Читать книгу The Secret of the Red Scarf - Elizabeth Mildred Duffield Ward - Страница 5

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“What’s the bad news, Kay?” asked Bill Tracey, walking into the hall from the kitchen. “You look as if you’d just inherited a million dollars—or lost it.”

Bill, who was thirty years old and inclined to be a tease, had arrived shortly after Kay left to mail her letter. He was of medium height and had twinkling blue eyes. It was hard for him not to become overweight, due, he said, to Kathryn Tracey’s good cooking. Though full of fun, when occasion demanded it, the lawyer could be very serious and even severe.

“Cousin Bill, this is no laughing matter,” Kay said, and showed him the note.

Letters had been cut from a newspaper and pasted on a plain white sheet to form the message. There was no signature or other identification as to the sender. Kay told her cousin about the man she had seen leaving the house a few minutes before. But other than this, she had no idea who the writer might be.

“What does he mean by our boarder?” the lawyer asked.

“Oh, I forgot,” Kay replied quickly, and told her cousin about the stranger who was in bed upstairs.

“Well, all I can say is you certainly get first prize for stumbling into queer situations,” the lawyer remarked, as he bounded up the steps.

Kay was right on his heels and reached the doorway of the sick man’s bedroom at the same moment her cousin did. She introduced him and said that Bill Tracey was a far better lawyer than she was a detective. He no doubt would have several suggestions on how to help Bro.

After a few moments it became evident that Bill Tracey also liked their visitor. Not a word was said about the note and it was not until the three Traceys had gathered at the dinner table that Kay told her mother of the warning.

“Gracious!” Mrs. Tracey exclaimed. “This sheds a whole new light on things. It may not be safe for us to keep Bro here.”

“Oh, Mother, you don’t think he’s a thief, do you?” Kay cried.

“Well,” said Mrs. Tracey after a pause, “I certainly can’t say he looks like one. But then I don’t know how thieves look. I’ve read that many times they seem very innocent.”

“That’s absolutely true,” said Bill Tracey. “Kay, I’ve been thinking this thing over. Even though the boy may not be a thief, you’ll have to admit that this whole affair is mighty strange. Whoever knocked him out in the car and took away his identification had a sinister reason for doing so. I agree with Kathryn that we may be putting ourselves in danger by keeping the boy here.”

Kay was crestfallen. Any thoughts of danger to herself or to her family were overshadowed by sympathy for the pathetic victim upstairs. Furthermore, she was intrigued with the idea of helping him find out who he was.

“The girl on the magazine cover is lovely looking,” she defended her position. “Chances are her brother is fine, too. Will you both do something for me?”

“What is it?” her mother said.

Kay begged that they permit Bro to stay with them at least until she had a reply from the magazine. It would not take long to reunite brother and sister and then all the Traceys’ worries would be over.

The young sleuth finally had her way, although none of the Traceys slept very well that night. Each one felt it his duty to keep more or less awake and listen for any movement on the part of their strange visitor.

Bro in turn slept better than any of the others and insisted upon getting up the next morning. He came downstairs and helped Mrs. Tracey with the breakfast. The youth proved to be a master at scrambling eggs and cooking bacon and Mrs. Tracey wondered if this fact might prove to be a clue to his identity.

“Did your mother teach you to cook?” she asked him.

“My mother?” the youth asked. One of his pauses and faraway looks were the result. Then he said slowly:

“I don’t know. I haven’t any idea.”

There was such a pained expression on the youth’s face that Mrs. Tracey was sorry she had asked the question. During the meal no reference was made to the mystery and he was happy and cheerful until Kay, looking suddenly at the clock and jumping up from the table said:

“I’ll be late for dear old Carmont High if I don’t push off.”

“Carmont?” the youth murmured, his sad look returning. “It seems to me that was where I was going when——” the sentence trailed off to nothing.

“Really?” Kay said excitedly. “Then maybe that’s where your sister is. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

As the girl reached the hall to get her coat and books, the telephone rang. Answering it, she found the caller to be policeman Jackson.

“I thought you’d like to know what we found out about the tires,” he said.

“Oh, yes. Was it a good clue?”

“I’m afraid not,” the officer answered. “Each tire was bought in a different part of the United States and none of the places was anywhere near here. No telling where that boy came from.”

Kay sighed and after a little more conversation hung up. She said good-by to her mother, Bill and Bro and dashed from the house. She had to run almost all the way to the Brantwood station to make her train.

Wilma and Betty stood on the platform of the third coach, waving frantically. When the three finally flopped down into facing seats, the twins asked what the latest news was on the mystery.

“Well, my new found brother is feeling much better,” Kay dimpled. “But he can’t remember any more than he could yesterday.”

The three girls were so busy chatting that they did not notice the approach of Ethel Eaton, who happened to be looking for a seat just at the moment Kay made her surprising remark. She paused at a little distance and drank in every word that was being said. Then she moved off down the aisle.

“Well!” she said to herself smugly.

That day it was hard for Kay to keep her mind on her studies. If she had not been such an excellent student and able to study quickly and intelligently, she probably would have flunked two quizzes that were given without warning. As it was, Kay felt she should have done better.

When she and the twins reached Brantwood again that afternoon, the Worths insisted upon going to Kay’s home and calling on Bro. It was while Betty and Wilma were talking to him in the guest room that a telegram came for Kay from one of the magazine editors.

YOUR UNUSUAL LETTER RECEIVED. MODEL ON COVER HELENE BARBARA CALDWELL. HER ADDRESS UNKNOWN. SUGGEST YOU CONTACT ARTIST JAMES BRANDON CHICAGO.

Racing upstairs with the telegram in her hand, Kay ran into the room.

“The mystery is solved!” she cried gaily. “Your sister’s name is Helene Barbara Caldwell!”

The elation Kay felt was not shared by the young man. He looked at her vacantly for a few seconds and said sadly:

“My sister’s name was not Helene Barbara Caldwell.”

There was silence in the room for nearly half a minute. The disappointment everyone felt was keen. Kay was the first to snap out of it, referring hopefully to the second part of the telegram.

“I’ll get in touch with this James Brandon right away,” she said. “Your sister may be using an assumed name as a model.”

Bro brightened. “Yes, please do that,” he said. “Oh, not being able to remember is a horrible thing. I hope it never happens to any of you.”

“You’ll soon be over it,” Betty said cheerfully.

Kay had already left the room. Going to her mother’s bedside telephone, she asked information for the number of the artist James Brandon in Chicago. It seemed like an interminable wait, but finally a man answered. Upon learning he was Mr. Brandon, Kay introduced herself and told a little of the mystery which she was trying to solve.

“I’m sorry,” the artist said, “but I never knew the model by any name but Helene Barbara Caldwell. I may be able to help you a bit, however. She was attending an art school in Carmont when I painted her. I’m sure the school can tell you about her.”

Kay thanked Mr. Brandon and hung up. Her spirits were soaring again!

Before returning to the guest room, she put in a call to the Carmont Art School. To her disappointment, no one answered the phone.

“I guess everyone has gone for the day,” Kay told herself. “I’ll run over there myself during lunch hour tomorrow.”

She returned to the room and told her latest findings. Bro became excited. Now he was sure the reason he had been on his way to Carmont was because his sister was a student at the Art School there. Perhaps he would see her the very next day!

The following morning it was difficult for Kay not to take time from classes to telephone the Art School. But between her work and an unpleasant episode which came up she found no chance.

During assembly Kay had noticed that many students were staring at her. Later, while walking from one classroom to another, the girl became even more conscious of this. Many seemed to be holding whispered conversations behind her back. Finally she spoke to Wilma about it.

“I don’t know what’s the matter,” the dark-haired girl said, “but maybe Betty does.”

Try as she might, Kay could not help wondering what the whispers were about. She grew somewhat fidgety sitting in math class as all sorts of thoughts raced through her active brain.

“Why is everyone talking about me?” she thought. “My clothes? No, they’re all right.”

When Kay could not think of any possible answer to do with herself personally, it occurred to her that perhaps they were not talking about her at all. Maybe someone had found out about Bro’s being at her home and this was the reason. If so, what were they saying about him?

It was not until the girls met outside the chemistry lab that the truth came out. Betty, her eyes flashing, dashed up to Kay.

“Somebody has been circulating a horrible story about you!” she said indignantly. “People are saying that you have a crazy brother—that he was in some institution but you Traceys never let on that he existed. Now suddenly he’s come home and you don’t know what to do about it!”