Anne looked embarrassed and said hesitantly:
“I hadn’t had time to write. You see, the formula—” she trailed off as Madge gave her a warning look. It would never do to tell Mr. Brownell that the paper was missing—not unless she wanted to throw away her chance of ever selling it to him if it were found.
“If the formula is all your Father claimed it to be, we may be willing to enter into an agreement with you,” Mr Brownell declared. “Now if you’ll just let me see the formula—”
“I’m afraid I can’t now,” Anne returned. “You see I don’t live here. My home is at Stewart Island.”
Mr Brownell brushed away her objections with a careless wave of his hand.
“Oh, I don’t mind going there. In fact, if you’re not afraid to ride in a plane, my pilot can take us both to the island.”
“Well,—you see—that is, the formula was put away for safe keeping,” Anne stammered.
“You mean you haven’t it at hand? How soon can you get it?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps I could write you later—”
“No, I’ve traveled a good many miles to see it. Fact is, our company is anxious to get just such a formula as your Father described to us. If you can get it in a day or so I’m of a mind to stay over. I can send my plane back to the city and return by train.”