“There is more written, but evidently a drop of ink spread over it. Gerry, bring the magnifying glass.” The small boy, glad to be of assistance, leaped to get it. Dan gazed through it for a long five minutes. Then he began to name the letters, and Bob, who had seized a pencil and paper, wrote them down. “B-a-n-k.” Dan glanced questioningly at Meg. “What kind of a bank do you suppose it means?” Then to Bob: “Were there any banks of dirt near the cabin?” That lad shook his head.
Jane suggested: “Would it not be more natural to suppose it to be a New York bank, since that had been Mr. Giguette’s home for years?”
They all decided this to be true. Then Merry asked: “Meg, or may I say Eulalie, are you willing that I should wire my father all that we know? He is a lawyer in New York and be will gladly find out what he can.”
How the dusky face brightened. “Oh, thank you, Merry. Please do!” Then, rising, the mountain girl held out both hands to Jane and Merry. “I must go now,” she said, “to the dear old couple who have been all the father and mother I have ever known.”
Dan accompanied Meg up the winding mountain road.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE MYSTERY SOLVED
“What a glorious moonlit night it is!” Merry exclaimed when, Meg and Dan having gone, the others turned back toward the cabin.
“I say, sis,” Bob exclaimed, “why not get that telegram written and let me take it down to the village. You can put heaps more into a night letter.”
“Why, Bobby, it must be after nine. The innkeeper’s family will be asleep by the time you could get there.”
Jean Willoughby explained: “They have two sons, and one of them is always on duty as night clerk. Strangers motoring through put up there at all hours.” Then the young overseer added: “I wish now that I had ridden over and you could have used my horse.”