“I knew it,” Marjorie cried, giving Adra a hug. “I told you so, Jimmy.”
“Congratulations, you two,” Jimmy said. “I mean, you four. Now, can we hear what went on in the secret room tonight, Phil?”
“The story,” Phil began, “goes back to about twenty years ago when Uncle John was a very rich man and living in New York City. At that time he invested $20,000 in a small company belonging to one of his friends who told him that the stock was sure to go up. But the stock didn’t go up. It went down and finally its name disappeared from the Stock Exchange boards and from the newspaper stock lists. Naturally, Uncle John thought his certificates were worthless, but, lucky for us, he didn’t destroy them.”
“Golly, Phil,” Jimmy cried enthusiastically. “When you say ‘lucky for us’ do you mean the old stock is worth something? Can I have a sailboat after all?”
Phil grinned. “Let me finish, puh-leeze. About five years ago, the company started paying dividends, but it couldn’t locate a great many of its stockholders, among them, Uncle John. He had changed his address several times before he settled down here. So the company officials turned the matter over to a special detective agency which specializes in tracking down owners of forgotten stocks. Notices also appeared in newspapers throughout the country, and Mr. Taggart saw one of the notices.
“With forged credentials, he got a job with the detective agency and was assigned the duty of finding Uncle John. Guessing that Uncle John was dead, he planned to get hold of the stock certificates, and, with more forged credentials, prove that he was his sole heir.”
Phil turned to Penny who was holding hands with Peter. “If it hadn’t been for you, Taggart might well have succeeded. A girl not quite so level-headed might have screamed when she saw those ‘cowboys’ drawing real guns from their holsters.”
Peter squeezed her hand more tightly. “I can’t bear to think about what might have happened if those gunmen had seen you darting up the stairs.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Penny protested, blushing. “Get on with the story, Phil!”
“Okay,” Phil said, smiling. “Taggart finally traced Uncle John to the Lodge only to find that he was dead and that we had started our business venture here. He had hoped to find the Lodge deserted so he could search undisturbed for the certificates. He knew that people leave old stocks and bonds in all sorts of places. Sometimes they slip them under the paper lining of bureau drawers or cupboards, or between the pages of books. False-bottom trunks and secret drawers in old safes, and so forth, and so forth. Taggart realized that one of us, while we were getting the Lodge ready for guests, might come across the certificates. So the first thing he did was to try to frighten us away.”