“I think,” said Katharine, “that is about the worst thing one can say. ‘Oh, he means well.’ It seems like sort of damning with faint praise. Not that Jane meant it that way.”
Everybody laughed. Katharine was so unconscious of her inconsistency.
While they were waiting for their order, Patricia’s eyes, which were roving about the room in search of possible acquaintances, came to rest on the back of a tall figure two tables beyond theirs. As if compelled by her questioning gaze, the individual turned around, immediately jumped up, and crossed the room in two strides.
“Craig!” exclaimed Patricia, smiling up at the lanky youth. “Fancy seeing you here! And what are you doing?”
“Here on business,” was the brief response, as he shook Patricia’s hand enthusiastically.
“These are my friends—Anne Ford, Jane Temple, and Katharine Weldon,” continued Patricia, “who are spending the week end with me.”
Acknowledging the introduction, Craig looked inquiringly at Patricia. “May I sit down here and have my sweet with the Sweets.”
“We couldn’t possibly refuse after such a ‘sweet’ compliment as that,” laughed Patricia. “How long are you going to be in town?”
“Well, that depends. If I find what I’m looking for, I’ll go back almost immediately; if I don’t, I’ll go Sunday afternoon, anyhow.”
“How interesting and mysterious you sound!” remarked Katharine.
“Reporting’s a great game. Now tell me about yourselves,” leaning both elbows on the table and looking from one girl to another. With flattering attention the boy listened to the story of their drive home; gave a couple of short barks of amusement at their movie experience, then inquired what they intended to do on the morrow.
“Shop in the morning,” replied Patricia. “I always do the Sunday marketing when I’m home. I just love to poke around the stores and buy things. In the afternoon—I really don’t know yet.”
“How would it be if you all went to the ball game with me?” proposed Craig, carefully rubbing a drop of chocolate sauce off of his tie.
“Grand! But you’d be embarrassed to death escorting four females,” laughed Patricia.
“Don’t you believe it. I’d be the proudest fellow in the stand, and the most envied. That’s settled then,” as all the girls manifested their pleasure in the plan. “I’ll call for you at two o’clock,” he added, as they rose to go. “I’d offer to see you home, but I suppose you have your car?”
“Yes; it’s in a parking station. Why don’t we meet you at the Park tomorrow afternoon instead of your going way out to our house?”
“Not a bad idea, especially as I haven’t the least idea where you live.” Everybody laughed.
“97 Minton Road, in case you ever need to know,” said Patricia, smiling frankly up into the brown eyes and serious face above her.
“Thanks,” he said, making a note of the address. “Wait a minute,” he added, taking hold of her arm and steering her toward a candy counter. “Make up five pounds of the kinds selected,” he directed the prim clerk who came to take his order. Then, waving off the girls’ thanks, he was gone.
“Shall we each choose our favorites, to make up one-quarter of the box?” asked Patricia, turning to the other girls.
“Fine; and in quarter-or half-pound lots, so as to get variety,” said Katharine; and they all assented.
It was rather late when the girls finally reached home, but they settled down before the living room fireplace with the box of candy, and regaled Mr. and Mrs. Randall with chocolates and the story of their adventures. Mr. Randall finally drove them off to bed shortly after midnight.
“I’m going to stay in the car,” announced Katharine the next morning, when Patricia drew up in front of a large department store in the grocery department of which she intended to make several purchases. “I don’t care for marketing, and I do love to watch people hurrying along the streets.”
“As you like it,” replied Patricia, getting out, followed by Anne and Jane.
“Can you park here?” inquired Jane in surprise, as Patricia slammed the door.
“Not really supposed to, but I won’t be long; and I hardly think there’ll be any trouble.”
“I’ll entertain the cop,” offered Katharine magnanimously, “if he shows up.”
She had been watching the crowd for about ten minutes, when she noticed a big, red-faced policeman approaching, his eyes fixed indignantly upon the car in which she was sitting.
“Now I’m in for it!” she thought. “Why in time doesn’t Patricia come? She’s been gone an age.”
“You can’t park here, lady,” said the officer sternly. “Can’t you read?” pointing to theNo Parkingsign.
“No, sir,” replied Katharine demurely.
“You can’t!” exclaimed the man in surprise
“Not a word!” was the reply, and Katharine looked innocently at him.
“What nationality are you?”
“American, sir.”
The officer pushed back his hat in perplexity. He felt that something was wrong, but could not quite put his finger on it. With all our money spent on schools, and this young woman couldn’t read.
“Well, anyhow, whether you can read or not, you can’t park here.”
“But this isn’t my car, and I can’t drive.”
“Whereisthe owner?”
“In there,” pointing to the store. “She’ll be out in just a minute. I think she went in to buy—oranges.”
“Well, if she isn’t out by the time I come around again, she gets a tag; and that’s flat!”
Wrathfully the officer strode on, and Katharine sank back comfortably against the cushions again. Five minutes passed; ten; and still no signs of Patricia. Katharine began to fidget nervously and wish she had gone into the store with the girls. Still, if she had, the car would have been tagged at once; even now perhaps she could stave the man off again if he came around before Pat got back.
There he was, striding along as if he meant business! “I wish Pat and her oranges were in Hades,” thought Katharine, preparing to smile sweetly at the irate officer.
“She hasn’t come yet,” she said, leaning out of the window and speaking confidentially. “Something must have happened to her. I’msoworried. What ought I to do, do you think?”
Momentarily disarmed by the unexpected greeting, the man removed his hat and scratched his head. Then suddenly realizing that he was being worked, he snapped:
“Whatcouldhappen to her except that, like all other women, she has no notion of time! This car’s been here half an hour now. I suppose she can’t read either!”
“It’s been here only twenty-five minutes, officer,” corrected Katharine, showing him her watch.
“So you can tell time, even though you can’t read,” commented the officer, rather admiring the girl’s poise despite his annoyance.
“Well, you see,” began Katharine, resting both arms on the opened window, “when I was a little girl—(if I can only keep him interested until Pat comes!)—I was—” She broke off to gesticulate madly to her friends who were just coming out of the store.
The policeman wheeled sharply and saw three girls racing madly toward him. Just as Pat reached the car, the bag she was carrying broke, and a dozen oranges rolled in all directions.
“There!” cried Katharine triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell you she just went in to get some oranges?”
What could the man do but help gather up the fruit and toss it into the car? Scarlet with exertion and embarrassment at the comments of passers-by, he finally faced Patricia sternly.
“Lady, you’ve been parked here half an hour, right under that sign. Can’tyouread either?”
“Why, yes, a little,” replied Patricia, with a suspicious glance at Katharine. “But those signs are placed so high that if you’re in a low car, you really have an awful time seeing them at all. You can see for yourself that this one is directly over the top of the car. Get in and see.”
“Of course it is if you drive directly under it!” grumbled the man. “And the next time I see this car where it doesn’t belong, it gets a tag right away; whether your passengers can’t read, or you think the signs are too high, or—or anything else.”
“Thanks for your patience, and assistance,” replied Patricia, smiling at him in such a friendly fashion that he had a hard time maintaining his expression of outraged dignity. He was still a bit doubtful as to whether or not the girls were making fun of him. These women!
“Goodbye,” called the irrepressible Katharine, as Patricia stepped into the car and started the engine. “Hope I meet you again sometime.”
The officer strode away without comment, while Katharine reported her encounter to the girls.
“I’m an absolute wreck!” she declared in an injured tone, as her companions laughed heartlessly. “I’ll never keep car for you again.”
“Your own choice,” retorted Patricia flippantly. “We wanted you to come with us.”
“That’s all the thanks I get,” sighed Katharine, “for risking my life to protect your property.”
“Policeman, spare this car; touch not an ancient wheel!” giggled Anne.
“In youth it carried me,” continued Jane.
“And I’ll protect it now,” carolled the three.
“I’ve a good mind to dump you all out,” declared Patricia in mock indignation. “I know it’s not exactly a latest model, but it really isn’t so ancient as all that.”
“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.
“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 feigned 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.
“Thereissomething!” 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 earthis‘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 justgotto 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.
“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.
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 couple 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.