CHAPTER XXIV

The Man Arrives

Emma Tash was a very efficient woman. No sooner had the crabbing plan of approaching the Clayton shack been decided upon than she lifted up a small black bag which she had set beside her chair.

“If we are going crabbing,” she said with a smile, “I have my disguise in here.”

“Disguise!” repeated the girls in a chorus.

Truly things were developing fast at Marshlands.

A detective woman!

A disguise!

Arden’s eyes sparkled.

“It isn’t much of a disguise,” went on Emma Tash. “We women investigators don’t go in much for that sort of thing. Some of our men do, though. But when I knew I had to come down to the seashore, naturally I thought of bathing, fishing, or crabbing.

“Now, I’m not very fond of ocean bathing, so I passed up that suit. I don’t know how to fish, but I do know how to crab, and I used to do it when I was a girl. So I brought my crabbing disguise with me.”

“What in the world is a crabbing disguise?” asked Terry, as their visitor laughed. “George Clayton doesn’t wear one.”

“It’s just an old dress I don’t care what happens to,” said Emma Tash, “and an old-fashioned sunbonnet. With that on, I defy anyone who sees me in it to recognize me afterward if I dress as I am now.”

“Oh, that sort of a disguise,” laughed Terry. “Well, I guess that will be all right. And we had better start,” she added. “Time is passing, and I want to be back here to help receive our visitor.”

“I will be as quick as I can,” Emma Tash said. “If I could go somewhere to change my dress——”

“I’ll show you,” offered Mrs. Landry. “Come with me, please.”

While the visitor was upstairs, the girls, in breathless whispers, discussed her and her errand. They agreed that the plan they had adopted was the best one possible in the circumstances.

“Only,” sighed Terry who, in a sense, was offering herself as a sacrifice, “I do hope Serge Uzlov doesn’t arrive until I get back.”

“We’ll keep him for you,” promised Arden.

Emma Tash certainly was a very different person in her crabbing disguise. She looked the part of a back-country native to perfection. She and Terry were soon off in the boat, provided with a net, a peach basket to hold the crabs, and some old pieces of meat, on strings, for bait.

Sim and Arden watched Terry row away in the direction of the Clayton shack.

“And now we’ll just have to sit here and wait,” sighed Arden as Terry and her passenger disappeared around a point.

“We could go in swimming,” suggested Sim, ever mindful of her ambition to become an expert in aquatic sports.

“Then let’s. It will make the time pass quicker. After all, I don’t believe he can get here until late afternoon. There aren’t many shore trains out of New York until near the commuting hour,” said Arden.

So Sim and Arden put on their suits and went in for a dip. But it was rather too cool for real enjoyment in the water, and they soon came out and sunned themselves on the sand.

Meanwhile Terry, with her usual skill at the oars, was sending the boat along at good speed toward their objective.

“Mustn’t row too fast now, though,” she told Emma Tash when she was near the Clayton shack. “Crabbers usually just anchor, put the bait over the side, and wait for bites.”

“I know,” said the detective woman. “I’ve done it often enough. But crabbers often haul up the anchor and go from place to place looking for better luck. In that way we can gradually approach without any suspicions.”

“I think so,” Terry agreed.

She rowed on until they were within view of the place where Melissa lived. There was no sign of life about the shack or its outbuildings. Whether Melissa had returned home after meeting the girls in the drug store, Terry had no way of finding out.

“Perhaps we’d better stop here,” suggested Emma Tash. “I can make an observation while you put some bait over the side.”

“Observation?” questioned Terry.

“Yes. With these. We find them useful on cases.”

Emma Tash produced from a pocket in her crabbing dress a binocular, and as Terry threw the little anchor over, Emma Tash focused the glass on the Clayton shack.

The boat had drifted the length of the anchor rope with the incoming tide, which is always best for crabbing, and Terry was putting over the first bit of bait when the detective woman lowered the binocular and said:

“Not a sign of life. I guess there’s nobody home.”

“Melissa would hardly have had time to get here since we saw her in the drug store,” said Terry. “And very likely her father is out in his boat.”

“Then we’ll just have to wait and trust to luck,” was the decision of Emma Tash. “I’d like to see the girl alone.”

They began to crab in earnest now. For, after all, George Clayton might be lurking about his place and see them. For a time Terry really entered into the enjoyment of their occupation, for the crabs were biting well and she landed a number of big blue-clawed ones, while her companion did likewise.

Now and then they would net a “mammy,” her apron bulging with a cluster of yellow eggs ready to be deposited in some clump of the lettuce-like seaweed. These “mammy” crabs were always thrown back to aid in the propagation of future generations.

“I think we had better move a little—a little closer,” suggested the detective in a low voice after a half hour of good luck. “I want to take another look.”

“Yes,” Terry agreed. She pulled up the anchor, but this time the policewoman did the rowing, and she rowed well. Terry envied her skill.

Again they anchored, but this time they had picked a poor location and caught nothing. Inspection through the glass still revealed no sign of life about the place. It appeared silent and deserted.

“I think we can chance going a bit closer,” said Emma Tash after another half hour. “If I don’t see anything then, I believe I’ll take a chance and land. I’ll walk up to the place. Melissa may be asleep in there.”

“I hardly think so,” said Terry. “But you can try.”

They hoisted the anchor again, moved nearer the place, and once more the glass was used.

“I can’t see a sign of anybody,” Emma Tash declared. “I’m going up there.”

Once more Terry pulled up the mud-hook, and again the oars were used by the detective. But just as she was easing up, in preparation to letting the boat glide up the mucky beach, a man’s voice called:

“Keep away from here! I don’t let nobody land!”

George Clayton suddenly appeared in front of his shack, holding a long pole.

“Get away!” he cried. “This is a private beach! You can crab all you want to out there, but don’t land. I’ve warned you!”

“Well, that’s that,” said Terry in a low voice. She held her head down. In spite of the fact that she was wearing a big straw hat, she feared the man might recognize her.

But Emma Tash did not give up so easily.

“Can’t we land and get a drink of water?” she called.

“No! Keep off!”

“Very well.”

There was nothing for it but to row away, and this they did.

“But I’m not giving up,” said the detective when they were on their way back to “Buckingham Palace.” Terry wondered if Serge were there. “I’ll go back to New York and suggest a different method,” Emma Tash said. “The girl’s aunt is anxious to do something for the child, and her brute of a father shouldn’t be allowed to stand in the way.”

“Of course not,” Terry agreed.

She rowed fast back to the little dock, and her first unasked question was answered, as Sim and Arden who came down to meet her, with Arden’s remark:

“He hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t miss him,” Terry said.

Emma Tash changed back into her regular dress, put the crabbing disguise into her bag and, thanking them all for the help, started for the village, saying she would take a train back to New York.

“But I’m coming here again,” she said. “And if you get a chance I wish you would let Melissa know that her aunt wants to help her.”

“We will,” Terry promised.

It was now late afternoon, and the girls, nervous with the tension, sat on the porch, waiting. Not for anything would they now go far away from the house. The “man from New York” might arrive any minute.

“Oh, dear,” Sim wailed. “Isn’t this suspense awful? If that man doesn’t come soon, I’ll——”

“It’s almost five o’clock,” Arden said, looking at her watch. “He ought to get here soon.”

“You youngsters will be nervous wrecks,” Mrs. Landry remarked as Terry paced restlessly up and down the front porch. “Can’t you find something to do?”

“I can’t sit still long enough to do anything,” Terry replied.

“Listen!” Arden cautioned. “Isn’t that a car?”

Instantly there was quiet. They all strained their ears to hear the sound of bumping wheels.

“Yes!” Terry exclaimed. “Come on!”

Flinging open the screen door of the porch she raced around to the back, where the yellow sand road stretched. Sim and Arden followed close behind her.

They stood like pointers, immobile, while the car approached. It reached the gate and stopped. The side door was opened, and a polished shoe was thrust out. Then the whole man appeared, and the girls gasped audibly. It was the dark young man who had rowed himself over to the houseboat when they last heard from Dimitri!