Sarah Hooper looked at David, who sat cross-legged on the ground, resting after his labors. “You’re a very superior chef,” she admitted; “but I want to know what you meant when you heard us upstairs and murmured, ‘The lady with the enormous feet.’ Oh yes, I heard you; and those were the very words you used.”
David laughed. “I plead guilty. But I didn’t refer to either you or Milly. I was thinking of a little detective work we have on hand.”
Then he had to explain about the discovery of the very large footprints on the bank of the creek and the finding of a lady’s lavender-scented handkerchief, with the initials A. S. L., in the kitchen.
“Oh, I love mysteries!” said Sarah. “I’m always reading detective stories and working them out before the author tells you exactly what did happen.”
“There’s the man for you then,” said David, pointing at Ben. “Eats ’em alive, he does.”
“Huge footprints and a lady’s handkerchief,” murmured Milly. “That is a funny combination. But we really must go, or Sally’s mother and father will be sending out searching parties.”
They all walked back to the house, and the two girls went upstairs to change into their own clothes. When they came down again, much more comfortably dressed, they found the others in the big front room, where Tuckerman had lighted the candles.
“How lovely!” exclaimed the romantic Sarah. “I adore old furniture. What a duck of a divan! And that beautiful secretary.” She looked at a desk that stood in a corner, at the other end from the fireplace. “It’s mahogany, of course—and what perfect, long, fluted, shiny legs it has!”
“What’s that?” said Ben. “Say it again, and slower.”
“I tell you we must be going back,” declared Milly positively. “Never mind these ducky old things, Sally. Think of your waiting parents.”