CHAPTER I
A Stolen Typewriter

“Here’s something Miss Pringle can use!”

Judy ran her fingers over the tiny, embossed Reward of Merit card as if she couldn’t bear to part with it even for the short time it would be on exhibit at the Roulsville library.

“Mrs. Wheatley is still Miss Pringle to you, isn’t she?” asked Peter Dobbs, smiling at his young wife as she knelt beside the open drawer of the old chest where her grandmother’s keepsakes were stored.

“I do think of her as Miss Pringle,” confessed Judy, “and she probably thinks of me as that noisy Judy Bolton. Prim Miss Pringle is what I used to call her. She left everything in such perfect order, it’s hard for me to believe she and Bob Wheatley lived in our house for two whole months. We won’t ever rent it again, will we, Peter?”

“You’re not asking me to promise we won’t, are you?” he countered. “You know how I feel about promises.”

“You’re right, too,” declared Judy, reaching into the drawer for another one of Grandmother Smeed’s treasured keepsakes. “Here’s a sewing card worked in cross-stitch. It says: ‘Promise Little. Do Much.’ Do you think it would do for the September exhibit?”

“I should think so,” Peter replied thoughtfully. “A maxim like that would do for any time of the year. Does the library plan to exhibit a few of these things each month?”

“Yes, but just for the school year. Miss Pringle—I mean Mrs. Wheatley says she wants me to arrange them in that little glass case near the library door. These reward-of-merit cards used to be given out at school when Grandma was a little girl. The other card was a sewing lesson. ‘Promise little. Do much,’” Judy repeated, “but how much can a person do in a day? Maybe I won’t try to sort all these treasures this morning.”

“You’ve made a good start. I wish I could stay and help you. I always liked treasure hunting,” Peter confessed, “but Uncle Sam expects me to hunt criminals today. We’ll be using an official car, so I’ll leave the Beetle for you to transport your exhibit to the library if you do get it ready. ’Bye, Angel. See you at six.”

“You hope,” Judy added as he bent to kiss her.

Peter’s time was not his own. Working out of the Resident FBI Agency in the Farringdon Post Office, he might be sent anywhere in the territory. His assignment now was to round up the Joe Mott gang. Judy knew that much, although his work was confidential. It was also dangerous. Each time he left the house she breathed a little prayer for his safe return.

“Take care,” was what she usually said, but in her heart the words meant, “Take care of our future. Let all our dreams for our married life in this house come true.”

The house had been willed to Judy by her grandmother, and it was so sturdy and well built that she felt sure it would stand there on the slope overlooking Dry Brook as long as the hills themselves.

Peter had left the stair door open, and soon Judy heard Blackberry padding up to keep her company. He looked around, the way cats will, and then came into the storeroom to see what Judy was doing.

“Hi, Blackberry! You can’t play with these things,” she told him as she continued sorting and arranging the cards that were to be exhibited at the library. The theme for September would be school. She found a few Hallowe’en things and a Columbus Day card which she put aside for October. There were turkeys and prayers of Thanksgiving for November, a pile of Christmas things for December, and a stack of old calendars for January. The stack grew higher and higher.

“I do believe Grandma saved a calendar for every year. This is wonderful,” Judy said to herself. “I’ll find some recent calendars and complete the collection. It will be just perfect for the January exhibit.”

The library was new, and the built-in exhibit cases were still empty. Nearly all the buildings in Roulsville were new since the flood that had swept the valley and started Judy on the trail of her first mystery. Her own home had been swept away, and her father, Dr. Bolton, had been obliged to move to Farringdon where he still lived and practiced. Only her grandmother’s house, two miles above the broken dam, had stayed the same.

“Maybe that’s why I love it,” she thought.

And yet she and Peter had made changes. It was a rambling old farmhouse too big for just the two of them so only the downstairs rooms had been changed. Up here in the attic nothing had been disturbed except by Blackberry as he played with the spools in Judy’s sewing room or searched for mice in the other two rooms where her grandmother’s keepsakes were stored. She liked having him for company as she worked. Attics and black cats seemed to go together.

Judy smiled at this thought. She was so absorbed in what she was doing that at first she didn’t hear the front doorbell ringing downstairs. It rang again more insistently, and she gathered Blackberry in her arms and hurried down the two flights of stairs. It wouldn’t do to leave the cat alone among the things she had collected for the exhibit.

“I can’t trust you,” she told him, “even if you are a famous cat.”

Blackberry wore a life-saving medal on his collar, and just recently he had worked for the government, or so Judy insisted, ridding the Capitol Building of mice. But when she opened the door he fled through it to prowl around outside like any ordinary cat.

The cat startled Holly Potter, Judy’s sixteen-year-old neighbor, who had rung the bell. Obviously she had been running at break-neck speed along the shortcut from her house to Judy’s.

“What took you so long? I thought you’d never answer the bell. Quick!” she urged breathlessly. “Maybe we can still head off that green car! There’s a thief in it. He stole my typewriter!”

“Your typewriter?” gasped Judy.

“Yes, the one you gave me for my birthday. Remember when we traded birthdays so mine wouldn’t come on Christmas? I loved that typewriter, and now—”

“We’ll try and get it back,” Judy reassured her. “Come on, Holly!”

They were off down the road in the Beetle before Holly had finished telling Judy which way the green car went. “Try Farringdon,” she suggested. “You could see it from the top of the hill if it went toward Farringdon, couldn’t you?”

“That would depend on how fast he was going, I should think, but we’ll try it,” Judy promised.

She turned left at the main road and sped up the long slope out of Dry Brook Hollow. At the top of the hill the world seemed to end but, instead of driving on into the sky the way it looked as if she might, Judy drove down again with miles and miles of winding road ahead of her. There wasn’t a green car in sight.

“I’m afraid we’ve lost him,” Judy began.

“But I’m sure he went this way,” Holly insisted. “I would have seen him myself if he’d turned toward Roulsville. You know how our road angles off in that direction. Well, I thought if I raced along the shortcut and we took your road maybe we could head him off if he turned toward Farringdon. I have to get my typewriter back. Can’t you drive a little faster?”

“Not without turning the car over. We’ll pick up speed on the straight road. Then, if we can’t find him, we’ll report the stolen typewriter when we get to Farringdon. Did he take anything else?” Judy asked.

“No, just the typewriter.”

“That’s strange.” Judy couldn’t quite picture a thief running into Holly’s house, grabbing her typewriter, and not touching anything else. She had a rare old paperweight and a brand-new tape recorder in the first-floor room she called her study. Either of these things would have been worth more than her typewriter, to say nothing of the valuables stored in what she had once called her forbidden chest.

“There was nothing strange about it,” declared Holly. “He would have taken more if I hadn’t surprised him and called Ruth. She was busy with the baby and didn’t pay any attention. Doris had just left in her car—”

“That’s it!” Judy interrupted. “The thief probably saw your sister Doris leaving and figured you were all out.”

“Well, we weren’t. I was there, and I saw him run out of the house toward a green car. Please drive faster, Judy! I have to get my typewriter back.”

And suddenly, like rain from a clear blue sky, Holly burst into tears. She was crying over more important things than a stolen typewriter, Judy knew. It wasn’t easy living with a married sister whose whole interest centered on her own husband and baby. Holly’s other sister was on her way to a teaching job at some private school in Maine. The girls’ uncle had died while Judy and Peter were in Washington. Holly said she had never felt more lost and alone.

“First it was my parents and then Uncle David. It’s always this way,” she sobbed. “I told my sisters I wouldn’t dare love them. It’s bad luck for me to love anybody. Even the things I love have to be taken.”

“We’ll find your typewriter,” Judy resolved as she drove on toward Farringdon as fast as safety allowed.

CHAPTER II
Help for Holly

Farringdon was a much larger town than Roulsville. Actually, it was a small city and the county seat of a hilly county in northern Pennsylvania. The courthouse, tall and imposing with its clock tower, stood at the corner of Main and Grove streets. Just opposite was the office of the Farringdon Daily Herald where Judy’s brother Horace worked as a reporter. Farther up Grove Street was Dr. Bolton’s combined home and office.

“Which way shall we turn?” Judy asked when they came to the corner.

Holly shook her head. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Maybe my typewriter wasn’t stolen after all.”

“What?” Judy was so surprised that she nearly hit the curb as they turned the corner. “If we aren’t following a typewriter thief, then what are we doing in Farringdon?”

“We are—I mean we were following that green car, and I think my typewriter is in it. It’s just that I—I mean I haven’t told you everything.”

“I should say you haven’t,” Judy agreed. “Maybe Horace would help us for the sake of the story.”

“I’d be glad to have his help,” declared Holly almost too enthusiastically. “There he is now, walking down Grove Street. Oh dear! Is that Honey with him?”

“It usually is,” replied Judy. “They’re practically engaged, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. Good things happen to everyone but me,” was Holly’s doleful comment. “I’ll probably be an old maid and live all alone without even a cat for company.”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” Judy hailed her brother. He and Peter’s sister came over to the side of the car.

“Holly thinks her typewriter was stolen,” Judy explained. “On top of all the other trouble she’s had, this was just too much. Have you seen a green car?”

“Several of them,” replied Horace. “They’re quite common, or haven’t you noticed? Come to think of it, a green car did roar up Main Street about ten minutes ago. The driver was a boy of about sixteen. Dark hair, striped T-shirt—”

“He’s the one,” Holly interrupted. “Do you think we can still overtake him?”

“We can try,” replied Judy, “but I’m not making any rash promises. Didn’t you just tell me you’re not sure he is the thief? You didn’t actually see him take your typewriter, did you?”

“No, but I did see him running toward that green car, and when I turned around my desk top was empty. Ruth said maybe Doris took it. You know the way sisters are, always borrowing things without asking. But I don’t believe it. Doris knows I need my typewriter. Please drive on, Judy,” Holly pleaded. “We can’t let that boy get away with it.”

“I’m afraid he did get away with it,” Horace told her. “If he did take your typewriter, he must be half-way to Ulysses with it by now.”

“That’s the town where we turned off when we visited the Jewell sisters,” Honey put in, “on our secret quest, didn’t we, Judy?”

“I heard about that. You two girls have all the fun,” Holly complained.

“Fun!” Judy echoed, remembering how frightened she and Honey had been. “If that’s fun—” She shivered, and her voice trailed off into thoughts of their latest mystery.

“We were drenched to the skin and that criminal, Joe Mott, was after us. I’m glad he’s back in prison. I can’t understand it, though,” Honey continued in a puzzled voice. “Aldin Launt, that artist who works at the Dean Studios, was never picked up. He works right near me, and every time he passes my desk I get the shivers. I thought Peter was going to arrest him.”

“So did I,” agreed Judy, “but maybe he’s being watched in the hope he will lead the FBI to the rest of the gang. Peter’s work is so secret that half the time he can’t even discuss it with me.”

“Please don’t discuss it now,” implored Holly. “If we’re going to follow that green car—”

“You’ll never catch him,” Horace predicted, “and how would you get your typewriter back if you did? A couple of girls couldn’t handle a thief, especially if he’s got a gun on him. I don’t suppose you can make a federal case out of it, but couldn’t you report it to the local police? I’ll call them right now if you say the word.”

“What do you think, Judy?” Holly asked.

“I’d do it if I were you, Holly,” she advised.

“Okay, then,” Horace said with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Just give me all the details. Then we’ll relax and let the police handle it. Honey and I were on our way to lunch. How about joining us?”

Judy looked up at the courthouse clock. “Oh dear! The morning’s gone. I didn’t think it was lunchtime already. I am hungry. Aren’t you, Holly?”

The younger girl insisted that she couldn’t eat a thing, but once they were inside the restaurant she changed her mind. “I guess I could eat a hamburger,” she conceded.

While Horace went to telephone, the three girls ordered lunch. Holly was still jumpy. She kept tossing her mane of thick brown hair like a restless colt. She wore it perfectly straight in a long pony tail. Judy’s red curls were cut a little shorter than usual, but Honey had let her lovely honey-colored hair grow long to please Horace. Today she wore it loose about her shoulders.

The three girls were very different in appearance, but they had one thing in common. All three of them adored Judy’s brother, Horace Bolton. He was a shy-appearing young man. To look at him, no one would suspect that he had once startled the town of Roulsville out of its complacency by racing through the streets on Judy’s ginger colt and crying out, “The dam is breaking! Run for the hills.”

Thinking back, Judy realized that since Horace had become a hero, he had changed. There wasn’t a note of timidity in his voice as he talked with the police officer who later came in and quietly seated himself at their table. It was Holly who was frightened. “I—I didn’t think they’d send a policeman,” were her first words. “I can’t be sure of anything. Maybe it’s all a big mistake.”

“We’ll take that chance,” the officer replied, smiling as he wrote out his report.

“Tell you what, Judy,” Horace suggested as they were leaving the restaurant. “Why don’t you and Holly drive on a ways? Maybe you’ll see that green car parked somewhere along the road. I’ll finish up a little job I’m doing and tell Mr. Lee this looks like a story. He’ll give me the afternoon off to follow it up.”

“What about you, Honey? Do you have to go back to work?” asked Judy.

“Oh, I guess Mr. Dean would give me the afternoon off if I asked him. I can’t do any work with all that hammering going on anyway. Where shall we meet you?” Honey asked.

“At the beaver dam!” exclaimed Judy, suddenly enthusiastic. “Remember, Honey? Violetta said she’d show it to us. I have my camera in the car. Maybe we could take pictures of the beavers.”

“It’s a date! Violetta is the younger of the two Jewell sisters,” Honey explained to Holly, “though neither of them is young. They’re such dears! They live in one of the oldest houses in this section of Pennsylvania. It’s like stepping back in time just to visit them.”

“I’ll ask them if they have anything for the library exhibit. I have the job of choosing the displays for those new cases in the Roulsville library,” Judy explained. “All right, Horace, we’ll see you and Honey at the beaver dam.”

CHAPTER III
A Rude Shopkeeper

“I hope the beaver dam holds better than that one just above Roulsville,” Holly commented as they started off again. “We have to pass it on the way to school. I remember how it was last term. The boys and girls in the school bus quiet down fast if they happen to glance out the window and see those big pieces of broken concrete. A lot of them lost their homes when that dam broke, just the way you did, Judy. Did you go back afterwards to see if anything could be saved?”

“We went back too late, I guess. We didn’t find much of anything. There’s always some looting after a big disaster like that. People are too interested in making sure all their loved ones are safe to worry about their possessions.” Judy paused. She had been younger than Holly was now when the Bolton family’s home in Roulsville had been swept away in the flood, but it still hurt to think about it.

“Dad had to treat a lot of people for shock,” she continued as they drove past the Post Office, where Peter’s office was, and entered the outskirts of Farringdon. “Our house was turned over and one wall smashed in. I guess the furniture just floated away.”

“It would have to float somewhere, wouldn’t it?” Holly questioned.

“I suppose it would, but we never found it. Grandma wanted us to take some of her things,” Judy remembered, “but we thought it would be better to leave her house the way it was and buy everything new. Of course we couldn’t replace the beautiful fruitwood bench Dad had in his reception room or the lady table. That was a lovely period piece that had been in the Bolton family for generations.”

“What period?” asked Holly, who was something of an expert on antique furniture. She once had lived with a cousin who collected antique glassware.

“Empire, I believe.”

“Empire furniture is valuable. Usually it’s pretty solid, too. Why did you call it the lady table?” Holly wanted to know.

“That’s the name I gave it when I was a little girl. There were ladies carved on the legs. They held the marble table top on their heads. They had such quiet, patient faces.”

Now Judy was thinking back in spite of herself.

It had been exciting, furnishing the so-called Haunted House in Farringdon and exposing its “ghosts.” New furniture had been bought, and a few good antiques had been discovered in out-of-the-way shops. Dr. Bolton’s massive oak desk was one such piece. Judy’s dresser with the secret drawer was another. Buying it all by herself had been a real adventure. Only gradually had she come to realize their loss.

Judy’s thoughts broke off as she suddenly stopped the car. They had been driving through a small town to the north of Farringdon. A dingy row of gray houses lined the road. Some of their porches had been sheared off in order to widen the highway, and some had been made into shops. Judy had noticed one of the signs:

H. SAMMIS
Antiques, Used Furniture Bought and Sold

“And there’s a green car in the driveway!” exclaimed Holly. “Oh, Judy! Luck is with us after all. That boy may be inside right now trying to sell my typewriter!”