Chapter XVI: A Lost Handkerchief

The girls ran down the path to the ravine, selecting a sunny spot by a large rock. From where they sat they could look far down the valley and see the swinging footbridge which Herman Crocker had designated as a meeting place with his nephew.

"Well, here are the letters," Penny said gaily, removing them from her dress. "Wouldn't Walter rave if he knew we had them!"

"They're worth fifty thousand dollars!" Susan laughed. "At least that's the price Walter expects to make his uncle pay for them. Penny, what would happen if we just kept these letters?"

"I suppose Old Herman would refuse to pay over the money. I know I should in his case."

"Then why wouldn't that be a good solution of the matter?"

"It would from Old Herman's standpoint," Penny said dryly. "But you're forgetting that Walter isn't actually a blackmailer. The money really belongs to him."

"Then by keeping these letters we might be depriving him of his rightful inheritance?"

"It seems that way. I don't like Walter any better than you do--he appears to be a rather unscrupulous fellow even if he does have the law on his side. However, we can't let our personal feelings enter into the matter."

"That being the case, why did we interfere at all?" Susan asked. "Wouldn't it have been better not to have taken the letters? Now if we decide to give then back, we'll have a lot of explaining to do."

"You are perfectly right, of course, Susan. My curiosity simply got the best of me again. I felt as if I had to read these letters."

"Then let's read them," Susan laughed.

Penny untied the cord which bound the letters into a neat package. There were eight of them all addressed to Herman Crocker. Return notations in the corners showed that five of the letters were from the old man's sister, Jenny. The others were from the woman named Hilda Frank and were postmarked, Belgrade Lakes, Maine.

"That is a summer resort place," Penny commented as she opened the first letter. "If Herman's sister had plenty of money she may have been staying there."

Susan crowded close beside her chum so that they might read the communications together. The letter from Hilda Frank disclosed several facts of interest. The woman, evidently a housekeeper for Herman's sister, had written to say that her mistress had passed away following a sudden illness. She wished Herman to come at once to take charge of funeral arrangements and to look after Jenny's young son, Walter.

"Jenny thought that no one would take care of him as well as you," the housekeeper wrote, "and the money she left will be more than enough to keep him. It is her wish as expressed in her will that if anything should ever happen to the boy, you are to be the sole heir--otherwise the money is to be kept in trust.

"This will signed by my mistress on the day before her death is now in my possession. I await your arrival before filing it with the court."

The two additional letters from Hilda Frank had been written weeks later, and inquired after the welfare of the boy, Walter, indicating that Herman Crocker after going east to attend his sister's funeral had brought the lad home with him.

"But we're quite certain Herman never arrived here with Walter," Penny commented thoughtfully. "The only boy who has ever been seen at the Crocker place is the old man's grandson."

"What do you think happened?" Susan asked.

"Obviously, from all we have learned, Herman must have decided that he wanted all the money for himself. He then had the boy conveniently disappear."

"How could he hope to get away with anything as crude as that?"

"I don't know, but his plan seemed to work for many years. I suppose there weren't many persons who ever suspected that Jenny had a child."

"Mrs. Frank did."

"Yes, but Herman probably quieted her with some simple story. Anyway, she lived in Maine and that's a long way from here."

"It's inconceivable that he could get by with such high-handed robbery! Stealing from a child!"

"It is disgusting," Penny agreed. "We don't know what became of Walter, but probably he was brought up by some strange person in complete ignorance of his heritage."

"Then how did he learn his true name and that he had a right to the fortune? How did he know about these letters in the trunk?"

"My theory collapses right there," Penny admitted ruefully. "I can't figure that part out at all."

"Let's read the other letters," Susan suggested. "We may learn something from them."

The remaining communications were of no help at all. They were merely friendly letters written by Jenny to her brother telling him how much she and her son were enjoying their stay at the Lakes. She spoke at some length of her declining health and in one paragraph mentioned that if anything ever happened to her she trusted Herman would take good care of Walter.

"After receiving a letter like that how could the old man be mean enough to act the way he did?" Susan asked angrily. "It serves him right to lose the fortune! I'm glad that Walter finally learned the truth."

"So am I," Penny agreed. "Only it's too bad the young man couldn't have turned out to be a nicer type."

"He may not have had the advantage of a good home."

"I realize that, but aside from breeding, I don't like him."

"The point is--what shall we do with these letters?"

"Oh, I guess I'll have to give them back," Penny sighed. "I'll do it sometime before Thursday night."

She retied the letters and slipped them into her pocket. Before the girls could leave the ravine, they heard someone coming through the woods.

A moment later Michael Haymond appeared along the path. He was whistling a tune but broke off as he noticed Penny and Susan.

"Hello," he said pleasantly. "It's another warm day, isn't it?"

Penny and Susan had been too busy to notice the weather, but they agreed that it was unpleasantly humid. Michael paused to chat for a minute or two, and took out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead.

"Have you been cutting more wood?" Penny asked with a smile.

"Yes, I didn't know what else to do."

"We have enough wood to last longer than we'll remain at the cottage," Penny said. "Why don't you try resting now and then?"

"I'm not paid to do that."

"You more than earn your salary," Penny told him. "Dad doesn't care whether you keep busy or not."

"Your father has been very good to me," Michael said soberly. "I don't feel right about it. I think he's keeping me on because he knows I'd have trouble getting any other job."

"Nonsense, Michael."

"I don't feel right about drawing pay for nothing," the young man repeated.

"You let him worry about that," Penny laughed. "Anyway, I suppose we'll be going back to the city soon."

Her words seemed to startle Michael, but after a moment of silence, he nodded.

"Well, I'll be getting on up to the cottage," he said. "Mrs. Masterbrook probably has a job for me. When she can't think of anything else she has me peel potatoes."

"That's her work, not yours," Penny told him. "You're altogether too easy, Michael."

"Your father said that part of my job was to keep Mrs. Masterbrook quiet," the young man grinned as he turned away. "I've discovered that the best way is to do exactly what she wishes with no argument!"

Michael bowed again to the girls and walked on up the path.

"I like him better every day," Susan declared in an undertone. "I think it's a great joke on you, Penny! When he first came here you thought he might be a questionable character."

Penny did not pay very much heed to her chum's words for she was staring at an object lying on the path.

"Michael dropped his handkerchief," she said.

"So he did," Susan agreed indifferently, turning to look. "We can take it to him."

Penny picked up the handkerchief, noticing as she folded it that the linen was not a very expensive grade. She suspected that Michael did not have very much money to spend upon clothing.

Turning the handkerchief over in her hand, Penny saw that it bore a monogram.

"Why, that's odd!" she murmured aloud.

"Now what have you discovered, little Miss Detective?" Susan asked teasingly.

"Look at the markings on this handkerchief," Penny commanded. "The initials are 'M. G.'"