“It’s been a glorious day!” exclaimed Jane, after the boys had gone home, and the girls were preparing for bed. “I’m crazy about Shady Nook.”
“I think it’s pretty nice myself,” returned the other, with a yawn. “If only poor Cliff’s bungalow hadn’t burned down.”
“Tell me,” urged Jane, “which boy you really like best—Cliff Hunter or David McCall or Max Miller?”
Mary Louise laughed.
“I don’t know. Max, I guess. Now you answer a question for me: Who do you think set the Hunters’ bungalow on fire—Cliff himself, or that Mr. Ditmar, the architect, or the kids?”
“There you go!” cried Jane. “Being a detective instead of a normal girl on her vacation. Who cares, anyhow? It doesn’t hurt anybody but the insurance company, and I guess they can afford it.”
“Oh, but I’d like terribly to know!”
“Well, don’t let’s waste our wonderful month being detectives,” pleaded Jane.
“But it may be important,” Mary Louise pointed out. “If it was done intentionally, there will probably be more fires. Don’t forget—our cottage is next door to Hunters’!”
Jane opened her eyes wide in alarm.