The Third Girl Detective

by Margaret Sutton

  “Are you easily scared?”

  “No. But I’m going to have a flashlight after this.”

  “After what?”

  “Oh, nothing, just because of the ghosts. If I flashed my light on real quick, I might see one.”

  “Well, call me if you do. I’d love to see one. I’ll broadcast him.”

  Jannet thought that so funny, that Uncle Pieter himself looked in to see what the fun was about. “Jan wants to broadcast a ghost,” she explained, but Uncle Pieter did not smile. “Remember that ghosts are supposed to be spirits of the dead,” he said, going on his way through the hall.

  Jan made a face, turning to Jannet with lifted shoulders. “Excuse me for livin’,” he remarked. “I’d like to tell Uncle Pieter that ghosts are often troubled by remorse.”

  “Not any of ours,” quickly said Jannet. “Don’t go to getting me scared really and truly, Jan!” But afterwards, when Jannet thought of Jan’s remarks, she wondered why he wanted to mention “remorse” to Uncle Pieter. Why hadn’t she asked Jan? She would at the first opportunity, if she didn’t forget it.

  CHAPTER VII

  TWO NEW MYSTERIES

  There was some secret between Jan and Old P’lina, Jannet could see, but it was scarcely polite to intercept their glances. Jannet told herself that she must mind her own affairs strictly. Yet it was hard to do it in this environment. Jannet felt that Jan was joking considerably when he talked of the ghosts of the old house, but Paulina wasn’t she was sure. For some strange reason, nevertheless, Jannet grew more and more fond of her pretty, quaint room. Perhaps the face upon the wall accounted for that. In that sweet presence nothing would harm Jannet, yet Jannet was enough of a little girl not to be entirely unshaken by the stories, especially when remembering the blue comforter. It had never appeared again. Paulina did not inquire about it and Jannet did not mention it to Paulina.

  The April days were warm, though in this climate they are often very cool indeed. It could not last, Jan said, but they would make the most of it. Forsaking Chick and his other friends, Jan devoted himself to taking Jannet riding over the farm and all about the country. One would have thought that he owned it all, so anxious was he to impress Jannet favorably.

  The Clydes came over to meet Jannet, who now always used the two n’s in her name. She was “as Dutch as kraut,” Jan told her, and on the land of her ancestors. With this she was quite content. She liked Nell Clyde and felt a little shy with the two boys, but no more so than they felt with the girl from the Philadelphia school.

  A cruel fate was taking Chick back to school after the short Spring vacation, but Jan, though with no grounds that Jannet could see, still hoped to escape. He introduced Jannet as his twin, Jannetje Jan, and they all had several rides together on the roads near home. As Nell was being tutored at home, Jannet expected to have her companionship after the boys had gone back to school. Tom, a little older, was not always with the rest, but all the boys were often in Jan’s shop, not far enough from Jannet’s room to prevent her hearing the sounds of their conversation and laughter.

  No one as yet suggested that it was time for Jannet to go on with her lessons, and Jannet was enjoying her rest far too much to make any inquiry concerning them. At odd times she browsed among her uncle’s books and it was when she opened one of them that she made a discovery. A little torn strip of paper fell out of the book from where it might have been used as a book-mark by some one.

  Idly Jannet looked at the bit of paper which she held in her hand still, though turning the pages of the book to see whether it looked interesting or not. But seeing the name “Jannet” in full, she laid aside the book and examined the paper more closely.

  It was part of a letter, or note, she decided. Perhaps some one had picked the scrap from a waste paper basket at hand and used it as a marker without looking at it. Surely—well, how odd! “Please, please, Pieter, help me find them,” it said. “I have”—here the paper was torn, but below in the irregular places were the words “money” and “gone.” Then below, where one could see through the edge, torn to a gauzy film, the signature, “Jannet,” was plain.

  “It is part of a letter from my mother to Uncle Pieter,” thought Jannet. “What does it mean?”

  Jannet did not feel like reading now. Taking the scrap of paper with her, she walked from the library to the hall, down the hall to the outer door, across a tiny path between tulip beds to the old door with its queer knocker. Soon she was in her room and at the desk. It was scarcely worth while to compare the writing with that of her mother, so sure was she that this was a message from her mother, but she went through the form.

  It was raining again. Her search of the desk had been so casual and hurried before that this would be a good time to devote to it, with greater interest, too, because less distracted by the newness of everything as at first. Jannet admired the rich beauty of the desk, although she did not know that it was of the Chippendale design, with considerable carving, and that it had been made for an earlier ancestor than her mother.

  For several hours Jannet opened and closed “secret” drawers which she had found previously, and read carefully whatever of writing she found in them. Quickly she learned to recognize her mother’s hand. She was scarcely old enough to appreciate the sentiment attaching to old programs and faded flowers, but she collected them thoughtfully and put all such mementos together.

  The bundle of letters she untied, to look at the addresses. These were the love letters, of course; but between the letters she found a few pages of a diary, quickly recognized by the date at the head and the accounts that followed. In a moment she was bending over it with deep interest. One day’s account recorded what had been said of her mother’s singing at a private recital, and expressed the hope of a future as a singer. Another, kept by way of contrast, perhaps, told, with some reserve even to a personal diary, of her engagement and her lover.

  Under a date not long before her marriage, Jannet Van Meter had written very fully and regretfully of a loss. “I have searched everywhere. I can not think that any one could have taken my pearls, yet where are they? I put them in my desk, in the most secret of its drawers. I have not worn them since, and they are gone! It is a great loss in money as well. Father made some sacrifices to raise the sum necessary for my pearls—but he would do it. I was to have them, and Pieter did not like it, of course. He just smiled when I told him that I had lost them and would not show the least interest in discussing what might have become of them, nor would he help me hunt. ‘If they’re gone, they’re gone,’ said he, shrugging his shoulders. Sometimes I’ve almost thought—but no, I’ll not even write such an unworthy suspicion.

  “I had thought that it would be safe for us to have the pearls, because if we ever need money very much after we are married—you and I really are going to be married, Douglas boy—we could sell a pearl or two, or the whole necklace. Perhaps I shall find them yet. I’ll never give it up, not, at least, till I am too far away to hunt. I shall give a thorough going over to every place to-morrow.

  “It is too bad that ‘Mother’ Eldon can’t come on for the wedding. And we have to go right through to the far West without stopping off because Douglas must get to his work. But someway, I imagine from her letter that she is not real happy about her boy’s getting married at all. Perhaps it is just as well for her to get used to the idea before we meet, though Douglas is just silly enough to say that she will love me when she sees me and that she couldn’t help it. Well, if he loves me, that is enough for me.”

  The last page contained a brief account of wedding preparations. No mention was made of the pearls. “There is no use in trying to write it all down,” Jannetje Van Meter had written at the close. “And to write of my thoughts and feelings about this change in my life, or about us, I simply couldn’t. I believe that I will tear up my diary, anyhow! This is Finis.”

  Jannet Eldon was smiling as she finished. He
r mother was just a real girl, after all. She hadn’t lived to be very old. How Jannet wished that she had not burned the diary. Where had she gotten the impression that her mother would be buried among the Van Meters? Why, of course, it would be natural, if she had died before her husband. But if she had been carried off in an epidemic, that would be the reason why her grave would be out West. Then “Gramma” would want her son buried in the Eldon lot. That was it. Jannet had once visited that spot, in company with Miss Hilliard. There was no mystery there; besides, her father and mother were together now, wherever, apart, the worn-out bodies were. One of the lovely things about Miss Hilliard was that she had made the other world so real to Jannet.

  Suddenly Jannet rose and went to one of the drawers of the highboy in which her own treasures now reposed. Rummaging through things not yet well sorted, Jannet found a note book and drew out several sheets of writing paper pinned together. True to her promise, Miss Hilliard had looked up past correspondence, which recalled facts that she had forgotten. But she and Jannet had not had time to go over it very thoroughly.

  Jannet recalled dimly having labored over a few lines to her grandmother, because she “ought to,” One of the teachers helped her. Here was the reply, or part of it:

  “I was pleased that you wrote me yourself. Be a good child. I hope to be better soon and to have you at home for your next vacation. So some of the girls have mothers and you want to know about yours? I will tell you all that I know when I feel stronger. The nurse is writing for me. I never saw your mother and the only letters I have had from her were destroyed by mistake. They were to stop on their way to New York the summer after you were born. Your father took all your mother’s photographs with him and what became of them I do not know. He came East so suddenly, half delirious, saying that your mother had died.

  “It was very fortunate that I found you both. I had moved, writing and telegraphing, but from what he said in his delirium he must have moved too. He was on his way to the old home, when providentially I took the same train from a business trip to a town near by. I took you both from the train and to a hospital in the nearest place, a hospital of which I happened to know. Both of you were ill for weeks and after it was all over and I could think of sending for any of your father’s things, it was too late. No one seemed to know anything. He was young, just starting in business, and I was too worn out to care. They were, or had been living in a furnished apartment. Your father after I found him never had been himself, only to say, ‘She is dead.’

  “I wrote to your mother’s people several times, but never received a reply. If they had so little interest, I was only too glad to have my boy’s little girl to myself. ‘Gramma’ loves you dearly, and when I get well, we shall have some good times.”

  This letter was probably read to Jannet at the time, but she could scarcely recall it. Even there, her grandmother had not mentioned names, and Miss Hilliard said that the Eldon family Bible sent to Jannet had no record entered of her father’s marriage.

  The letters, with the pages of the diary between them, Jannet put back in their drawer and laid this letter, with the scrap from the book, with them. That scrap must refer to the loss of the pearls, yet why should her mother write to her uncle about it? It was puzzling.

  Now to find that “most secret drawer.” Jannet had all sorts of fancies about how to find secret drawers. There was one worn spot, with a narrow piece of yielding wood, in a groove by a little ridge of the mahogany. Jannet rubbed the worn place, thinking of Aladdin’s lamp, but nothing happened. Then she noticed a tiny glint of brass by the ridge and pressed it with the point of her knife. There! a drawer, sticking a little, began to move out. Jannet inserted her fingers and pulled gently, afraid of breaking the delicate wood. “Oh, how beautiful!” she exclaimed as the drawer came out to its full length. There, upon the soft purple velvet of its case, coiled a shining rope of pearls!

  With delicate fingers that shook a little, Jannet lifted the case from the drawer and laid it on the desk before her. As in a dream she took hold of the glistening strand and drew it up, letting the loops of pearls unfold from their long curling. What wonderful pearls they were! Jannet knew little about pearls, but she could appreciate beauty. This must be very valuable—her mother’s—hers!

  Suddenly she lifted them against her cheek while quick tears came to her eyes. Oh, these had been on her mother’s neck the last time that they were worn. Jannet ran to the picture. Yes, she had worn these when that photograph was taken. Why had Jannet not thought of that when she read the diary just now? She looked at the shimmering little pile that she was holding in two hands. Then she put them around her own neck. Twice they went around, coming just a little above the round neck of the dress that Jannet was wearing.

  There was no one to see the pretty picture that was made by the blue-eyed girl with her golden hair, as she stood looking up at the other older girl so like her. How Jannet loved to feel the pearls on her neck. She would like to wear them all the time, she thought, but she sighed as she thought of their value. How many things might have happened to them in these years, and why had not her mother been able to find them? There they were, right in the drawer, as her mother must have put them away—unless someone had taken them for a joke, or spite, and put them back later.

  That thought troubled Jannet, but she was not right. A more peculiar circumstance than she could then imagine had hidden the pearls.

  Should she tell her uncle about them? Jannet considered that for some time, while she carefully looped the pearls again and replaced them. No, she did not believe that she would. She would know her uncle a little better first before she made a confidant of him. And if she did tell him about the pearls, or the scrap of paper, for that matter, she would have somebody else present, too. What if Uncle Pieter should claim the necklace! Oh, he couldn’t have the heart to take anything of her mother’s away from her—but she “guessed she wouldn’t tell him just yet.”

  Jannet knew that she would not forget where the spring was, but after she closed the drawer again, she gave the surroundings a rub with her handkerchief, for want of a duster, and then closed the desk just in time, for there was a great rapping upon her door. It was Jan, drumming again on the panels and calling her.

  “Jannetje Jan,” came the call, with the Dutch Y sound for J.

  “Yes, Yan,” she answered, running to open the door, for she had slipped the bolt as well, when she started in on the desk.

  “Get ready to ride, won’t you? Nell and Chick are out here,” said Jan, adding, when the door was opened, “and worse luck, I’ve got to go back with Chick and finish up school! We only have a day or two more of fun!”

  “I’ll be out in a minute, Jan. I’m aching for a ride. Will you get my horse ready while I dress?”

  “Yep—intended to. Make it snappy.” With this, Jan went away, while Jannet, elated with her discovery, the mystery of it all, and the prospect of fun with her young friends, hurried into her riding clothes.

  CHAPTER VIII

  JANNET’S “FORTUNE”

  It did not take Jannet long to get ready for the expedition. Just before starting out of her room, she paused, her hand on the knob, for this room had more protection than the old-fashioned latches. Should she leave the pearls in the desk? They had disappeared from it before.

  But where could she put them if she took them from the desk? Naturally she could not wear them. Windows and doors were open. She could hear the sounds of laughter from where her young friends were. She must hurry. She ran back to her windows, put them down and locked them firmly. Then she took her key from the lock, locked the door from the outside and pinned the key inside her sweater pocket.

  “I’m the ‘foxy Jannet’ now,” she said to herself, thinking of one of Jan’s expressions. “Now if any one gets in—I’ll know it’s some one with a key!”

  Walking rapidly, past the door of Paulina’s room, down the back stairs
, out of the back door, Jannet hastened to join her friends. Jan, mounted on a curveting black horse, was leading the animal intended for Jannet and cantered toward her, stopping at a high block. He started to dismount to help Jannet, but she waved him back. “Don’t get off, Jan. Pity if I can not get on myself. Is this the stump of the old black walnut that nearly killed you when it fell?”

  “Who told you? Yes; if Chick hadn’t yelled in time, I’d have been under the trunk instead of being scratched up a little by some of the branches. You remember that wind storm, Nell?”

  “Indeed I do. We didn’t know where you boys were and Mother was almost crazy till you came in after it was all over. I was sure that you were over here, but the telephone wires were down.”

  “Why do I have Lucy, Jan? I thought that Uncle Pieter wanted me to ride Ben?”

  “That is what took me so long, Jannet. I saddled Ben first and found that he went a little lame. Lucy is all right, only a little more skittish. She never runs away, but look out for her shying a little.”

  “All right. I like Lucy better anyhow.”

  Jannet was happy with the reins in her hand, for riding was her favorite sport. This pursuit of real country roads, away from hampering conditions of the city was what she called to Nell “real riding,” instead of “riding lessons.” Nell and John Clyde, or “Chick”, drew alongside as Jannet settled herself for the trip and patted her pretty steed.

  “Did you know that you are going to have supper with us at home to-night, after our picnic dinner in the hills?” asked Nell.

  “No, I didn’t. What fun! But Jan, shan’t we take something for the picnic?”

  “Of course,” Jan answered, with a grin. “Say, I forgot all about that. Good thing that you spoke of it.” Jan turned his horse toward the house. “I told P’lina, though. There she comes now.”

  From the back door Paulina this moment made her appearance with a package in her hands. As she approached, her sharp nose looked sharper than ever. Her solemn eyes surveyed the riders with no display of interest and her stolid face was without a smile. A small shawl decorated her shoulders, pinned across her breast, but the tight knot of black hair was without a covering and the spring breeze blew a wiry wisp over her forehead.