“Never mind, Patsy,” said Katharine. “We’ll ride in it, even if it is old.”
“There’s where we’re going this afternoon,” remarked Patricia a few minutes later, pointing down a side street; “you can see the baseball park from here.”
Long before the game started, they were in their seats watching the crowds pour into the stands.
Patricia, who sat beside Craig, soon noticed that he was scanning faces with more than casual interest. When he pulled out a pair of opera glasses with which to view the opposite stands, her curiosity got the better of her.
“Looking for someone special?” she inquired, making pleats in her handkerchief.
“Yes.” He moved closer, put his head down, and spoke softly. “We got a tip that the principal in the Brock affair might be around here, and my chief sent me out to see what I could pick up. Keep it under your hat, though.”
“Of course,” breathed Patricia, quivering with excitement.
“Come home to dinner with us?” asked Patricia, when the game was over and they were headed for the parking station.
Craig shook his head. “Like to a lot, but I want to look around a bit more tonight; so I’ll eat in a one-arm lunch that I know about where perhaps I’ll overhear something. Thanks a lot.”
“If you’d care to come, suppose you make it tomorrow instead. We have dinner at one on Sundays.”
“I’ll be glad to come then.”
“Any luck?” Patricia inquired, as she met Craig in the hall of her own home the next noon.
“Not a bit,” looking so dejected that Patricia could hardly keep from smiling.
“Too bad; but don’t be quite so downcast.”
“Good advice; perhaps I’ll run across something on the train. You get into a conversation with strangers, and oftentimes a clew slips out.”
Dinner was a hilarious affair. Craig exerted himself to be entertaining, and Katharine had a silly streak which kept the company in gales of laughter.
“Hate to break away,” said Craig, looking at his watch after they finished their coffee before the fireplace in the living room.
The day had turned cool, and a wood fire was very welcome. “This is awfully cozy,” he went on; “but my train goes in twenty minutes.”
“Why don’t you let Pat tuck you into her machine, and go back with the girls?” suggested Mr. Randall.
“Like nothing better,” replied Craig, unfolding his long body slowly as he rose reluctantly from a big easy chair; “but I have my return ticket, and ‘Waste not, want not’ is one of my mottoes.”
“See you when you get back to town,” were his last words to Patricia, after taking leave of the rest of the party.
“Very likely,” she replied carelessly.
Had she been wise in inviting the boy to her house? She wondered, closing the door. He was inclined to be a bit possessive and might think she was more interested in him than she really was. But the end of the college year was fast approaching, and with it a breaking off of many Granard associations. Her face was very sober as she rejoined the group in front of the fire; for the fear of not being able to go back next fall was a very poignant one.
“What’s the matter, Pat?” inquired Katharine bluntly. “You look as if you’d just buried your last friend.”
“Haven’t,” replied the girl, perching on the arm of her father’s chair, and twisting his hair into a Kewpie knot.
“Pat always looks like that when it’s time to leave home,” commented Mrs. Randall, after a searching glance at her daughter.
“I don’t mean to appear inhospitable—” began Mr. Randall.
“But you think we should be on our way,” finished Patricia, “so as not to be on the road long after dark.”
“Well, you know it always takes longer than you expect.”
“Yes, darling; we’ll get started. Come, girls, get your things together.”
When they were about twenty-five miles from home, Patricia gazed anxiously ahead at a bank of dark clouds, rapidly spreading all across the sky. “Afraid we’re going to run into a storm, girls.”
“As long as it isn’t a thunder storm,” began Anne, in a worried tone.
“Safe enough in a car if you keep out from under trees,” commented Katharine.
“Can’t, if you happen to be in the woods,” objected Jane, who was watching the clouds gathering so rapidly.
“We’re not going to be in the woods,” said Patricia. “We’ll strike the storm long before we reach them.”
As she spoke a wave of chill wind swept across the country as the darkness shut down like the cover of a box, and huge hailstones began to bounce off the hood and patter on the top of the car with such force that it seemed as if they must break through.
CHAPTER XIX
A WEIRD EXPERIENCE
“I’ll have to pull off the road and stop for a while,” declared Patricia. “Trying to drive in this is too nerve racking.”
The shoulder was wide and smooth; so she had no difficulty in finding a safe place to park. In fact, almost any place would have been safe, so far as traffic was concerned; for nearly all drivers stopped to await the end of the storm. For three-quarters of an hour the sky was dark, while hailstones, big and little, pelted down covering the ground with an icy white carpet; then they ceased almost as abruptly as they had begun. The sun was trying to break through the clouds when Patricia started the engine and turned out onto the road again.
“We’ll get as far as we can while it’s pleasant,” she said.
“Why, are we going to have another?” inquired Anne nervously.
“Can’t tell for sure; but the sky looks pretty black ahead of us. Maybe it’s only rain though.”
She was right. Five miles farther on they struck rain which was falling steadily as if it meant to continue indefinitely. The road was crowned and slippery, which made careful driving advisable.
“Good thing your father can’t see us now,” remarked Katharine, as Patricia turned on her headlights.
“Yes, isn’t it? Going to be dark awfully early tonight. I don’t like night driving any better than he does.”
None of the girls liked the prospect of driving the rest of the way in rain and darkness. The little party became a very silent one as time went on, and even Katharine had almost nothing to say. Only the windshield wiper squeaked regularly as it swept back and forth across the wet glass. At Braggs Corners a couple of Boy Scouts stood in the middle of the road directing traffic from Main to Pearl Streets.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Patricia, sticking her head out of the window.
“Bridge washed out. Have to go around by Millersville,” replied the boy.
“At least twenty miles longer than this route,” groaned Patricia; “and not so well traveled. But, no help for it, I guess.”
The new route was indeed a lonesome one—a country road through flat, drenched farm lands, alternating with stretches of dripping woods.
“What’s the matter with the lights, Pat?” inquired Katharine, after they had covered about ten miles.
“Something, certainly, but I don’t know what,” was the worried reply. “They keep going out. I’ll just have to drive as fast as possible while they’re on, and slow down when they go off.”
“Hope they’re on the job while we’re in these woods we’re coming to,” remarked Anne, eyeing the dark tree shapes ahead with no inconsiderable apprehension.
“They probably will,” said Patricia encouragingly; “and I think Millersville must be on the other side of them. I’ll stop there and have the lights fixed.”
The girls sat with bated breath as they plunged into the gloomy woods, but all went well until they had nearly reached the last of the trees. Suddenly the lights flickered out, and there was a terrific bump which jarred startled cries out of all of the passengers.
“What on earth was that?” demanded Jane, as Patricia slowed up.
“A hole, I suppose,” replied Patricia with feig
ned carelessness.
“Then it must have been an out-growing hole,” said Anne, rubbing her elbow which had come into sharp contact with the window frame. “It felt as if we went over an elephant.”
“More likely the limb of a tree,” declared Katharine.
“Well, whatever it was, it can stay there,” declared Patricia. “I’m not going back to see. There are lights ahead, and I’m quite sure we’re almost in Millersville.”
“Hurrah!” cried Katharine, clapping her hands.
With great care Patricia drove her dark car into the little town, and stopped at the first garage she came to.
“Drive right in,” directed the mechanic who came out to see what they wanted.
Inside the garage, the girls all got out of the car and walked around while Patricia explained her difficulties. After a hasty examination, the man stood up facing Patricia sternly.
“Lady, there’s blood and part of a man’s clothing on your car! You must have run over someone.”
“Of course I didn’t!” began Patricia indignantly; then stopped short, clutching the fender to steady herself.
“Look here!” persisted the man.
Patricia forced herself to walk around to the other side of the car, and saw a strand of grey cloth twisted in the wheel, and stains on the body of her car. They were partly washed off by the rain, but enough remained to show that it was blood.
“That awful bump,” offered Anne incoherently.
“Didn’t feel big enough for a man,” objected Katharine.
“What shall I do?” cried Patricia, biting her lips to keep from crying.
“Better report it at the station, and get an officer to go back with you,” advised the man. “I’ll fix your lights; then you drive on one block and you’ll see the station.”
“Would you go up with us and tell your part of the story?” begged Patricia, feeling very much in need of male support in such an emergency.
“Sure,” was the hearty response. “I’ll walk up and be there as soon as you are.”
“Never mind, Pat,” said Katharine consolingly. “You’ve got to run over somebody sometime, and now it’s over.”
Patricia shivered.
The mechanic was as good as his word, and when the frightened girls entered the police station, he was leaning on the desk in earnest conversation with the officer on duty. The few questions which were put to Patricia and her friends were answered so promptly and frankly that they made a most favorable impression; and in twenty minutes, Patricia, was driving back to the woods with a pleasant young policeman sitting beside her. The mechanic and the coroner followed in a small truck.
“There is something!” cried Katharine, as they approached the scene of the jolting, and the headlights showed a dark bundle toward one side of the road. Patricia shuddered as she saw that it was the figure of a man. As soon as she had come to a stop, the policeman leaped out and bent over the prone figure. With the help of the coroner he rolled the body onto its back, and made a hasty examination while the white-faced, trembling girls watched from the car.
“You ran over him all right,” called the officer.
Patricia gave a frightened gasp and clutched the wheel tightly to save herself from succumbing to a wave of dizziness which swept over her.
“But,” he continued, “you didn’t kill him. Somebody evidently stabbed and left him here. His partner, no doubt. Probably took whatever he had on him, too.”
Patricia breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.
“I thought so,” continued the officer, as he hastily ran his fingers through the pockets of the dead man, and found nothing. “Cleaned out.”
“We’d better get him on the truck and take him to the morgue,” said the coroner. “Give us a hand, Jones,” to the mechanic. “Drive ahead a little, lady, and give us more room.”
Patricia moved on a few feet and discovered that there was not space enough in that particular spot to turn around; so she proceeded slowly until she came to a place where the trees were a little farther back from the road.
“Think you can make it?” inquired Jane, lowering the window to watch the tree trunks on her side of the car.
“By going off the road a bit; it looks fairly level here.”
It took some maneuvering to get the car headed in the opposite direction, and Patricia’s arms ached before the feat was finally accomplished. Suddenly she stopped the machine, opened the door, and jumped out.
“What on earth is the matter now?” called Jane, sliding over the driver’s seat and sticking her head out of the open door.
Patricia, who was stooping over something a few feet ahead, in the glare of the headlights, made no reply.
“Don’t tell me there’s another man!” wailed Anne, covering her face.
“No, no!” assured Katharine, patting Anne soothingly. “Nothing so big as that. What did you find, Pat?” as the girl ran back to her companions.
“Look!” she cried, stumbling into her seat, and holding up a glistening object.
“A watch!” exclaimed the girls in chorus.
“Yes, and it’s Mrs. Brock’s grandfather’s watch!” Her words fairly tumbled over one another in her excitement. “At least it answers to the description given in the papers.”
“Oh, Pat, you lucky girl!” ejaculated Jane, hugging her.
“It was right under the headlights. The man’s pal must have dropped it!”
“Heavens! Maybe he’s still around here!” shuddered Anne, as a dire thought occurred to her.
“Never thought of that!” admitted Patricia, starting the car again.
“Never fear!” asserted Katharine. “A criminal may return to the scene of his crime, but he never stays there.”
“Better go back and tell the men, Pat,” advised Jane sensibly.
In a minute or two the girls were tumbling out of the car, all talking at once to the officer who was standing in the road waiting for them to return. The body had been placed in the truck, and the coroner and Jones were ready to start off.
“One at a time!” pleaded Policeman Tyne, covering his ears with his big hands.
The other three girls stopped immediately, and allowed Patricia to tell the story without interruption.
“Must have lost this when he dodged into the woods,” remarked the coroner, who, with Jones, had left the truck and rejoined the group.
“Suppose perhaps he’s keeping under cover not too far from here,” said the officer.
“Going in the woods to look for him?” inquired the coroner.
“Not the least use in the world,” offered Jones promptly. “You’d never find your way around in there at night. It’s bad enough in the daytime. I got lost in there once. You’d just be a target for him, officer,” he added, as Tyne hesitated.
“He’s probably miles away by now, anyhow. We have no means of knowing when the crime was committed. We’ll go back, I guess, and I’ll make my report; then all surrounding towns and roads will be watched. Ready, girls?”
“Congratulations, Pat!” said Anne, generously, as they started off. “I’m awfully glad that you’ll get the reward.”
“I don’t know—” began Patricia doubtfully, watching the road closely.
“You will,” said the policeman. “You found it. Of course it will be held up for a while until after the investigation, but then you can claim it. Maybe there’ll be a reward for that fellow, too,” nodding toward the truck. “I’m pretty sure he’s Crack Mayne.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Patricia. “He’s—” then stopped abruptly.
“He’s what?” demanded Frank Tyne suspiciously.
Patricia forced an unsteady laugh, then told the story of Jack’s and her adventure in the woods. The man shook with amusement over the trooper’s mistake.
“So they took you for ‘Angel’ and your friend for Crack!” he chuckled. “Wait till I tell the boys that story.”
“Who on earth is ‘Crack’ and what did he do?” demanded Katharine.
>
“He’s an A-1 burglar, Miss. Wanted for lots of jobs, but he’s so d— blamed clever that nobody’s been able to lay hands on him. They say he comes of a good family; sort of black sheep, you know. Somebody said he has a sister living in Granard; of course that may be just talk. He was in town a couple of times last winter; that we know.”
“Lock up your class pin, Anne,” laughed Jane, as Anne’s eyes grew bigger and bigger.
“Yes, he might try the dorm next,” giggled Patricia.
“I have a horror of burglars. Imagine! Waking up to find one in your room. Ugh!” shuddered Anne.
“But he’s dead, you geese!” Katharine reminded them.
“That’s so,” sighed Anne with such evident relief that they all laughed.
“I’ll bet that’s who Craig was looking for,” thought Patricia, as she made the turn into Millersville for the second time.
“How much do you suppose it will be?” asked Katharine suddenly.
“What?”
“The reward, of course.”
The girls laughed a bit hysterically; for the events of the afternoon and evening had been a severe strain on the nerves of everyone. The truck turned down a side street, and as they reached the station the officer got out without waiting for Patricia to come to a full stop.
“Good luck, girls!” he cried, as he slammed the door.
“I’m hoping,” said Patricia soberly, as she put on speed, “that the reward will be enough to help me come back here next year.”
“Why, you’ve just got to come back!” declared Anne emphatically. “We can’t possibly get along without you.”
“I should say not!” agreed Katharine, reaching forward to pinch Patricia’s ear affectionately.
“I do hope you’ll get enough to be of considerable help,” said Jane earnestly.
“Time will tell,” replied Patricia, a bit shakily.
It was wonderful of the girls to be so anxious to keep her in the dear old Gang! She had known, of course, that they liked her; but she had never realized how much until she saw how shocked they were at the possibility of her not being able to return next September.
The rain stopped, and traffic was light; so they were able to make good time all the rest of the way. It was about eight-thirty when they drew up in front of Arnold Hall.
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 69