“We’ve probably passed it by this time,” Madge said at last. “If the boat has been drawn up into the brush we could hunt all night and never find it.”
They cruised about for some minutes but finally turned back toward Stewart Island, convinced that they were only wasting time. Even after they had landed there, they stood for nearly fifteen minutes on the beach, watching for the mysterious boat to reappear upon the lake.
“He means to lie low,” Anne declared wearily. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starved.”
“I wonder if the house has been entered again?” Madge considered, as they started up the path carrying their string of fish.
“Well, I hope it isn’t turned topsy-turvy. I’m too tired to lift a hand tonight.”
They let themselves into the house and were relieved to find it in its usual order. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed.
“Perhaps it was only old Bill Ramey, after all,” Anne suggested. “He acts queerly sometimes.”
“It wasn’t Bill,” Madge insisted. “I’m sure of that. It may have been that thief returning for the silver he hid in the log.”
“That doesn’t fit in with our theory about the formula,” Anne pointed out. “We decided that the silverware was only taken to throw us off the track. Why then, would the thief risk coming back for it?”
“I guess he wouldn’t. Oh, I give it up. Let’s eat!”