CHAPTER II THE GIRL IN THE CANOE
My room at Variable Winds was cheery and comfortable. Bright-huedcurtains, painted furniture and bowls full of exquisitely tintedCalifornia poppies gave the place a colourful effect that pleased myaesthetic tastes. A perfectly appointed bathroom added to my content andI concluded I would stay with the Moores as long as I could keep mywelcome in good working order.
Keeley Moore was one of the best if not the best known detectives of theday, and while a quiet vacation would do him good, I was certain he wasalready itching to get back to his problems and mysteries, with which thecity always supplied him.
I threw off my coat and put on a dressing gown, for the lake breezes werechill, and sat at a window for a final smoke.
I felt at peace with the world. Some houses give you that feeling, justas some others make you unreasonably nervous and irritable.
The moon had risen, a three-quarter or nearly full moon, and itsshimmering light across the lake made me turn off my room lights and gazeout at the scene before me.
My room looked out on the lake, and the house itself was not more than adozen yards from the water. The ground sloped gently down to a tiny bitof beach, a little crescent that had been selected for the site of thehouse. On the right of this placid little piece of shore was theboathouse, a large one, with canoes, rowboats and motor boats. Under thesame roof was the bath house, and in front of that, out in the lake, werespringboards, diving ladders and all the contrivances on which thebathers like to disport themselves.
To the left was a bit of wild, rocky shore, for the edge of the lake wasgreatly diversified and rocks abounded, both in and out of the water.
A line of light came across the lake, but was now and then blotted out asthe swiftly drifting clouds obscured the moon.
I liked it better in the darkness, for the sight was impressive.
From my window I could see a great stretch of water, and as a background,dense black growth of trees, which came in many places down to thewater’s edge.
Often these trees were on a slope and rose to a height almost to becalled a hill, while again the ground stretched on a low-lying level.
As I looked, the details of the landscape became clearer and I discerneda few faint lights here and there in the houses.
The big house nearest us I took to be Pleasure Dome. Not only because itwas the next house, but because I could dimly distinguish a largebuilding surmounted by a gilded dome.
How could any man in his sober senses construct such a place to live in?
It seemed like a cross between the Boston State House and the Taj Mahal.
I was really anxious to go over there and see the thing at closer range.I decided to ask Moore to take me over the next day.
Suddenly the lights all went out and the house and its dome disappearedfrom view. Looking at my watch I saw it was just one o’clock andconcluded that the master of the house had his home darkened at thathour.
But after I again accustomed my eyes to the darkness I could see theoutlines of Pleasure Dome, and it looked infinitely more attractive inthe half light than it had done in the brightness of its ownillumination.
As a whole, though, the lake scene was depressing. It had a melancholy,dismal air that seemed to lay a damper on my spirits. It was like a cold,clammy hand resting on my forehead. I even shook my head impatiently, asif to fling it off, and then smiled at my own foolishness. But itpersisted. The lake was mournful, it even seemed menacing.
With an exclamation of disgust at my own impressionableness, I sprang upfrom my chair, flashed on the lights and prepared for bed.
The bright, pleasant room restored my equilibrium or equanimity orwhatever it was that had been jarred, and I found myself all ready forbed, in a peaceful, happy frame of mind.
I turned off the lights, and then the lake lured me back to a lastglimpse of its wild, eerie beauty.
Again I flung on my robe and sat at the window. It seemed as if Icouldn’t leave it. The black, sinister water, the dark shores, with deephollows here and there, the waving, soughing trees, with thick underbrushbeneath them, all seemed possessed of a spirit of evil, a frightful,uncanny spirit, that made me shiver with an unreasonable apprehension,that held me in thrall.
I have no use for premonitions, I have no faith in presentiments, but Ihad to admit to myself then a fear, a foreboding of some intangible,ghastly horror. Then would come the moonlight, pale and sickly now, andlasting but a moment before the clouds again blotted it out.
Yet I liked the darkness better, for the moon cast such horrendousshadows of those black trees into the lake that it seemed to people thelake with monstrous, maleficent beings, who leered and danced likedevils.
Though I knew the hobgoblins were only the waving trees, distorted in themoonlight, I was none the less weak-minded enough to see portentousspectres that made my flesh creep.
With a half laugh and a half groan at my utter imbecility, I declared tomyself that I would go to bed and go to sleep.
But as I started to rise from my chair, I saw something that made me sinkback again.
The moon now was behind a light, translucent cloud, that caused a faintlight on the lake.
Round a jutting corner I saw a canoe come into my line of vision.
A moment’s attention convinced me that it was no ghostly craft, but anordinary canoe, propelled by a pair of human arms.
This touch of human companionship put to rout all my feelings of fear andeven my forebodings of tragedy.
Normally interested now, I watched to see who might be out at that timeof night, and for what purpose.
The cloud dispersed itself, and the full clear moonlight shone down onthe boat and its occupant. To my surprise it was a girl, ayoung-appearing girl, and she was paddling softly, but with a skilledstroke that told of long practice.
Her hair seemed to be silver in the moonlight, but I realized the lightwas deceptive and the curly bob might be either flaxen or gold.
She wore a white sweater and a white skirt—that much I could see plainly,but I could distinguish little more. She had no hat on, and I could seewhite stockings and shoes as the craft passed the house.
She seemed intent on her work, and her beautiful paddling aroused myintense admiration. She did not look up at our house at all; indeed, sheseemed like an enchanted princess, doomed to paddle for her life, soearnestly did she bend to her occupation. She passed the house and kepton, in the direction of Pleasure Dome.
Could she be going there? I hardly thought so, yet I watched carefully,hanging out of my window to do so.
To my surprise she did steer her little craft straight to the great housenext door, and turned as if to land there.
The Tracy house was on a line with the Moore bungalow, that is, on acurving line. They were both on the same large crescent of lake shore.Pleasure Dome had a cove or inlet behind it, Moore had told me, but thatwas not visible from my window. The front of the house was, however, andI distinctly saw the girl beach her canoe, step lightly out and thendisappear among the trees in the direction of the house.
I still sat staring at the point where she had been lost to my vision. Ilet the picture sink into my mind. I could see her as plainly inretrospect as I had in reality. That lissome, slender figure, thatgraceful springy walk—but she had limped, a very little. Not as if shewere really lame, but as if she had hurt her foot or strained her anklerecently.
I speculated on who she might be. Kee had told me of no young girl livingin the Tracy house now, since the niece had left there.
Ah, the niece. Could this be Sampson Tracy’s niece, perhaps staying ather uncle’s for a visit and coming home late from a party? But she wouldhave had an escort or chaperon or maid—somebody would have been with her.
Yet, how could I tell that? Kee had said she was high-handed, and mightshe not elect to go about unescorted at any hour?
I concluded it must be the niece, for who else could it be? Then
Iremembered that there might be other guests at Pleasure Dome besides themorose and glum-looking Ames. This, then, might be another house guest,and perhaps the young people of the Deep Lake community were in the habitof running wild in this fashion.
Anyway, the whole episode had helped to dispel the gloom engendered bythe oppressive and harrowing atmosphere of the lake scene, and I feltmore cheerful. And as there was no sign of the girl’s returning, Iconcluded she had reached the house in safety and had doubtless alreadygone to bed.
I tarried quite a while longer, listening to the quivering, whisperingsounds of the poplars, and an occasional note from a bird or from somesmall animal scurrying through the woods, and finally, with a smile at myown thoughts, I snapped off the lights and got into bed.
I couldn’t sleep at first, and then, just as I was about to fall asleep,I heard the light plash of a paddle.
As soon as I realized what the sound was, I sprang up and hurried to thewindow. But I saw no boat. Whether the same girl or some one else, theboat and whoever paddled it, were out of sight, and though I heard, orimagined I heard, a faint and diminishing sound as of paddling, I couldsee no craft of any sort.
I strained my eyes to see if her canoe was still beached in front ofPleasure Dome, but the moon was unfriendly now, and I could notdistinguish objects on the beach.
Again I began to feel that sickening dread of calamity, that namelesshorror of tragedy, and I resolutely went back to bed with a determinationto stay there till morning, no matter what that God-forsaken lake didnext.
I carried out this plan, and when the morning broke in a riot ofsunshine, singing birds, blooming flowers and a smiling lake, I forgotall the night thoughts and their burdens and gave myself over to a joyousoutlook.
Breakfast was at eight-thirty and was served on an enclosed porch lookingout on the lake.
“You know, you don’t have to get up at this ungodly hour,” Lora said, asshe smiled her greeting, “but we are wideawakes here.”
“Suits me perfectly,” I told her. “I’ve no love for the feathers afterthe day has really begun.”
Twice during our cosy breakfast I was moved to tell about the girl in thecanoe, but both times I suddenly decided not to do so. I couldn’t tellwhy, but something forbade the telling of that tale, and I concluded todefer it, at any rate.
The chat was light and trifling. Somehow it drifted round to the subjectof happiness.
“My idea of happiness,” Lora said, “which I know full well I shall neverattain, is to do something I want to do without feeling that I ought tobe doing something else.”
“Heavens and earth,” exploded her husband, “any one would think you averitable slave! What are these onerous duties you have to perform thatkeep you from doing your ruthers?”
Lora laughed. “Oh, not all the time, but there is much to do in a housewhere the servants are ill-trained and incompetent——”
“And where one has guests,” Maud Merrill smiled at her, and I smiled,too.
“I’m out of it,” I cried. “You ought to help your friend out, Mrs.Merrill, but, being a mere man, I can’t do anything to help around thehouse.”
Lora laughed gaily, and said, “Don’t take it all too seriously. I do as Iplease most of the time, but—well, I suppose the truth is, I’m tooconscientious.”
“That’s it,” Kee agreed. “And you know, conscience is only a form ofvanity. One wants to do right, so one can pat oneself on the back, andfeel a glow of holy satisfaction.”
“That’s so, Kee,” Lora quickly agreed, “and I oughtn’t to pamper myvanity. So, I won’t make that blackberry shortcake you’re so fond of thismorning, I’ll read a novel, and bear with a smile the slings and arrowsof my conscience as it reproves me.”
“No,” Kee told her, “that’s carrying your vanity scourging too far. Makethe shortcake, dear girl, not so much for me, as for Norris here. I wanthim to see what a bird of a cook you are.”
Lora shook her head, but I somehow felt that the shortcake wouldmaterialize, and then Kee and I went out on the lake.
We went in a small motor launch, and he proposed that I should have asurvey of the lake before we began to fish.
“It’s one of the most beautiful and picturesque lakes in the county,” hesaid, and I could easily believe that, as we continually came upon moreand more rugged coves and strange rock formations.
“Those are dells,” Kee said, pointing to weird and wonderful rocks thatdisclosed caves, grottoes, chasms, natural bridges and here and therecascades and waterfalls. “Please be duly impressed, Gray, for they arereally wonderful. You know Wisconsin is the oldest state of all, I meanas to its birth. Geologists say that this whole continent was an ocean,and when the first island was thrust up above the surface of the waters,it was Wisconsin itself. Then the earth kindly threw up the other states,and so, here we are.”
“I thought all these lakes were glacial.”
“Oh, yes, so they are. But you don’t know much, do you? The glacialperiod came along a lot later, and as the slow-moving fields of iceplowed down through this section they scooped out the Mississippi valley,the beds of the Great Lakes and also the beds of innumerable littlelakes. There are seven thousand in Wisconsin, and two thousand in OneidaCounty alone.”
“I am duly impressed, Kee, but quite as much by the way you rattle offthis information as by the knowledge itself. Where’d you get it all?”
“Out of the Automobile Book,” he returned, unabashed. “Most interestingreading. Better have a shy at it some time.”
“I will. Now is this Pleasure Dome we’re coming to?”
“Yes. Thought you’d like to see it. It’s really a wonder house, you know.We’ll be invited there to dine or something, but I want you to see it nowas a picture.”
It was impressive, the great pile rising against the background of darktrees, and with a foreground of brilliant flower beds, fountains, andarbours.
A critic might call it too ornate, too elaborate, but he would have toadmit it was beautiful.
A building of pure white marble, its lines were simple and true, itsproportions vast and noble, and save for the gilded dome, all its effectswere of the utmost dignity and perfection.
And the dome, to my way of thinking, was in keeping with the majesty ofit all. No lesser type of architecture could have stood it, but thissemi-barbaric pile proudly upheld its glittering crown with a sublimedaring that justified the whole.
There were numerous and involved terraces, all of white marble, thatdisappeared and reappeared among the trees in a fascinating way. Whitepergolas bore masses of beautiful flowers or vines, and back of it allrose the black, wooded slopes that surrounded most of the lake.
“We’ll slip around for a glimpse of the Sunless Sea,” Kee said, and Ialmost cried out as we came upon the place.
A strange chance had made a huge pool of water, almost square, as an armof the lake, and this, stretched behind the house, was like a midnightsea.
Dark, even in broad daytime, because of the dense woods all round it, italso looked deep and treacherous. A slight breeze was blowing but thisproved enough to ruffle the waters of the Sunless Sea in adangerous-looking way.
“Don’t go in there!” I cried, and Kee turned aside.
“I didn’t intend to,” he said, “I was just throwing a scare into you.It’s really devilish. A sudden wave can suck you down to interminabledepths. You’re not afraid, really?”
“Oh, no,” I assured him, “but it’s pesky frightensome to look at,especially——”
Again I was on the verge of telling him of the scene on the lake thenight before, and again I stopped, held back by some force outsidemyself.
“Especially why?” he asked, curiously, but I evaded the issue by saying,“Especially when one is on a holiday.”
He laughed and we turned away from Pleasure Dome.
“Now I’ll show you the island,” he said, “and then we’ll tackle thetackle.”
We went rapidly back past Pleasure Dome, on
down the lake, past Moore’sown place, and then on a bit farther to the Island.
“They call it ‘Whistling Reeds’, and it’s a good name,” he said. “Whenthe wind’s a certain way, and it’s quiet otherwise, you can hear thereeds whistle like birds.”
“You do have most interesting places,” I said. “And who lives here? Andwhere’s the house?”
“Alma Remsen lives here, the niece of Sampson Tracy I told you about lastnight. You can’t see the house, the trees are so thick.”
“I should say they were!” and I stared at the dense black mass. “Whydoesn’t she cut a vista, at least?”
“She doesn’t want it, I believe. Thinks it’s more picturesque like this.”
“I’d be scared to death to live there!”
“No reason to be. Nothing untoward ever happens up here. All peaceablecitizens.”
“But fancy living in such a place. How do they get provisions and allthat?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Lots of the dealers deliver their stuff in canoes ormotor boats. See, there’s the boathouse. Some day we’ll call here. Almalikes my wife, she’ll be glad to see us.”
“I suppose she’s a canoeist.”
“Everybody’s that, around here. I mean the people who live all the yearround. A good many people live on islands. They like it. This island, yousee, is a big one. About two or three acres, say. That gives Miss Remsenroom for tennis courts and gardens and pretty much anything she wants,and the house is very pleasant. Nothing like Pleasure Dome, but a biggerhouse than the one we’re in.”
We turned then, and started off toward the spot where Kee elected to dohis fishing.
“Hello,” he said, as we moved on, “there’s Alma now. That’s Miss Remsen.”
We were now about midway between the Moore bungalow and the Island ofWhistling Reeds. I looked, to see a girl come down to the floating dockof the boathouse, spring into a canoe and paddle away.
I said nothing aloud, but to myself I said it was the girl I had seen ina canoe the night before.
There was no mistaking that slim, lithe figure, that graceful capable wayof managing the boat, and she even wore what seemed to me to be the sameclothes, a white skirt and white sweater. She had on a small white felthat, and I noticed that she did not limp at all. As I had surmised, thelimp was occasioned by some slight and temporary strain or bruise.
“Well, don’t eat her up with your eyes!” exclaimed Moore, and I realizedI had been staring.
Also I was just about to tell him of seeing her before, but the chaffingtone he used somehow shut me up on the subject.
So I only said, gaily: “Bowled over by the Lady of the Lake!” and laughedback at him.
“That’s what she’s called up here,” he informed me. “She’s in her canoeso much and manages it so perfectly, she seems like a part of it. Ofcourse, wherever she goes, she has to go in that or in some boat. Can’tget on and off an island in a motor car.”
“Must be an awful nuisance.”
“She doesn’t find it so. Says she likes it better than a motor. Look ather paddle. Isn’t she an expert?”
“She sure is.” And I held my tongue tightly to refrain from saying thatshe seemed to me to have paddled even more beautifully the night before.But, I said to myself, that was doubtless the glamour loaned by themoonlight and the witchery of the night scene.
Miss Remsen soon reached Pleasure Dome, and we could see her beach hercanoe and follow her with our eyes for a few steps until she disappearedbehind a clump of tall trees.
We set to work then in good earnest and I saw in Keeley Moore for thetime being an embodiment of perfect happiness.
He loved to fish, even alone, but better still, he loved to fish with acongenial companion. And we were that. Though not friends of such verylong standing, we were similar in our likes and dislikes as well as inour dispositions.
We had an identical liking for silence at times, and as a rule we chosethe same times. Often we would sit for half an hour in a sociablesilence, and then break into the most animated conversation.
This morning, after we had begun to fish, such a spell fell upon us. Iwas glad, for I wanted to think things out; to learn, if possible, why Iwas so interested, or why, indeed, I was interested at all, in AlmaRemsen.
Just because I saw her paddling over to her uncle’s house the nightbefore and again this morning, was that enough to make me feel that Imust keep still about the first excursion? And, if so, why?
I didn’t even know yet what she looked like. So it couldn’t be that I hadfallen for a pretty face—I didn’t even know whether she had one.
I thought of asking Kee that, but decided not to. A strange, vagueinstinct held me back from mentioning Alma Remsen’s name.
Suddenly he said, “Damn!” in a most explosive way, and not unnaturally Ithought he had lost one of those biggest of all big fishes.
But as he began pulling in his empty line and making other evidentpreparations for bringing our fishing party to an end, I mildly asked forlight on the subject.
“Got to go home,” he said, like a sulky child.
“What for?”
“See that red flag in the bungalow window? That means come home at once.Lora only uses it in cases of real importance, so we’ve got to go.”