The next day, Nancy recounted the events of the fire to her concerned friends as they walked out to the lawn.

"I wish you had woken me," said Bess. "I want to write about it from first-hand experience."

"What are you talking about, Bess?"

"Oh, she's keeping notes on the case for her journal," explained George.

"Now I can't stay on the front lawn. It just reeks of smoke out here." Jesse didn't show it but Nancy wondered if he wasn't just a bit concerned over his own safety.

In the area consumed by the fire they could see two blackened but intact sticks. "Fortunately, whoever threw those aimed well away from the tent." Nancy turned to Jesse. "They only wanted to scare you, not kill you."

"Either that or they have bad aim." Jesse bravely managed to make light of things.

"Do you think it could have been a person you asked about Bat Cave?"

"Maybe, but people have seen me walking on the trails, looking at the ground. They could have guessed."

"I don't know about you but I'm not so easily put off a case," said a determined George. "And neither is Bess. She's watched every episode of 'Scooby Doo' dozens of times. She doesn't scare easily."

Back inside, Nancy returned to their discussion of the missing gold. "So, it turns out the writer of the booklet Jesse mentioned is our neighbor, Mr. Podmore."

"Oh, I've been so dumb!" Jesse grimaced. "I should have thought of looking Podmore up. It couldn't have been hard to find him in a place as small as this. He might know more than he put in the book."

"He's also president of the island historical society," said Bess. "I saw a notice for a meeting pinned up on a bulletin board."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" asked George. "Let's go see him."

The girls were already acquainted with the Broad Harbour General Store. They had raided its ice cream cooler when they felt the need to cool off after a hot afternoon in the sun. "They've got mango-kiwifruit creamsicles, my favorite!" enthused George.

"And double chocolate fudge ice cream sandwiches!" added Bess.

The store was surprisingly deep. Past the long aisles of groceries were shelves piled to the ceiling with hardware. Horace had told them that the island residents usually planned grocery shopping trips to neighboring Haine Island where there was a conventional supermarket, but with waits for the ferry that would take most of the day.

Nancy asked one of the girls at the counter if Mr. Podmore was available. He soon came out. Mr. Podmore was a man in his fifties, with short, reddish-brown hair combed over a shiny bald area at the top of his head. He liked wearing dress short-sleeve shirts that revealed his muscular forearms.

"Hello. It's Nancy, isn't it? What can I do for you?"

"We had some questions to ask you about local history."

"You've come to the right person. I'm president of the Southern Islands Historical Society, you know. You might think that a tiny island like this wouldn't have much of a history to speak of, but I think this community has a right to take pride in its past. There were some strong-willed pioneers who began settlement on this island. They were rugged individualists, I guess you could say. There aren't many people like that nowadays." Mr. Podmore was evidently only getting warmed up on his favorite subject. He leaned back on his high stool. The girls looked around for a place to sit in case this was going to be a long lecture, which it showed signs of becoming, but were disappointed they couldn't see any. Only Ivy managed to climb up onto the end of a counter. George leaned awkwardly against the shelves and pretended to be comfortable. Jesse was too focused on what was being said to give a thought to discomfort. Mr. Podmore carried on. "Of course this was always a pleasant, mild place. It wasn't like bunkering down for a winter in minus forty degree temperatures! No, but it was a bit isolated."

"Mr. Podmore," Ivy interrupted, "do you know about this prospector who left a sack of gold nuggets on the island?"

Mr. Podmore chuckled. "So, you've already heard that story, huh? The famous Orville Gillespie, a prospector who came north for the Klondike Gold Rush, in the 1880's. Anyway, it was said that he made a fortune. He came back to settle on the mainland but after a few years decided to live on this island. Maybe he got used to the simple life while up north. So he was one of the early settlers here. Didn't the young fellow mention that I wrote a booklet on the subject of the early settlement of Catriola Island? It's for sale on the ferries, if you're interested. Anyway, Gillespie was a frugal sort, apparently, and he lived a very plain life. I guess that's why people thought he must still have had a fortune in gold when he died. He didn't have any children, at least none that people knew of."

"So what happened to his gold?"

"Nobody knows. Say, you're a Fisk, aren't you?"

"I'm Ivy Fisk."

"So, your father is the grandson of Cyrus Fisk?" Ivy nodded. "Orville Gillespie's cabin is on your family's property," he muttered, as much to himself as to the girls.

"What about the cave where he hid the gold?"

Mr. Podmore grinned. "Well, if anybody knew where that was, it would have been Cyrus Fisk. He spent almost all of his life here."

"But even if he knew, how does that help us?" asked Ivy.

"Maybe he left a map. Maybe he hoped that some day his great-granddaughter could come along and find the treasure."

It seemed to a good time for Jesse and the girls to thank Mr. Podmore for his time and excuse themselves. They walked back to Ivy's house.

"Did you see the color of his hair? If that's natural, I'm Cleopatra," said George.

"You should have gone to that past life regression thing. Maybe you were," Nancy joked.

Jesse didn't look particularly pleased with the interview. "I don't think he's telling us everything. He's having a little fun with us. Can't you tell by that grin?"