“But, Anne,” interrupted Jane; “if you knew all this, why didn’t you tell us before? We might have helped, instead of sitting in judgment on her so often.”
“I didn’t know all of it until this morning, and you’d never guess who told me. Dolly.”
“Dolly!” exclaimed the other girls simultaneously.
“You remember the break she made last night about ‘Albert’? Well, I think she wanted to explain that a bit; so she waited for me after church, and on the way home told me what I have just repeated to you. She met Mr. Tyson and Clarice at the seashore, somewhere in Massachusetts, a couple of years ago; and I guess, again last summer.”
“Then that’s why she’s so fond of Clarice,” remarked Frances; “and I’ll bet my last dollar she’s fond of ‘Albert’ too. Where does he live?”
“Boston.”
“Ah, ha! She gets a letter from Boston every week!” cried Frances triumphantly.
“How do you know?” demanded Jane.
“Have you forgotten that I bring down the mail at noon every day?”
Jane did not reply; for they were by that time at the door of Arnold Hall. As soon as they entered, Anne went in search of Clarice; and nobody saw either of them again that night.
CHAPTER XXIII
SOLUTIONS
The girls of Granard College had finished Monday night’s dessert of chocolate blanc mange, and were restlessly waiting for the signal to leave the dining room, when Clarice, who was sitting at the end of the Arnold Hall table, rose quietly and stood facing her companions.
“I’ve got something to say, girls,” she began abruptly, her big black eyes turned on one after another of the members of the Alley Gang, and coming to rest on Patricia. “Last Thursday night I stayed out after hours without permission. Accidentally Pat found it out—also, what I didn’t know at the time, that if I got another demerit I’d be dropped from college. Like the good sport she is, she occupied my bed until after inspection that night. You all know what a jam she got into, but I was so dumb that I didn’t put two and two together until last night.” Clarice’s fixed gaze here shifted from Patricia’s flushed face to Anne’s. The friendly smile which flashed to her from Anne’s red lips made her falter for a moment. Quickly, however, she recovered her poise, and continued. “I’ve seen the Dean, and explained the whole affair to her; as well as to Mrs. Vincent. And, Pat’s slate is clean.”
Clarice turned from the table, and before the astonished girls could move, had darted out of a side door which was directly behind her. Then pandemonium broke loose.
“Three cheers for Clarice and Pat!” cried Katharine, waving her arms excitedly.
An immediate and hearty response centered the attention of the entire dining room upon the Arnold Hall table; and as the girls left the building they were besieged by the other students to know the cause of the demonstration.
Although examinations loomed in the near future, no one could study in Arnold Hall that evening; everyone was too excited, and too happy, to settle down. The members of the Alley Gang roamed restlessly in and out of one another’s rooms, talking incessantly, while sampling the “eats” which had arrived in several boxes from home that day. Patricia had managed to get Clarice for a few moments alone in order to say some things which couldn’t be said in public.
“Please don’t, Pat,” protested the other girl. “I’m so far in debt to you that—”
“But, Clarice,” interrupted Patricia, putting her hand forcibly over her friend’s mouth to check further talk about indebtedness, “I want to know how things stand with you. You won’t be dropped?”
“No, everything’s all right. The Dean was lovely, and from now on I’m going to make good.”
“I’m so glad,” began Patricia, “and I know that you can.”
Just then Anne appeared, and announced that Rhoda had a telephone message for Patricia.
Sliding off the porch railing, on which they had been perched, the two girls followed Anne into the house.
“Mrs. Brock would like you to come right over, Miss Randall,” said Rhoda, when the trio presented themselves before the Black Book table where the maid was sitting.
“How exciting!” cried Anne. “What do you think she wants?”
“I’ll have to go and find out, I suppose,” sighed Patricia wearily. The strain of the week was beginning to tell on even her sturdy constitution, and she longed to go to bed.
“Come back as soon as you can,” begged Anne, going as far as the door with her, “and tell us all about it. We won’t have many more talkfests.”
“No; and it makes me just sick to think of leaving here the last of next week,” whispered Patricia sadly, dashing away a couple of tears.
“Never mind, old dear,” said Anne. “Maybe something will turn up to bring you back next fall.”
When the maid at Big House ushered Patricia onto a large screened porch, she was astonished to see Jack sitting beside a lamp whose soft light illuminated the entire veranda. After brief greetings had been exchanged, Mrs. Brock said abruptly:
“I have a story to tell you children.”
Her visitors exchanged amused glances over the appellation.
“I’ll make it brief; for I know that the reminiscences of old people bore the young. When I was a girl, about your age, I had two very dear chums: one was Mary Pierce.”
Patricia leaned eagerly forward in her chair at the sound of her mother’s maiden name, but Mrs. Brock continued without appearing to notice the girl’s surprise.
“The other,” she went on, “was Gertrude Neal.”
Here Jack started up in astonishment, as he, too, recognized the name of his mother. Again Mrs. Brock went on without a pause.
“That surprises you, for I seem much older than your mothers. As a matter of fact, I was several years older than the other girls, and a long illness a few years ago makes me appear much more ancient than I really am. But to go on with my story. We were very congenial, and almost inseparable.” A smile at some memory flickered across the woman’s face, completely transforming the immobile features with which her listeners were familiar. A look of regret and sadness almost immediately replaced the smile, as she continued:
“Unfortunately, it was too happy a friendship to last. We had a serious misunderstanding, in which I was mostly to blame. In fact the affair was the cause of considerable injustice being suffered by Mary and Gertrude. I’m not going into details—it’s over now, and they probably forgot all about it; but anyhow, we separated, and I have never seen either of them since. An aunt took me abroad, and one thing or another detained me there until last year. My return revived old memories and affections; yet my pride kept me from going directly to my friends. I felt, however, that I wanted to do something to make up, at least in part, for the trouble I had caused; so I decided to make you children a little gift and at the same time find out what you were like. I bought Big House because it was located so close to the college my father attended, then sent you the money for the year’s expenses.
“Rhoda, my secretary and companion, I managed to place in Arnold Hall as a maid, so she could give me all kinds of information about Patricia; and I hired a private detective, Norman Young, to do my secretarial work and at the same time spy on Jack. The game is played out now, and I hope the year has been as satisfactory to you as it has to me. Wait a minute,” as Patricia again tried to speak. “I have an offer to make. I’m going to get a car; for I find I cannot walk as much as I used to; and if Jack cares to take the position as chauffeur in return for his next year’s college expenses, I fancy we can come to a satisfactory agreement. The hours would not interfere at all with college work, and,” she paused and looked questioningly at the boy, “you won’t have to live with me.”
“Mrs. Brock, I don’t know what to say, except to thank you for all your kindness to me, and to accept gratefully your most generous offer. I—”
“All right then; that’s settled,” interrupted Mrs. Brock, turning towa
rd Patricia. “I need someone to look after my library and read to me. If you could fit that work in with your college duties, I shall be responsible for your next year’s expenses. Of course you’ll live at Arnold Hall.”
“Mrs. Brock,” began Patricia; then much to everyone’s distress she burst into tears. “If you only knew,” she sobbed, “how much I wanted to come back here, and how afraid I have been that I couldn’t—”
“Then I’ll expect you both to report here on September 20,” interrupted Mrs. Brock, “four days before college opens. Don’t try to tell me how grateful you are. I guess I know. Good night.”
Patricia kissed the white face of the little woman, and Jack followed her example. Neither spoke until they were out on the street.
“Some fairy godmother!” exclaimed Jack.
“Oh, Jack, isn’t she wonderful?”
“And the best of all,” said Jack, “is that we’ll be here together again. You’ve become a sort of habit with me, I guess.”
Patricia smiled happily in the darkness. “And now,” she exulted as they reached Arnold Hall, “I must go in and tell the girls the joyful news.”
THE MYSTERY OF CARLITOS, by Helen Randolph
CHAPTER I
THE MYSTERIOUS BLUE-EYED BOY
Jo Ann jerked the crude, hand-made chair off the oxcart and set it down in the shade of the thatched roof of the house.
“Your throne’s ready, Your Majesty,” she called over gaily to the pale, worn-looking Mrs. Blackwell whose daughter Florence was helping her off the burro.
“Whoever heard of a throne looking like that?” laughed the slender, hazel-eyed girl beside Jo Ann. “Wait a minute.” She spread a bright rainbow-hued Mexican blanket over the chair. “Now that looks more like a throne.”
Jo Ann nodded her dark curly bob. “You’re right, Peg—as usual.” She turned to Mrs. Blackwell. “I know you’re dead tired. That long automobile trip over the rough roads was bad enough, but the ride up the mountain on that poky donkey was worse yet.”
“Poky’s the word,” put in Florence, her blue eyes twinkling. “That burro, or donkey as you call it, is all Mexican—slow but sure.”
Just as she had finished speaking, the burro flapped his ears, threw back his head, and brayed such a knowing “heehaw” that the girls laughed merrily and even Mrs. Blackwell smiled broadly.
As Mrs. Blackwell dropped down in the chair, Jo Ann remarked to her, “No queen ever had a more beautiful kingdom to look upon from her throne than you have.”
“It’s marvelous!” exclaimed Peggy as all four gazed over the far-flung view stretching out before them: rugged, cloud-tipped mountain peaks, the deep valley covered with tropical growth, and a gleaming, silver waterfall to their right.
“Gracious!” broke in Florence finally. “We’ll never get the house straightened at this rate. And will you look at that driver! I believe he’s sound asleep. He hasn’t taken a single thing off the cart yet.”
As Jo Ann reluctantly turned away, she called over to Peggy, “We’ll have three or four weeks to enjoy all this beauty—let’s get busy now and help Florence straighten up the house. You just sit here, Mrs. Blackwell, and draw in deep breaths of this invigorating air,” she added. “Dr. Blackwell said you weren’t to turn your hand to do a thing.”
“You girls wait on me as if I were a complete invalid. Although I am tired now, I know I’m going to regain my strength rapidly up here.”
While Florence gave orders in Spanish to the driver and the boy in charge of the burros, Jo Ann and Peggy went inside the small, one-room house which was built from stone cut from the mountain side.
While they were waiting for the equipment to be brought in, the girls looked about the room curiously.
“Isn’t this the queerest little house!” Peggy exclaimed. “Not a single window in it. It’s built exactly like the little adobe huts the peons live in.”
“Florence said they bought the place from a Mexican—anyone’d know that at a glance.” Jo Ann walked over across the room to the back door and looked outside. “This must be that funny little kitchen Florence told us about,” she said, gesturing to a small stone building about fifteen feet beyond.
Just then the driver sauntered in and piled some cots and bedding in the center of the cement floor.
Jo Ann wheeled about. “Come on, Peg, let’s sweep out the house and make up the cots. We can do that much, at least.”
By the time they had the cots made up, the Mexicans had finished unloading and were starting off leisurely down the trail behind the oxcart and burros.
“Let’s stop working now and eat our lunch,” called Florence from the kitchen door. “It’s siesta time right now, and it’ll do all of us good to take a nap.”
Peggy grinned over at Florence. “Maybe Jo Ann’ll take a siesta up here. Remember the trouble she got into up on the roof in town during a siesta hour?”
“Don’t worry about me this time. There’s no mysterious window in this house for me to investigate, as there was there.”
“I bet we won’t be here three days before you’ll find some mystery to solve, Sherlock,” teased Peggy.
“Well, Sherlock’s too hungry to look for mysteries now. Let’s eat.”
“That’s what I say,” agreed Florence. “You girls unpack the eats while I go to the spring for some cool water.”
After they had eaten their lunch and had their siestas, the girls worked another hour putting down rugs, arranging gay pillows and blankets on the cots, and making a dressing table out of a packing box.
“Before we start straightening out things in the kitchen, I believe I’d better go down to the goat ranch,” Florence remarked. “I want to see if I can make arrangements to get milk there every day.”
“You mean—goat’s milk?” Peggy asked in dismay, stopping in the middle of slipping a gay cretonne cover on a pillow.
Florence’s eyes twinkled roguishly. “Well, what’s the matter with goat’s milk? That’s what the Mexicans use. When in Mexico do as the Mexicans do.” Seeing the sick-looking expression on both Peggy’s and Jo Ann’s faces, she hastened to explain: “I was just teasing. They raise the goats for market. The natives are as fond of goat’s meat as they are of the milk. They had a cow at this ranch when we were here last year, and—”
“Let’s hope they still have that cow,” put in Peggy quickly.
“So say I,” added Jo Ann emphatically.
Florence picked up the bucket from the rough board table. “Do either of you girls want to go with me?”
“Jo, I know you’re just dying to get out of doors and tramp a bit,” Peggy remarked. “You go with Florence, and I’ll stay here with Mrs. Blackwell.”
“Fine! I’d love it.”
“We won’t be gone long,” Florence told her mother as she and Jo Ann started out the door.
A few minutes later they disappeared down a winding trail back of the house. About halfway down the trail Jo Ann halted a moment to enjoy the beautiful scenery. “This is the life for me!” she exclaimed. “I had a good time in the city, but give me the outdoors. I can hardly wait to begin exploring these mountains.”
About ten minutes later they came in sight of a little pink adobe hut perched on a narrow ledge jutting out from the steep rocky cliff. It looked to Jo Ann as if the hut might topple off any minute and fall into the valley below.
“That’s the goat ranch,” explained Florence.
“The goat ranch! All I see is a hut and a stone wall. Why’d they build a house way up there instead of in that fertile valley?”
“I suppose it’s because that steep cliff back of the hut saved them from so much work in making an enclosure for their goats.”
“I don’t see any goats. Where are they?”
“The little goat herder takes them out every morning to graze on the scrubby mesquite that grows on the mountain side. Goats love to climb, you know. I’ve even seen one on top of an adobe hut.”
The girls followed the trail
across a narrow ravine and up to the house.
Just then several dogs began barking, and a black-eyed, olive-skinned Mexican woman and two scantily dressed, barefooted children appeared in the doorway.
The next moment the woman’s face lit at sight of Florence. “Florencita!” she cried, then went on in a rapid flow of Spanish to ask her numerous questions about her family.
As soon as Florence had answered these questions she inquired if they still owned the cow.
The woman nodded assent and urged her and Jo Ann to sit down and rest till Pablito brought the cow and she could milk.
Florence shook her head and handing her the bucket asked if it would be possible for her to send the milk up later by one of the children.
“Sí, Florencita. Muy bien,” she agreed, smiling.
As the girls turned to go, the woman reached down and picked a fragrant, waxy-white flower from the jasmine growing in a pot by the door. “For your mama,” she explained, handing it to Florence.
With a word of thanks and an “Adios” to her and the children, the girls started back down the trail.
“Let’s go home the long way through the valley,” suggested Florence when they reached the ravine. “There’s a cave down this way that I want to show you.”
“Fine! The longer the way, the better. That cave sounds interesting, too.”
Slipping and sliding down the rocky mountain side, they soon reached the broad valley; then they followed the path around the base of the cliff, stopping now and then to gather ferns and flowers.
When they came to a sparkling, crystal-clear spring bubbling out from under the rocks, Jo Ann dropped to her knees and drank thirstily of the icy cold water.
While Florence was drinking, Jo Ann heard a snapping of twigs near by. She wheeled about and, peering through the bushes, saw two small boys gathering wood. One of them was bent over by the weight of a large bundle of the wood, held in place on his back by a rope passed across his forehead; the other was chopping sticks with a machete, a long heavy knife. At first glance Jo Ann thought they must be twins, as they were dressed alike in the loose white trousers and blouse worn by the peon.
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 72