A Telegram
For a moment it seemed as if the young man was going to deny Arden's
statement or at least flee from the scene. But again he smiled in a
disarming and friendly fashion, shrugged his shoulders as though getting
rid of another weight, and, spreading his hands in a helpless and
surrendering gesture, said:
"Yes, I am Harry Pangborn. You have found me out. I thought it wouldn't
be long after I shaved off my mustache. Well, I'm just as glad it
happened this way since it had to happen. I was about to end the little
masquerade, anyhow."
"Oh, please let us end it!" begged Arden. "I mean if we are allowed to
tell----" She seemed confused and blushed.
"Yes, I know," said young Mr. Pangborn. "Well, have it your way. I would
rather see you profit by it than anyone else. You did me a favor the
night the ram came at me."
"But what does it all mean?" asked Sim.
"Why did you give up your inheritance of millions to come here as a
gardener's helper?" asked Terry.
"It's a short story, simple enough, and perhaps you may not believe it,"
said Harry Pangborn, "but I just didn't want my inheritance."
"Not your grandfather's wealth?" asked Arden.
"Well, perhaps it would be more exact to say I was in no hurry for it.
Oh, I'm not going to pass it up altogether," he laughed. "But here's the
story briefly. As the poster explains, I disappeared about the time I was
to inherit a large sum. But there was nothing criminal in it, and I
wasn't kidnaped as some thought. All my life I have wanted to be the
owner of a big farm estate, ever since I used to go to my grandfather's
farm when I was a boy. I knew I could inherit the farm all right, but I
wanted to know something about running one, especially an orchard, since
I hope to raise fancy apples.
"I figured that the best way to learn from the ground up, so to speak,
would be to get a job on a farm or an orchard. I knew I couldn't do it
under my own name. I'd have a lot of tabloid paper reporters after me--a
millionaire apple grower and such rot. So I just quietly disappeared, as
I knew those in charge of the estate I was to inherit would object, and I
roved around. I finally landed here, and I may say I like the place very
much." He smiled frankly at the three attractive girls. "I liked
everything about it but the ram. But now the time has come to end the
masquerade. I've learned what I wanted to learn. Old Anson is a good
teacher, if he isn't all he should be in other ways. He taught me many
secrets of the soil."
"Why did you happen to come to Cedar Ridge?" asked Arden. "The poster
said you might be found around here."
"I know it did. I ran a risk in coming here. But I didn't just happen to.
You see, my grandfather and Rev. Dr. Bordmust are old college chums. I
had that in mind when I came to this college farm as assistant gardener.
In case of accident I wanted someone who knew me to know where I was. So
I told my story to your chaplain, swore him to secrecy, though much
against his will, and then I just let matters drift along.
"More than once Dr. Bordmust urged me to give up what he called my mad
scheme, and he half threatened to disclose everything. But I prevailed on
him to wait just a little longer. But finally, one night just before he
was hurt by the ram, he came to see me in my garden residence and said he
would keep silent no longer. Then, as I had gotten all I wanted to in the
way of apple knowledge, I agreed to do the disclosing myself. This made
Dr. Bordmust easier in his mind. It was when he was going home through
the orchard, after leaving me, that he was attacked. I can't tell you how
badly I felt over it."
"Yes, it was too bad," agreed Arden, still gasping with astonishment.
"Say," broke in Sim, "was it you who rang the alarm bell?"
Harry Pangborn smiled again and said:
"No! It was Anson who did it."
"Anson!" chorused the surprised three.
"Yes. I am on my way to the dean now, before I go to town, to tell her
she had better get rid of her gardener. I can do it freely, as it can be
proved I have no ulterior motive since I am giving up my place. But old
Anson is a man with a warped mind and a queer sense of humor."
"Why did he ring the bell?" asked Terry.
"And how?" asked Arden.
"He reached up with a long-handled rake and tangled the teeth in the
rope," said Mr. Pangborn. "That was his method. As for his reason, well,
it may have been one of several.
"But slyly ringing the alarm bell with the rake and then running away
wasn't all of his peculiar sport," went on Mr. Pangborn.
"What else did he do?" asked Terry.
"Once I caught him perched up on the ledge of one of the high gymnasium
windows, peering in. He jumped down and ran away as I came along the
walk, but I had a chance to see him, and also to note that he was wearing
some kind of a mask, that of an evil old man."
"Oh!" gasped Sim. "The face you saw at the dance, Arden!"
"Yes, it must have been," Arden agreed.
"Oh, then you saw that trick?" asked Mr. Pangborn.
"I just had a glimpse of a face at the window," Arden answered. "Then the
bell rang, and we all hurried out to try to solve the mystery."
"Yes, that was the night," young Mr. Pangborn agreed.
"But what could he hope to gain by such a trick?" asked Arden. "He really
didn't frighten me."
"I think that was to have been the start of a campaign on his part for a
certain purpose," the late Tom Scott answered. "He probably thought the
girls would report to the dean about a strange face peering in at them
out of the night. Then Anson, very likely, might have offered to drive
the Peeping Tom away, which he could easily do by just ceasing his own
antics. In this way he would be commended, I think he expected."
"How strange!" murmured Sim.
"He must be crazy!" echoed Terry.
"Do you think," asked Arden, "that he may have done it all as a joke?
Perhaps he was joking the time he threatened Terry and me."
Mr. Pangborn indicated his disbelief in the joke theory by shaking his
head. Then he added:
"He may have had very queer ideas as to what was a joke, but I really
think he was building up a case for himself."
"A case for himself?" asked Terry.
"Yes. When he had rung the bell enough times and it had become a sort of
terrifying mystery, I think he intended to have it solved in a way that
would not implicate him and so gain credit and perhaps a raise in wages.
That's only a theory, but it may be true. One night I spied on him,
discovered his trick, and was preparing to denounce him when the chaplain
forced me to give up my masquerade. So it's all over, and you are the
first, outside of Dr. Bordmust, who knows my secret. And I suppose you
won't keep it long?"
"We just can't!" said Arden. "As soon as I saw you coming along just now
I knew you were the man of the poster. I half recognized you before, but
the mustache deceived me. I've done a lot of foolish things trying to
remember the two faces--yours and the one on the poster."
"Well, anyhow, Arden," said Sim, "it was fun doing it."
"Yes, it was," Arden agreed. "But, Mr. Pangborn, will you let us notify
the police or lawyers and claim the reward?"
"I would prefer to have you notify the lawyers," he said genially.
"We don't want the money for ourselves," Terry made haste to explain. "We
are going to give it to the dean to have the swimming pool repaired for
Sim."
"For Sim?"
"Yes," exclaimed Arden, indicating the blushing Miss Westover. "She
threatens to leave college because she can't go in the pool."
"Arden!" rebuked Sim.
"Then you will let us notify the lawyers that you are here?" persisted
Arden.
"Please!" begged Terry in a way she had.
"Well," he laughed, "I suppose I must. I guess my little adventure is
over. Go on--tell on me!"
"How wonderful!" cried Arden, while Sim and Terry looked at each other
happily.
"I had about made up my mind, Arden," said Sim, "not to go home after
all. Now, of course, I'll stay, with the prospect of the pool. I'll stay
until I'm sent home."
"That's fine, Sim!" Arden declared. "Everything is coming out so
beautifully!"
"We can have the pool fixed, Sim isn't going to leave us, and the horrid
old ram is caught," murmured Terry.
"And the mystery of the bell is explained," added Sim.
"Have you a piece of paper?" suddenly asked Mr. Pangborn after a vain
search in his own pockets.
"We nearly always carry books and papers," said Sim, "but this
morning----" She looked helplessly at her chums.
"Here!" exclaimed Arden. "Use the back of this envelope. It's the letter
you gave me to keep, Sim. I was always afraid she'd mail it herself if I
left it around," she explained to Terry, "so I've been carrying it with
me."
She handed the crumpled envelope to the young man, who had managed to
find a pencil, and he wrote on it quickly. He handed the envelope back to
Arden.
"There," he said. "That's a telegram to my lawyers. Sign your name, send
it, and the reward is yours."
"You won't run away meanwhile, will you?" asked Arden shyly.
"No, I'll stay around or go and give myself up, as you direct--just so
you'll get the money." He seemed happy to comply.
"Thanks, so much!" Arden said warmly. "Do you mind if we go send this
telegram right away--before we have to report in class?"
"Run along," he said, laughing. "I'll go telephone my people and relieve
their anxiety. Though I don't really believe they were worried. I've
traveled pretty much around the world alone and been out of touch with
them for months at a time."
"Good-bye!" chorused the three freshmen as they literally "ran along" to
the main building to telegraph the surprising message to the lawyers
named on the poster. Harry Pangborn, a quizzical smile on his face,
watched them go.
"Well, it was fun while it lasted," he murmured as he swung on through
the orchard. "And I think it did me good. Those are mighty pretty girls.
I wouldn't mind knowing them--after I come into my kingdom," he chuckled.
"Perhaps I may. Who knows?"
The girl at the college telephone switchboard was almost as excited as
the breathless Arden, who asked to be connected with Western Union and
then dictated the startling news of the missing heir.
"This will be something for the papers!" thought the telephone operator.
And it was--later.
Terry and Sim waited impatiently outside the booth for Arden to emerge.
Girls clustered around them, and many were the exclamations of wonder,
delight, and surprise as the news was told.
"Now we must go inform the dean," said Terry as she came out, flustered
but triumphant.
On the way to Miss Anklon's office the girls passed the college post
boxes, where each girl had a niche of her own, with a dial lock, for
incoming mail. Sim begged them to wait while she looked in her box. There
was a letter slanting to one side.
"Oh, I have one!" Sim announced as she twirled the combination and took
out the missive.
"Who's it from?" asked Terry before Sim had half read it. But she was
quick to answer:
"It's from Ed Anderson. He wants me to go to a dance during the
Thanksgiving holidays. I didn't think he'd ever speak to me again after
the way I disappeared at the tea dance."
At this news Arden and Terry decided to look in their boxes.
"You're not so much!" Terry cried. "I have a letter myself. It's from
Dick Randall!"
"Me too!" announced Arden, succinctly if not grammatically. "It's from
Jim Todd."
"What fun!" exclaimed Sim. "And the holidays begin the end of next week."