the opposite side of the room.
“Can’t imagine,” began Frances; then stopped short, as Jane, who had heard the question, looked back and formed the one word “Rhoda” with her lips.
“Well, where is it?” demanded the old lady, looking at Patricia as if she suspected her of having sold it for old gold.
“It’s at the police station in Millersville, Mrs. Brock,” replied Patricia.
“That’s fine!” commented the old lady sarcastically. “Whatever possessed you to let it out of your hands?”
“Why, I had to,” faltered Patricia, somewhat timidly. This fierce old lady was enough to intimidate a far bolder person than Patricia.
“Had to! Had to!” began the caller, when Jack spoke up in order to shield Patricia a little.
“The police take charge of all articles until after a case is settled.”
“Oh, they do, do they? And who are you?”
“Jack Dunn,” replied the boy, flushing at the bluntness of the question.
Mrs. Brock gazed at him fixedly for a full minute; then wheeled about and started for the door.
“Won’t you stay a while, and have a cup of tea with us?” asked Mrs. Vincent hospitably.
“No, thanks,” was the curt reply. “I get tea enough at home.”
The door opened and closed, and she was gone.
“Did you ever!” exclaimed Katharine.
“Never!” responded Jane promptly.
“Not a word about the reward, either,” lamented Anne.
“Hope she doesn’t forget all about it after she gets the watch back,” remarked Frances.
“Why, Frances,” interposed Patricia reprovingly.
“Well, she’s so queer, who can tell what she’s likely to do.”
“Let’s forget about her and have that tea you mentioned a minute ago, Mrs. Vincent,” suggested Ted.
“And while you’re getting it ready, we’ll run out and get some cakes or something to go with it,” proposed Craig. “Come along, fellows.”
Mrs. Vincent good-naturedly waived the ten-thirty rule, and the rest of the evening passed happily. So exhausted was everyone by excitement and merriment, that heads were hardly on the pillows when their owners were sound asleep. Only Rhoda tossed restlessly, and fearfully awaited the morrow.
Monday morning’s paper contained a full account of the discovery of “Crack” Mayne on a lonely detour by several Granard students who were returning to college after a week end out of town.
“Bless his heart!” cried Patricia, as she read rapidly through the article.
“Whose!” inquired Anne. “Crack’s?”
“No; Craig’s. I begged him to keep our names out of the paper, but I was afraid he wouldn’t. You know reporters just can’t help using everything they can get hold of.”
“He owed you something, I should think, for telephoning him the story right away for his paper. He got a—what do they call it?”
“Scoop!” said Patricia, smiling at the recollection of Craig’s fervent, “You darling girl!” when she had called him up from the Hall as soon as they got in the night before. “He was especially sporting about it, since he was on the trail of Crack himself when we met him at home.”
“He was? Now if he’d only come with us instead of going by train!”
“That’s what he said.”
The evening paper was not so considerate, and the names of all the girls were mentioned, along with the finding of the famous watch by Patricia Randall who would, the paper stated, receive the reward offered by Mrs. Brock. All four girls would share in the $500 reward offered for the capture of the burglar.
“Capture is good!” jeered Katharine, as the Gang was poring over the paper in Jane’s room. “Anybody could capture a dead man.”
“Well,” said Frances belligerently, “if Pat hadn’t run over him you’d never—”
The rest of her remark was drowned by a burst of laughter; for Frances’ hostility was as funny as that of a small kitten who arches her back at imaginary foes.
A couple of days later, when the Gang came in from lunch, Rhoda handed Patricia an envelope.
“This was left for you this morning,” she explained.
“Thank you, Rhoda,” said Patricia, smiling in her usual friendly fashion; but there was no answering smile on the maid’s grave face.
“What’s the matter with Rhoda?” asked Anne, as they went on down the hall to Patricia’s room.
“I don’t know; she isn’t a bit like herself, and sometimes she looks as if she’d been crying. I wish I knew what’s troubling her.”
“Yes; perhaps we could do something.”
But what was disturbing Rhoda would never be revealed to the inmates of Arnold Hall. Little did they suspect that “Crack” Mayne was their maid’s brother; that he had been the one to rob Mrs. Brock of her money and jewelry; and that, maddened by his sister’s refusal to give him access to the Hall, he had, in a spirit of revenge, set fire to it. That was information which Rhoda would keep strictly to herself. Sorrow for her brother’s violent death was tempered by relief that no longer need she shiver with fear each night as she wondered where he was and what he was doing.
“Open it quick,” begged Anne, when they were safely inside Patricia’s room.
Tearing open the envelope, she drew out a sheet of note paper upon which was written in an old-fashioned cramped hand: “The promised reward for finding my watch.” Inside the double sheet were laid five ten dollar bills.
“Congratulations!” cried Anne, jumping up from the bed and flinging open the door. “Girls,” she called to the corridor at large, “Pat’s got her reward!”
From all the rooms on that floor flocked various members of the Gang to gather joyfully around Patricia, exclaiming over the crisp new bills as happily as if they were the property of each individual there.
“You’ll have to go over and thank Mrs. Brock, Pat,” declared Katharine mischievously.
“I shall express my gratitude in a very formal, but sincere, note,” replied Patricia, tucking the bills into her hand bag.
“How are you going to spend it!” inquired Clarice, who was wandering restlessly around the room, examining articles on dressers and desks.
“I’m not sure. Probably lay it aside for a while.”
“You
