A WEIRD EXPERIENCE
“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.
“There _is_ something!” 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 earth _is_ ‘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 just _got_ to 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.