Missing at Marshlands Part 16

Spellbound they gazed at the revelation.

It was a large picture, almost finished, and its bold strokes had been laid on with a sureness that told of the joy the artist had put into his work.

But the subject was what held them so amazed. For there, instead of the usual landscape, was a portrait of Arden, sitting on a mound of warm-colored sand with Tania at her feet. One slim hand was almost buried in the white fur. The sky back of her hinted at an approaching storm, and a portion of sea showed the ocean that peculiar color which comes just before a change. Arden in the picture was gazing wistfully out to sea, her eyes dreamy yet questioning, as though she were wondering what life held in store for her.

"Oh, Arden," gasped Sim, the first to speak. "How lovely!"

"And to think we never knew or even guessed," Terry added. "He must be in love with you," she finished softly.

"Don't be silly, Terry," Arden scolded, her face crimson with blushes.

"He just happened to use my face. It doesn't look much like me, anyway.

I'm not that pretty."

"It looks exactly like you," Sim insisted. "There's no use being falsely modest about such things. You know you're pretty."

"Oh, stop!" Arden begged, and her friends saw that her eyes were filled with tears. "He's gone now, and whatever happened to him, I'm afraid to guess. But I know one thing. He never would have gone away without leaving some word unless he was taken against his will."

"What shall we do?" Sim asked, coming as usual straight to the heart of the matter and for the moment disregarding the portrait.

"I don't know," Arden replied helplessly. For a time the girls listened while the storm howled outside and the waves slapped harder against the fat sides of the _Merry Jane_.

"We can't stay here very much longer," Terry reminded them. "The tide is coming in, and there won't be any place left to walk on back home."

Arden nodded grimly; then, without a word of explanation, she went out the door and back to the stern of the houseboat. She returned as quickly as she had gone.

"I just wanted to see," she explained, "if Dimitri's rowboat was still tied up. It is, and his old car is there, too."

"Then, of course, wherever he went or was taken, he didn't go in his own boat or car," Terry reasoned.

"I don't know what we can do," Arden said again. "But I think we should wait a little while before we spread an alarm. After all, he may have stayed in town because of the storm."

"Of course. Why didn't we think of that before?" Sim agreed, sighing with relief. "We'd better lock Tania in and get back ourselves. Then we can drive to town and look around for him there."

They were relieved at having something definite to do, some real plan to work upon. Terry with difficulty closed the open window. Arden coaxed Tania out to the kitchen and left water for her to drink, besides two dog biscuits she found in a box. Sim carefully covered the picture again, still conscious of the thrilling surprise it had given them.

Finding they could not lock the door from the outside, they pulled it shut and, after one more look around the old boat, they wrapped their coats tightly about them and set out for "Buckingham Palace."

The discovery of Arden's portrait under such almost terrifying conditions left the little group frankly bewildered.

"How could he have drawn so well from memory?" Arden wondered.

"What will Arden say or do about it?" Sim reflected.

"Anyhow," Terry was deciding, "it's a perfectly swell picture."

Then, as if voicing the unspoken words of her companions, Arden said:

"Please don't let's say anything about-the picture-now."

"All right," replied her companions, and they certainly meant it would be "all right" to keep their newest secret.

"I can't understand it," Arden remarked as they plodded along.

"Especially about Tania. He _was_ so fond of her."

"_Was?_ Oh, Arden!" Sim wailed at the slip Arden had made.

"Everything will be all right. I'm sure there is some simple explanation," Terry said soothingly.

"I hope so," Sim murmured, not quite so sure.

They could still hear Tania howling mournfully at being left alone, but Arden insisted they should not go back, for Tania was safe, she declared.

Soon the dog's howls could be heard no longer, with the noise of the wind and the endless slas.h.i.+ng of the breakers on the sh.o.r.e.

The tide had risen just as Terry said it would, and in some places the girls had to wade in water up to their knees as they trudged along. When at last they reached Terry's house they were indeed a woebegone little band, and there was no use denying it.

Mrs. Landry was shocked when she saw them and sent them to change into dry things at once. After which they gathered in the living room and told Terry's mother all about their disheartening adventure, not, however, mentioning the surprise portrait.

"And, Mother," Terry pleaded, "can't we go to town at once to see if he has been there?"

"Terry, dear, you always rush so," Mrs. Landry reminded her. "Don't you think the weather is too bad to go all that way now? Why not wait--"

"We'll be all right," Terry interrupted. "I'm sure none of us could sleep a wink if we didn't at least do everything possible to find out what has happened to Dimitri."

"Well--" Mrs. Landry was weakening. "If you dress warmly and promise to be back before dark, I guess you may go. But drive carefully, and don't do anything foolish." The vague warning meant more than the words which conveyed it.

They were not long in getting ready after receiving that permission. In a surprisingly short time the little car was bouncing up the road with the three girls huddled together in it bound for the village.

"Where shall we go first?" asked Sim as they neared town.

"We can get some gas and sort of ask Reilly," Terry suggested. "He's always friendly and sees everything."

"Of course, that's what we'll do first," Arden agreed.

But when they had jokingly asked the Chief how his tenant was getting along, he replied crisply:

"I should think _you'd_ know about that. I haven't seen him in more'n a week. Takes more'n two cats t' make a coop of chickens," he added. Mr.

Reilly's proverbs were sometimes queer. "Nope, ain't seen him."

"You haven't!" Terry droned.

More than a week! Disheartened, they tried to smile at the obliging Reilly, but the attempt was by no means a success.

He looked after them quizzically as they left.

In the little drug store where they bought postal cards and stamps they did not need nor even want, they asked the girl clerk if she had seen "the artist" lately.

She gave them a silly grin and shook her head.

"Not him. He only came in here once for some stamps, weeks ago, but not since. Queer duck. Friend of yours?"