Read Online Arrow Pointing Nowhere by Elizabeth Daly - Free Book Online Page A

Fenway’s tone was light, but she seemed to take the matter seriously; and Craddock, at the mention of the absent Hilda, had raised his head. His dark eyes moved from one speaker to the other, and back again.
    â€œI think myself that it must be lonely for her.” Blake Fenway looked perturbed.
    â€œIsn’t she supposed to like it there?” Caroline’s eyes were on the tip of her cigarette.
    â€œNow, that’s nonsense,” said Mrs. Fenway cheerfully. “No girl of her age could possibly like it; and I cannot see why the boys at least shouldn’t go up for weekends. It’s too absurd. Hilda is your secretary, Blake, and the Dobsons are fellow employees; she’s part of the staff.”
    Craddock was heard to mutter that Hilda liked to ski.
    â€œOf course she does. Why shouldn’t you all ski?”
    Caroline drily remarked that perhaps Mrs. Grove might have an opinion on the subject.
    Gamadge heard that lady’s voice for the first time. It was a small, dry, clear voice. It said: “I can safely leave the decision to Mr. Fenway.”
    â€œYes.” Caroline glanced at her. “And we all know very well what it will be; exactly what it would be if I were nineteen and in Hilda’s place. Won’t it, Father?”
    â€œWhy not, my dear?”
    Mrs. Fenway smiled roguishly at Gamadge. “I’m in a minority, it seems. But I’m always on the side of the young people, you know.”
    Mott Fenway said that it was dusty work for the little girl, sorting out old books and papers; and went on to introduce a subject which Blake Fenway had apparently not intended to discuss with the family that afternoon. “Wonder what else will turn up missing.” He looked at the guest. “Mysterious disappearance of a house, Mr. Gamadge.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œPicture of our old house, torn out of its book.”
    â€œOh; yes. I saw the place where it had been.”
    â€œWas it valuable, do you think?” asked Mrs. Fenway. “Could somebody have got money for it? I mean some unscrupulous guest, of course; if such there ever can have been at Fenbrook!”
    â€œOr the unscrupulous servant of a visiting guest,” said Mott.
    â€œDo you think it could have been sold for anything much, Mr. Gamadge?” asked Mrs. Fenway.
    â€œThe set of books is worth a tidy sum; if you call seventy-five to a hundred dollars a tidy sum,” said Gamadge. “I’m only guessing, you know.”
    â€œA tidy sum,” smiled Mott Fenway.
    â€œThe plate alone, no; I should think little or nothing.” Young Craddock said: “I know a fellow who papered a room with them.”
    â€œWith what?” asked Caroline.
    â€œOld portraits and views. Bought ’em up for five cents apiece, and pasted ’em up. Very nice, unusual.”
    â€œFenbrook wasn’t pasted up,” smiled Mott. “But we might paste up some of the ancient bills and documents.”
    â€œOh no,” protested Mrs. Fenway, closing her eyes. “There’s just one thing to do with old papers, and that’s to throw them away—throw them away!”
    Gamadge shuddered, Fenway shuddered, and Mott sympathetically smiled. Caroline said: “I wish we could get the thing back. I wish Mr. Gamadge would concentrate on it. Then we’ll give you something you want, won’t we, Father? If we have it. Perhaps there’s a first edition of somebody up at Fenbrook still.”
    Gamadge, rising, said that if they came across the Trollope he was looking for, he was in the market.
    â€œWhat Trollope?” Caroline got out of her chair when the men stood up.
    â€œ He Knew He Was Right .”
    â€œA grimmer book never was written,” said Mott.
    â€œBut it has a message!”
    Everybody laughed except Craddock and Alden Fenway. Alden had risen when Craddock did, and stood as if amiably waiting for the moment when he could sit down again.