Patty's Friends

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE GRIFFIN AND THE ROSE

  Although the Hartleys had practically given up all hope of ever findingthe hidden money, they couldn't help being imbued with Patty'senthusiasm.

  Indeed, it took little to rouse the sleeping fires of interest that neverwere entirely extinguished.

  But though they talked it over by the hour there seemed to be nothing todo but talk.

  One day, Patty went out all by herself, determined to see if she couldn'tfind some combination of an oak tree and a group of firs that wouldsomehow seem especially prominent.

  But after looking at a score or more of such combinations, she realisedthat task was futile.

  She looked at the ground under some of them, but who could expect a markof any kind on the ground after nearly forty years? No. Unless Mr.Marmaduke Cromarty had marked his hiding-place with a stone or ironplate, it would probably never be found by his heirs. Search in the housewas equally unsatisfactory. What availed it to scan a wall or a bedsteadthat had been scrutinised for years by eager, anxious eyes? And thenPatty set her wits to work. She tried to think where an erratic oldgentleman would secrete his wealth. And she was forced to admit that themost natural place was in the ground on his estate, the location to bedesignated by some obscure message. And surely, the message was obscureenough!

  She kept her promise to help Bob in his self-appointed task of goingthrough all the books in the library. This was no small piece of work,for it was not enough to shake each book, and let loose papers, if any,drop out. Some of the old papers had been found pinned to leaves, and soeach book must be run through in such a way that every page could beglanced at.

  Nor was this a particularly pleasant task. For Mrs. Hartley had made it arule that when her own children went over the old books, they were todust them as they went along. Thus, she said, at least some good would beaccomplished, though no hidden documents might be found.

  Of course, she did not request Patty to do this, but learning of thecustom, Patty insisted on doing it, and many an hour she spent in the oldlibrary, clad in apron and dust-cap. Her progress was rather slow, forbook-loving Patty often became absorbed in the old volumes, and droppingdown on the window-seat, or the old steps to the gallery, would readaway, oblivious to all else till some one came to hunt for her.

  At last, one day, her patient search met a reward. In an old book shefound several of what were beyond all doubt Mr. Marmaduke Comarty'spapers.

  Without looking at them closely, Patty took the book straight to Mrs.Cromarty.

  "Dear me!" said the old lady, putting on her glasses. "Have we reallyfound something? I declare I'm quite nervous over it. Emmeline, you readthem."

  Mrs. Hartley was a bit excited, too, and as for Patty and Mabel, theynearly went frantic at their elders' slowness in opening the old andyellow papers.

  There were several letters, a few bills, and some hastily-scribbledmemoranda. The letters and bills were of no special interest, but on oneof the small bits of paper was another rhymed couplet that seemed toindicate a direction.

  It read:

  "Where the angry griffin shows, Ruthless, tear away the rose."

  "Oh," exclaimed Patty, "it's another direction how to get the fortune!Oh, Mabel, it will be all right yet! Oh, where is the angry griffin? Isit over a rosebush? You're only to pull up the rosebush, and there youare!"

  Mabel looked bewildered. So did the older ladies.

  "Speak, somebody!" cried Patty, dancing about in excitement. "Isn't thereany angry griffin? There must be!"

  "That's the trouble," said Mrs. Hartley; "there are so many of them. Why,there are angry griffins on the gates, over the lodge doors, on themarbles in the gardens, and all over the house."

  "Of course there are," said Mabel. "You must have noticed them, Patty.There's one now," and she pointed to a bit of wood carving over the doorframe of the room they were in.

  "I don't care! It means something, I know it does," declared Patty."We'll work it out yet. I wish the boys were home."

  "They'll soon be here," said Mrs. Cromarty. "I can't help thinking thatit does mean something--Marmaduke was very fond of roses, and it would bejust like him to plant a rosebush over his buried treasure."

  "That's it," cried Patty. "Now, where is there a rosebush growing, andone of the angry griffins near it?"

  "There probably are some in the rose garden," said Mrs. Cromarty. "Idon't remember any, though."

  "Come on, Mabel," said Patty, "let's go and look. I can't wait anotherminute!"

  Away flew the two girls, and for the next hour they hovered about therosebushes with more energy than is often shown by the busiest of bees.

  "I wish old Uncle Marmaduke had been less of a poet," said Mabel, as theysat down a moment to rest, "and more of a--a----"

  "More straightforward," suggested Patty. "If he'd only written a fewwords of plain prose, and left it with his lawyer, all this troubleneedn't have been."

  "Well, I suppose he did intend to make it plain before he died, but hewent off so suddenly. Oh, here are the boys."

  Sinclair and Bob came bounding down toward the rose garden, followed moresedately by their mother and grandmother.

  "Not a sign of a griffin a-sniffin' of a rose," said Patty, disconsolately.

  "Oh, you haven't looked all round yet," said Bob. "It's such fun to havesomething to look for besides fir trees and beds, I'm going to make aclose search."

  "Of course," said Sinclair, "the same rose bush wouldn't be here now thatwas here thirty or forty years ago."

  "But it would have been renewed," said Mrs. Cromarty. "We've always triedto keep the flowers as nearly as possible the same."

  "Then here goes to interview every griffin on the place," declared Bob."Jolly of old uncle to mark the spot with a rosebush and a griffin.That's what I call decent of him. And you're a wonder, Patty, to find theold paper."

  "Oh, that's nothing," said Patty. "I just followed your orders about thebooks. If you'd kept at it yourself, you'd have found the same book."

  "I s'pose so. But I'm glad you helped the good work along. Oh, dear! norosebush seems to be near a griffin; and the griffins seem positivelyafraid of the rosebushes." And try as they would, no angry griffin couldthey find, with a rosebush near it. Griffins there were in plenty; bothangry and grinning. Also were there plenty of roses, but they werearranged in well-laid-out beds, and in no case were guarded or menaced byangry griffins.

  "Never mind," said Sinclair, as they returned to the house for dinner,"it's something to work on. I shall stay at home to-morrow and try tofind that particular rosebush, or the place where it used to be."

  "Maybe it's a stone rose," said Patty, as she touched a rose carved instone that was part of an ornamental urn whose handles were the heads ofangry griffins. Sinclair stared at her.

  "You're right," he said, slowly, as if grasping a great thought. "It'smuch more likely to be a rose of stone or marble, and when that'sruthlessly torn away the secret will be revealed. Oh, mother, there _is_hope!"

  Patty had never seen the placid Sinclair so excited, and they all went totheir rooms to get ready for dinner, with a feeling that something wasgoing to happen. Conversation at dinner was all on the engrossingsubject.

  Everybody made suggestions, and everybody recalled various partly-forgottengriffins in odd nooks and corners, each being sure that was "just the placeuncle would choose!"

  After dinner, the young people were anxious to go out and search more,but it had begun to rain, so they all went into the library and againscrutinised the old papers Patty had found.

  They looked through more books, too, but found nothing further ofinterest.

  At last, wearied with the hunt, Patty threw herself into a big armchairand declared she would do no more that night.

  "I should say not," said Bob. "You've done quite enough in giving us thisnew start."

  Although, as Patty had said, the looking through all the old books wasBob's plan,
he generously gave her the credit of this new find. Sinclairthrew himself on a long leather couch, and began to sing softly some oftheir nonsense songs, as he often did when tired out. The others joined,and for a time the fortune was left to take care of itself.

  Very pleasant were the four fresh young voices, and the elders listenedgladly to their music.

  In the middle of a song, Patty stopped, and sat bolt upright, her eyesstaring at a door opposite her as if she had never seen it before.

  "Gracious, goodness! Patty," said Mabel, "what is the matter?"

  "What is it, little one?" said Sinclair, still humming the refrain of theinterrupted song.

  Patty pointed to the door, or rather to the elaborately carved doorframe, and said slowly, "I've been reading a lot in the old architecturebooks--and they often used to have secret hiding places in the walls. Andlook at that door frame! There's an angry griffin on one jamb, and asmiling griffin on the other, and under each is a rose. That is it's afive-leafed blossom, a sort of conventional flower that they always calla rose in architecture."

  "Though I suppose," said Sinclair, "by any other name it would look assweet. Patty, my child, you're dreaming. That old carving is as solid asGibraltar and that old griffin isn't very angry anyway. He just looksrather purse proud and haughty."

  "But it's the only griffin that's near a rose," persisted Patty. "And heis angry, compared to the happy-looking griffin opposite to him."

  "I believe the girl is right," said Bob, who was already examining thecarvings in question. "The rose doesn't look movable, exactly, but it isnot quite like this other rose. It's more deeply cut."

  By this time all had clustered about the door frame, and one afteranother poked and pushed at the wooden rose.

  "There's something in it," persisted Bob. "In the idea, I mean. Ifthere's a secret hiding-place in that upright carved beam, that rose isthe key to it. See how deeply it's cut in, compared to the other; and Ican almost see a crack all round it, as if it could be removed. May I tryto get it out, Grandy?"

  "Certainly, my boy. We mustn't leave a stone unturned."

  "A rose unturned, you mean. Clair, what shall we ruthlessly tear it awaywith? I hate to take a chisel to this beautiful old door."

  "Try a corkscrew," said Mabel.

  "You mean a gimlet," said Bob. "That's a good idea."

  Fetching a gimlet, he bored a hole right in the centre of the carvedblossom, but though it turned and creaked a little it wouldn't come out.

  "It must come," said Sinclair. "It turns, so that proves it's meant to bemovable. It probably has some hinge or spring that is rusted, and so itdoesn't work as it ought to. We'll have to take hammer and chisel; shallwe, Grandy?"

  The boys were deferential to Mrs. Cromarty, for they well knew that shewas tired of having the old house torn up to no avail. But surely thiswas an important development.

  "Yes, indeed, boys. If your uncle's words mean anything, they mean thatit must be ruthlessly torn away, if removed at all."

  For quite ten minutes the two boys worked away with their tools,endeavouring to mar the carving as little as might be, but resolved tosucceed in their undertaking. At last the wooden rose fell out in theirhands, leaving a round opening.

  Peering in, Sinclair saw a small iron knob, which seemed to be part of arusty spring.

  Greatly excited, he tried to push or turn it, but couldn't move it.

  "Anyway, we're getting warm," he cried, and his glowing face corroboratedhis words.

  The boys took turns in working at the stubborn spring, trying withforceps and pincers to move it, until at last something seemed to giveway, and the whole front of the door jamb fell out as one panel.

  Behind it was a series of small pigeon holes one above the other, allfilled with neatly piled papers.

  Though yellow with age, the papers were carefully folded, labelled, anddated.

  "Patty!" cried Mabel, as she embraced her friend, "you've found ourfortune for us!"

  "Don't be too sure," said Patty, laughing, and almost crying at the sametime, so excited was she. "Your Uncle Marmaduke was of such uncertainways I shouldn't wonder if these were merely more files of his immortalverse."

  "They're bills," declared Sinclair, as he ran over a packet he took froma shelf.

  "Let's look them all over systematically," said Bob. "Let's all sit roundthe table, and one of us read out what the paper is about. Then if wecome to anything important, we'll all know it at once."

  This plan was adopted, and Sinclair, as the oldest, was chosen to read.He sat at the head of the long library table, and the others were ateither side.

  But the packets of bills, though interesting in a general way, had nobearing on the great question of the fortune. The papers were all bills.

  "Not even a bit of poetry," sighed Patty, as Sinclair laid aside oneafter another of the receipted bills for merchandise, household goods,clothing, and labour.

  "These might interest a historian," said Sinclair, "as they throw somelight on the prices of goods at that time. But we'll keep on, we may cometo something of interest yet."

  "I hope so," said Bob. "I'm so anxious, that nothing less than a straightdirection to the fortune would satisfy me."

  "Well, here's something," said Sinclair, "whatever it may mean."

  The paper he had just unfolded was a mason's bill, containing only oneitem. The bill was made out in due form, by one Martin Campbell, and wasproperly receipted as paid. And its single item read:

  "To constructing one secret pocket.... Three Guineas."

  "Oh!" cried Patty, breathless with excitement. "Then there is a secretpocket, or poke as your exasperating uncle calls it."

  "There must be," said Sinclair; "and now that we know that, we're goingto find it. Of course, we assumed there was one, but we had only thatfoolish doggerel to prove it. Now this regular bill establishes it as afact beyond all doubt. Do you know this Martin Campbell, Grandy?"

  "I know there was a mason by that name, who worked here several times foryour uncle. He came down from Leicester, but of course I know nothingmore of him."

  "We'll find him!" declared Bob. "We'll make him give up the secret of thepocket."

  "Maybe he's dead by this time," said Sinclair. "Was he an old man,Grandy?"

  "I don't know, my dear. I never saw him. He worked here when I was awayin London. I fear, however, he is not alive now."

  "Oh, perhaps he is. It was only about thirty-five years ago, or forty,that he built this 'secret pocket.' Thirty-eight, to be exact. The dateon the bill proves that."

  "Well, to-morrow you must go to see him," said Mrs. Hartley, rising. "Butnow, my children, you must go to bed. You can't learn any more to-night,and to-morrow we will pick up the broken thread. Patty, my dear child,you are doing a great deal for us."

  "It isn't anything yet," said Patty, "but oh, if it only leads tosomething, I shall be so glad!"