“Let’s walk down to the Coffee Shoppe and get some supper before we go in,” proposed Katharine. “If the girls once get hold of us we’ll never get out again; and I’m starved.”
“A good idea,” agreed Jane.
“Are you going to tell the Gang all about our adventures?” inquired Anne, as they walked the short distance down the street.
“Why, I thought so,” replied Patricia. “Why not?”
“Just as well,” counseled Jane. “They’ll see it in the papers, or hear it some way; and they would think it queer that we said nothing about it.”
“There’s Rhoda!” exclaimed Katharine, as they entered the restaurant. “Let’s go and sit with her. She looks lonesome.”
“Hello, Rhoda,” said Jane, sliding into the seat beside the surprised maid, while the other three girls squeezed into the seat on the opposite side of the table. “Haven’t finished, have you?”
“No; just beginning.”
“Good!” approved Anne. “Eat slowly until we get our supper.”
Rhoda obediently laid down her knife and fork, while the girls ordered; then she asked: “Did you miss your supper at the Hall?”
“I’ll say we did!” said Katharine fervently.
“We had the most exciting time!” cried Anne.
“And Rhoda,” interrupted Patricia, leaning across the table to whisper confidentially—“Just think; I found Mrs. Brock’s watch!”
“Miss Randall!” gasped the maid. “Wherever—”
“Listen!” And Patricia plunged into the story, aided by various comments from her companions. Rhoda’s eyes widened, and a deep flush crept across her face as the tale reached the discovery of the dead man.
“How—awful!” she faltered. “What—what did he look like?”
“We didn’t look at him,” responded Katharine; “but the officer thought—” she broke off abruptly, silenced by a sharp touch of Patricia’s sturdy shoe.
“We were scared to death,” interrupted Patricia hurriedly, “and glad to have a chance to leave the scene for a few minutes. And wasn’t it lucky that I had to go farther on to turn around?” Rapidly, excitedly, she proceeded to the finding of the watch.
“Now let’s eat,” proposed Katharine, when Patricia paused for breath at the end of the tale.
Rhoda merely played with her food, and drank two cups of strong coffee, while she waited for the girls to finish their meal. Then they all strolled slowly back to the Hall together. The moon had come up, and was shining through the lacy foliage of the trees, making delicate patterns on the walks.
“Why the kick?” whispered Katharine to Patricia as they fell back of the others, to let some people pass in the opposite direction.
“We don’t know for sure who the man was,” said Patricia; “and it seems to me it’s better not to mention names. Let that come out in the papers first.”
“You’re probably right, Miss Prudence,” laughed Katharine; “but don’t go quite so heavy on the kicks hereafter.”
There was bedlam in Arnold Hall when the girls told their story to the Alley Gang and Mrs. Vincent in the big parlor. Students from the second floor hung over the stair railings to listen in; and before the subject was exhausted, Ted Carter, Craig Denton, and Jack Dunn walked in. Then everything had to be gone over again.
Suddenly the outside door was flung open impatiently, and Mrs. Brock walked in and stood viewing the crowd.
CHAPTER XX
THE REWARD
For an instant nobody spoke or moved; then Mrs. Vincent got up and crossed the room to greet the unexpected visitor.
“Won’t you come in and sit down, Mrs. Brock?” she asked, pulling forward a rocking chair which Katharine had just vacated.
“Not going to stay, thank you,” was the crisp response. “Just came after my watch.”
“How the dickens did she know that it had been found?” whispered Anne to Frances, who was standing beside her on the opposite side of the room.
“Can’t imagine,” began Frances; then stopped short, as Jane, who had heard the question, looked back and formed the one word “Rhoda” with her lips.
“Well, where is it?” demanded the old lady, looking at Patricia as if she suspected her of having sold it for old gold.
“It’s at the police station in Millersville, Mrs. Brock,” replied Patricia.
“That’s fine!” commented the old lady sarcastically. “Whatever possessed you to let it out of your hands?”
“Why, I had to,” faltered Patricia, somewhat timidly. This fierce old lady was enough to intimidate a far bolder person than Patricia.
“Had to! Had to!” began the caller, when Jack spoke up in order to shield Patricia a little.
“The police take charge of all articles until after a case is settled.”
“Oh, they do, do they? And who are you?”
“Jack Dunn,” replied the boy, flushing at the bluntness of the question.
Mrs. Brock gazed at him fixedly for a full minute; then wheeled about and started for the door.
“Won’t you stay a while, and have a cup of tea with us?” asked Mrs. Vincent hospitably.
“No, thanks,” was the curt reply. “I get tea enough at home.”
The door opened and closed, and she was gone.
“Did you ever!” exclaimed Katharine.
“Never!” responded Jane promptly.
“Not a word about the reward, either,” lamented Anne.
“Hope she doesn’t forget all about it after she gets the watch back,” remarked Frances.
“Why, Frances,” interposed Patricia reprovingly.
“Well, she’s so queer, who can tell what she’s likely to do.”
“Let’s forget about her and have that tea you mentioned a minute ago, Mrs. Vincent,” suggested Ted.
“And while you’re getting it ready, we’ll run out and get some cakes or something to go with it,” proposed Craig. “Come along, fellows.”
Mrs. Vincent good-naturedly waived the ten-thirty rule, and the rest of the evening passed happily. So exhausted was everyone by excitement and merriment, that heads were hardly on the pillows when their owners were sound asleep. Only Rhoda tossed restlessly, and fearfully awaited the morrow.
Monday morning’s paper contained a full account of the discovery of “Crack” Mayne on a lonely detour by several Granard students who were returning to college after a week end out of town.
“Bless his heart!” cried Patricia, as she read rapidly through the article.
“Whose!” inquired Anne. “Crack’s?”
“No; Craig’s. I begged him to keep our names out of the paper, but I was afraid he wouldn’t. You know reporters just can’t help using everything they can get hold of.”
“He owed you something, I should think, for telephoning him the story right away for his paper. He got a—what do they call it?”
“Scoop!” said Patricia, smiling at the recollection of Craig’s fervent, “You darling girl!” when she had called him up from the Hall as soon as they got in the night before. “He was especially sporting about it, since he was on the trail of Crack himself when we met him at home.”
“He was? Now if he’d only come with us instead of going by train!”
“That’s what he said.”
The evening paper was not so considerate, and the names of all the girls were mentioned, along with the finding of the famous watch by Patricia Randall who would, the paper stated, receive the reward offered by Mrs. Brock. All four girls would share in the $500 reward offered for the capture of the burglar.
“Capture is good!” jeered Katharine, as the Gang was poring over the paper in Jane’s room. “Anybody could capture a dead man.”
“Well,” said Frances belligerently, “if Pat hadn’t run over him you’d never—”
The rest of her remark was drowned by a burst of laughter; for Frances’ hostility was as funny as that of a small kitten who arches her back at imaginary foes.
A cou
ple of days later, when the Gang came in from lunch, Rhoda handed Patricia an envelope.
“This was left for you this morning,” she explained.
“Thank you, Rhoda,” said Patricia, smiling in her usual friendly fashion; but there was no answering smile on the maid’s grave face.
“What’s the matter with Rhoda?” asked Anne, as they went on down the hall to Patricia’s room.
“I don’t know; she isn’t a bit like herself, and sometimes she looks as if she’d been crying. I wish I knew what’s troubling her.”
“Yes; perhaps we could do something.”
But what was disturbing Rhoda would never be revealed to the inmates of Arnold Hall. Little did they suspect that “Crack” Mayne was their maid’s brother; that he had been the one to rob Mrs. Brock of her money and jewelry; and that, maddened by his sister’s refusal to give him access to the Hall, he had, in a spirit of revenge, set fire to it. That was information which Rhoda would keep strictly to herself. Sorrow for her brother’s violent death was tempered by relief that no longer need she shiver with fear each night as she wondered where he was and what he was doing.
“Open it quick,” begged Anne, when they were safely inside Patricia’s room.
Tearing open the envelope, she drew out a sheet of note paper upon which was written in an old-fashioned cramped hand: “The promised reward for finding my watch.” Inside the double sheet were laid five ten dollar bills.
“Congratulations!” cried Anne, jumping up from the bed and flinging open the door. “Girls,” she called to the corridor at large, “Pat’s got her reward!”
From all the rooms on that floor flocked various members of the Gang to gather joyfully around Patricia, exclaiming over the crisp new bills as happily as if they were the property of each individual there.
“You’ll have to go over and thank Mrs. Brock, Pat,” declared Katharine mischievously.
“I shall express my gratitude in a very formal, but sincere, note,” replied Patricia, tucking the bills into her hand bag.
“How are you going to spend it!” inquired Clarice, who was wandering restlessly around the room, examining articles on dressers and desks.
“I’m not sure. Probably lay it aside for a while.”
“You might donate it to the scholarship fund, and then this house wouldn’t have to take part in the annual entertainment to raise money for it,” suggested Lucile.
“Don’t you do it!” was Frances’ prompt veto. “Spend it on yourself.”
“Speaking of our stunt for the 25th, we’ve got to have a meeting and decide what we are going to do,” declared Jane firmly.
“Let Pat and Jack do that dance they put on the other night,” suggested Anne.
“The very thing! It could be part of a ballet,” agreed Katharine.
“Will you?” asked Jane, as Patricia looked doubtful.
“If Jack will; but maybe he won’t want to.”
“Why not?” demanded Betty.
“I don’t know; but you can never tell what ideas a fellow has about that sort of thing.”
“Well, I hope he agrees to it; for you’re both a peach of a dancer,” commented Katharine.
“Kay! Your English!” objected Frances.
“I don’t care. You know what I mean.”
“Ask Jack today, will you, Pat?” asked Jane. “Then we can build up the rest of our stunt around you two. We’ll need some of the other boys, too; so Jack need not fear being conspicuous.”
“I’ll see him after Shakespeare class,” promised Patricia.
She was as good as her word, and reported to the committee that evening that Jack had accepted, after much urging. Rehearsals began immediately amid great secrecy; for each group tried to keep its contribution to the entertainment a secret until the night it was presented. Besides Patricia, only Anne, Katharine, Hazel and Frances of the Alley Gang were to take part, with Jane as director of the Arnold Hall production.
“There are loads of better actors than we are among the girls upstairs,” was Jane’s reply to Frances’ protest at not having all the Gang in the affair. “And it’s only right to use as many as we can. They think we’re too prominent in the house as it is, and it wouldn’t look well to keep the whole show to ourselves. They have exactly as much right to be in it as we have.”
Frances pouted, flounced out of the room, and disappeared for the rest of the evening.
“What’s the matter with her?” inquired Betty, who had collided with Frances in the doorway.
“Peeved because the whole Gang isn’t to be used in our act.”
“I must confess I thought you had your nerve with you to leave Clarice out,” commented Betty, helping herself to a piece of candy from a box on Jane’s dresser.
“I suppose I have brought down Mrs. Vincent’s disapproval on myself; but while I have nothing against Clarice personally, it seems to me hardly fitting for a girl who is always behind in her studies, and who has been quite so talked about, to represent Arnold Hall in the big entertainment of the year.”
“Jane always stands by her guns,” remarked Anne admiringly, as she shook out the costume she was working on.
“How well I know that,” laughed Ruth. “I have yet to see her back down from any stand she has taken.”
“Well, I hate people who are always changing their minds,” admitted Jane, gazing critically at a poster she was making for the entertainment. “Make a decision, and then stick to it. That’s my motto.”
Nemesis, the goddess of vengeance, who the ancient Greeks believed listened to the boasts of mortals and promptly punished them, must have made a heavy mark against Jane’s name just then.
CHAPTER XXI
PAT’S SACRIFICE
“But, Dean Walters, she does not seem really bad.”
“There have been many complaints of her, Mrs. Vincent, and her actions are causing most unfavorable comment outside as well as inside college circles. It is not desirable for the institution to retain such a girl.”
“It seems to me that the crowd she was in with for a while is largely responsible. I feel quite sure that Clarice was not entirely to blame in that last affair.”
“Might it not have been better to have verified your suspicions at the time, and brought them to my attention, instead of waiting until now to mention them?”
“Well—she—she naturally would not wish to betray her friends—and I—I—”
“Be that as it may, one more escapade will automatically sever Miss Tyson’s connections with Granard College. I leave it to you to make my decision known to the young lady.”
Patricia drew a long breath of relief as the two women left the library alcove next to the one in which she had been an unwilling eavesdropper.
Not long ago, a noisy party on the top floor, one night when the chaperon was at a concert, had brought a shower of complaints from private houses surrounding Arnold Hall. Exactly who else beside Clarice had attended the spread, no one knew; for she was the only one who owned up when the matter had been made the object of a very solemn house meeting a couple of days later. The affair had crystallized Clarice’s standing in the Hall; for the law-abiding students felt that the honor and reputation of their house had been tarnished. Secretly they wished that the ringleader might be sent to room elsewhere, but gossip whispered that the chaperon was especially interested in Clarice by reason of a long-standing friendship with one of the girl’s relatives.
Patricia was sure, however, that underneath the veneer of lawlessness, the girl was fine and true. She was the only one who had “owned up” and she wouldn’t divulge the names of the other culprits. Too bad she got in with that crowd of girls who roomed outside of the dormitories. They were less hampered by rules and regulations, and gladly welcomed Clarice with her generous allowance and her readiness for all kinds of fun. She was always easily led by anyone who was friendly toward her, and on several occasions she had been taken advantage of by the crowd. It was a pity that a girl who was capable of do
ing good work, and possessed of qualities which, if developed, would make her amount to something, should be playing around with those idlers who had come to college principally for a good time. Somebody really ought to rescue her.
“I suppose I might undertake the job,” thought Patricia reluctantly. “Clarice responds to flattery and petting like a pussy cat. Yet even if I wanted to (which I really don’t) I haven’t the time. It would mean constant attention, and would probably ruin my standings.”
Patricia shook herself, as if to be rid of the whole troublesome business, and resolutely opened her book. Next day’s assignment was difficult, and required perfect concentration.
“One more escapade—sever connections—”
Bother! Why need those relentless words ring in her ears? It was the duty of Mrs. Vincent, as chaperon, to advise and guard the girls under her care. Inefficient little Dolly! The only methods she knew how to use were reprimands and warnings, neither of which would do in this case. The redemption of Clarice must be effected by one who would win and hold her affection; who could, and would, detach her from the outside crowd, and unite her to the girls from Arnold Hall.
Patricia gave up further attempts to study, and sat arguing with herself until a bell rang and the janitor came in to close the building. With a start she packed up her books, hurried out, and walked briskly across the campus in the direction of the Hall. The girls, unless special permission had been granted, were expected to be in the house at ten o’clock, and it was within a quarter of that hour. A passing automobile forced her to pause at the corner where a street light clearly revealed the faces of the occupants of the car: Clarice and Bert King!
Quick anger filled Patricia’s heart. How could anyone, with any sense at all, go right out on top of a warning? She could not have obtained permission, because all her privileges had been used up. Calender Street led directly out to Driftwood Inn, where there was a dance every Thursday night. Evidently that was their destination. No use bothering one’s head about a girl who was quite so reckless. A sheer waste of time and energy!
Thursday night? This was the evening that the chaperons played bridge at the Faculty Club. Possibly Mrs. Vincent had gone directly there from the library. In that case, very likely she had not yet seen Clarice. That put a different face on the matter. Poor Clarice! Rushing so gayly away to the Inn for a good time, she would return to find herself expelled. Hardly fair; yet the Dean had said distinctly that one more escapade, and she always kept her word. In view of her recent reprimand, Mrs. Vincent would not be likely to spare Clarice this time.
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 70