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<h3>THE MAN WITH THE LIMP</h3></div> Two days had passed. To Leslie it was a constant marvel, considering the secret tension under which she lived, that outwardly her life went on in the same peaceful groove. She rose and dressed as usual, prepared the meals, ate and chatted with Aunt Marcia, walked on the beach or down to the village, fished occasionally with Phyllis and the Kelvins, took a dip in the ocean when it was not too chilly, read and slept and idled, as if there were nothing in the world but what was quiet and normal and in the ordinary course of things. Aunt Marcia suspected nothing. Even Ted, who, she was certain, suspected many things, laughed and chatted with and teased 163 her, and never by so much as a word or look indicated the slightest suspicion of her interest in Curlew’s Nest and its affairs. With Phyllis his manner was somewhat different, and during the last two days their relations had seemed occasionally rather strained, but there was no open break, in public at least. “But at home it’s another matter!” Phyllis assured her. “Something’s come over him—I can’t guess what. He will hardly speak either to Father or myself. He doesn’t even want to play his violin when we get together, and usually he adores that. He’s moody and silent and just—grouchy, most of the time! And that’s unusual for Ted. I’ll give him credit for being a pretty amiable fellow, as a rule. I can’t make him out!” “And it surely is queer that we’ve seen nothing more of Eileen, don’t you think so?” questioned Leslie. “Well, no. Considering that she gained her point and got us away all that afternoon, 164 I don’t think it at all queer. She’s done with us now. Why should she try to keep on with it? By the way, I called her up at Aunt Sally’s last night. She wasn’t there, but Aunt Sally said her grandfather has been rather worse for the last two days and she’s been at the hospital most of the time—was there then. All of which may or may not be so. As a matter of fact, I guess Aunt Sally knows precious little of her doings when she’s away in that car.” Somehow, Leslie could never believe Eileen quite as full of duplicity as Phyllis thought her. While she had to admit that circumstances made the girl’s conduct seem almost inexcusable, there always lingered in her mind a stubborn feeling that perhaps there was more back of it all than they know—that Eileen herself might be struggling with entangling problems. And secretly she still felt a liking for the girl. But she knew it was useless to express these doubts to Phyllis, so she wisely kept 165 her own counsel. But there was one thing she did allude to. “Isn’t it strange that Eileen never told us a word about her grandfather, or how sick he was, or what was the matter with him? You would have thought it natural, that day when she took us riding, to say something about it, anyway. I hardly see now how she could have avoided it. And yet she did. You’d never have thought she had such a thing as a sick grandfather on her mind!” “Leslie, you certainly are a trusting soul!” exclaimed Phyllis, scornfully. “How do you know she has a sick grandfather in any hospital? I strongly doubt it myself!” “Oh, I can’t believe she’s not telling the truth about that!” cried Leslie, thoroughly shocked. “Don’t you believe anything about her any more?” “I don’t know what I believe or don’t believe—about her!” retorted Phyllis. “And what’s more, there’s only one thing concerning 166 her that I am interested in just now—whether she has discovered the answer to that note left in there and when she—or any one else—is going to make the attempt to unearth their treasure again!” Phyllis had been as good as her word. On the morning after that night of the fog, she had returned to her bungalow before breakfast, and had reappeared later at Rest Haven with a mysterious bundle. When they had both retired to Leslie’s room she revealed its contents, a piece of burlap, an exact duplicate of the one which contained the Dragon’s Secret, and an antimony jewel-case. Then they got down the original from its dusty shelf, fashioned a bag, the exact size and shape of the one Rags had unearthed, placed the jewel-case in it, and sewed it up. When all was complete it would have been extremely difficult to tell the original from its duplicate, so nearly alike did they seem. Late that afternoon, while Ted and his 167 father were far up the inlet, and with the beach entirely deserted, they buried the false treasure-box in the sand by the old log. Phyllis did the deed, while Leslie scouted the beach in every direction, investigated every nook and corner that could possibly conceal any one, and made absolutely certain that they were not observed. And from that time on they had awaited results. And to their certain knowledge, there had been none. Each day, at some hour when there was least likelihood of any one being near, they had examined the place, only to find the buried bag still in its hiding-place, untouched. At night they had taken turns keeping watch, all the night through; but no stealthy visitor had come to Curlew’s Nest, nor had there been any during the day—of that they were absolutely certain. The beach had never seemed so free of visitors before. And thus matters stood on the second afternoon, and they were beginning to be impatient 168 at inaction and delay. Then Phyllis had an idea. “I know what’s the matter!” she cried. “We’re keeping too close a watch. We don’t give anybody a chance to come within gunshot of that place, unobserved, so how can we expect that anything is going to happen? If it’s Ted, don’t you suppose he sees us hanging about here all the time? He’d be a goose to try anything right in front of our eyes. No doubt he’s seen one or the other of us at the window all night, too. And if it’s Eileen or any one else, it’s the same thing. Let’s go off somewhere and give them a chance. Not too far though, for we want to be where we can get back with reasonable speed ourselves.” So they went for a stroll along the beach, accompanied by Rags, who was only too delighted at the prospect of an expedition that promised some change. It was a mild, hazy October afternoon. An opalescent mist lay along the horizon and the waves rolled in lazily, 169 too lazily to break with their accustomed crash. Every little while there would be a flight of wild geese, in V-shaped flying line, far overhead, and their honking would float down faintly as they pushed on in their southward course. It was a golden afternoon, and Leslie almost resented the fact that they had any worries or problems on their minds. “Why, who in the world is that?” exclaimed Phyllis, suddenly, as they rounded a slight curve in the beach and came in sight of a figure standing at the water’s edge, a rod and long line in his hand, and a camp-stool and fishing-kit beside him. “There hasn’t been a stranger fishing in this region in an age! People generally go down by the big bungalow colony three miles farther along for that. We almost never see any one here. I wonder what it means!” As they came nearer, they could see more plainly what sort of person he appeared to be. He was tall and stalwart and gray-haired. A 170 slouch hat was pulled down to shade his eyes, but still they could see that his face was alert and kindly and placid, with twinkling gray eyes and a whimsical mouth. He was obviously an adept fisherman, as Phyllis remarked, when they had witnessed the clever way in which he managed a catch. They were very near him by that time, and watching breathlessly. Once his prey almost eluded him, but with a skilful manipulation of his tackle, he presently brought the big fellow, lashing wildly, to land, well out of reach of the water. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed, winding up his line, “but that fellow gave me a warm ten minutes!” The girls had by this time reached the spot and were admiring the catch. “Congratulations!” laughed Phyllis, with the informal interest of the born fisherman. “I couldn’t have done it myself, not after he had almost escaped. He must weigh five pounds!” 171 The stranger looked at them with interest. “So you fish? Well, it’s the best sport in the world. This bouncer has been dodging me all the afternoon, and I vowed I’d get him before I left. Almost had him once before, but he got away with the bait. Wouldn’t let me alone, though, even after that. I warned him he was flirting with his fate!” And he laughed a big, booming, pleasant laugh. At this moment Rags, who had been elsewhere occupied, came bounding up, and straightway made a bee-line over to investigate the fish. “Hi! Stop that!” exclaimed the stranger. “I intend to have that fish for my supper to-night!” and he made a dash for his cherished trophy. But Rags, disconcerted by the sudden movement, was on his guard at once. As the man approached, he sank his teeth into the fish with a growl that was a warning not to be ignored. “Oh, call him off!” cried the man, anxiously, 172 and Leslie, very much upset, sprang forward to rescue the stranger’s dinner. But Rags saw a chance for a lark; and as times had been rather slow and uninteresting for him of late, he determined to make the most of it. Seizing the fish in a firm grip, he galloped madly up the beach, the two girls wildly pursuing. There ensued a chase very similar to the one he had led them on that eventful day when he had unearthed the Dragon’s Secret. Never once did he allow them to lay a finger on his prize, though, panting and disgusted, they pursued him hither and yon, sometimes so close that he was well within their reach, sometimes with him far in advance. Occasionally he would lie down with the fish between his paws, fairly inviting them to come and help themselves. Which they had no sooner attempted, than he was up and away again. The man wisely took no part in the struggle, but stood looking on, encouraging them with half-rueful, half-laughing remarks. At length 173 Leslie had an inspiration. While Rags was standing at the edge of the water, panting from a long and furious run, the fish reposing at his feet, she seized a small board lying near, called to him beguilingly and hurled the board out into the sea. Here was a game that was even more fascinating. Rags always adored it. Forsaking the much-sought fish, he leaped into the lazy waves and swam out toward his new prize, while the stranger eagerly seized the fish and concealed it in his basket. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” apologized Leslie. “I know he has spoiled it now. I hope you can forgive us for this dreadful thing.” “Nothing of the sort!” laughed the stranger. “He hasn’t harmed it a bit, for it was only the head he had hold of. When it’s washed and cooked, that beauty will taste just as good as if it had never had the adventure. My, but that’s a fearsome animal of yours! I wouldn’t want to tackle him. But those 174 English sheep-dogs are noted for being wonderful protectors and very interesting pets besides.” And just to show that he bore Rags no malice, he picked up the board which the dog had retrieved, and obligingly hurled it into the surf again. Rags ecstatically pursued it once more, dropped it at the man’s feet, and begged for another opportunity. But just before it was launched a third time, he spied a hermit-crab scuttling away almost under his nose, forsook his latest diversion, and was off on another hunt. The man laughed, dropped the wet, sandy board, dusted off his hands by striking them together, picked up his fishing-kit, hung his camp-stool over his arm, bade the girls good afternoon, and strode away. They gazed after him a moment and were about to turn back toward their own part of the beach, when Leslie suddenly seized Phyllis’s arm in a vice-like grip. 175 “Phyllis, Phyllis, don’t think me crazy! Something has just come to me. The way that man threw the board just now and dusted off his hands and then walked away—was just—exactly like—the man with the limp that morning at dawn! The action was identical. I’m positive I’m not mistaken. And he looks just like him, the same height and build and all, as he walked away.” “But, my dear child, he doesn’t limp!” cried Phyllis, conclusively. “So you certainly are mistaken!” “I know he doesn’t, but I—don’t care. He’s the same one. I am absolutely sure of it. Maybe he’s all over the limp now.” But though Leslie was so certain, Phyllis remained unconvinced! <hr class='major' /> <div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> 176 <h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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