A ROBBERY
“Have you seen the paper this morning?” demanded Jane excitedly, waving
the _Granard Herald_ overhead as Pat was hurrying down the corridor to
her room after breakfast.
“No, what’s in it?”
“Look!” Jane held out the front sheet and pointed to a headline in heavy
print:
Daring Robbery. Thieves Make Big Haul.
Victim of losses sits in library while men work in room above. No
clews. Mrs. Brock, owner of property, offers reward.
“Why!” gasped Patricia. “How awful!”
A clock somewhere in the Hall struck the quarter hour.
“Oh, I’m going to be late,” cried Patricia, dashing into her room,
seizing a couple of books, and running down the corridor. “Have to hear
the rest later,” she called back to Jane.
“Pat!” cried Anne, catching hold of her at the door. “Have you seen the
paper?”
“Yes, Jane just showed it to me.”
“Isn’t it exciting? All her jewelry, and a lot of money taken.”
“I’m late, Anne; let me go, please!” pulling away from the girl.
At the corner of Wentworth Street, Ruth caught up with her.
“Heard the news?” she panted.
“Yes, but can’t stop; most time for class.”
As Patricia sank, breathless, into a seat in French class, which had
already begun, Frances leaned forward from the row behind to whisper,
“Know about the robbery?”
Patricia nodded.
“The paper says nobody heard a thing,” continued Frances. “Norman was in
his room right next to the one where the robbers were working. Isn’t that
thrilling?”
“How do you know?” traced Patricia’s pencil on the margin of her note
book.
“Clarice met him this morning, and he told her.”
“Mademoiselle Quinne, _continuez s’il vous plait_,” requested the
Professor’s smooth voice.
It must be confessed that Patricia heard little of the French lesson that
day. Her mind was briskly working on the piecemeal information she had
received about the disaster at Big House.
“Seems awfully queer,” she commented to Jack later in the day, “that a
person or persons would break into a house early in the evening like
that. Why, Mrs. Brock or Norman might have walked in on them any minute.”
Jack smiled. “He probably had worked out, by direct observation, when his
chances of being undisturbed were greatest.”
“Direct observation?” repeated Patricia.
“Yes; whoever it was knew the layout of the house, the habits of its
inmates, and where valuables were kept.”
“Why, Jack!” cried Patricia, her eyes dilating with a dawning suspicion.
“Who—”
“Better not put anything into words, Pat,” Jack said quickly; “probably
we’re all wrong. I hope so. Let’s try to forget all about it. The
authorities will take care of it; it’s their business, not ours.”
In spite of Jack’s good advice, Patricia could not keep from dwelling on
the subject rather constantly for the rest of the week, especially since
the robbery was the Gang’s principal theme of conversation.
“Mrs. Brock,” announced Katharine on Thursday night, “is offering a large
reward for the return of her grandfather’s watch alone. It’s a valuable
heirloom, and she cares more for that than for the rest of the jewelry.
Don’t I wish I could go out some morning, pick up the timepiece, and take
it over to her!”
“I guess none of us would object to some extra money,” laughed Anne. “If
you weren’t going home this week end, Pat, we might organize a searching
party and beat Kath out.”
“Go ahead, anyway,” advised Patricia, pulling out her bag and beginning
to pack it ready for an early start the next afternoon. “You’d better get
your things together, Jane; we won’t have any time after lunch tomorrow.”
“Jane going with you?” inquired Anne somewhat wistfully.
“Yes. Want to come, too?”
“_Do_ I! You’re a peach.” Anne hugged Patricia, and departed for her own
room, stumbling over the doorstop as she went out.
“Look out, Anne; you’ll break your neck over my coach-and-four,” called
Patricia. “She never fails to fall over that,” she added to the girls.
“Kath, why don’t you come with us?”
“I’d love to, but what will your mother say to so many of us?”
“She won’t care. My room has twin beds, so I can have guests in comfort
whenever I want to; and then we have the regular guest room. You won’t
have to sleep on the floor.”
“As if I’d care for that! I’ve done it at house parties.” Katharine
departed to announce her good fortune to the rest of the Gang, and then
went to pack.
“I envy you, Patricia,” said Jane, the next afternoon, as they were
riding through a stretch of woods, “being able to take this lovely ride
home any week end you want to.”
“Not whenever I want to,” corrected Pat, “but rather when I have money
enough for the gas, and when my work can be left for a couple of days. I
can’t do any studying at home, of course.”
“Don’t think I’d care for these woods in the dark,” observed Anne.
“Well, darling,” said Katharine soothingly, “you won’t be in them in the
dark.”
“Not a chance,” agreed Patricia. “Dad always starts me back in good time
so I won’t be on the road after nightfall. He’s deadly afraid of a
hold-up.”
“Good place for wild flowers, I should think,” continued Jane, peering in
between the tree trunks. “Don’t you want to stop and gather some, Pat?”
“I do not! I’ve had quite enough experience with wild flowers for a
while, anyhow.”
“Ever see your reporter-rescuer?” asked Katharine.
“Once in a while. Jack likes him a lot, and Craig has asked us out a
couple of times.”
“Hasn’t he a girl friend?” demanded Katharine.
“I guess not; not a regular, anyhow. But why should you be interested?
Aren’t you and the Professor good pals any more?”
“Sure; but there are several nice girls in the Gang who haven’t boy
friends. You see I’m being purely altruistic.”
“Maybe the man in question would prefer to manage his affairs himself,”
said Jane practically.
“Maybe; in fact, he may have made a selection already,” suggested Anne,
smiling at Pat in the mirror.
Patricia kept her eyes on the road ahead, and feigned ignorance of Anne’s
meaning. Presently she changed the subject by asking what her guests
would like to do that evening. “The week end is so short that we have to
use every minute of it.”
“A movie,” proposed Katharine. “I haven’t seen a good one in a coon’s
age.”
“And double sodas all around afterward,” added Jane. “My treat.”
“Sounds good to me,” agreed Anne, when Patricia looked inquiringly at
her.
“All right, then. That’s what we’ll do. Guess I’ll put on a little speed,
so we’ll get home early enough to go to the first performance. This new
road certainly has meant a lot to me—it shortened the distance so much.
You know it’s quite a trip by rail; this road through the woods cuts off
miles. Oh!” her remarks concluded with a shriek.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Anne, startled.
“A bee!” exclaimed Patricia. “For pity’s sake keep your eyes on him and
try to put him out. I’m always afraid of being stung when I’m at the
wheel.”
“You have some opinion of our eyes if you think they are capable of
putting out a full grown bee,” remarked Katharine. “Mine don’t even see
him, to say nothing of pushing him out the window.”
“Stop joking,” begged Patricia, “and find him.”
“There he is!” cried Anne, drawing herself as far into the corner as she
could.
“Where?” demanded Jane, turning around to look at the passengers in the
back seat.
“Down on the floor,” said Katharine. “You girls make me tired; all so
afraid of one poor little bee!”
“Suppose you pick him up and throw him out, if there’s nothing to be
afraid of,” suggested Patricia.
“No—o; but, there! I’ve set my bag on him. He’ll be quite dead in a
minute, then I’ll pick him up,” offered Katharine.
“Most any one of us would be willing to pick up a dead bee,” offered
Jane.
Presently Katharine lifted the bag; but the action was followed by a
squeal from Anne, who announced that he was just as much alive as ever.
Katharine thumped her bag down again while Jane laughed breathlessly.
Ten minutes later, Katharine again peered at her victim; and again he
showed very definite signs of life.
“Talk about cats having nine lives,” she commented.
“Set that bag down,” begged Anne, “and leave him alone. If he’s not dead,
he’s at least out of mischief.”
“Toughest bee I ever saw,” commented Katharine, thumping the bag again on
the unlucky insect. “There you stay until we get to our destination.”
Mrs. Randall was on the porch waiting for them when the car pulled up at
the steps.
“I brought two extras, Mum!” cried Patricia, jumping out and hugging her
mother.
“That’s fine,” replied Mrs. Randall, smiling at her guests. “It’s pretty
lonesome around here now, and Pat’s friends are always welcome.”
When the introductions were over, the irrepressible Katharine said to
their hostess, “One of our passengers is in there on the floor; where
shall I put him?”
Mrs. Randall looked puzzled, while the girls laughed.
“See?” said Katharine, taking Mrs. Randall by the arm, and showing her
the bee crawling along as if holding up heavy bags were just pastime for
him.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Randall, entering into the spirit of the fun. “Suppose
you leave the door open and let him select his own room.”
As she spoke, the big black and gold fellow spread his wings, blundered
about a moment, then sailed out past the girls who dodged him with little
shrieks and settled on a patch of lilies of the valley beside the porch.
“Now that the stowaway is disposed of, let’s go in,” proposed Patricia,
following her mother up the steps.
“Better go right upstairs and get ready for dinner, Pat,” advised Mrs.
Randall. “Daddy’s coming home a bit early, and I thought we would eat as
soon as he gets here, so you girls will have a long evening for anything
you want to do.”
“Your mother’s a peach; isn’t she?” remarked Anne, as the four girls went
up the long stairs together.
“I think so,” replied Patricia, smiling with gratification. “Now this is
my room, and the guest room is right opposite. We can divide up any way
you please.”
“Suppose we change around,” proposed Anne. “Katharine and I will take the
guest room tonight; then tomorrow night we’ll put Jane in with Katharine
and I’ll go with you.”
“Ah—wa! Ah—wa!” lamented Katharine.
“What on earth’s the matter with you?” demanded Anne.
“I don’t have Pat at all, I don’t!”
“Oh, you sleep all the time; so what difference does it make?” laughed
Jane.
“I’ll set the alarm,” offered Patricia in amusement; “and when the
night’s half over, I’ll go in, roll Anne out, send her over to my room,
and get in with you. How’s that?”
“I’ll consider it,” replied Katharine in her most dignified tones; “but I
think my feelings are irreparably damaged.”
“Oh, go on!” cried Anne, shoving Katharine ahead of her into the guest
room. “You’ll never be ready for dinner.”
Mr. Randall loved company, and was always most entertaining whenever
Patricia had guests; so the dinner hour was prolonged to such an extent
that when the four girls reached the theater, the early performance was
well under way.
“I like it over on the right,” whispered Patricia, as they entered the
darkened house. “Just follow me,” she added, ignoring the usher
completely and hurrying down a side aisle. She was a bit careless in
stepping up into a row of seats, and turned on her ankle. To save herself
a fall, she grabbed madly at the seat in front of her, which was occupied
by a very large and very dignified-looking man. Instead of grasping the
back of his seat, as she intended, her hand came down very forcibly on
the top of his bald head.
“Ouch!” he cried out in astonishment and discomfort.
Everybody within hearing turned around. Several people exclaimed in
annoyance. Some nearby, who had witnessed the incident, laughed aloud. In
the general disturbance, the girls managed to sink into their seats quite
overcome with embarrassment. Presently Anne hid her face in her hands and
began to quiver.
“What is the matter?” whispered Patricia.
Anne only shook her head, and Patricia realized that the girl was in a
paroxysm of laughter. It was contagious, and before long Pat and
Katharine were in the same state.
“Stop that!” ordered Jane. “Think of something sad, and do it _quick_.”
With much effort and several relapses they finally succeeded in pulling
themselves together, and fixed their eyes determinedly on the screen, not
daring to glance at one another.
“That was just terrible!” exclaimed Jane in mock anger, when they were
out upon the street again. “I’ll never go to a movie with you again,
Patricia Randall!”
“I’m—awfully—sorry,” gasped Pat.
“You certainly act as if you were, quite overcome with grief,” said Anne.
“Did you ever in your life hear anything so funny as the way that man
hollered—he fairly bellowed!” said Katharine.
“You do get into more scrapes, Pat,” commented Anne, “than anyone I ever
met.”
“Don’t I?”
“Never mind,” said Jane soothingly, as they entered a confectionery
store, “you mean well.”
“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.