Madge shook her head doubtfully. A conviction that the book had been deliberately stolen was growing in her mind.
“We can soon find out,” she replied.
They rushed back to the house. Mrs. Brady had finished her nap and was sewing. The girls found her in the living room and incoherently poured out their story.
“Now, don’t get excited,” she advised kindly. “The book will turn up. Mr. Brady hasn’t been near the cabin, but one can’t be sure about Bill. He’s into everything. Why not question him?”
Frantic with anxiety, they hurried to the old workman’s cabin. He denied taking the key.
“What would I be doin’ with it anyhow?” he demanded crossly. “After buildin’ that fireplace and luggin’ all that heavy stone, I’d be right well pleased if I never saw the place agin.”
“Then who did take the key?” Madge fairly wailed. “Someone used it and put it back in the wrong place.”
Bill shrugged and would have retreated into the cabin had not Madge halted him with an abrupt question.
“Have you seen anyone prowling about the new cabin or acting suspiciously? I know you’re something of a detective. Perhaps you noticed Clyde Wendell or one of the guests acting strangely.”
Bill could not resist this direct appeal to his vanity. He assumed an important pose and his brows came together in a thoughtful pucker.