Besides, my errand now looked hopeless. I had covered, as well as I could with company along, all the territory from the house to the bridge, and some of it beyond the bridge, and I could take a look at the rest of it on the way out.
Madeline was manipulating a blade of grass with her teeth, which were even and white but not ostentatious. “I'm tired and hungry,” she stated. “You'll have to carry me home.” “Okay.” I got to my feet. “If it starts me breathing fast and deep don't misunderstand.” “I will.” She tilted her head back to look up at me. “But first why don't you tell me what you've been looking for? Do you think for one minute I'd have kept panting around with you all morning if I had thought it was only a card case?” “You haven't panted once. What's wrong with a card case?” “Nothing.” She spat out the blade of grass. There's nothing wrong with my eyes, either. Haven't I seen you? Half the time you've been darting into places where you couldn't possibly have lost a card or anything else. When we came down the bank to the brook I expected you to start looking under stones.” She waved a hand. “There's thousands of 'em. Go to it' She sprang to her feet and shook out her skirt. “But carry me home first And on the way you'll tell me what you've been looking for or I'll tear your picture out of my scrapbook.” “Maybe we can make a deal,” I offered. “I'll tell you what I've been looking for if you'll tell me what your idea was on Tuesday afternoon. You may remember that you might have seen or heard something on Monday evening that could have given you a notion about someone using my car, but you wouldn't tell me because you wanted to save your father some dough. That reason no longer holds, so why not tell me now?” She smiled down at me. “You never let go, do you? Certainly I'll tell you. I saw Webster Kane on the terrace about that time, and if he hadn't used the car himself I thought he might have seen someone going to it or coming back.” “No sale. Try again.” “But that was it!” “Oh, sure it was.” I got to my feet. “It's lucky it happened to be Kane who signed that statement. You're a very lucky girl. I think I'll have to choke you.
I'll count three. One, two-” She sprinted up the bank and waited for me at the top. Going back up the drive, she got fairly caustic because I insisted that all I had come for was the card case, but when we reached the parking plaza and I had the door of the car open, she gave that up to end on the note she had greeted me with. She came close, ran a fingertip gently down the line of my scratch, and demanded, “Tell me who did that, Archie. I'm jealous!” “Some day,” I said, climbing in and pushing the starter button, “I'll tell you everything from the cradle on.” “Honest?” “Yes, ma'am.” I rolled away.
As I steered the curves down the drive my mind was on several things at once.
One was a record just set by a woman. I had been with Madeline three hours and she hadn't tried to pump me with a single question about what Wolfe was up to.
For that she deserved some kind of a mark, and I filed it under unfinished business. Another was a check on a point that Wolfe had raised. The brook made a good deal of noise. It wasn't the kind you noticed unless you listened, but it was loud enough so that if you were only twenty feet from the bridge, walking up the drive, and it was nearly dark, you might not hear a car coming down the drive until it was right on you. That was a point in support of Webster Kane's confession, and therefore a step backward instead of forward, but it would have to be reported to Wolfe.
However, the thing in the front of my mind was Madeline's remark that she had expected me to start looking under stones. It should have occurred to me before, but anyway it had now, and, not being prejudiced like Wolfe, I don't resent getting a tip from a woman. So I went on through the entrance on to the public highway, parked the car at the roadside, got a magnifying glass from the medicine case, walked back up the drive to the bridge, and stepped down the bank to the edge of the brook.
There certainly were thousands of stones, all shapes and sizes, some partly under water, more along the edge and on the bank. I shook my head. It was a perfectly good idea, but there was only one of me and I was no expert I moved to a new position and looked some more. The stones that were in the water all had smooth surfaces, and the high ones were dry and light-coloured, and the low ones were dark and wet and slippery. Those on the bank, beyond the water, were also smooth and dry and light-coloured until they got up to a certain level, where there was an abrupt change and they were rough and much darker-a greenish grey.
Of course the dividing line was the level of the water in the spring when the brook was up.
Good for you, I thought, you've made one hell of a discovery and now you're a geologist. All you have to do now is put every damn rock under the glass, and along about Labour Day you'll be ready to report. Ignoring my sarcasm, I went on looking. I moved along the edge of the brook, stepping on stones, until I was underneath the bridge, stood there a while, and moved again, upstream from the bridge. By that time my eyes had caught on to the idea and I didn't have to keep reminding them.
It was there, ten feet up from the bridge, that I found it. It was only a few inches from the water's edge, and was cuddled in a nest of larger stones, half hidden, but when I had once spotted it it was as conspicuous as a scratched cheek. About the size of a coconut, and something like one in shape, it was rough and greenish grey, whereas all its neighbours were smooth and light-coloured. I was so excited I stood and gawked at it for ten seconds, and when I moved, with my eyes glued on it for fear it would take a hop, I stepped on a wiggler and nearly took a header into the brook.
One thing sure, that rock hadn't been there long.
I bent over double so as to use both hands to pick it up, touching it only with the tips of four fingers, and straightened to take a look. The best bet would of course be prints, but one glance showed that to be an outside chance. It was rough all over, hundreds of little indentations, with not a smooth spot anywhere. But I still held it with my fingertips, because while prints had been the best bet they were by no means the only one. I was starting to turn, to move away from the brook for a better footing, when a voice came from right behind me.
“Looking for hellgrammites?” I swivelled my head. It was Connie Emerson. She was close enough to reach me with a stretched arm, which would have meant that she was an expert at the silent approach, if it hadn't been for the noise of the brook.
I grinned at the clear strong blue of her eyes. “No, I'm after gold.” “Really? Let me see-” She took a step, lit on a stone with a bad angle, gave a little squeal, and toppled into me. Not being firmly based, over I went, and I went clear down because I spent the first tenth of a second trying to keep my fingertip hold on my prize, but I lost it anyway. When I bounced up to a sitting position Connie was sprawled flat, but her head was up and she was stretching an arm in a long reach for something, and she was getting it. My greenish grey stone had landed less than a foot from the water, and her fingers were ready to close on it. I hate to suspect a blue-eyed blonde of guile, but if she had it in mind to toss that stone in the water to see it splash all she needed was another two seconds, so I did a headlong slide over the rocks and brought the side of my hand down on her forearm. She let out a yell and jerked the arm back. I scrambled up and got erect, with my left foot planted firmly in front of my stone.
She sat up, gripping her forearm with her other hand, glaring at me. “You big ape, are you crazy?” she demanded.
