Читать книгу The Secret of the Red Scarf - Elizabeth Mildred Duffield Ward - Страница 7

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The force of the explosion in the high school chemistry laboratory sent Wilma and Kay reeling backward. Betty and other students in the laboratory, stunned at first by the noise, now turned and rushed forward to help the two girls. Miss Sherman ran hurriedly from her desk in the far side of the room.

“What happened?” she cried.

By this time Kay and Wilma had picked themselves up from the floor. They were ruefully surveying their appearance and the destruction around them. There was a cut on Wilma’s chin and a burned spot on Kay’s right arm. Pieces of broken glass were imbedded in their sweaters and skirts. The work table was littered with chemicals and broken bottles.

“Oh, Wilma—K—Kay,” Betty’s voice was fearful. “Are—are you all right?”

“Yes,” Kay replied, recovering quickly from her temporary shock. “But this place is a wreck.”

“Never mind that, so long as you’re not hurt,” Miss Sherman replied in relieved tones. “How do you feel, Miss Worth?”

Wilma was on the verge of tears and said that she felt pretty shaky but had not been injured. The scratch on her chin was slight.

“You’re lucky! You could have been killed!” said a boy standing nearby.

“And you might have had your eyes injured by flying glass,” said another, who was known to be a doleful minded youth.

Miss Sherman asked two other boys to clean things up and requested that Kay and Wilma go with her to her office and explain what had taken place. The teacher applied an antiseptic to Wilma’s scratch and some unguent to the burn on Kay’s arm. Then she helped them pick the pieces of glass from their clothing.

“Now, whatever caused the explosion?” she asked, as they all sat down.

Neither of the girls could give a definite answer to this. Kay knew she had not caused the explosion but admitted she had been a little absent-minded at the time. Perhaps something she had done unwittingly had been the reason. Wilma in turn knew only that she had poured some fluid into the boiling liquid and then poof!

“Do you girls always read the labels on the bottles carefully before you open them?” Miss Sherman questioned.

Suddenly Wilma recalled that she had not done so. “It’s all my fault—I know it is,” she said and burst into tears. “I—I—didn’t look at the label.”

The teacher, realizing the incident had been a great shock to Wilma, did not reprimand either girl severely. After gently cautioning them to exercise greater care in future experiments, Miss Sherman suggested that Wilma go home. She asked if Kay would like to go also, but the girl shook her head.

“I feel all right, really I do,” she assured the teacher. “But I’m sure I had something to do with the explosion—maybe I set one of the bottles back in the wrong place and Wilma picked it up. I’ll gladly pay for my share of the damage.”

“I will, too,” Wilma sobbed. “Oh, Kay! To think I might have injured you badly for life!”

Kay put her arm around her friend and walked back to the laboratory with her. “Please don’t worry any more about it,” she said. “We’re both all right and that’s a lot to be thankful for.”

By this time the boys, with the help of several girl students, had cleaned the messy section of the laboratory. The only evidence of the accident was a small scorch on the linoleum and the empty shelves. Wilma’s chemistry book was completely ruined. As she looked at the remnants, she smiled through her tears, saying:

“As a poet I’m a poor chemist anyway.”

Kay and Betty walked with her to the girls’ locker room and then said good-by. Since there were still ten minutes left before the end of the period, Kay decided to go to the cafeteria for an early lunch. That would leave her free to make the trip to the art school during the noon hour.

Kay made good time and reached the school at five minutes past twelve. She inquired at the desk for Helene Barbara Caldwell.

The woman receptionist smiled. “Miss Caldwell used to be a student here. She modeled at times and went out to pose for artists in the nearby communities.”

Kay was disappointed to learn that Bro’s sister was no longer enrolled with the school but asked for the model’s present address. To her further dismay the woman said she did not know where the girl was.

“Perhaps Helene’s best friend at the school may know,” the receptionist said. “Miss Caldwell and Vicki Raponi were inseparable.”

“Vicki Raponi?” Kay repeated in surprise. “You mean the daughter of Victor Raponi the art dealer?”

“Yes.”

Kay thanked the woman and hurried off, elated to learn that Vicki, whom Kay knew well, was a friend of Helene’s.

“I’ll just have time to dash to Raponi’s Art Shop before afternoon classes,” she thought, glancing at her wrist watch. “If Vicki’s there, she may be able to clear up the mystery.”

Kay signaled an approaching bus and climbed aboard. By the time she had made change for the fare and put her money in the slot, the girl was at her destination. She had saved five precious minutes by riding.

Raponi’s Art Store was well-known in the community and the pleasant Italian dealer was a friend and adviser to all the Carmont High art students. As Kay opened the door and walked toward the rear of the shop, she could see Mr. Raponi looking at a picture on the counter. He glanced up and gave a little start.

“Helene! My dear Helene! You have returned to us!”

Kay was amazed. Again she had been mistaken for Helene Caldwell!

“I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, Mr. Raponi,” Kay said to the art dealer. “Don’t you recognize me—I’m Kay Tracey.”

The man stared at her. Then he apologized, saying, “But of course—I am very sorry, Miss Tracey. The light is so dim in my store. They tell me I should get better fixtures. More money! More money! That is what everything is today. I cannot afford to fix up my shop and still sell my pictures and supplies cheap. Then the students at the art school—what would they do? So—again—I am so sorry I think you are my daughter’s friend Helene Caldwell.”

“That’s all right,” Kay replied. “It is because of Helene I’m here.”

It was the art dealer’s turn to look surprised. “Helene was staying with my Victoria for several weeks,” he said. “But she went away very suddenly. I think it was because of some man she did not like—he telephoned her and said he was coming here.”

“Do you know where she went?” Kay asked.

“No, I have no idea.”

“Does your daughter Vicki know?”

The art dealer shrugged, saying possibly she did. But if so, she had failed to tell him.

“Where can I get in touch with Vicki?” Kay questioned him.

“She is at Lake Valentine at a—what you call it—a party house.” The man laughed. “I mean, house party. Do not ask me where the place is. Victoria told me the name, but I forget.” The man waved his arms excitedly. “She said she would let me know when she arrived. But I have not heard from her. Maybe a letter takes a long time to get here. Well, Miss Tracey, I think that is all I can tell you.”

Kay thanked him and hurried away.

“I’ll drive to Lake Valentine tomorrow,” Kay told herself as she entered the school building. “Lucky today’s Friday.”

Upon reaching home that afternoon, she was delighted to see her mother and Bro seated in the sun on the front porch of their house. Both were reading and Kay smiled, knowing that her mother was trying by this method to restore their visitor’s memory. Bro and Mrs. Tracey looked up and greeted the girl.

“Any news for me?” Bro asked her quickly.

Kay, bubbling over with enthusiasm, sat down beside him and told what she had learned.

“If Cousin Bill can spare his car tomorrow, I’ll drive to Lake Valentine and talk to Vicki Raponi. Bro, would you like to go along? I’ll ask Wilma and Betty too.”

“Yes, I would,” the young man said eagerly.

Cousin Bill was glad to lend Kay his convertible and the following morning the four young people set off. Kay had telephoned Mr. Raponi for further news but he still had received no word from his daughter.

“We’ll have to do some real sleuthing,” Kay told the others. “Lake Valentine is a fairly large place and I have no idea where Vicki is staying.”

“That’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Wilma said dubiously.

“And I hope it won’t stick us if we find it,” Betty added.

Upon reaching the town of West Grove at the foot of the lake where there was a dam and waterfall, Kay went at once to the post office to inquire for Victoria Raponi. The clerk said he had never heard of her. Disappointed, Kay next tried a drugstore. Again, she had no success.

“Any suggestions?” she asked, coming back to the car and relating her failure.

“Why don’t we just drive around the lake to see if any place looks as if it were having a house party?” Bro spoke up.

“All right,” Kay agreed, climbing in behind the wheel.

She started off, taking the north side of the lake first. They traveled the whole two miles of its length without seeing any place where a group of young people were in evidence.

“We’ve probably come on a wild goose chase,” Wilma sighed.

Kay did not reply for she had just turned up the south side of Lake Valentine and was looking intently into the distance. She had caught sight of a number of young men and women crowding around a dock.

“I believe we’re in luck,” she said.

Putting on more speed, Kay drove up to the group and stopped. She hopped from the car and ran toward the dock. Vicki Raponi was there. But to Kay’s amazement she was sobbing as if her heart would break. Two of her friends were trying to comfort her.

Kay touched the arm of a youth at the edge of the circle and asked him what was the matter. He replied excitedly that they thought a girl and a youth had drowned. She was a special friend of Vicki Raponi.

Kay’s heart began to pound in sudden fear, as she pushed her way through the group of young people in order to reach Vicki.

The weeping girl turned. “Oh, Kay, something dreadful has happened! I—I’m so afraid—my best friend—overturned in a canoe and was——” Vicki choked and could not go on.

Kay took hold of the girl’s hand. “I’m terribly sorry. Can I do anything?” As Vicki merely started weeping again, Kay asked gently, “What is your friend’s name?”

Vicki’s sorrowful reply was, “Helene Caldwell.”