Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morganand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net
_Rhoda helped them to scramble up the rough stones, slippery with moss._
THE MYSTERY OF ARNOLD HALL
By HELEN M. PERSONS
Author _of_ "Finding the Lost Treasure," etc.
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY Akron, Ohio New York
Copyright, MCMXXXIV The Saalfield Publishing Company _Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
I Pat's Chance 5 II Anne 16 III "Hill Top" 27 IV The Alley Gang 37 V Moss 48 VI A Meddler 59 VII A Fall 71 VIII Jack or Tut? 84 IX A Tough Proposition 95 X Jack in Danger 103 XI Aunt Betsy to the Rescue 115 XII On Duty 123 XIII A Fire 131 XIV An Investigation 139 XV Under Arrest 149 XVI A Picnic 159 XVII A Robbery 177 XVIII A Week End 188 XIX A Weird Experience 200 XX The Reward 214 XXI Pat's Sacrifice 222 XXII Clarice 235 XXIII Solutions 242
THE MYSTERY OF ARNOLD HALL
CHAPTER I PAT'S CHANCE
"Will you go, Patricia?" called Mrs. Randall from the living room, onecool evening late in August, as the doorbell rang imperatively. "I'mstarting a fire in the grate."
From the dining room across the hall, where she had been putting away thelast of the supper dishes, hurried a tall slender girl, whose short wavyyellow hair and big brown eyes were set off to perfection by a greenjersey dress. Expecting to see one of the neighbors when the door wasopened, she was startled into an involuntary gasp as a messenger thrustforward a special delivery letter, inquiring curtly--"Miss PatriciaRandall?"
"Y--es."
"Sign here."
Patricia signed his book, closed the door, and walked slowly into theliving room staring down at the unexpected missive in her hand.
"What is it, Pat?" inquired her mother, glancing up from the hearth rugwhere she knelt trying to coax a blaze from a bed of charcoal and paper.
"A special delivery letter--for me."
"For you?" repeated Mrs. Randall in surprise. "From whom?"
"I don't know," replied her daughter, frowning in a puzzled fashion.
"Well, open it and find out. Don't stand staring at it like that," urgedher mother briskly.
Patricia sank into a low tapestry chair beside the fireplace and toreopen the envelope. As she drew out the single sheet it contained, a slipdropped from it onto her lap. Still holding the folded letter she pickedup the slip and exclaimed:
"A cashier's check for a _thousand dollars_!"
"Pat!" cried Mrs. Randall, reaching for the yellow paper to read it forherself. "Look at the letter, quick, and see who sent it!"
"It's only a line. 'For Patricia Randall to spend on a year at GranardCollege.' Oh--why--Mums!"
Patricia flung herself on her mother so suddenly that Mrs. Randall losther balance, and the two fell in a heap on the rug.
"Mary! Patricia!" ejaculated a horrified masculine voice from thedoorway. "What in the world--"
"Oh, Dad!" cried the girl, springing up and giving a helping hand to hermother. With scarcely more effort than that of her daughter Mrs. Randallregained her feet, and they stood facing Mr. Randall's astonished gaze.
"Just look at this!" Patricia thrust the magic papers into his hand."Isn't it marvelous?"
Mr. Randall read the brief message, turned the check over and over as ifto discover its sender by inspecting it from all sides, and then lookedinquiringly at his wife and daughter.
"Is this a joke of some kind?"
"Joke!" retorted Patricia in disgust. "I should say not! A messenger justbrought it, special delivery."
"Strange, very strange," commented her father, shaking his head. "Do youknow anything about it, Mary?" addressing his wife, with a suspiciouslook.
"I most certainly do not. Do you?"
"You ought to know that I don't. Where would I get that much money?Didn't we send Pat here to Brentwood College last year because wecouldn't afford to send her away?"
"Keep your shirt on, Dad!" laughed Patricia. "Keep your shirt on, and sayI may go."
"I--I don't know what to say," replied the puzzled man, sinking heavilyinto his favorite chair, and pulling his pipe out of his pocket.
"Do you suppose," began Patricia, perching on the arm of her father'schair, "that Aunt Betsy could have gotten big-hearted and sent it?"
"Pat!" cried her mother derisively. "Of course not. She has all she cando to keep Ted in college."
"Be rather nice for me, having Ted at Granard," mused Patricia, recallingher cousin's beguiling ways and good looks.
"And having Aunt Betsy there to keep an eye on both of you," added hermother.
"Some eye! She'll probably never know I'm there," laughed Patricia."Darling Ted takes up all of her time and attention."
"You two women," remarked Mr. Randall peevishly, "seem to have thisaffair all settled."
"Well, you see, darling, we felt quite sure you would let me go," laughedPatricia, ruffling up his hair. "You're going to, aren't you?" bendingdown to look pleadingly into his eyes. "You know I've longed to go out oftown to college where I could live in a dorm. Not that I don't likeliving at home, but--"
"We understand," interrupted her mother; "you need not be apologetic."
"I wish we knew who sent the money, though," said Patricia, frowningearnestly. "It must be somebody who knows all about us, but I can't thinkof a soul who could or would do it."
"I shall investigate, of course," began her father, after some thought;"but if nothing can be found out about the donor of this wonderful gift,it seems to me that since the money has been sent to you for a specialpurpose, and sent in such a manner, the only course open to us is to useit as stipulated, and not make any further effort to discover itssender."
"Oh, but, Dad! It's so tantalizing," wailed his daughter.
"I know; but, Patricia, when you have a secret, you don't like to haveanyone try to guess it, do you?"
"N--o."
"This is the same thing. Just do your best to be worthy of such agenerous gift and wait for its sender to reveal himself when he chooses."
"Your father is quite right, Pat," agreed Mrs. Randall; "and I'd like toadd one more suggestion: that you do not discuss the matter with anyoneelse but us. It's romantic, and your inclination will be to let your newcompanions in
on the secret, but I think you will be wise if you keep itto yourself; unless, of course, some unusual circumstance arises."
Patricia thought soberly for a few minutes, then said with a sigh, "Isuppose you're right, Mother."
"Do you think you'll have any trouble transferring your credits andgetting into the Sophomore class?" asked her father presently, afteranother long pause, while each was busy with his own thoughts.
"I don't think so. I'll go to see the Dean the first thing tomorrowmorning, and I'll have to write for a room--"
"And we'll have to shop and sew," added Mrs. Randall, almost as eagerlyas her daughter.
After Pat had gone to bed to lie awake anticipating all kinds of unknownadventures, Mr. and Mrs. Randall had a long serious talk over the dyingfire.
"Then you feel satisfied to let her go?" inquired Mrs. Randall anxiouslyas they finally rose to go upstairs.
"I don't see how we can do any different. And who knows what thisopportunity may mean to Pat?"
"If I could only be sure that everything was all right, and that no harmwould come to the child," sighed Mrs. Randall, running her fingersthrough her hair, a habit when troubled over anything.
"Now, Mary, what harm could come to her? She'll be living with lots ofother students under the direct supervision of the house chaperon and theDean; and Betsy is right near the college. But of course if you don'twant her to go--"
"Oh, I _do_--at least I haven't the heart to deprive her of thefulfillment of one of her dreams."
Mr. Randall locked the front door, put out the lights, and followed hiswife up the long stairway. At the door of their room Mrs. Randall paused,grasped his arm and whispered cautiously, with an eye on Pat's door, "I'mwilling to give Pats her chance, but, just the same, John Randall, I wishshe were going back to Brentwood. I have a presentiment that--"
"Oh, you and your presentiments!" ejaculated Mr. Randall, pushing hergently but firmly ahead of him into their room. "Nonsense!"
The weeks that followed were very exciting ones for Patricia. Her dayswere filled to the brim with shopping, sewing, making last calls on oldfriends, and finally, packing. So many evenings were taken up withfarewell parties that Mr. Randall complained that he never saw hisdaughter any more; that, as far as her parents were concerned, she mightas well have gone to college the night she received the money.
"But, dear," remonstrated his wife soothingly, "all her friends want toentertain for her, and she can't very well refuse any of theirinvitations."
"Where is she tonight?" grumbled Mr. Randall.
"Carolyn is giving a dinner dance at the Club. Poor Carolyn! She's quitedisturbed over having Pat go away. They have been such pals ever sincethey were little."
"Pat might ask Carolyn down for a week end some time this year. She andher mother have been more than good to our girl. Besides, I don't wantPat to be so taken up with the new life and new friends that she willcast aside all her old ties."
"I don't think she will, John. Of course just at first her whole mindwill be on Granard, but after the novelty wears off--"
"I've been thinking," interrupted her husband, who evidently had his mindon something else, "that it would be nice for Pats to have a littlecar--"
"John! How 'galumptious' as Pat says. Could we manage it?"
"I think so. We'll have the money we expected to spend on her year atBrentwood, and Everet Schuyler has a coach he's very anxious to sell. IfI can drive any kind of a bargain with him, I think I'll do it. Of coursedon't say anything to Pat. I thought we might drive down some week end,and surprise her with it; and then come back on the train."
"How did you ever happen to think of such a thing?" inquired Mrs.Randall, knitting very fast on the green sweater she was making for herdaughter.
"Oh, I haven't been blind to the fact that more than half of the collegegirls here have some kind of a car, and I often wished I could get Patone. Never been able to, before, but now I guess we can swing it. It willbe a saving, too; for she can drive back and forth whenever she has avacation, and save carfare. And maybe, once in a while, she could comehome for a week end?" he added, hopefully.
"Perhaps," Mrs. Randall smiled and leaned forward to pat his arm.
"Let's go down to Schuyler's now and look at the bus," proposed Mr.Randall ten minutes later.
"All right," agreed his wife, laying aside her work and getting brisklyout of her easy chair.
If Patricia had not been so absorbed in her own affairs she wouldcertainly have wondered the next day what ailed her parents; for therewas such an air of suppressed excitement about them that vented itself insignificant glances and knowing smiles. The thrill of buying her ticket,however, made Patricia oblivious to all else.
"Why don't you take a sleeper," asked her mother, "and get a good rest onthe way down? You've been up so late every night."
"Nothing doing!" retorted Patricia decidedly. "When I travel I want myeyes wide open so I won't miss a single thing."
Her positive decision recurred to her three days later as she snuggleddeep into her comfortable chair, with a sigh of satisfaction, a sighwhich was unceremoniously cut short by a very big yawn. The farewells atthe station had been exciting and gratifying, but yet something of astrain. Almost all of her crowd had assembled to see her off, bearinggifts of candy, fruit, books, and magazines; her mother had clung to hertill the very last minute, and her father had fussed about time tables,porters, tips, and a dozen other things. It had seemed as if she werebeing torn into a dozen pieces trying to pay attention to everybody. Nowthe train was bearing her rapidly away from Dad and Mother and all thedear old friends toward a new life at Granard.
"Perhaps I'd have been wiser to have followed Mother's suggestion aboutthe sleeper," she thought, as she tried to stifle another great yawn."Maybe if I take a little nap now, I'll feel fresh for the rest of theday."
Turning her chair toward the window, and leaning back, her hands on thebroad arms, she was almost immediately floating in a delicious sea ofsemi-unconsciousness which became deeper and deeper until she wascompletely lost to the world about her. After a while, however, a mostpersistent dream began to disturb her peaceful sleep, a dream about asoft grey kitten whose silky fur she kept stroking, stroking until herhand was tired; but yet she could not stop. After a time she began torealize that she was dreaming, and made a desperate effort to freeherself from the world of sleep by closing her fingers sharply on thelittle animal's neck and giving it a shove.
Then with a sudden start at some movement close to her she sat boltupright and opened her eyes just in time to see a pair of long legs, theankles clad in grey silk socks, hastily removing themselves from theledge beside her chair.
"Good Heavens!" she thought, horror-stricken. "I do hope _those_ weren'tthe kitten!"