LITMIR.BIZ

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you later,” she said as she hurried into the house.

      “It sounds very mysterious,” muttered Mary Louise.

      “Oh, there’s probably some simple explanation,” replied Jane lightly. “We’ll have to ask Clifford Hunter. Where is he, Mary Lou? Do you see him?”

      The other girl glanced hastily about the big porch and shook her head.

      “Not here,” she answered. “But he may be inside. There’s another dining room in the bungalow.”

      “This isn’t Clifford?” asked Jane, watching a tall, good-looking, dark-eyed young man coming out of the door.

      Mary Louise turned around and smiled.

      “No. That’s David McCall. He usually comes up just for two weeks’ vacation and stays here at Flicks’.”

      A moment later the young man reached the Gays’ table and was introduced to Jane. But he merely nodded to her briefly: his eyes seemed to devour Mary Louise.

      “I thought you’d never come, Mary Lou!” he exclaimed. “A whole week of my vacation is gone!”

      “But you have another week, don’t you, David?”

      “Yes. A measly seven days! And then another year to wait till I see you again!” His tone was not bantering, like the boys at home. David McCall was serious – too terribly serious, Mary Louise sometimes thought – about everything.

      “May I come over to see you after supper?” he pleaded.

      “Of course,” agreed Mary Louise lightly. “And then you can tell us about the fire. You were here when it happened?”

      “No. I didn’t get here till Sunday. But I can tell you something about it, all right!”

      Mary Louise’s eyes opened wide with interest.

      “Somebody set it on fire – on purpose, you mean, David?”

      “Yes.”

      “Who?”

      The young man leaned over and whispered in her ear:

      “Clifford Hunter himself!”

      Mary Louise gasped in amazement. “But why?” she demanded.

      “To collect the insurance!” was the surprising reply.

      And, turning about, David McCall went back into the boarding house.

      CHAPTER II

      Clifford’s Story

      “What did he say?” demanded both Jane and Freckles the moment David McCall was out of hearing distance.

      Mary Louise leaned forward and lowered her voice.

      “He said Cliff Hunter set the place on fire himself – to get the insurance. Now that his father is dead, the bungalow belongs to him.”

      “How awful!” exclaimed Jane. “Do you believe that, Mary Lou?”

      “No, I don’t – knowing Cliff as I do. Do you, Mother?”

      “Certainly not,” replied Mrs. Gay emphatically. “It’s just David’s jealousy. He’s poor himself, and he has a sort of grudge against all rich people.”

      “Maybe,” admitted Mary Louise. “David never did like Cliff, all the summers they’ve both been coming up here to Shady Nook.”

      “I wish I could meet this young Hunter,” lamented Jane. “I’m keen to get a look at him.”

      “Maybe he isn’t here any more,” remarked Mary Louise. “Since the bungalow is gone, where would he stay?”

      “The Hunters are living over at the Royal Hotel, I think,” Freckles informed them. “Seems to me that’s what Larry Reed said.”

      “Then Cliff will be over to see you,” observed Mrs. Gay confidently.

      Her supposition proved correct: no sooner had the Gays returned to their own bungalow after supper than a motorboat chugged its way across the river and anchored at their dock. A moment later Clifford Hunter stepped out.

      As Mary Louise had said, he was not a good-looking young man. His height was only medium, and he was so thin that even expensive tailoring could not make his clothes look well. But his big nose and his sandy complexion were offset by a pleasant smile and attractive gray eyes, which somehow made you feel as if you had known Cliff Hunter all your life.

      “Hello, Mary Lou!” he called as he came towards the porch. “Heard you were here!”

      He whistled a gay tune as he ascended the steps, and smiled.

      “Not so homely after all,” Jane thought as she looked into his pleasant face. And his white flannels and dark blue coat were certainly becoming. They evidently did not wear sweaters at the Royal Hotel.

      “Hurry up!” returned Mary Louise. “We’re dying to hear the news!”

      “Yes, of course.” He shook hands with Mary Louise and her mother and was introduced to Jane.

      “Sit down, Clifford,” urged Mrs. Gay.

      The young man fumbled in his pocket and produced a pack of cards.

      “In a minute, thank you, Mrs. Gay,” he replied. “But first – take a card, Mary Lou. I know some bully new tricks.”

      Mary Louise burst out laughing.

      “Haven’t you gotten over that fad yet, Cliff?” she asked.

      He regarded her reprovingly.

      “Don’t talk so lightly about my profession!” he said. “I’m going to be a magician. Now – I’ll explain the trick. You can look at the pack – ”

      “Oh, but we want to hear about the fire,” interrupted Mary Louise.

      “Take a card!” was his only reply.

      There was nothing to do but humor him. Jane was delighted: she loved card tricks and listened eagerly. But Mary Louise was more interested in the burning of the bungalow.

      At last, however, Clifford sat down beside Jane on the couch-hammock and began to talk.

      “You saw the ruins?” he inquired.

      “Yes. But nobody over at Flicks’ seemed to know how it happened.”

      “Most amazing thing you ever heard of! It was last Saturday night. I had four fellows from the fraternity here for the week-end, and about nine o’clock we all piled into the boat and went over to the Royal Hotel to dance. There happened to be a bunch of girls staying there that we knew, so we were sure of a swell time. The whole gang from Shady Nook went across too – the Reed family, the Partridges, the Robinsons – practically everybody except the Flicks. So you see Shady Nook was deserted.

      “We danced till around twelve o’clock and had something to eat. Then the fellows suggested we all get into the launch and go for a ride. Mother was game: she went along too, and so did a couple of the girls. By the time we took them back to the hotel and came home, it must have been two o’clock.”

      “Hadn’t you seen any flames?” interrupted Jane. “From the river, I mean?”

      “Not a flicker! But we had been motoring in the other direction, and you know the hotel isn’t right across from our bungalow, so we shouldn’t have been likely to notice when we were dancing. What wind there was blew the other way.”

      “Even when you reached your own dock, didn’t you smell smoke?” demanded Mary Louise.

      “Yes, we did then. But the flames were all out. The bungalow was gone – but the trees hadn’t caught fire.”

      “That was queer,” remarked Mrs. Gay. “Unless somebody put out the fire.”

      “Nobody did, as far as we know,” replied Clifford. “But it was out all right. And the bungalow gone, all but the foundation stones!”

      “What in the world

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