Apparently just to say “hello” to friends, Terry and Arden went from one group of waiting girls to another, glimpsing the pretty, animated faces, but Sim’s was not among them. It seemed hopeless.
Now, really frightened, Arden and Terry clung together as the stentorian voice announced their train in long-drawn accents.
“We’ll have to go!” murmured Terry desperately.
“Yes. We can’t wait any longer. But she may be in the train.” It was a sort of last hope for Arden.
“We can look, if it isn’t too crowded,” Terry suggested.
But it was. In all the coaches, for most of the college girls had caught this train back, were repeated the same scenes, the same talk and laughter that had marked the going trip. The seekers could not locate Sim in the coach where they were crowded, and they did not dare pass from one car to another as the train quickly gathered speed after leaving Hoboken.
The ride back was almost a nightmare for Terry and Arden, and when the train pulled into the Morrisville station, which was the college stop, they were pale and more worried than ever.
“Maybe she is already here,” breathed Terry, as they alighted. It was a brave attempt to brighten the situation.
“Maybe. Let’s hurry and see if she has signed in.” Arden was only too glad to seize on Terry’s suggestion.
They almost ran along the path from the station to the college. Terry still insisted on clinging to Sim’s bag, though Arden wanted to do her share of carrying it. Then up those back-breaking stairs and into the big recreation room where the registry book was kept for this occasion.
Signing their own names, the two frightened freshmen scanned the pages for Sim’s.
“No, Arden, she hasn’t come in.” Terry turned sadly from the book.
“I left a space between your name and mine,” Arden said, “so in case Sim comes in later she can slip hers in without being caught. Hurry, Terry, let’s get to our room so we can talk this out and decide upon—something.”
CHAPTER XI
Sim
Miles away from Cedar Ridge, Sim Westover idly turned the pages of a movie magazine. She was quite pleased with herself as she sat in a commuters’ train, speeding toward Larchmont. It was dark now, and as Sim looked from the window her face was reflected in the glass as in a dull mirror. Just a hint of a shiny nose, but it was enough to cause her to open her envelope bag and search for her compact.
But what were those white envelopes?
Surely she hadn’t forgotten to leave that carefully composed note for the dean—and the one to Arden and Terry!
Yes, she had forgotten!
“My word! They’ll be worried to death!” Sim whispered in a gasp of dismay. “What a stupid thing to do! Write notes explaining everything and then take them with me!”
Sim settled herself deeper into the soft green plush of the seat and looked helplessly at the envelopes bearing the imposing red and gold seal of the Chancellor Hotel. She could imagine Terry and Arden dashing madly about asking everywhere for her. And she had intended to leave the note right where they would see it—on the bed near her packed bag.
“Oh,” mused Sim, “if only they don’t do anything rash, such as notifying the police or phoning to my folks!”
The adventure she had planned to be such a fine thing was fast losing its savor.
Suppose her father was not in Larchmont, after all? But he must be. In his last letter to Sim he had mentioned, casually, this trip which was a reason why he couldn’t be in New York to greet her at the tea dance. He would be in Larchmont.
It had seemed such a fine idea, when Sim learned the sophomores had not made the amount of money necessary even to start the repairs on the swimming pool, just to go to her father and ask him for it. It would be such a fine thing for the college, and Sim really must do some swimming. She felt that she was entitled to it after coming to Cedar Ridge, having seen the pictures of the pool in the prospectus.
The others were dancing as Sim’s grand idea was engendered within her, and it seemed too bad to interrupt them. Besides, Arden would, very probably, try to stop her. The simplest thing would be just to write the notes, explaining, and go ahead.
The desk clerk at the hotel told her, when she asked, that she had fifteen minutes to get a train for Larchmont from the Grand Central Station. Sim was so glad she had remembered her father had written he was to be there for the week-end at the Newman home—planning another large branch store for business expansion.
“Oh, dear! What a fix to be in! I suppose I’ll be expelled! Mother will feel terribly bad, and Dad—Oh, dear!” Sim sighed aloud.
But there was nothing she could do now. There were the forgotten letters which would have made everything all right. She had hurried up to the room, slipping away from the dance, had written the notes, put them in her bag, and changed her dress. She intended leaving them just before going out of the room. But a glance at the electric clock showed her there was little time to catch a taxi for the Grand Central in time to make the train, and in her haste—
The train ran along smoothly. The clickety-click of the wheels over the rail joints mocked Sim with their ever recurring:
“Forgot! Forgot! Forgot!”
She grew more upset and worried. She pulled back her coat sleeve and glanced at her wrist watch.
Nine o’clock!
By this time the girls would be taking the train for Morrisville. What had they done about her disappearance? Sim hated to think about it. This was, indeed, the deepest hole she had ever been in.
The conductor opened the door and shouted:
“Larch-mont! Larch-mont! All out for LARCH-MONT!”
Sim gathered her things together and prepared to leave.
As she alighted from the train, the thought came to her that she must at once go in the station and telephone Arden. But another glance at her watch caused her to hesitate. Arden and Sim might not be in Cedar Ridge yet. So she decided to wait until she reached the house of her father’s friend and to telephone from there.
She approached a taxi and gave the address to the driver. The ride was not long, and soon was on the steps waiting to be admitted at the Newman house.
It was Mr. Newman himself who opened the door.
“Why, Sim Westover!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here? We thought you were safely in bed at Cedar Ridge. But come in! Take off your things!”
“Good-evening, Mr. Newman,” Sim said quickly. “I should be at Cedar Ridge, but something very important came up, and I decided, in a hurry, to come up here to see Dad. I was in New York at a dance. Dad is here, isn’t he?”
“Why, no, Sim, he isn’t. He telephoned me, late this afternoon, that he couldn’t make it after all. Is anything the matter?”
Sim’s face was a study in many expressions as she faintly replied:
“Yes, I guess there is—now. Everything would have been all right if I hadn’t been so forgetful!” Sim was close to tears, and the sight of her mother’s dear college friend (both ladies had graduated at Cedar Ridge) caused Sim almost to break down.
“Come in, Sim!” greeted Mrs. Newman, sensing, as she hastened into the hall, that something was wrong. “Have you had anything to eat? I thought not. Come into the dining room. Marie can get you some tea and sandwiches, at least. Then you can tell us all about it while you eat, and you’ll feel better. It isn’t serious, is it?” This last prompted by a look at Sim’s face.
“Well, it isn’t going to be very pleasant, I’m afraid.” On the way to and in the dining room, while a hasty lunch was made ready, Sim blurted out the whole story.
“And so you see,” she finished, “I must get word to Arden or Terry as quickly as possible, and it must be managed so that I’m not found out as missing or I shall probably be expelled. I’m away without leave. I must get back tonight.”
“Go back tonight? Impossible, my dear! Can’t you stay with us until morning?”
“I think not. If I can slip back all may yet be well. But if I h
ave to explain to the dean—No, it couldn’t be done. There must be a train back tonight, isn’t there?”
She turned questioning eyes on Mr. Newman.
He looked at some time-tables, of which he had several in his smoking room, and announced:
“You’d never get back until late—very late—by train. But if you feel you must be back in college before morning—”
“I do. Oh, yes, I do, Mr. Newman!”
“Then the only thing is for me to drive you there. We can make good time at night. I know the roads.”
“Oh, Mr. Newman! I couldn’t dream of—”
“Tut, tut, Sim! It’s the only way. I don’t mind. It will be a little diversion for me. I’ll have the chauffeur get the car out now. He can do the driving. I’ll sit and talk to you, and the way won’t seem so long.”
“Oh, Mr. Newman, you’re wonderful! Now I must phone Arden at once to be watching for me. Luckily our room is on the front of the dorm. How long do you think it will take?” Sim, getting up from the table, at the session of which she had much improved in spirits, was planning rapidly now. Perhaps all would yet be well.
“About three hours, I should say,” Mr. Newman answered. “It will be slow going from here until we get into New Jersey, and then we can make time. You ought to be back at college around midnight, though whether you can get in—”
“That’s why I must phone Arden or Terry. Oh, what a lot of trouble I’m causing!” Sim’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back.
“There, now, my dear, never mind!” soothed Mrs. Newman. “We’ll help you all we can.”
“That’s the kind of people they are,” Sim told Arden, later. “They haven’t forgotten what it is to be young.”
It took some little time to get a telephone connection through to Cedar Ridge, and Sim lived years in moments, she thought, while waiting for Arden to come to the phone. Finally the voice came to her.
“Hello, Arden? Yes, I’m all right. I’m up at Larchmont with friends of Dad’s. Did they find out about me? No? Good! Listen! Here’s my plan. I’ll tell you all how it happened later. Someone might hear us if I talked too long now. I’m driving back—yes, driving. I’ll get there about midnight. Don’t fall asleep. When we get to the entrance—the outside gate, I mean—we’ll toot the horn three times. You and Terry slip down and let me in. Do you understand? Fine! I’m leaving right away. Good-bye, darling! I’ll explain everything later. I’m quite all right, and nothing has happened. Good-bye!”
She hung up and turned to her friends, murmuring:
“That’s over, thank goodness!”
“Well, let’s get going, Sim!” Mr. Newman was now almost as much excited as was Sim herself.
“Try to sleep on the way out, Sim dear,” advised Mrs. Newman. “I’m having robes and a soft cushion put in the car. You can snuggle up in a corner of the sedan.”
“I thought she was going to talk to me!” chuckled Mr. Newman.
“Of course I will—if I can find anything to talk about.”
“No, you mustn’t,” decided his wife. “Sim must try to get some sleep. You will, won’t you, my dear?”
“Yes, I will. Luckily tomorrow will be Sunday, and I can sleep late in my room—if I get there. Thank you both—so much! I’ll never forget this—never!”
Sim put her arms about Mrs. Newman’s neck and kissed her affectionately.
“Oh, my poor dear! I know just how you feel. You meant it all for the best, and there is really no harm done.”
“Not yet,” said Sim a trifle grimly as she followed Mr. Newman out to the big sedan that was waiting, with the chauffeur at the door, on the drive.
CHAPTER XII
Midnight Mishap
Arden’s slippered feet pad-padded up the dark stairs like small, softened trip-hammers as she hurried away from the telephone to inform Terry of the good news that Sim was safe and on her way.
She pushed open the door of 513 and shut it quickly behind her, panting and excited from her swift upward flight.
“Terry! Terry!” she began breathlessly. “It was Sim—on the phone. I talked to her!”
“Oh—good! Is she—all right?”
“Yes. She didn’t have time to talk much. She was way up in Larchmont. Said she’d explain everything later. She is coming back around midnight, and she wants us to watch for her and let her in.”
“What was she doing in Larchmont?” the practical Terry wanted to know.
“I can’t guess,” replied Arden. “We’ll have to wait until we see her. She said she was all right and nothing had happened. I can hardly wait until she gets here.”
“Midnight,” murmured Terry. “We’ll have to stand our turns at watch as they do aboard ships. Now that I know Sim is safe, I’m suddenly very sleepy. How is she coming—train?”
“No. She’s driving. We’ll have to listen for a car. She thought she’d better walk in from the entrance instead of having the car drive right up, so no one would hear. They’ll toot the horn so we’ll know.” Arden went to the window and gazed at the black scene below.
“It’s absolutely dark out,” she continued. “I hope we’ll be able to see the lights of the car as it comes up the road. We’d better get undressed in case anyone comes in.”
“All right,” Terry agreed. “I’ll take the first watch. Let’s make them an hour each. You sleep until I call you. I’ll sit here on the window seat. If I go to sleep I’ll probably fall off, and that will wake me up.”
Quickly they got into their pajamas. Terry put on a robe and slippers and curled herself on the window seat.
“I never remember a blacker or stiller night,” she remarked. “I’m glad Sim isn’t alone. She’s with friends of her father’s.”
“Do you suppose we can let her in all right? What if we can’t get the door open?” Arden asked nervously.
“I’ll think that possibility out while I’m on watch. You go to sleep as quickly as you can. Don’t worry so much, Arden. You’ll be gray by morning!”
“I’ll be exhausted by morning, anyhow. However, toodle-oo—sailor, beware, and all that sort of thing! I’m going to try to get some rest.”
There was not a sound in the room for at least five minutes when Terry suddenly flung a tennis ball with a thudding crash at a marauding mouse. The ball, one of a supply of such ammunition kept in readiness for just this contingency, bounced a few times and rolled under a bed as the mouse, with a protesting squeak, darted back into a hole beneath the baseboard.
The college had settled for the night. The appearance of the mouse was one proof of this.
Terry tried not to be too comfortable and kept shifting her position on the window seat. It was getting cold, so she pulled a blanket off her bed and wrapped it around her. The next thing she remembered someone was shaking her to wakefulness. It was Arden.
“Fine sailor you are! You were sound asleep! Sim might be trying to get in. You get in bed, Terry. I’ll watch.”
“No,” sleepily.
“Yes,” firmly.
“Oh—all right, Captain. Let’s see how you make out. Anyhow, she can’t be here yet—it’s too early.”
Terry rolled herself into the bed, and Arden took her place on the uncomfortable window seat. After a few minutes there she leaned forward and pressed the side of her face to the cold, dark glass in order to look as far as possible to the east, the direction from which the traveling car would come. But the highway beyond the college grounds showed no blinking lights, so Arden drew her knees up to her chin under her robe and stared moodily out into the night.
What was going to come of all this, she wondered?
What might happen if Sim were caught was too disheartening to think of, so Arden tried to piece together the events of the afternoon in a brave effort to keep awake.
The whole affair had so many missing links, though. It was just Sim’s usual good luck that she was not missed by Mrs. Malvern when the girls returned to school.
“Oh, dear!�
�� sighed Arden at the thought of how she and Terry would have been put to it to explain. But they had not been obliged to do any explaining—so far.
The mouse, grown bolder in the silent darkness, was conducting a rustling, rattling search among some papers on a desk for tasty crumbs. Arden got up quietly and reached for another tennis ball. As she stood up she looked once more toward the highway and waited in strained tenseness.
Yes, she was sure of it. Far down the road a light bounced about as a speeding car neared the college.
“Terry! Terry!” Arden whispered. “I think they’re coming! Wake up!”
Terry was up in an instant and glided over to the window.
“It’s a car, sure enough. But we’d better make certain before we start down. Keep watch while I fasten the belt of my robe.”
“I will,” whispered Arden.
“Is it stopping at the far gate?”
“No, it’s going on. Oh, no, it isn’t, either. It hasn’t passed the gate. It must be Sim! We’ll give her a few seconds to get out and walk up the drive. I hope she knows enough to stay on the grass and not on that crunchy gravel.”
“Trust Sim for that,” murmured Terry. “Now I’m ready. But give Sim time to get to the door. We don’t want to wait down in the dark lower hall any longer than we have to.”
“No. Come on! And don’t use your flashlight unless you have to.”
Cautiously Arden opened the door and, followed by Terry, stepped out into the dark corridor which seemed to stretch for miles and miles the length of the building, disappearing into blackness at the end. At the top of the first flight of stairs leading down from the floor of the 513 room was a small light bulb doing its little best to dispel the gloom.
Holding hands, Arden and Terry tiptoed down the first flight. Arden’s free hand slid noiselessly along the polished banister rail. Now and then the stairs creaked and snapped with what seemed to be the noise of a gun.
They stopped to rest at the first landing, not so much from physical weariness as from the nervous strain. On the first and several other landings was a large window facing the distant orchard. The orchard was now only a black blur but Arden and Terry thought they could see the gnarled trees beneath which they, with Sim, had been so frightened on the occasion of the hazing.
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 153