THE MYSTERY
GIRL
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
_Author of “Vicky Van,” “Raspberry Jam,” &c._
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1922
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A.
TO
HUBER GRAY BUEHLER
A GRAVE AND REVEREND SEIGNEUR WHO
POSSESSES THE ADDED GRACE OF A RARE
TASTE IN MYSTERY STORIES
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A President-elect 9
II. Miss Mystery Arrives 28
III. Thirteen Buttons 47
IV. A Broken Teacup 65
V. The Tragedy 84
VI. An Incredible Case 103
VII. The Volume of Martial 121
VIII. Where is Nogi? 140
IX. A Love Letter 158
X. Who is Miss Mystery? 176
XI. The Spinster’s Evidence 193
XII. Maurice Trask, Heir 212
XIII. The Truesdell Eyebrows 231
XIV. A Proposal 250
XV. Fleming Stone Comes 269
XVI. Miss Mystery’s Testimony 287
XVII. Planning an Elopement 305
XVIII. Miss Mystery no Longer 322
THE MYSTERY GIRL
CHAPTER I
A PRESIDENT-ELECT
Quite aside from its natural characteristics, there is an atmosphere
about a college town, especially a New England college town, that is
unmistakable. It is not so much actively intellectual as passively aware
of and satisfied with its own intellectuality.
The beautiful little town of Corinth was no exception; from its
tree-shaded village green to the white-columned homes on its outskirts it
fairly radiated a satisfied sense of its own superiority.
Not that the people were smug or self-conceited. They merely accepted the
fact that the University of Corinth was among the best in the country and
that all true Corinthians were both proud and worthy of it.
The village itself was a gem of well-kept streets, roads and houses, and
all New England could scarce show a better groomed settlement.
In a way, the students, of course, owned the place, yet there were many
families whose claim to prominence lay in another direction.
However, Corinth was by all counts, a college town, and gloried in it.
The University had just passed through the throes and thrills of one of
its own presidential elections.
The contest of the candidates had been long, and at last the strife had
become bitter. Two factions strove for supremacy, one, the conservative
side, adhering to old traditions, the other, the modern spirit,
preferring new conditions and progressive enterprise.
Hard waged and hard won, the battle had resulted at last in the election
of John Waring, the candidate of the followers of the old school.
Waring was not an old fogy, nor yet a hide-bound or narrow-minded back
number. But he did put mental attainment ahead of physical prowess, and
he did hold by certain old-fashioned principles and methods, which he and
his constituents felt to be the backbone of the old and honored
institution.
Wherefore, though his election was an accomplished fact, John Waring had
made enemies that seemed likely never to be placated.
But Waring’s innate serenity and acquired poise were not disturbed by
adverse criticism, he was a man with an eye single to his duty as he saw
it. And he accepted the position of responsibility and trust, simply and
sincerely with a determination to make his name honored among the list of
presidents.
Inauguration, however, would not take place until June, and the months
from February on would give him time to accustom himself to his new
duties, and to learn much from the retiring president.
Yet it must not be thought that John Waring was unpopular. On the
contrary, he was respected and liked by everybody in Corinth. Even the
rival faction conceded his ability, his sterling character and his
personal charm. And their chagrin and disappointment at his election was
far more because of their desire for the other candidate’s innovations
than of any dislike for John Waring as a man.
Of course, there were some who candidly expressed their disapproval of
the new president, but, so far, no real opposition was made, and it was
hoped there would be none.
Now, whether because of the exigencies of his new position, or merely
because of the irresistible charms of Mrs. Bates, Waring expected to make
the lady his wife before his inauguration.
“And a good thing,” his neighbor, Mrs. Adams, observed. “John Waring
ought to’ve been somebody’s good-looking husband long ago, but a bachelor
president of Corinth is out of all reason! Who’d stand by his side at the
receptions, I’d like to know?”
For certain public receptions were dearly loved by the citizens of
Corinth, and Mrs. Adams was one of the most reception-loving of all.
As in all college towns, there were various and sundry boarding houses,
inns and hotels of all grades, but the boarding house of Mrs. Adams was,
without a dissenting voice, acclaimed the most desirable and most
homelike.
The good lady’s husband, though known as “Old Salt,” was by no means a
seafaring man, nor had he ever been. Instead, he was a leaf on a branch
of the Saltonstall family tree, and the irreverent abbreviation had been
given him long ago, and had stuck.
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Adams asserted, “we’ve never had a bachelor president
of Corinth and I hope we never will. Mrs. Bates is a nice sweet-spoken
lady, a widow of four years standing, and I do say she’s just the one for
Doctor Waring’s wife. She has dignity, and yet she’s mighty human.”
Emily Bates was human. Not very tall, a little inclined to plumpness,
with fair hair and laughing blue eyes, she was of a cozy, home-loving
sort, and her innate good nature and ready tact were unfailing.
At first she had resisted John Waring’s appeal, but he persisted, until
she found she really liked the big, wholesome man, and without much
difficulty learned to love him.
Waring was distinguished-looking rather than handsome. Tall and
well-made, he had a decided air of reserve which he rarely broke through,
but which, Emily Bates discovered, could give way to confidences showing
depths of sweetness and charm.
The two were happily matched. Waring was forty-two and Mrs. Bates half a
dozen years younger. But both seemed younger than their years, and
retained their earlier tastes and enthusiasms.
Also both were bound up, heart and soul, in the welfare of the
University. Mrs. Bates’ first husband had been one of its prominent
professors and its history and traditions were known and loved by the
cheery little lady.
Perhaps the only person in Corinth who was not pleased at the approaching
nuptials of John Waring and Emily Bates was Mrs. Peyton, Waring’s present
housekeeper. For it meant the loss of her position, which she had
faithfully filled for ten years or more. And this meant the loss of a
good and satisfactory home, not only for herself, but for her daughter
Helen, a girl of eighteen, who lived there also.
Not yet had Waring told his housekeeper that she was to be dethroned but
she knew the notice would come,—knew, too, that it was delayed only
because of John Waring’s disinclination to say or do anything unwelcome
to another. And Mrs. Peyton had been his sister’s school friend and had
served him well and faithfully. Yet she must go, for the incoming
mistress needed no other housekeeper for the establishment than her own
efficient, capable self.
It was a very cold February afternoon, and Mrs. Peyton was serving tea in
the cheerful living-room. Emily Bates was present; an indulgence she
seldom allowed herself, for she was punctilious regarding conventions,
and Corinth people, after all, were critical. Though, to be sure, there
was no harm in her taking tea in the home so soon to be her own.
The two women were outwardly most courteous, and if there was an
underlying hostility it was not observable on the part of either.
“I came today,” Emily Bates said, as she took her tea cup from the
Japanese butler who offered it, “because I want to tell you, John, of
some rumors I heard in the town. They say there is trouble brewing for
you.”
“Trouble brewing is such a picturesque phrase,” Waring said, smiling
idly, as he stirred his tea. “One immediately visions Macbeth’s witches,
and their trouble brew.”
“You needn’t laugh,” Emily flashed an affectionate smile toward him,
“when the phrase is used it often means something.”
“Something vague and indefinite,” suggested Gordon Lockwood, who was
Waring’s secretary, and was as one of the family.
“Not necessarily,” Mrs. Bates returned; “more likely something definite,
though perhaps not very alarming.”
“Such as what?” asked Waring, “and from what direction? Will the freshmen
make me an apple-pie bed, or will the seniors haze me, do you think?”
“Be serious, John,” Mrs. Bates begged. “I tell you there is a movement on
foot to stir up dissension. I heard they would contest the election.”
“Oh, they can’t do that,” Lockwood stated; “nor would anybody try. Don’t
be alarmed, Mrs. Bates. I’m sure we know all that’s going on,—and I can’t
think there’s any ‘trouble brewing’ for Doctor Waring.”
“I’ve heard it, too,” vouchsafed Mrs. Peyton. “It’s not anything
definite, but there are rumors and hints, and where there’s smoke,
there’s bound to be fire. I wish you’d at least look into it, Doctor.”
“Yes,” agreed Emily Bates, “do look into it, John.”
“But how can I?” Waring smiled. “I can’t go from door to door, saying
‘I’ve come to investigate a rumor,’ can I?”
“Oh, don’t be absurd!” Mrs. Bates’ plump little hands fluttered in
protest and then fell quietly to rest in her lap. “You men are so
tactless! Now, Mrs. Peyton or I could find out all about it, without any
one knowing we were making inquiry.”
“Why don’t you, then?” asked Waring, and Mrs. Peyton gave a pleased smile
as the guest bracketed their names.
“I will, if you say so.” Emily spoke gravely. “That is what I wanted to
ask you. I didn’t like to take up the matter with any one unless you
directly approved.”
“Oh, go ahead,—I see no harm in it.”
“But, Doctor Waring,” put in Lockwood, “is it wise? I fear that if Mrs.
Bates takes up this matter she may get in deeper than she means or
expects to, and—well, you can’t tell what might turn up.”
“That’s so, Emily. As matters stand, you’d best be careful.”
“Oh, John, how vacillating you are! First, you say go ahead, and then you
say stop! I don’t mind your changing your opinions, but I do resent your
paying so little attention to the matter. You toss it aside without
thought.”
“Doctor Waring thinks very quickly,” said Mrs. Peyton, and Emily gave her
a slight stare.
It was hard for the housekeeper to realize that she must inevitably lose
her place in his household, and the thought made her a little assertive
while she still had opportunity.
“Yes, I know it,” was the reply Emily gave, and went on, addressing
herself to the two men.
“Persuade him, Mr. Lockwood. Not of his duty, he never misapprehends
that, but of the necessity of looking on this matter as a duty.”
“What a pleader you are, Emily,” and Waring gave her an admiring bow; “I
am almost persuaded that my very life is in danger!”
“Oh, you won’t be good!” The blue eyes twinkled but the rosy little mouth
took on a mutinous pout. “Well, I warn you, if you don’t look out for
yourself, I’m going to look out for you! And that, as Mr. Lockwood hints,
may get you into trouble!”
“What a contradictory little person it is! In an effort to get me out of
trouble, you admit you will probably get me into trouble. Well, well, if
this is during our betrothal days, what will you do after we are
married?”
“Oh, then you’ll obey me implicitly,” and the expressive hands indicated
with a wide sweep, total subjection.
“You’ll find him not absolutely easy to manage,” Mrs. Peyton declared,
and though Emily Bates said no word, she gave a look of superior managing
power that brought the housekeeper’s thin lips together in a resentful
straight line.
This byplay was unnoticed by large-minded John Waring, but it amused
Lockwood, who was an observer of human nature.
Unostentatiously, he watched Mrs. Peyton, as she turned her attention to
the tea tray, and noted the air of importance with which she continued
her duties as hostess.
“Bring hot toast, Ito,” she said to the well-trained and deferential
Japanese. “And a few more lemon slices,—I see another guest coming.”
She smiled out through the window, and a moment later a breezy young chap
came into the room.
“Hello, folkses,” he cried; “Hello, Aunt Emily.”
He gave Mrs. Bates an audible kiss on her pretty cheek and bowed with
boyish good humor to Mrs. Peyton.
“How do you do, Uncle Doctor?” and “How goes it, Lock?” he went on, as he
threw himself, a little sprawlingly into an easy chair. “And here’s the
fair Helen of Troy.”
He jumped up as Helen Peyton came into the room. “Why, Pinky,” she said,
“when did you come?”
“Just now, my girl, as you noted from your oriel lattice,—and came
running down to bask in the sunshine of my smiles.”
“Behave yourself, Pinky,” admonished his aunt, as she noted Helen’s quick
blush and realized the saucy boy had told the truth.
Pinckney Payne, college freshman, and nephew of Emily Bates, was very
fond of Doctor Waring, his English teacher, and as also fond, in his
boyish way, of his aunt. But he was no respecter of authority, and, now
that his aunt was to be the wife of his favorite professor, also the
President-elect of the college, he assumed an absolute familiarity with
the whole household.
His nickname was not only an abbreviation, but was descriptive of his
exuberant health and invariably red cheeks. For the rest, he was just a
rollicking, care-free boy, ring leader in college fun, often punished,
but bobbing up serenely again, ready for more mischief.
Helen Peyton adored the irrepressible Pinky, and though he liked her, it
was no more than he felt for many others and not so much as he had for a
few.
“Tea, Mrs. Peyton? Oh, yes, indeed, thank you. Yes, two lemon and three
sugar. And toasts,—and cakies,—oh, what good ones! What a tuck! Alma
Mater doesn’t feed us like this! I say, Aunt Emily, after you are
married, may I come to tea every day? And bring the fellows?”
“I’ll answer that,—you may,” said John Waring.
“And I’ll revise the answer,—you may, with reservations,” Mrs. Bates
supplemented. “Now, Pinky, you’re a dear and a sweet, but you can’t annex
this house and all its affairs, just because it’s going to be my home.”
“Don’t want to, Auntie. I only want you to annex me. You’ll keep the same
cook we have at present, won’t you?”
He looked solicitously at her, over a large slice of toast and jam he was
devouring.
“Maybe and maybe not,” Mrs. Peyton spoke up. “Cooks are not always
anxious to be kept.”
“At any rate, we’ll have a cook, Pinky, of some sort,” his aunt assured
him, and the boy turned to tease Helen Peyton, who was quite willing to
be teased.
“I saw your beau today, Helen,” he said.
“Which one?” she asked placidly.
“Is there a crowd? Well, I mean the Tyler person. Him as hangs out at Old
Salt’s. And, by the way, Uncle President,—yes, I am a bit previous on
both counts, but you’ll soon have the honor of being both President and
my uncle,—by the way, I say, Bob Tyler says there’s something in the
wind.”
“A straw to show which way it blows, perhaps,” Waring said.
“Perhaps, sir. But it’s blowing. Tyler says there’s a movement on foot to
make things hot for you if you take the Presidential chair with your
present intentions.”
“My intentions?”
“Yes, sir; about athletics, and sports in general.”
“And what are my so-called intentions?”
“They say, you mean to cut out sport—”
“Oh, Pinckney, you know better than that!”
“Well, Doctor Waring, some seem to think that’s what you have in mind. If
you’d declare your intentions now,—”
“Look here, Pinky, don’t you think I’ve enough on my mind in the matter
of marrying your aunt, without bringing in other matters till that’s
settled.”
“Going to be married soon, Uncle Doc?”
“We are. As soon as your aunt will select a pleasant day for the
ceremony. Then, that attended to, I can devote my mind and energies to
this other subject. And meanwhile, my boy, if you hear talk about it,
don’t make any assertions,—rather, try to hush up the subject.”
“I see,—I see,—and I will, Doctor Waring. You don’t want to bother with
those things till you’re a settled down married man! I know just how you
feel about it. Important business, this getting married,—I daresay, sir.”
“It is,—and so much so, that I’m going to take the bride-elect off right
now, for a little private confab. You must understand that we have much
to arrange.”
“Run along,—bless you, my children!” Pinky waved a teacup and a sandwich
beneficently toward the pair, as they left the room and went off in the
direction of the Doctor’s study.
The house was a large one, with a fine front portico upheld by six
enormous fluted columns.
One of the most beautiful of New England doorways led into a wide hall.
To the right of this was the drawing-room, not so often used and not so
well liked as the more cozy living-room, to the left as one entered, and
where the tea-drinking group now sat.
Behind these two rooms and hall, ran a cross hall, with an outer door at
the end back of the living-room and a deep and wide window seat at the
other end, behind the drawing-room.
Further back, beyond the cross hall, on the living-room side, was the
dining-room, and beside it, back of the drawing-room was the Doctor’s
study. This was the gem of the whole house. The floor had been sunken to
give greater ceiling height, for the room was very large, and of fine
proportions. It opened on to the cross hall with wide double doors, and a
flight of six or seven steps descended to its rug covered floor.
Opposite the double doors was the great fireplace with high over-mantel
of carved stone. Each side of the mantel were windows, high and not
large. The main daylight came through a great window on the right of the
entrance and also from a long French window that opened like doors on the
same side.
This French window, giving on a small porch, and the door that opened
into the cross hall of the house were the only doors in the great room,
save those on cupboards and bookcases.
On the other side of the room, opposite the French window was a row of
four small windows looking into the dining-room. But these were high, and
could not be seen through by people on the sunken floor of the study.
The whole room was done in Circassian walnut, and represented the ideal
abode of a man of letters. The fireside was flanked with two facing
davenports, the wide window seat was piled with cushions. The French
window-doors were suitably curtained and the high windows were of truly
beautiful stained glass.
The spacious table desk was in the middle of the room, and bookcases,
both portable and built in, lined the walls. There were a few good busts
and valuable pictures, and the whole effect was one of dignity and repose
rather than of elaborate grandeur.
The room was renowned, and all Corinth spoke of it with pride. The
students felt it a great occasion that brought them within its walls and
the faculty loved nothing better than a session therein.
Casual guests were rarely entertained in the study. Only especial
visitors or those worthy of its classic atmosphere found welcome there.
Mrs. Peyton or Helen were not expected to use it, and Mrs. Bates had
already declared she should respect it as the sanctum of Doctor Waring
alone.
The two made their way to the window seat, and as he arranged the soft
cushions for her, Waring said, “Don’t, Emily, ever feel shut out of this
room. As I live now, I’ve not welcomed the Peytons in here, but my wife
is a different proposition.”
“I still feel an awe of the place, John, but I may get used to it.
Anyway, I’ll try, and I do appreciate your willingness to have me in
here. Then if you want to be alone, you must put me out.”
“I’ll probably do that, sometimes, dear, for I have to spend many hours
alone. You know, I’m not taking the presidency lightly.”
“I know it, you conscientious dear. But, on the other hand, don’t be too
serious about it. You’re just the man for the place, just the character
for a College President, and if you try too hard to improve or
reconstruct yourself, you’ll probably spoil your present perfection.”
“Well nothing would spoil _your_ present perfection, my Emily. I am too
greatly blest,—to have the great honor from the college,—and you, too!”
“Are you happy, John? All happy?”
Waring’s deep blue eyes fastened themselves on her face. His brown hair
showed only a little gray at the temples, his fine face was not touched
deeply by Time’s lines, and his clear, wholesome skin glowed with health.
If there was an instant’s hesitation before his reply came, it was none
the less hearty and sincere. “Yes, my darling, all happy. And you?”
“I am happy, if you are,” she returned. “But I can never be happy if
there is a shadow of any sort on your heart. Is there, John? Tell me,
truly.”
“You mean regarding this trouble that I hear is brewing for me?”
“Not only that; I mean in any direction.”
“Trouble, Emily! With you in my arms! No,—a thousand times no! Trouble
and I are strangers,—so long as I have you!”