Bill gave a long, loud whistle of amazement. “Looks like we’ve got two things to do this summer—save the village and solve this mystery, too.”
But within a few minutes they had forgotten the mysterious prowler. Armed with the pruning sheers and sickle that Bill had brought with him, they started clearing the overhanging branches from both sides of the dirt lane. A half hour later, when they were within sight of the main road, Mr. Caldwell’s station wagon turned off the highway and came toward them.
He stopped alongside the boys and poked his head out the window. “Hop in and I’ll drive you back in—that is, if you’re finished.”
Ronnie nodded and the two climbed into the front seat. “You’ve done a fine job of clearing the roadway,” Mr. Caldwell said. “You are going ahead with your tourist business, I take it.”
“Yes,” Ronnie answered, “how did you know about it?”
“Your father told me.” Mr. Caldwell swung off the dirt road onto the cobblestones. “Now, the question is—which building shall I occupy? Your father said I could have my choice.”
“How about one of the workers’ cottages?” Bill suggested. “We’re using one of them for our office, but there’s a real good one with a fireplace at the other end of the row.”
“Sounds like just what I’m looking for,” Caldwell agreed.
Ronnie and Bill helped Mr. Caldwell unload his suitcases and cardboard cartons from the rear of the station wagon and carry them into the cottage. Then they sat on the floor with their backs against a wall and watched him unpack.
Just about that time, Mr. Rorth drove up in his pickup truck. In the back he had a cot and mattress, blankets and sheets, a table and a few chairs, as well as some cooking utensils.