The Third Girl Detective

by Margaret Sutton

  Lois and Lorraine quickly obeyed. But they did not wait for Judy. Stumbling, falling, picking themselves up and hurrying on, they were out of sight while she was still struggling to get through the fence.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Judy Is Warned

  “Having trouble?” a sneering voice inquired.

  Judy had managed to prop up the wires and slide under them by herself without receiving a shock. She was about to hurry on when the dark man Lorraine feared approached her. It was not hard to pretend that she, too, had been frightened.

  “I—I’m all right now. I—just want to get out of here,” she chattered. “That fountain back there must be haunted. I heard moans coming from it.”

  “Is that all you heard?”

  “That was enough!” declared Judy, not admitting to any curiosity concerning the moans. “I just want to go—”

  “Go, then, and don’t come back!” the man warned. “We don’t want strangers snooping around here.”

  Judy was thankful he thought she was a stranger. Apparently he hadn’t seen Lois and Lorraine. As she hurried on, Judy kept telling herself that they wouldn’t leave without her. And yet, when she finally reached the spot where they had parked the car Lois was in the very act of driving away.

  “Wait!” shouted Judy. “What kind of friends are you to leave me here after I helped you through the fence? How did you think I would get home?”

  “We didn’t think. Oh, Judy! I’m sorry,” Lois apologized. “Are we being followed?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He went back up the hill, but not before I had a good look at him. He’s just a man. No horns! He warned me not to come back.”

  “You won’t, will you?”

  “I’m considering—”

  “There isn’t time to consider now. Hop in, Judy,” Lorraine commanded, “if you don’t want us to drive off without you. It would serve you just right for getting us into this.”

  Judy hopped in, but she wasn’t happy about leaving. She didn’t like running away from a mystery.

  “I got you into it?” she asked when they were on their way. “From the way you’ve been acting, Lorraine, you were in serious trouble before I mentioned the fountain, and I suspect that man back there has something to do with it. I was only trying to help—”

  “Well, don’t try any more. It’s no use.”

  “Maybe not,” agreed Judy, and changed the subject. “It gets dark so quickly, these December evenings,” she observed. “But it’s still early. See? The lights are still on in the stores,” she added as they drove into Farringdon.

  She had planned to spend the night with her mother and go Christmas shopping with her early in the morning. Now she was rapidly changing her plans to include Horace.

  “Let me off at the newspaper office,” she said to Lois when they reached Main and Grove Streets. “Horace may be working late. I don’t care what you girls say, I have to at least put a notice about this diamond in the Lost and Found column.”

  “I suppose you do,” Lois agreed. “Knowing you, I’m sure you wouldn’t keep it without advertising for the owner.”

  “Do you have to mention where you found it?” Lorraine asked anxiously.

  “No, but I do have to go back there. Suppose we’re needed? That moan sounded as if the—the fountain hurt somewhere—”

  “How could a fountain hurt?” asked Lois.

  “The same way it could speak, I suppose. If I knew, I wouldn’t be so eager to explore it. As for your problem, Lorraine,” Judy finished as Lois stopped the car to let her out, “I think it will solve itself if you just trust Arthur and put his ring back on your finger.”

  “I would if I could,” Lorraine said sadly. “Good-bye, Judy. We both wish you luck.”

  “I’ll need it,” thought Judy as she headed for the Herald Building just opposite the county courthouse where Peter worked. The resident agency of the FBI would be located in the new Post Office as soon as it was completed. The Ace Builders, Arthur’s company, was in charge of construction.

  Judy entered the front office where she received permission to hunt up Horace somewhere in back. Finally she found him pecking away at his typewriter and looking immensely dissatisfied with what he had written.

  “Hi, sis!” he greeted Judy. “Why so gloomy? You look better in a smile.”

  “Thanks, brother of mine,” replied Judy, smiling at him. “I was thinking gloomy thoughts, I guess. For a girl whose wishes come true, I ought to know better. Horace, I have something to tell you.”

  “I surmised as much. Well, let’s have it!”

  Quickly she told him the story of the fountain, adding the information that their grandparents had been friends of the Brandts.

  “That’s where they must have taken you all right,” he agreed, “but what of it? Why should something that happened five or six years ago worry you now?”

  “It doesn’t—not any more. It’s something that happened today.”

  Horace grinned expectantly.

  “Let’s have it then. It’s time for all honest people to stop working, but newspapermen never stop. Things have a way of happening at night. Is what you have to tell me news, by any chance?”

  “Not yet,” she replied, “but I think I’m on the trail of something that will be. I only hope it doesn’t happen at night, because I want to go there with you tomorrow morning.”

  “Where?” he asked. “Not to that enchanted fountain you were telling me about? That’s for kids. It has to be some place important if I go on the newspaper’s time. Not only that, I have to give a reason for going.”

  Judy told him several good reasons, adding that she had been warned to stay away by a mysterious character who seemed to frighten Lorraine.

  “He knows Roger Banning and a heavy-set friend of his called Cubby,” she continued. “They apparently live there. They say the Brandts leased the estate to them, but I don’t believe it. They said there wasn’t any fountain, but we found not only a fountain but a diamond in the water. As Lorraine says, it’s no frozen tear. Take a look at it, Horace!” Judy untied her handkerchief and exhibited the gem. “There!” she finished. “Now is it important? Do you think we should advertise?”

  “Not yet. Jeepers, what a piece of ice! Think we can find any more of them scattered around that fountain?”

  “We can try. Please go with me,” begged Judy. “You’ll have to think of some excuse—”

  “Tell you what,” Horace decided. “I won’t use this story I have in the typewriter. It’s supposed to be a writeup for my ‘Meet Your Neighbor’ column, but now I have another neighbor in mind. This week the readers of the Farringdon Daily Herald will meet George Banning, father of Roger. He used to be a plumber, but he must have some more lucrative job now if he can afford to lease the Brandt estate. I’ll just assume he’s somebody important. Think that will get us in?”

  Judy smiled. “I think so. A plumber might be employed by the Brandts to repair the fountain, but that doesn’t make sense, either, does it? The fountain was still badly in need of repair.”

  On the way home Judy told Horace more about the mysterious fountain and the moaning cry she had heard.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t just a noise in the pipes?” Horace asked dubiously.

  “It wouldn’t say ‘Go away!’ would it?”

  “You might have thought it did. The air would come out with a peculiar sound if someone suddenly turned on the water.”

  That, in Horace’s opinion, could account for the “voice” in the fountain. He expounded his theory later around the dinner table. It had holes in it, as Judy soon pointed out to her parents. Dr. Bolton was especially interested in the moan.

  “Someone could be in pain. You say you didn’t have time to explore underneath the fountain?”

  “We couldn’t, Dad, with the water turned on. I thi
nk there is a place to go down behind those cupids that hold the pedestal, but the water shoots right over it. Lorraine acted as if she thought that man she seems so afraid of was trying to drown us. She and Lois almost drove off without me.”

  “That was unkind of them,” Mrs. Bolton began in the overly sympathetic tone she sometimes used.

  “Oh, Mother! You just don’t understand them,” Judy objected. “They knew each other long before they met me. Besides, we’re—well, different. We don’t care about being proper the way a Farringdon-Pett does. Roger Banning did say a funny thing, though. It was something about Dr. Bolton’s kids winding up as the patients if Cubby would let them. That wasn’t just the way he said it. Dad, what do you think he meant?”

  “I don’t know,” the doctor admitted, “but I’ll be at the hospital between eleven and twelve o’clock. Call me there if you need me. Perhaps you’d better call anyway,” he added. “I’m a little worried about this haunted fountain, as you call it. I haven’t forgotten the haunted road. Your ghosts very often need medical care.”

  “I see what you mean, Dad.”

  Judy had not forgotten the haunted road, either, or her terrifying experience at the end of it. Now she was deep in a new mystery. The spirit of the fountain had not called for help, she reminded her father. The voice had called, “Go away!” She was sure of that.

  “Probably it was only one of those boys hiding under the fountain and trying to frighten you,” Mrs. Bolton said. “They might have known they would only whet your curiosity. Have you told Peter about it?”

  “I haven’t seen him,” replied Judy. “Has he called?”

  Judy’s mother said he hadn’t. “Perhaps you’d better call him,” she added. “Tell him there’s a nice chicken pie I can warm up for him if he hasn’t had dinner.”

  “I think he has, Mother. From the way he spoke I think he had plans for the whole evening. But I’ll call, anyway.” Judy dialed the number and soon heard the telephone ringing in her own house in Dry Brook Hollow. It was right beside the door so that she could hurry in and answer it if she happened to be outside. Peter had another outside wire in his den, and there was an extension in their bedroom. Nobody could complain that it took too long to reach the telephone. After six rings Judy decided there was nobody at home.

  “Peter may be on his way here. If he is, I hope he let Blackberry out of prison. I think I shut him in the attic by mistake,” confessed Judy. “He was up there playing with my sewing things.”

  “Thinks he’s a kitten, does he?” chuckled the doctor. “I wouldn’t worry about him if I were you, Judy girl. Cats have a way of taking care of themselves.”

  “Blackberry does. Peter will think the house is haunted if he comes in and hears him rolling spools around up there. He will investigate the noise, and Blackberry will be rescued—like that!” Judy finished and dismissed the matter from her mind.

  CHAPTER IX

  Horace Cooperates

  Judy really meant to call Peter again. But when his sister Honey telephoned and suggested a late movie she couldn’t resist the temptation to go with her. The picture was all about a man with a criminal record. It made Judy think of Dick Hartwell. Honey said she had liked him, too.

  “My trouble is, I like everybody,” she confessed. “Besides, I have a little theory of my own that people have to make mistakes in order to do better. I know I did.”

  “I believe in that, too,” declared Judy, “and so does Peter. He doesn’t think a single conviction should brand a man as a criminal. I certainly had a better opinion of Dick Hartwell than I do of Roger Banning. He and that Cubby, as he calls him, are up to no good. As for that other man, there was something evil about him. Lois and Lorraine weren’t the only ones who were frightened. I do mean to go back there and investigate in spite of his warning. Horace will dig up something. I wish you could go with us tomorrow, Honey. You couldn’t ask for the day off, could you?”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t,” Peter’s sister replied. “Mr. Dean has just bought a new air-brush machine, and tomorrow is the day I learn how to use it. I wouldn’t miss that even for a wish in your enchanted fountain, Judy. The art work I’m doing is the fulfillment of my dearest wish, anyway. But have fun!”

  “I will,” Judy promised, wondering if she would.

  The next morning when Judy told Horace what Honey had said about the new air-brush machine, he was not pleased at all. Muttering that young Forrest Dean was more interested in the artists his father employed than in the work he was supposed to be doing, Horace made an attack on his breakfast that sent a fried egg skimming through the air like a flying saucer.

  “Ha! Ha! Ha!” screeched his parrot from his cage near the kitchen window.

  Fortunately for the doctor’s peace of mind, the parrot went to sleep early, but he also awoke at the crack of dawn. This morning he was especially noisy.

  “At least,” Judy laughed, as Horace mopped up the egg, “he isn’t calling names the way he usually does.”

  “No?” asked Horace.

  The egg incident had started the parrot off. Now he was sidling from one end of his perch to the other and screeching, “Cheat! Cheat! Cheat!”

  This was by no means the only word in the parrot’s vocabulary, but it was the one he most frequently used. It made Judy think of Lorraine’s wish.

  “She wished she could trust Arthur, and then she asked me if I could trust Peter if I believed he was a cheat. What do you think she meant by that?”

  “Cheat! Cheat!” shrieked the parrot.

  “There! You’ve started him off again. Quiet, Plato!” commanded Horace.

  To Judy’s amazement, the bird kept still.

  “So you’ve finally decided on a name for him?” she asked her brother. “But why Plato?”

  “Why not?” Horace asked. “Most of his chattering is Greek to me. Honey suggested the name. You know how I feel about her, Judy. But if she’s in love with her art work, where do I fit in?”

  “I’m afraid, Horace, that she thinks of you as a brother,” Judy told him. “After all, she is my sister. I wished for her in the fountain, and my wish came true.”

  “Actually,” Horace pointed out, “she is your sister-in-law, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll be a great big cooperative brother to both of you if that’s the way she wants it. Art before love, as the saying goes. By the way,” he asked more curiously, “how does Honey operate this air-brush machine?”

  “She doesn’t know,” Judy replied. “That’s why she’s so eager to learn. She told me the kind of picture it paints. It gives a nice spattered effect like—like the spray from a fountain.”

  Everything reminded her of fountains. Later, as they drove through Farringdon and on toward the Brandt estate, they talked of little else.

  “We’ll see what haunts your fountain, and then I’ll take you on home. This may not be much of a story, sis. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

  “I won’t be. I’m more interested in what’s bothering Lorraine. Something has made her really unhappy,” Judy declared. “You and I both know Arthur wouldn’t do anything dishonest. Why should Lorraine, who’s supposed to be in love with him, even suggest that he might be a cheat?”

  “Did she?” Horace looked almost too interested.

  “I started to tell you at breakfast, but your parrot wouldn’t let me. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Lorraine acts as if the whole thing ought to be kept secret, and I’m sure she has a reason. Horace—”

  “Don’t worry,” he assured Judy. “I won’t let the cat out of the bag.”

  Again Judy thought of Blackberry shut in the attic.

  “Maybe we should drive over to my house—”

  “Later,” Horace promised, turning in at the private road to the Brandt estate. “Newspapermen never pay any attention to NO TRESPASSING signs,” he told Judy as they drove past the not
ice and straight up to the door of the house Judy was now seeing for the first time.

  The top of the hill had looked like the end of the world. They had come down upon the house immediately afterwards. It was nestled in the hollow beyond the hilltop and rambled off in all directions, an attractive combination of brick and native stone. There were three or four tall chimneys. Judy didn’t count them because, just as she and Horace climbed out of the car, a black cat darted in front of them and through the open door. A grim, elderly man, who did not look at all pleased to see them, was holding it open. He had not waited for Horace to ring the bell.

  “Herald reporter. May I have an interview?” Judy’s brother asked promptly.

  “With whom, may I ask?”

  The man’s tone was icy, but Horace replied in his usual bland manner, “I was told by my editor to get a good story from someone of importance. I leave it to you, sir. Who is the most important person here?”

  The man, who was tall, white-haired, and rather an important-looking person himself, was about to reply when a woman’s voice from somewhere within the house called, “Who is it, Stanley?”

  “Reporters, madam,” replied Stanley, raising his voice as much as dignity would permit. “They want to interview a person of importance. Will you see them?”

  “I will not.” The reply was short and to the point. “I told those two gentlemen who were here last night that we have nothing to hide. I will not be bothered by any more people.”

  Horace, who always had a quotation at the tip of his tongue, turned to Judy and said, “‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”

  “I beg your pardon?” Stanley said politely.

  It came to Judy that he must be the butler. Had the Brandts left him there to take care of things while they were away, or had these new people, whoever they were, hired him? Even the Farringdon-Petts didn’t employ a butler.

  “This is the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Banning, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Brandt,” Stanley corrected her. “I’m afraid you have made a mistake—”

  “I’m afraid you have made a mistake,” Horace said, and his tone was not so bland as before. “The Brandts are in Florida. We were told they had leased the estate to the Bannings. Is Mr. George Banning here?”