The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

“Don’t think I’d care for these woods in the dark,” observed Anne.

  “Well, darling,” said Katharine soothingly, “you won’t be in them in the dark.”

  “Not a chance,” agreed Patricia. “Dad always starts me back in good time so I won’t be on the road after nightfall. He’s deadly afraid of a hold-up.”

  “Good place for wild flowers, I should think,” continued Jane, peering in between the tree trunks. “Don’t you want to stop and gather some, Pat?”

  “I do not! I’ve had quite enough experience with wild flowers for a while, anyhow.”

  “Ever see your reporter-rescuer?” asked Katharine.

  “Once in a while. Jack likes him a lot, and Craig has asked us out a couple of times.”

  “Hasn’t he a girl friend?” demanded Katharine.

  “I guess not; not a regular, anyhow. But why should you be interested? Aren’t you and the Professor good pals any more?”

  “Sure; but there are several nice girls in the Gang who haven’t boy friends. You see I’m being purely altruistic.”

  “Maybe the man in question would prefer to manage his affairs himself,” said Jane practically.

  “Maybe; in fact, he may have made a selection already,” suggested Anne, smiling at Pat in the mirror.

  Patricia kept her eyes on the road ahead, and feigned ignorance of Anne’s meaning. Presently she changed the subject by asking what her guests would like to do that evening. “The week end is so short that we have to use every minute of it.”

  “A movie,” proposed Katharine. “I haven’t seen a good one in a coon’s age.”

  “And double sodas all around afterward,” added Jane. “My treat.”

  “Sounds good to me,” agreed Anne, when Patricia looked inquiringly at her.

  “All right, then. That’s what we’ll do. Guess I’ll put on a little speed, so we’ll get home early enough to go to the first performance. This new road certainly has meant a lot to me—it shortened the distance so much. You know it’s quite a trip by rail; this road through the woods cuts off miles. Oh!” her remarks concluded with a shriek.

  “What’s the matter?” demanded Anne, startled.

  “A bee!” exclaimed Patricia. “For pity’s sake keep your eyes on him and try to put him out. I’m always afraid of being stung when I’m at the wheel.”

  “You have some opinion of our eyes if you think they are capable of putting out a full grown bee,” remarked Katharine. “Mine don’t even see him, to say nothing of pushing him out the window.”

  “Stop joking,” begged Patricia, “and find him.”

  “There he is!” cried Anne, drawing herself as far into the corner as she could.

  “Where?” demanded Jane, turning around to look at the passengers in the back seat.

  “Down on the floor,” said Katharine. “You girls make me tired; all so afraid of one poor little bee!”

  “Suppose you pick him up and throw him out, if there’s nothing to be afraid of,” suggested Patricia.

  “No—o; but, there! I’ve set my bag on him. He’ll be quite dead in a minute, then I’ll pick him up,” offered Katharine.

  “Most any one of us would be willing to pick up a dead bee,” offered Jane.

  Presently Katharine lifted the bag; but the action was followed by a squeal from Anne, who announced that he was just as much alive as ever.

  Katharine thumped her bag down again while Jane laughed breathlessly.

  Ten minutes later, Katharine again peered at her victim; and again he showed very definite signs of life.

  “Talk about cats having nine lives,” she commented.

  “Set that bag down,” begged Anne, “and leave him alone. If he’s not dead, he’s at least out of mischief.”

  “Toughest bee I ever saw,” commented Katharine, thumping the bag again on the unlucky insect. “There you stay until we get to our destination.”

  Mrs. Randall was on the porch waiting for them when the car pulled up at the steps.

  “I brought two extras, Mum!” cried Patricia, jumping out and hugging her mother.

  “That’s fine,” replied Mrs. Randall, smiling at her guests. “It’s pretty lonesome around here now, and Pat’s friends are always welcome.”

  When the introductions were over, the irrepressible Katharine said to their hostess, “One of our passengers is in there on the floor; where shall I put him?”

  Mrs. Randall looked puzzled, while the girls laughed.

  “See?” said Katharine, taking Mrs. Randall by the arm, and showing her the bee crawling along as if holding up heavy bags were just pastime for him.

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Randall, entering into the spirit of the fun. “Suppose you leave the door open and let him select his own room.”

  As she spoke, the big black and gold fellow spread his wings, blundered about a moment, then sailed out past the girls who dodged him with little shrieks and settled on a patch of lilies of the valley beside the porch.

  “Now that the stowaway is disposed of, let’s go in,” proposed Patricia, following her mother up the steps.

  “Better go right upstairs and get ready for dinner, Pat,” advised Mrs. Randall. “Daddy’s coming home a bit early, and I thought we would eat as soon as he gets here, so you girls will have a long evening for anything you want to do.”

  “Your mother’s a peach; isn’t she?” remarked Anne, as the four girls went up the long stairs together.

  “I think so,” replied Patricia, smiling with gratification. “Now this is my room, and the guest room is right opposite. We can divide up any way you please.”

  “Suppose we change around,” proposed Anne. “Katharine and I will take the guest room tonight; then tomorrow night we’ll put Jane in with Katharine and I’ll go with you.”

  “Ah—wa! Ah—wa!” lamented Katharine.

  “What on earth’s the matter with you?” demanded Anne.

  “I don’t have Pat at all, I don’t!”

  “Oh, you sleep all the time; so what difference does it make?” laughed Jane.

  “I’ll set the alarm,” offered Patricia in amusement; “and when the night’s half over, I’ll go in, roll Anne out, send her over to my room, and get in with you. How’s that?”

  “I’ll consider it,” replied Katharine in her most dignified tones; “but I think my feelings are irreparably damaged.”

  “Oh, go on!” cried Anne, shoving Katharine ahead of her into the guest room. “You’ll never be ready for dinner.”

  Mr. Randall loved company, and was always most entertaining whenever Patricia had guests; so the dinner hour was prolonged to such an extent that when the four girls reached the theater, the early performance was well under way.

  “I like it over on the right,” whispered Patricia, as they entered the darkened house. “Just follow me,” she added, ignoring the usher completely and hurrying down a side aisle. She was a bit careless in stepping up into a row of seats, and turned on her ankle. To save herself a fall, she grabbed madly at the seat in front of her, which was occupied by a very large and very dignified-looking man. Instead of grasping the back of his seat, as she intended, her hand came down very forcibly on the top of his bald head.

  “Ouch!” he cried out in astonishment and discomfort.

  Everybody within hearing turned around. Several people exclaimed in annoyance. Some nearby, who had witnessed the incident, laughed aloud. In the general disturbance, the girls managed to sink into their seats quite overcome with embarrassment. Presently Anne hid her face in her hands and began to quiver.

  “What is the matter?” whispered Patricia.

  Anne only shook her head, and Patricia realized that the girl was in a paroxysm of laughter. It was contagious, and before long Pat and Katharine were in the same state.

  “Stop that!” ordered Jane. “Think of something sad, and do it quick.”

  With much effort and several relapses they finally succeeded in pulling themselves together, and fixed their eyes determinedly on
the screen, not daring to glance at one another.

  “That was just terrible!” exclaimed Jane in mock anger, when they were out upon the street again. “I’ll never go to a movie with you again, Patricia Randall!”

  “I’m—awfully—sorry,” gasped Pat.

  “You certainly act as if you were, quite overcome with grief,” said Anne.

  “Did you ever in your life hear anything so funny as the way that man hollered—he fairly bellowed!” said Katharine.

  “You do get into more scrapes, Pat,” commented Anne, “than anyone I ever met.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “Never mind,” said Jane soothingly, as they entered a confectionery store, “you mean well.”

  “I think,” said Katharine, “that is about the worst thing one can say. ‘Oh, he means well.’ It seems like sort of damning with faint praise. Not that Jane meant it that way.”

  Everybody laughed. Katharine was so unconscious of her inconsistency.

  While they were waiting for their order, Patricia’s eyes, which were roving about the room in search of possible acquaintances, came to rest on the back of a tall figure two tables beyond theirs. As if compelled by her questioning gaze, the individual turned around, immediately jumped up, and crossed the room in two strides.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A WEEK END

  “Craig!” exclaimed Patricia, smiling up at the lanky youth. “Fancy seeing you here! And what are you doing?”

  “Here on business,” was the brief response, as he shook Patricia’s hand enthusiastically.

  “These are my friends—Anne Ford, Jane Temple, and Katharine Weldon,” continued Patricia, “who are spending the week end with me.”

  Acknowledging the introduction, Craig looked inquiringly at Patricia. “May I sit down here and have my sweet with the Sweets.”

  “We couldn’t possibly refuse after such a ‘sweet’ compliment as that,” laughed Patricia. “How long are you going to be in town?”

  “Well, that depends. If I find what I’m looking for, I’ll go back almost immediately; if I don’t, I’ll go Sunday afternoon, anyhow.”

  “How interesting and mysterious you sound!” remarked Katharine.

  “Reporting’s a great game. Now tell me about yourselves,” leaning both elbows on the table and looking from one girl to another. With flattering attention the boy listened to the story of their drive home; gave a couple of short barks of amusement at their movie experience, then inquired what they intended to do on the morrow.

  “Shop in the morning,” replied Patricia. “I always do the Sunday marketing when I’m home. I just love to poke around the stores and buy things. In the afternoon—I really don’t know yet.”

  “How would it be if you all went to the ball game with me?” proposed Craig, carefully rubbing a drop of chocolate sauce off of his tie.

  “Grand! But you’d be embarrassed to death escorting four females,” laughed Patricia.

  “Don’t you believe it. I’d be the proudest fellow in the stand, and the most envied. That’s settled then,” as all the girls manifested their pleasure in the plan. “I’ll call for you at two o’clock,” he added, as they rose to go. “I’d offer to see you home, but I suppose you have your car?”

  “Yes; it’s in a parking station. Why don’t we meet you at the Park tomorrow afternoon instead of your going way out to our house?”

  “Not a bad idea, especially as I haven’t the least idea where you live.” Everybody laughed.

  “97 Minton Road, in case you ever need to know,” said Patricia, smiling frankly up into the brown eyes and serious face above her.

  “Thanks,” he said, making a note of the address. “Wait a minute,” he added, taking hold of her arm and steering her toward a candy counter. “Make up five pounds of the kinds selected,” he directed the prim clerk who came to take his order. Then, waving off the girls’ thanks, he was gone.

  “Shall we each choose our favorites, to make up one-quarter of the box?” asked Patricia, turning to the other girls.

  “Fine; and in quarter-or half-pound lots, so as to get variety,” said Katharine; and they all assented.

  It was rather late when the girls finally reached home, but they settled down before the living room fireplace with the box of candy, and regaled Mr. and Mrs. Randall with chocolates and the story of their adventures. Mr. Randall finally drove them off to bed shortly after midnight.

  “I’m going to stay in the car,” announced Katharine the next morning, when Patricia drew up in front of a large department store in the grocery department of which she intended to make several purchases. “I don’t care for marketing, and I do love to watch people hurrying along the streets.”

  “As you like it,” replied Patricia, getting out, followed by Anne and Jane.

  “Can you park here?” inquired Jane in surprise, as Patricia slammed the door.

  “Not really supposed to, but I won’t be long; and I hardly think there’ll be any trouble.”

  “I’ll entertain the cop,” offered Katharine magnanimously, “if he shows up.”

  She had been watching the crowd for about ten minutes, when she noticed a big, red-faced policeman approaching, his eyes fixed indignantly upon the car in which she was sitting.

  “Now I’m in for it!” she thought. “Why in time doesn’t Patricia come? She’s been gone an age.”

  “You can’t park here, lady,” said the officer sternly. “Can’t you read?” pointing to the No Parking sign.

  “No, sir,” replied Katharine demurely.

  “You can’t!” exclaimed the man in surprise

  “Not a word!” was the reply, and Katharine looked innocently at him.

  “What nationality are you?”

  “American, sir.”

  The officer pushed back his hat in perplexity. He felt that something was wrong, but could not quite put his finger on it. With all our money spent on schools, and this young woman couldn’t read.

  “Well, anyhow, whether you can read or not, you can’t park here.”

  “But this isn’t my car, and I can’t drive.”

  “Where is the owner?”

  “In there,” pointing to the store. “She’ll be out in just a minute. I think she went in to buy—oranges.”

  “Well, if she isn’t out by the time I come around again, she gets a tag; and that’s flat!”

  Wrathfully the officer strode on, and Katharine sank back comfortably against the cushions again. Five minutes passed; ten; and still no signs of Patricia. Katharine began to fidget nervously and wish she had gone into the store with the girls. Still, if she had, the car would have been tagged at once; even now perhaps she could stave the man off again if he came around before Pat got back.

  There he was, striding along as if he meant business! “I wish Pat and her oranges were in Hades,” thought Katharine, preparing to smile sweetly at the irate officer.

  “She hasn’t come yet,” she said, leaning out of the window and speaking confidentially. “Something must have happened to her. I’m so worried. What ought I to do, do you think?”

  Momentarily disarmed by the unexpected greeting, the man removed his hat and scratched his head. Then suddenly realizing that he was being worked, he snapped:

  “What could happen to her except that, like all other women, she has no notion of time! This car’s been here half an hour now. I suppose she can’t read either!”

  “It’s been here only twenty-five minutes, officer,” corrected Katharine, showing him her watch.

  “So you can tell time, even though you can’t read,” commented the officer, rather admiring the girl’s poise despite his annoyance.

  “Well, you see,” began Katharine, resting both arms on the opened window, “when I was a little girl—(if I can only keep him interested until Pat comes!)—I was—” She broke off to gesticulate madly to her friends who were just coming out of the store.

  The policeman wheeled sharply and saw three girls racing madly towa
rd him. Just as Pat reached the car, the bag she was carrying broke, and a dozen oranges rolled in all directions.

  “There!” cried Katharine triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell you she just went in to get some oranges?”

  What could the man do but help gather up the fruit and toss it into the car? Scarlet with exertion and embarrassment at the comments of passers-by, he finally faced Patricia sternly.

  “Lady, you’ve been parked here half an hour, right under that sign. Can’t you read either?”

  “Why, yes, a little,” replied Patricia, with a suspicious glance at Katharine. “But those signs are placed so high that if you’re in a low car, you really have an awful time seeing them at all. You can see for yourself that this one is directly over the top of the car. Get in and see.”

  “Of course it is if you drive directly under it!” grumbled the man. “And the next time I see this car where it doesn’t belong, it gets a tag right away; whether your passengers can’t read, or you think the signs are too high, or—or anything else.”

  “Thanks for your patience, and assistance,” replied Patricia, smiling at him in such a friendly fashion that he had a hard time maintaining his expression of outraged dignity. He was still a bit doubtful as to whether or not the girls were making fun of him. These women!

  “Goodbye,” called the irrepressible Katharine, as Patricia stepped into the car and started the engine. “Hope I meet you again sometime.”

  The officer strode away without comment, while Katharine reported her encounter to the girls.

  “I’m an absolute wreck!” she declared in an injured tone, as her companions laughed heartlessly. “I’ll never keep car for you again.”

  “Your own choice,” retorted Patricia flippantly. “We wanted you to come with us.”

  “That’s all the thanks I get,” sighed Katharine, “for risking my life to protect your property.”

  “Policeman, spare this car; touch not an ancient wheel!” giggled Anne.

  “In youth it carried me,” continued Jane.

  “And I’ll protect it now,” carolled the three.

  “I’ve a good mind to dump you all out,” declared Patricia in mock indignation. “I know it’s not exactly a latest model, but it really isn’t so ancient as all that.”