mist drop like a curtain upon the water. The rain was coming!

The murmur of the wind in the trees along the far shore had increased to an angry whine and branches began to bend and thrash wildly about. Madge braced herself for what she knew must come.

Another flash of lightning brightened the sky and at the same instant a deluge of rain descended, blotting out the shore. Madge worked desperately to keep the skiff from being swamped by the huge waves which were churned up. The wind howled in her ears, the rain slashed at her face. For several minutes she lost sight of the red canoe.

Then as the first onslaught of the storm seemed to have spent itself, the wind dropped and the rain fell in a steady downpour. Madge peered anxiously ahead, searching for Anne.

She sighted the canoe less than twenty yards away. Relief gave way to fear as she realized that Anne was struggling frantically to hold her own. Each time the canoe fell into a trough of a wave, Madge expected to see it dive for the bottom of the lake.

“Hold on! I’m coming!” she shouted encouragingly although she knew her voice could not carry half the distance.

Anne turned her head and at that very moment a huge wave descended upon her, catching her unaware. She made a valiant effort to maintain control, but failed. The mischievous wave lifted the canoe high, then tumbled it over on its side!

Madge heard a shrill cry of terror which was abruptly smothered out. The canoe floated free but Anne was not clinging to its side. She had disappeared.

CHAPTER II
A Rescue

Madge worked grimly at the oars as she endeavored to reach the overturned canoe. What had become of Anne? With a fast beating heart, she watched the water for a glimpse of the girl.

She had nearly given up hope when she caught sight of a struggling form not far from the floating canoe. A hand emerged, only to sink again beneath the surface. Anne could not swim!

The realization drove Madge to even greater exertion. The next powerful sweep of her oars carried her near the struggling girl. She thrust out an oar, but Anne either failing to see it or lacking strength to grasp it, fluttered her hands weakly and went under again.

Without an instant’s hesitation, Madge kicked off her pumps and plunged over the side of the skiff. Three long crawl strokes carried her to the place where Anne had submerged. Bending sharply at the waist she shot down in a surface dive. Groping about under water, she searched frantically for the body and could not find it. She was forced to the top for air but she went bravely down again and this time her hand touched Anne’s hair. She grasped it firmly, lifting the girl to the surface.

Anne was only semi-conscious but as she gulped air it gave her strength to renew her struggles. Madge hooked her firmly under the jaw and did not relax her hold. The waves beat down mercilessly upon the girls and each time the avalanche of water poured over their heads. Anne fought like a wild thing. Madge, encumbered by heavy clothing, found the battle exhausting.

“Hold your breath when you see a wave coming,” she advised. “Don’t struggle or we’ll both drown.”

Anne relaxed slightly and Madge managed to shift her into position for a safe carry. Using a powerful scissors kick and a one arm pull, she towed her slowly toward the skiff which had been carried some distance away.

Madge was nearly exhausted when they finally reached the boat and it discouraged her to know that the most difficult part of the rescue lay ahead. They must climb aboard the skiff, and unless they balanced it perfectly it would upset. The only alternative was to cling to the side until help came.

Madge glanced hopefully toward shore but she could not even see the Brady lodge and the rain likewise hid the lookout from view. Even should the storm abate, it might be fifteen minutes or an hour before Uncle George or Old Bill started out to search. She doubted that they could hold out many minutes in the cold water.

“You must do exactly as I say,” she ordered Anne. “I’ll swim to the other side of the boat. When I give the word we must both climb in at the same time. If we don’t work together, the boat will upset and then we’ll be in a real pickle!”

“Oh, I can’t, I can’t,” Anne half sobbed.

“Yes, you can. Do exactly as I say and we’ll make it.”

Anne nodded that she understood what was expected but Madge wondered if she really had the strength to obey. She swam to the other side of the skiff and at her signal both girls slowly raised themselves up from the water. The boat wobbled dangerously but Anne appreciated the need for caution. Working deliberately, they kept the skiff upright until both were safely over the edge. Exhausted by the effort, Anne sank down in a little heap on the bottom, shivering from nervous excitement and cold. Madge resisted the temptation to drop down beside her and snatched up the oars.

“I’ll make for the island!” she cried, above the roar of the wind. “If we can reach the cove, the waves won’t be so high.”

The center of the storm appeared to have passed over, yet gigantic breakers continued to lash against the boat. The steadily falling rain made it difficult for Madge to see where she was going and she depended largely upon her instinct for direction.

“Let me help,” Anne presently offered, realizing that she was not doing her share.

“We’re almost there,” Madge returned without giving up the oars.

One glance at her companion assured her that Anne was in no condition to assist. She was a frail girl but rather pretty in spite of her bedraggled appearance. Her hair was dark and straight and her features were as regular as those of a statue. Madge judged her to be sixteen or seventeen but it was difficult to guess accurately for Anne’s sober expression undoubtedly made her look older than she actually was. Her face was drawn and strained and she appeared to be still suffering from the shock of her mishap.

A few minutes later they reached the sheltered side of Stewart Island and a flash of lightning disclosed the curving shore line. As the oars struck bottom, the girls scrambled out into the water which came only to their knees, dragging the skiff out upon shore where the waves could not reach it. They made a quick dash for the house.

In the semi-darkness it looked gloomy and depressing. It was a large, rambling affair, more like a hotel than a house, and not at all in keeping with the type of shack or cabin usually erected in the North. Branches of a tall birch tree brushed against the pointed roof and the wind whined most distressingly around the many corners of the building.

“I’d not enjoy coming here alone at night,” Madge thought.

Her companion opened the kitchen door and they stomped in out of the rain.

“There’s a fire in the library grate,” Anne chattered, leading the way to an adjoining room. “Thank goodness I built it before I left.”

They huddled before the glowing embers of the fireplace and Anne tossed on a fresh log which quickly blazed up.

“We can’t stand around in wet clothing,” she observed, looking appraisingly at Madge. “You’re my size. I’ll see what I can find for you.”

Waiting for her to return, Madge gazed curiously about the library which was lined to the ceiling with books. The fireplace gave the room a cheerful appearance but she could not fail to notice the threadbare rug, the scanty furniture.

“Strange,” she thought, “I always understood the Fairadays were well-to-do.”

Her reflection was cut short by Anne’s return. She had found a change of clothing for Madge who accepted it gratefully. After hanging up their garments to dry, the girls made coffee, sipping it luxuriously before the fire. As they chatted, Anne brought up the subject of the rescue and in halting phrases tried to thank Madge.

“Please don’t thank me,” the latter protested. “It was nothing. Only if I were you, I’d certainly learn to swim.”

“I should,” Anne acknowledged ruefully. “I’ve always wanted to but never had the chance. Until lately, Father took so much care.”

Madge nodded sympathetically and after explaining that she had only that day learned of Mr. Fairaday’s death, invited Anne to stay at the Brady lodge.

“It’s good of you to ask me,” the Fairaday girl murmured, “and truly, I would like to accept. Just now I’m afraid I can’t. You see, there’s a special reason why I must stay here—for a few days at least.”

She hesitated and did not explain. Madge looked troubled.

“I’ve written to an aunt in New York and as soon as things are settled I expect to live with her,” Anne went on hurriedly. “I do appreciate your kindness only I know I’ll be safe here. It’s lonely but I’m used to that. The one thing that worries me is what I shall live on after the estate is settled. Father left only this house and a few hundred dollars.”

Madge was startled by this frank disclosure. The shabby appearance of the interior of the house had warned her that the Fairadays were not as wealthy as rumor would have it, but it was difficult to believe that Anne faced poverty.

“Father was never practical about money matters. He built this expensive house and installed a laboratory on the second floor that would do credit to a scientific institution. He spent so much on experimentation too.”

“You must be proud of the name your father made for himself,” Madge said politely.

“Yes, I am, and he was a dear, too. But if only he hadn’t been so careless about details! Several times he made important discoveries, only to let others reap the commercial reward. Before his death he worked out some preparation which when applied to iron and steel prevented rust—several large companies were interested in it too. He promised me faithfully he would register the formula in the patent office.”

“He never did?”

“No, he kept putting it off. He always said the formula wasn’t perfected. He always assured me no one could steal it for he kept the experiments to himself and hid all the data where it would never be found.” Anne laughed shortly. “Well, he did a good job of it! I’ve searched this house high and low and can’t find a trace of it.”

“You’re certain the formula is valuable?”

“I’m sure of it.” Anne arose and moved to the desk, returning with a letter which she dropped into Madge’s lap. “Last week this came from the Alton Chemical Company—one of the firms Father negotiated with. You see the letter is signed by the president of the firm—G. H. Brownell—and he says he is coming here soon to see me about the formula. If only I had it! I’m sure he would pay me a good figure for it. What became of the thing?”

“Ask me something easy. You searched the laboratory I suppose?”

“A dozen times. I haven’t given up though. I know I’ll find it somewhere and I intend to stay here until I do.”

“I wish I could help,” Madge returned. “Aunt Maude says I have a talent for finding lost things. She always calls on me when anything is missing.”

“Then consider that I’m calling on you now. We might start turning the house upside down this minute!”

Madge’s eye had fallen upon the clock and she sprang to her feet with an exclamation of dismay.

“The search must wait until another day. Goodness! That clock must have skipped an hour or so! Aunt Maude will think I drowned in the lake. I must run. Mind if I wear your dress?”

“Of course not. It’s only an old rag.”

At the door, Madge hesitated.

“See here,” she said bluntly, “my aunt will be put out because you feel you can’t stay at the lodge. If anything should go wrong here—”

“Nothing will.”

“You can’t be certain, Anne. If you need help at any time or want to talk with me, fly a white flag from the boat landing. I’ll see it from the lodge if the day is clear and come as fast as I can.”

“All right,” Anne agreed, “I have an old white skirt I can use.”

She accompanied Madge to the beach, helping her launch the skiff. The rain had ceased falling and the sky was slowly clearing. Before saying goodbye, Madge promised Anne that she would have Old Bill search for the overturned canoe. Anne thanked her again for her kindness, urging her to return soon.

“Don’t forget,” she called, as her friend floated slowly away from the beach.

“I’ll be likely to forget!” Madge chuckled softly to herself. “Even if I didn’t like Anne, that missing formula would be sufficient bait! This has been an exciting day and unless I miss my guess the fun is only starting!”

CHAPTER III
A Puzzling Letter

Although the sky had cleared, evening shadows were creeping over the lake. Madge rowed steadily, knowing that soon it would be dark. She wondered if her long absence from home had caused worry and was not greatly surprised when she sighted another boat on the lake.

“It’s Uncle George and Old Bill,” she decided. “They’re out looking for me.”

She waved her hand to assure them she was quite safe and in a few minutes, Old Bill, with a skillful sweep of the oars, brought the boat alongside the skiff.

“It’s time you’re getting back, young lady!” Mr. Brady called out with kindly gruffness. “Another ten minutes and we’d have been dragging the lake.”

“Sorry,” Madge laughed. “I thought you had more confidence in my ability to handle a boat.”

“If you give me another scare like this, I’ll wish I’d never brought you up here.”

Madge did not take Mr. Brady’s brusque manner seriously for she knew that it masked a kindly heart. He really had worried about her and blamed himself for permitting her to start out ahead of the storm.

“I told Mr. Brady you knowed how to look arfter yourself,” Old Bill broke in, his leathery face wrinkling into a multitude of tiny folds. “I knowed this storm would pass over quick—seen a lot of ’em in my day, I have. I kin remember when I was workin’ on the Great Lakes—”

“Never mind!” Mr. Brady interrupted. “Tell us another time!”

“Yes, sir.” The old boatman subsided into injured silence.

Old Bill loved to spin yarns—that was his particular failing. He was an inaccurate encyclopaedia of everything that went on, but only Madge, who thought him amusing, ever cared to listen.

He could relate the most fantastic tales of his adventures at Hudson Bay and various lumber camps. He had served as sailor on the Great Lakes and as guide to aspiring amateur fishermen who invaded Ontario, yet his real experiences were as nothing compared to those of his fertile imagination. His shack back of the Brady lodge was cluttered with melodramatic magazines which he read by the hour. He did as little work as possible about the lodge, yet if a task struck his fancy, glorified it until it became a task of gigantic importance.

“Your Aunt has been worrying,” Mr. Brady told Madge. “What kept you so long?”

Madge explained that among other things she had jumped into the lake and wound up the tale of her adventure by mentioning the overturned canoe which had not been recovered.

“You go on home,” Mr. Brady directed. “Bill and I will see if we can pick it up.”

Before continuing toward the lodge, Madge pointed out the general locality where she thought the canoe might be found. When she pulled up to the boat landing a few minutes later, Mrs. Brady, who had been anxiously watching from the veranda, rushed down to meet her.

“I’m glad you’re safe!” she exclaimed in relief. “I was so worried when the storm came up so quickly. Why, you’ve changed your dress! What happened and where is Anne?”

Madge repeated the story of her adventure, explaining that Anne did not wish to leave the island. After a slight hesitation, she related all that she had learned concerning the strange formula of Mr. Fairaday’s. Mrs. Brady was astonished to hear that his fortunes had dwindled, but to Madge’s disappointment she did not appear greatly impressed with the story of the formula.

“It sounds like one of Bill’s yarns to me,” she laughed. “Whoever heard of a chemical preparation to keep things from rusting? If you find the formula, Madge, I want you to fix me up a solution for the kitchen pump! And for that rake your uncle left out in the rain!”

“It does sound fantastic, I admit, but somehow, I think there’s something to the story. I do know that scientists have been trying for years to find a paint that will prevent rust. Why, it would mean a fortune to the person who discovered the secret.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Mrs. Brady returned mildly. “I had no intention of trying to discourage you. By all means help Anne look for the missing paper or whatever it is, but don’t build your hopes too high. It’s very likely the formula never existed save in old Mr. Fairaday’s mind. I’ve heard it said that he was a queer man.”

Madge dropped the subject but that was not the last of it. When Mr. Brady and Old Bill returned a half hour later with Anne’s canoe in tow, Mrs. Brady repeated the story for their benefit and at the supper table Madge was subjected to a great deal of goodnatured teasing.

“Just wait!” she retorted. “Anne and I may show you a thing or two about formulas! If we find it, the laugh will be on you!”

She fully intended to return to Stewart Island the following day, but when she awoke the next morning it was to find that a drizzling rain had set in. Everyone stayed close in except Old Bill who was forced to drive to town for supplies and mail. The roads were muddy and he did not get back until after dark.

“Any letters?” Madge demanded eagerly.

“Not for you,” he told her crossly, pitching a heavy sack of flour from his shoulder to the kitchen floor with such violence that it sent up a white cloud of dust.

“There’s some pie in the oven,” Madge said sweetly. “I know you must be hungry and tired.” Her eye had fastened upon a slim, white envelope protruding from his hip pocket. “You do have a letter!”

“It ain’t fer you, I said.” Bill spoke more pleasantly for the mention of pie had softened his ill temper. He took the letter from his pocket and holding it to the light, squinted curiously at the postmark. “It’s for that gal, Anne Fairaday. The postmaster told me to give it to her. Looks important too, comin’ from New York.”

“Bill Ramey!” Mrs. Brady interposed. “You’re worse than a rural mail carrier when it comes to curiosity! Put that letter on the shelf. Madge can take it over to the island tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Bill’s reply was sufficiently meek but his face showed plainly that he did not like the order. He had always carried supplies and mail in person to Stewart Island or had left it in a covered box at the main landing across the lake from the Brady lodge. In previous summers, the Fairadays had tipped him well for the service.

After eating the supper Madge prepared for him, he shuffled out, permitting the kitchen door to slam behind him.

“He’s peeved,” Madge chuckled. “Poor Bill! His feelings are always being hurt.”

The next morning dawned bright. Shortly after breakfast, Madge set out for Stewart Island, towing Anne’s canoe behind the skiff. She had laundered the dress which had been loaned her and carried it neatly done up in paper. She would have forgotten the letter had Mrs. Brady not hurried down to the beach with it just as she was starting off.

The lake was smooth and Madge made good time over to the island. Anne had sighted her from afar and was at the water’s edge to meet her.

“Oh, you found my canoe!” she cried. “What luck! But you shouldn’t have ironed that dress. It was only an old one.”

“Here’s something more for you,” Madge declared, producing the letter. “Bill brought it from town last night.”

“Oh, thanks. Mind if I read it now?”

“Of course not.”

Madge busied herself with the skiff while her friend eagerly ripped open the long white envelope. Scarcely had her eyes swept the page when she uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“Madge, do you remember the young man who worked here on the island about a year ago? I mean Father’s laboratory assistant.”

“That queer fellow with the stoop shoulders?”

“I think he got that way from spending so much time bending over test tubes,” Anne smiled. “I never liked him very well and was glad when Father discharged him.”

“I never saw him except at a distance,” Madge said, “and I’ve even forgotten his name. What about him anyway?”

“His name is Clyde Wendell,” Anne supplied. “This letter is from him. He says he’s coming here to see me on important business. Now what can that mean?”

“Doesn’t he give a hint as to what the business is about?”

“Not the slightest. Here, read the letter for yourself.”

Madge accepted the typewritten sheet and after scanning it briefly, returned it without comment.

“Clyde Wendell knew more about Father’s work than any other person,” Anne declared eagerly. “Perhaps he can tell me what became of the formula.”

“But wasn’t it hidden after he left?”

“I’m not sure. Father worked on it when Clyde was here. Then they disagreed. Father thought Clyde wasn’t honest and finally discharged him.”

“Why do you think Clyde would know where it is then?”

“He was always interested in the formula, Madge. And he knew Father’s habits even better than I did. He could always recall what became of his misplaced things.”

“Strange he’d be coming back just at this time,” Madge mused. “Especially since he was discharged.”

“Yes, Clyde was bitter toward Father at the time although he was paid several month’s extra wages. He seemed friendly toward me though and he’s likely forgotten all the unpleasantness by this time.”

Madge did not wish to discourage her friend yet she found it difficult to believe Clyde Wendell would go far out of his way to be of service.

“Better not pin too much hope on him,” she cautioned. “If we get busy we may be able to find that formula ourselves.”

“I’ve given the house a general overhauling but we can search again. Shall we do it today?”

“Let’s!” Madge agreed eagerly. “If only you had a hint as to what became of the thing! I suppose you’ve exhausted every possibility.”

“I’m afraid so,” Anne admitted. She hesitated and then added: “But there’s one clue I’ve neglected and it may be important.”

“What’s that?”

Anne smiled mysteriously, and linking arms with Madge, drew her toward the house.

CHAPTER IV
A Fruitless Search

“I’m afraid it really isn’t much of a clue,” Anne confessed, escorting her friend into the living room. “Just before Father died he tried to tell where he had hidden the formula but it was hard for him to speak. The nurse handed him paper and pencil and he managed to write a few words. He wasn’t able to finish the message.”

Anne moved over to the desk and took a scrap of paper from a pigeon hole. She handed it to Madge, watching her face closely as she scrutinized the cramped writing.

“Why, this doesn’t make sense!” Madge protested. “It just says, ‘written in secret—’ Is this all of it?”

Anne nodded.

“Only three words. I’ve puzzled over it until my head whirls. I’ve finally figured out that he was trying to tell me the formula had been written in some secret code.”

“Why would he have done that? To protect it?”

“Yes, Father was obsessed with the idea that someone wanted to steal the formula, particularly after his trouble with Clyde. At the very last—” Anne’s voice broke. “—he wasn’t quite himself. He kept calling for some one. ‘Kim’ he would say, ‘Kim’ and looked at me so strangely.”

“He knew some one by that name?”

“Not to my knowledge. He probably was delirious.”

It occurred to Madge that the entire idea of the formula might have been a delusion as her Aunt Maude had hinted. Tactfully, she broached the subject.

“Oh, no,” Anne protested. “At one time the formula actually existed and it was an excellent piece of research—I know that. I’m confident it is here in the house somewhere. Probably in the most out of the way place. Since Father took pains to write it out in code, I’m sure he secreted it where one would never think of searching.”

“Then our work is cut out for us,” Madge laughed. “If we ever do find the formula we’ll still have the code to unravel.”

“And it will be a real one too! Father made a hobby of codes. Years ago he did work along that line for the government.”

Madge’s interest in the missing formula had somewhat cheered Anne and the girls began their search of the house with high hope. They spent the better part of an hour browsing about Mr. Fairaday’s laboratory on the second floor, hunting through old ledgers and desk drawers. Satisfied that the lost paper was not to be found there they made a similar inspection of the old chemist’s bedroom, examining discarded letters and even searching behind pictures which hung on the walls.

“We might try the library,” Anne suggested at length. “I’ve looked there of course, but I’ve never gone carefully through the book shelves.”

They returned to the first floor and undaunted by the vast array of volumes lining the walls, attacked the stacks, working on opposite sides of the room. They went about the task methodically, removing each book from the shelf and shaking it carefully to see that nothing had been hidden between the pages.

Madge experienced a genuine thrill when an envelope, yellow with age, dropped from a volume of Keats’ poems. The girls seized upon it only to be bitterly disappointed when it turned out to be of no value.

“How provoking!” Anne cried impatiently. “I guess you’ve wasted your morning, Madge.”

“Oh, I don’t consider it wasted,” the other corrected without glancing up from the volume she was examining. “Say, this book looks interesting.”

“What is it? Kipling? That particular volume was Father’s favorite. It’s a real good story too. Take it home if you like.”

“I don’t think I should since it was your father’s—”

“Please do. I know you’ll take good care of it.”

“All right, but I’ll bring it back in a few days.”

“Keep it as long as you like.”

Presently, Madge said that she must return to the lodge and Anne accompanied her to the boat landing. Both were discouraged but tried not to disclose it to the other.

“Well, if we never find the formula, there’s one thing I can always do—sell this house. Jake Curtis has been after me to sell it to him ever since Father died.”

“Jake Curtis!” Madge exclaimed sharply. “Don’t you ever do it. He wouldn’t give you half what it’s worth. He has the reputation of being the shrewdest real estate shark in these parts.”

“I know. He wants to turn the house into a summer hotel.”

“And ruin Loon Lake. Imagine this place swarming with the sort of folks Jake Curtis would attract. The fishing would be ruined in two seasons!”

“He practically wants me to give him the place,” Anne informed. “You see, he holds a first mortgage on it—not a very large one but sufficient to embarrass me. If the bank will loan me enough money to pay it off, I’ll tell him to jump in the lake. I’d rather sell to anyone but him.”

“When does the mortgage come due?”

“Next month.”

Madge had heard her uncle remark that the local bankers were very reluctant to make loans at the present time and Anne’s prospects appeared especially slim.

“Well, I wish you luck,” she said turning to leave. “Things may straighten themselves out before the mortgage falls due.”

The next few days found Madge too busy to paddle over to the island for three guests arrived from the city to try their fishing luck. They asked endless questions, demanded constant service and had enormous appetites. In spite of the extra housework, Madge had time to consider Anne’s problem but she could think of no way out. Often too, her eyes turned toward Lookout 48 but while she frequently saw Jack French glide by in his canoe he never stopped at the lodge. Once she saw him carry a large box of groceries to Stewart Island.

“He has other things to do besides come to see me,” she told herself. “Why should I care?”

Yet she knew she did care a great deal.

One afternoon toward the end of the week, Madge was snatching a few minutes rest on the veranda when the telephone rang. Mrs. Brady answered, and soon stepped outside to speak to her niece.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Madge, but a stranger just telephoned from the White farmhouse. Jack French is bringing him out from town. He wants us to put him up for a few days.”

“Friend of Jack’s?”

“No, he merely brought him out as an accommodation. I don’t know the stranger’s name. He wants someone to meet him across the lake.”

“Just my luck Uncle George is gone. Isn’t Bill around?”

“He is always missing when there’s work to be done,” Mrs. Brady smiled. “I think his intuition warns him. I’m sorry to call on you.”

“Oh, I don’t really mind, providing there’s not more than one suitcase to ferry across,” Madge assured her quickly. “And if our guest is a gentleman he may offer to row back.”

She took her time crossing the lake for there was no sign of a car at the landing. Beaching the skiff she sat down on an old log. After a short wait she heard an automobile pounding down the private road which joined Loon Lake with the main highway. Madge arose expectantly.

A battered car swung into view and halted with a jerk. Jack French stepped lightly to the ground. He was a tall, handsome man, built like an All-American half-back, strong and straight, his every movement graceful. His face was richly tanned and his brown eyes were always a-twinkle, as though the world amused their owner. One knew at a glance that he would be restless under a man-made roof. He loved the canopy of the blue sky, and a wood or a stream or some rare tree gave him a keener enjoyment than any artificial diversion could have done.

He grinned cheerfully at Madge, greeting her flippantly.

“Hello, child. Here’s your new boarder—guess you’ve seen him before. I packed him out from Luxlow along with the grub.”

Jack’s gaze lingered half-quizzically as he spoke, but Madge looked beyond him to the man who was slowly climbing from the car. It was Clyde Wendell. The ranger had never liked him.

“I don’t believe we ever really met,” Madge stammered, slightly embarrassed at the unexpected meeting. “Of course, I’ve seen you from a distance.”

The chemist turned, surveying her rather sharply. His eyes were penetrating and hostile.

“You’re Miss Sterling, I suppose? I telephoned from the White’s for a room at Mrs. Brady’s lodge. If you’re here to take me across the lake, let’s get started. I’ve had a hard trip and I’m tired.”

In spite of his desire for haste, the chemist made no move to lift his suitcases from the rear of the car. He waited impatiently for the ranger to stow them in the skiff. Jack was provokingly slow.

“Aiming to do a little fishing?” he asked casually.

“I may.”

“Then I’ll give you a permit. This is a timber berth, you know and we have to be careful about fires.”

“Do I look like I’d set one?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Jack returned amiably. “In your case the permit is only a matter of form.”

“Then why issue it? I lived here several months.”

Jack did not respond but wrote out the necessary form and gave it to him. Clyde took it without a word of thanks and climbed into the skiff. Madge looked surprised and then went to the vacant seat beside the oars. She had expected that the chemist would at least offer to row across the lake.

“See here, Madge,” Jack protested quickly. “You can’t tote those heavy suitcases. I’ll bring them over later tonight.”

She would have accepted gratefully had not the chemist broke in irritably:

“The bags must go with us. I’ll need them before evening.”

“Really, I don’t mind,” Madge assured Jack. “Shove us off, will you, please?”

He complied, bestowing a look upon Clyde’s back which was far from complimentary. At first the skiff moved steadily through the water but before Madge had covered half the distance her arms began to tire. Clyde Wendell did not seem to notice. He stared moodily across the lake. Frequently, his dark, piercing eyes roved in the direction of Stewart Island.

The strangely tense expression of his face was not lost upon Madge. What thoughts could be running through his mind, she wondered? Why had he returned to Loon Lake?

“It’s for no good purpose,” she decided. “My guess is that he intends to make trouble for Anne Fairaday!”

CHAPTER V
Clyde Wendell’s Mission

Madge was washing breakfast dishes the next morning when Clyde Wendell entered the kitchen. He appeared in a better mood than upon his arrival and greeted her pleasantly.

“Good morning. I’d like to go for a little row on the lake. Can you let me have a boat?”

“I’ll see what we have,” she returned, wiping soap suds from her hands.

She walked down to the landing with him although she knew without looking that all of the boats save one were gone. The skiff had been rented out earlier that morning to another guest and Bill had taken one of the boats across the lake to gather stone for a new fireplace Mr. Brady was building. That left only a heavy, cumbersome craft which leaked rather badly.

“Perhaps you would prefer to wait until the skiff comes in,” she suggested doubtfully. “We seldom rent out this boat. It’s rather heavy and—”

“You keep it in reserve for yourself, eh?” the chemist interrupted with a knowing laugh. “Well, it looks like a good boat to me and I’ll take it.”

Madge started to protest then changed her mind. Without a word, she went to the woodshed and brought back a pair of oars which she fitted into the locks. Carelessly, she dropped a tin bucket into the bottom of the boat.

“What’s that for?” Clyde demanded suspiciously.

“Oh, just in case of a leak.”

The chemist should have been forewarned but the bottom of the boat was dry and he had implicit faith in his own judgment. Stepping into the craft he rowed away. Madge smiled as she watched him strike out across the lake. She returned to her dishes, but a few minutes later, hanging dish towels on the back porch, she observed that the boat had taken a direct course for Stewart Island.

“I wonder what he’s up to?” she mused. “I don’t believe he wanted me to know he was going over there to see Anne. I’d like to follow him over but of course that wouldn’t do.”

Though somewhat ashamed of her curiosity, Madge kept close watch of Stewart Island all morning. Toward noon the chemist’s boat was sighted returning slowly across the lake. She was amused to see that he frequently dropped his oars to bail water.

Presently, the boat eased to a landing.

“Say, what do you mean by giving me an old leaky tub?” the chemist called out angrily as he caught sight of Madge on the veranda. “I darn near drowned!”

“I guess the boat does leak a trifle,” she admitted readily. “I tried to tell you but you were so determined not to wait for the skiff.”

“You didn’t hurt yourself trying to tell me! Look at my clothes—wet to the skin. If I hadn’t bailed like all get-out I’d have gone to the bottom.”

“The boat never entirely fills,” Madge corrected sweetly.

Clyde stalked angrily into the house to change his wet shoes and garments. Madge tied up the boat, chuckling at his discomfiture.

“Something must have gone wrong over at Stewart Island,” she thought shrewdly. “I’ll find out when I see Anne again.”

The opportunity was to present itself that very afternoon. Soon after luncheon, Clyde Wendell went for a walk in the forest and a short time later, Madge sighted Anne’s familiar red canoe on the lake. As the girl came toward the lodge, she raced down to the water’s edge to meet her.

Anne looked cautiously about before she beached her canoe.

“Clyde Wendell isn’t anywhere near, is he?” she asked in a low tone. “If he is, I can’t stay.”

“He left a half hour ago. What’s wrong, Anne? You look worried.”

“I am. Oh, Madge, everything has gone wrong. You were right about Clyde. He didn’t come here to help at all. He’s the meanest man in the world!”

“What has he done now?”

“He claims I owe him five hundred dollars. Or rather, that Father did. He insists that several months back wages were due him at the time he left here. It’s too ridiculous for words! Actually, Father paid him extra money to be rid of him.”

“Haven’t you a cancelled check or a receipt to prove it?”

“Not a thing. Father wouldn’t bother about a receipt. Clyde knows that he was more than paid for his services. I’m afraid he thinks I’m inexperienced about business matters and that he can bluff me into giving him the money.”

“I’d never do it.”

Anne laughed shortly.

“No danger of that. I couldn’t find five hundred dollars if my life depended upon it. The only way I can raise money is to borrow from the bank or sell my island. And in this country islands are as common as pine trees and about as cheap!”

“Not such islands as yours,” Madge corrected. “Uncle George says you have an ideal location and the place should bring a tidy sum if sold to the right party.”

“Well, Jake Curtis isn’t the right party. I’m sure of that. He knows it will be hard for me to pay the debt I owe him and I think he means to take advantage of me if he can. I’m to see the president of the First National bank today and ask him for a loan. Jack said he would take me to town in his car. Won’t you come with us?”

Madge replied that she should not leave but Anne coaxed her until she gave in. They crossed the lake and found Jack waiting with his car. He seemed well pleased that Madge was to go along.

At Luxlow he dropped the girls at the bank, promising to call for them in an hour. They entered the building and Anne was admitted to the private office of the president. Madge waited outside.

Fifteen minutes elapsed before Anne emerged. The expression of her face disclosed instantly that the interview had not been successful.

“It’s no use,” she reported when they were outside again. “He listened politely enough to my story but he wasn’t really interested. When I finished he said he was sorry he could do nothing for me. It seems the bank must have sound collateral and I’ve nothing to pledge.”

Madge tried to cheer her companion, and since over a half hour remained before Jack would return, suggested that they go to a nearby drug store for ice cream. They walked slowly down the street, gazing at the window displays.

Suddenly Anne clutched her friend’s arm, gripping it with a hard pressure. With a quick jerk of her head she indicated a man on the opposite side of the street.

“There’s Jake Curtis!” she said tensely. “I hope he doesn’t see me!”

No sooner had the words been spoken than the man turned toward the girls. He was a short, stout individual with ill-fitting, somewhat soiled clothing and a hard, shrewd face. Before Anne and Madge could dodge into a store he crossed the street and confronted them.

“Trying to avoid me, eh?”

“Why should I wish to avoid you, Mr. Curtis?” Anne countered.

“Well, there’s a little matter of a note between us, y’know.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Aiming to pay it off by the first, are you?”

“Why,—I—that is, I expect to,” Anne stammered.

“Better think over that proposition I made you. You’ll not find any other person in these parts who will take the house off your hands. I must warn you though, I’ll expect payment of one kind or another on the day my note falls due.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” Anne returned coldly.

The girls turned their backs and walked hurriedly on. Anne was so agitated by the meeting that she did not care to stop at the drug store so they returned to the bank there to await Jack.

“Jake Curtis surely deserves his reputation!” Madge declared in disgust. “Oh, Anne, don’t ever sell him your island!”

“I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Perhaps Uncle George can find a buyer for you. I’ll speak to him tonight about it. And then we may locate the formula. That would solve everything.”

Jack soon returned and the three started for Loon Lake. Anne who was reticent by nature, made no mention of her discouraging bank interview, and although Madge would have liked to acquaint the ranger with the situation, she felt it was not her place to bring up the subject.