Who in the world, for instance, would expect to find a cunningly contrived toy-boat on Rollins's bureau with two star-fish listed as the only passengers! Or Paul Brenswick's candle thrust into a copperas-tinted knot of water-logged cedar? In the snug confines of a small cigar box on a lovely dank bed of maroon and gray sea-weed Victoria Brenswick had nested her treasure-trove. Certainly the quaint garnet necklace could hardly have found a more romantic and ship- wrecky sort of a setting. Even Allan John had started a little procession of sand-dollars across his mantelpiece. But there was no silver whistle figuring as the band, I noticed.
What would Victoria Brenswick have said, I wondered, what would Allan John have thought if they had even so much as dreamed that these precious "ship-wreck treasures" of theirs had been purchased brand new in Boston Town within a week and "planted" most carefully by my Husband with all those other pseudo mysteries in the old trunk in the sand? But goodness me, one's got to "start" something on the first day of even the most ordinary house-party!
With so much to watch outside the window, figures still moving eagerly up and down the edge of the cliff, and so much to think about inside, all the little personal whims and fancies betrayed by the various hoards, the bed-making industry I'm afraid was somewhat slighted on this particular morning. Was my Husband still standing at that down-stairs window, I wondered, speculating about that bungalow on the rocks even as I stood at the window just above him speculating on the same subject? Why did he think that Ann Woltor would be the one to get there first? What had Ann Woltor left there the day before that made her specially anxious to get there first? Truly this Rainy Week experiment develops some rather unique puzzles. Maybe if I tried, I thought, I could add a little puzzle of my own invention! Just for sheer restiveness I turned and made another round of the guest-rooms. Now that I remembered it there was a bit more sand oozing from the Bride's necklace box to the mahogany bureau-top than was really necessary.
The rest of the morning passed without special interest. But the luncheon hour developed a most extraordinary interest in the principles of physical geography which beginning with all sorts of valuable observations concerning the weight of the atmosphere or the conformation of mountains or the law of tides, ended invariably with the one direct question: "At just what hour this evening, for instance, will the tide be low again?"
My Husband was almost beside himself with concealed delight.
"Oh, but you don't think for a moment, do you—" I implored him in a single whisper of privacy snatched behind the refilling of the coffee urn. "You don't think for a moment that anybody would be rash enough to try and make the trip in the big dory?"
"Well—hardly," laughed my Husband. "If you'd seen where I've hidden the oars!"
The oars apparently were not the only things hidden at the moment from mortal ken. Claude Kennilworth and Ego still persisted quite brutally in withholding their charms from us. Rollins had retreated to the sacristy of his own room to complete his convalescence. And even Allan John seemed to have wandered for the time being beyond the call of either voice or luncheon bell. Allan John's deflection worried the May Girl a little I think, but not unduly. It didn't worry the men at all.
"When a chap wants to be alone he wants to be alone!" explained Paul Brenswick with unassailable conciseness.
"It's a darned good sign," agreed my Husband, "that he's ready to be alone! It's the first time, isn't it?"