It was some time before she could locate her companion, as the Kelvins had gone off early on a fishing expedition a short way up the inlet, having persuaded Phyllis to join them, a thing she had done but little of late. After a long walk and much halloo-ing, however, Leslie sighted their boat. And it took considerable time before she could persuade Phyllis to come ashore, as she could not very well impart to her, standing on the bank, that she had news of vital importance concerning their secret.
When Phyllis had at last been lured ashore and the two had walked away out of sight, she told the tale of her curious experience at dawn.
“And now, Phyllis, what do you make of it?” she demanded, wide eyed.
“There’s only one thing to make of it,” returned Phyllis, gravely, “And that is—there’s some one else mixed up in this—some one we haven’t known about or counted on at all! I thought Miss Ramsay, all along, was the only one concerned in it. Now we can only guess that that isn’t so. But how to make head or tail of the whole thing is beyond me. What kind of a man did you say he was?”
Leslie described him again. “Of course, it was still hardly light and I couldn’t see him plainly at all,” she ended. “I never even got a glimpse of his face, nor how he was dressed. But he was tall and broad-shouldered, and I think stooped a little and walked with quite a decided limp.”
“That last fact ought to help to identify him, if nothing else,” mused Phyllis. “But I confess I’m more at sea than ever about the whole thing. I was beginning to think I’d reduced things to some kind of a theory, but this upsets everything. And it annoys me so to think I’m always out of it, being so far away from Curlew’s Nest. I do believe I’ll have to come and spend my nights with you or I’ll never be on the scene of action at the most interesting time!”
“Oh, I do wish you would!” urged Leslie, earnestly. “I’m really beginning to be quite nervous about all this. It’s so uncanny, not being able to say a word about it to Aunt Marcia or any one—being all alone there, or as good as alone, when these queer things happen. Don’t you suppose we could arrange it somehow that you could come over and stay with me—without having it seem odd or out of the way to the others?”
They both thought hard over the problem for a moment. Suddenly Phyllis cried,—“I have it—I think! I heard Father and Ted planning to-day to be off fishing to-night, and as many nights after as the conditions are good. They just adore that kind of thing and have done very little of it this time. As a rule, I don’t mind a bit staying alone at the bungalow if I don’t happen to go with them. But I’ve never before had the excuse of having you here to be with. It will seem perfectly natural for me to say that, as they’re to be away, I’ll spend the night with you. How’s that?”
“Oh, just the thing!” exclaimed Leslie, enthusiastically. “And now let’s go back and take a swim. It’s fairly mild and the best time of day for it. You left your suit at our house last time, so it’s very convenient. You won’t have to walk all the way back to your place.”
They strolled back to Rest Haven in a leisurely fashion and had just turned the corner of the house and come in sight of the front veranda, when what they saw there almost took them off their feet. On the veranda sat Aunt Marcia, rocking comfortably back and forth, and opposite her, in another rocker sat—could their eyes have deceived them?—who but the redoubtable Miss Ramsay!