Part 21 (1/2)

”Good idea, Ard! Of course we have time for that. And, anyway, we'd better do it while you still remember the words,” Terry said.

”Oh, don't worry, I won't forget them,” Arden replied with the first show of relief they had felt in some time. ”A Blake never forgets!”

They piled into the car and rode along the deserted road to the village.

The drug store was fortunately empty except for a rather stupid-looking boy clerk.

Arden entered the phone booth, and her chums crowded around her. They waited impatiently for the really short interval it took to make the connection with the New York office. As the clear sharp voice of the girl sang out ”Information,” Arden explained the difficulty.

”We are trying to get the phone number of an address in New York,” she said, ”but we've torn the paper. I'll give you as much as I can. Do you think you can help us?”

”Sorry, madam,” came the voice, ”but I can't possibly trace the name.”

Arden hung up and turned sorrowfully toward her friends.

”I might have known it,” she said. ”Of course we couldn't do anything that way. It was a desperate chance at best.”

”Too bad, Arden,” Terry soothed. ”I still think it was a good idea. But let's get out of here; our young friend,” she indicated the curious clerk, ”is awfully interested in us.”

”We'd better be starting for home, anyway,” Arden suggested. ”Your mother might worry.”

So they left the little village, which was quite deserted now in the late afternoon, and wearily put the car away for the night in the garage of the little white house.

Mrs. Landry was interested to learn all that had happened, and urged them to keep up their spirits. Somewhat woefully, the girls smiled at her and agreed at least to try further.

After the evening meal, when they gathered in the living room, Arden and Sim decided to write letters home but thought it best not to mention the new ”mystery.”

Arden sat at the small wicker desk, pen and paper before her, and got as far as ”Dearest Mother.” But her mind was far away and after this auspicious beginning she looked up from the paper dreamily.

Poor Dimitri! Where could he be? And Olga-and the paper and the snuffbox.

Then Arden, drawing a line through the beginning of her letter, wrote down the queer words from the envelope.

_Ser_ _Ninth S_ _New Y_

What could that possibly be? What man's name began with the letters S E R?

”Terry,” Arden said suddenly, ”have you a dictionary here? One that would have proper names in it?”

”I have one that I brought down with some books from Cedar Ridge. Will that help you?” Terry replied.

”Get it, will you, please,” Arden continued. ”I'm going to try and work out this puzzle and send a telegram to an address. If it isn't delivered, we'll know it's no good. I'd rather spend the last of my allowance that way than on candy.”

”Swell plan, Arden!” Sim exclaimed. ”Get the trusty dictionary, Terry, and let's start to work.”

Terry dashed up the stairs and rummaged hurriedly in the pile of almost forgotten college books in her room and at length returned carrying the volume.

Arden flicked back the flimsy pages and ran her hand down the line.

There were biblical first names as well as Greek and Latin ones, and Arden was somewhat at sea as she murmured:

Serah Seraphim Sered Seres Sergia Sergius Seriah Seron Serug