The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  Sim soon returned with the kind neighbor, and as the girls had done all they could do, they said good-bye, promising to come again.

  “And tell me another fairy story!” stipulated Suzanne.

  “I will, my dear. You can tell your father the one I told you when he gets better, as he soon will.”

  “I’ll do that—yes.” Suzanne was cute and had fascinating dimples.

  Sim and Arden drove away as the sun was beginning to set. They must pick up Terry and Dot.

  “Well,” remarked Sim as she speeded the little roadster along, “we’ve got something to think of now.”

  “I think,” said Arden seriously as she recalled the pathetic scene back at Jim Danton’s house, “that we have a stronger motive than ever in finding out about this ghost business—I mean a stronger motive than just trying to help Granny Howe prove her right to the place.”

  “There is something queer under all this, Sim. Men shouldn’t be hurt like this just because, possibly, somebody is playing jokes. I’m going to find out the secret of Jockey Hollow!” she declared now.

  “And we’re all going to help you!” Sim added. “This isn’t a ghost story, it’s a detective story now.”

  CHAPTER XVI

  A Surprise

  Thinking over what had taken place that afternoon, and reviewing their own parts in the strange mystery, kept Sim and Arden rather silent on the drive back from Jim Danton’s home. Then, as they were almost back at the Hall, where Terry and Dot were waiting, Sim remarked seriously:

  “I don’t believe it’s anyone playing jokes.”

  “What do you mean—jokes?” asked Arden, her attention, which had wandered far afield, snapping back to the girl beside her in the roadster.

  “You said,” Sim replied, “that possibly somebody was playing a joke to cause these manifestations. It’s a pretty serious joke, if you ask me.”

  “I agree with you,” Arden answered. “But there are persons with a very strange sense of humor.”

  “I wish some of them had to fall down the ash-chute as Jim did!” Sim exclaimed snappishly. “It would jar some of the humor out of them.”

  “I don’t really believe I meant that, about it being a joke,” went on Arden. “But I’m determined to find out what’s at the bottom of it all. It must be real and it must have humans in it.”

  “And I’m with you!” declared Sim. “But I have a new thought, Arden!”

  “What, Mistress Sim?” asked Arden. “I declare I’m reverting to Colonial talk, thinking so much about this ancient place,” and she laughed. “But let me have your thought.”

  “Could it be labor troubles?” asked Sim. “I mean, could some other contractor, who resented Mr. Callahan having the job of tearing down this old mansion, be trying to scare his men off so Mr. Callahan would give up the contract? Isn’t that possible?”

  “Yes, possible.”

  “You know,” went on Sim, “while there may not be very much money for a contractor in just pulling down an old mansion, this one is of Revolutionary importance, and there may be what the boys would call ‘pickings,’ that would sell for a good sum.”

  “You mean like those hand-forged hooks in the closet where Jim disappeared from?”

  “Yes. So it may be that some rival contractor is trying to force Mr. Callahan to give up by frightening his men away.”

  “It’s an idea,” admitted Arden, after thinking it over. “But why haven’t some of these alleged jokers been caught?”

  “Because they have been working on the fears of ignorant men.”

  “You can’t exactly call Jim and his workers ignorant,” Arden objected.

  “No. But this is the first time anything happened to them. And it was all so mixed up, no proper search was made at the moment of the scare. If it had been, something might have been found out.”

  “Well, I hope we can find out something,” Arden suggested. “It’s sad to think of a poor man hurt on the first work he gets after months of idleness. And that little family was in a sad state.”

  “Yes. We must make sure that Mr. Callahan does something for them—workmen’s compensation relief or something like that.”

  Arden nodded. She was very thoughtful, and Sim, noticing that her chum’s thoughts had evidently taken a new turn, asked:

  “Have you any other theory as to how this happened to Jim?”

  “I was just wondering if anyone could have slipped into that closet, stolen up behind Jim, hit him on the head, and then put his unconscious body down the ash-chute?”

  “I don’t see how they could, with another man in the same room.”

  “No, I suppose not. Well, it’s baffling, certainly.”

  As they made a turn in the road which would put them on the main highway leading back to the Hall and Jockey Hollow, they saw a horseman leading a riderless mount coming out of the woods.

  “It’s Dick Howe!” exclaimed Arden.

  “Yes,” Sim agreed.

  The young groom saw them at the same moment and held back his horses until they could ride past, which they did, coming to a stop a little way beyond him.

  “Hello, Dick!” Arden greeted.

  “Afternoon, ladies—or I might almost say evening,” Dick answered. The slanting rays of the fast-setting sun shone on his face, and the girls were surprised to see that it was bleeding. He noticed their quick attention drawn to him and, putting up a hand to wipe away some trickling blood, remarked. “Yes, my horse got a bit skittish and ran me under a low branch. I hope it doesn’t leave a scar,” and he laughed lightly.

  “Is it deep?” asked Sim anxiously.

  “Not at all—just a scratch. I’ve been taking an old gentleman out for a canter—had to deliver a horse to him and lead it back—lead it both ways, in fact. And Highboy,” he patted his own mount, “is always troublesome with a led critter near him. He tried to bolt with me more than once. You girls going riding again soon?”

  “I hope so,” Sim said. “But you know, with Christmas just around the corner, we won’t have much time until after that and then we’ll have to go back to school.”

  “That’s so,” Dick agreed. “Well, turn all the business my way that you can, or, rather, Ellery’s way. We need it! And if I don’t see you again, why, Merry Christmas!”

  “The same to you,” they answered.

  Arden waved to Dick as Sim stepped on the accelerator, and the car shot away, leaving the young groom and his two horses bathed in the red sunset light, the crimson rays matching the blood on his cheek.

  “Rather queer,” remarked Sim as they made the last turn before reaching the road that ran past the Hall.

  “What?” asked Arden.

  “Dick getting hurt that way. I mean he’s such a good rider, you would think he might have ducked the branch that hit him.”

  “You can’t tell what a horse will do,” declared Arden. “What, just, did you mean?”

  “Well,” Sim went on, slowing down to avoid some ruts, “I was thinking it would be queer if Dick had been around the old Hall when Jim was hurt and maybe he got hurt the same way—or something like it.”

  “But Dick wasn’t there. He was off with an old gentleman going for a ride.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. Well, it was only a notion. But there are enough queer things happening—this would only be one of them. Betty was there at the house, you know.”

  “But I’m sure Dick wasn’t. Look, there are Terry and Dot waiting for us.”

  They saw the two girls walking up and down in front of the Hall. The afternoon was fast passing. They had spent more time than they realized.

  “So you finished your visit with Granny?” asked Sim.

  “Yes, we had tea again. Betty is very nice. So is Granny. But the cousin—she’s queer,” related Terry.

  “Oh, so you met Viney Tucker?” asked Arden.

  “She poked herself in at us,” said Dot. “But what happened to you?”

  Arden and Sim told, and said something about
the strange closet.

  “Let’s go in now and have a look at it while none of the workmen is around,” suggested Arden enthusiastically.

  “No, it’s too dark!” objected Terry. “I don’t believe in ghosts any more than you do, but going in that queer old house when it’s as dark as it’s going to be soon, doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “Nor me!” said Dot.

  She and Terry climbed into the rumble seat, and they were all soon back at Sim’s house. The way seemed short, for they had plenty to talk about.

  It was quite dark when they arrived. Moselle opened the door for them and exclaimed:

  “I sure am glad you-all have come back!” There was a tone of relieved anxiety in her voice.

  “Why?” drawled Sim. “Have you been seeing ghosts, too, Moselle?”

  “No. But a gentleman named Harry Pangborn has been telephonin’ an’ telephonin’ all the afternoon, wantin’ to know when you-all would be back. He seemed quite set up about it. I couldn’t give him any satisfaction. But he—”

  The telephone jingled smartly.

  “That must be him again!” exclaimed Moselle scurrying in.

  “Harry Pangborn!” cried Terry.

  “What a delightful surprise!” voiced Sim.

  “I wonder what he wants?” murmured Arden.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Some Real Investigating

  Moselle called from the telephone in the back hall:

  “Oh, Miss Sim! It’s the gentleman again—Mr. Pangborn!”

  Sim hurried to the instrument while the other girls looked at one another, laughter in their eyes and with hearts beating faster.

  “Our old friend of the orchard masquerade,” said Arden.

  “Do you suppose he’s going to vanish again—take another name and get into some other mystery?” asked Terry.

  “I hope he’s coming here to spend Christmas!” Dot was very frank in her desires. “It would be a change from ghosts and musty old houses.”

  “Hush!” warned Arden. “The phone is open—he’ll hear us.”

  They were chattering loudly near where Sim was speaking and listening over the telephone. They heard her say:

  “Oh, but how nice! Of course!—Come right over. We’ll have dinner in a little while, and there’ll be a place for you.—Oh, yes, we have been very busy.—What?—I’ll tell you when you come over. But what are you doing in this part of the country?—We thought you were enjoying your millions.—Oh, getting even with me, I see—you’ll tell us when you get here.—Yes, this place is easy to find. All the taxi men know it. See you later!”

  Sim danced back through the hall to where her friends waited with anxiety to hear the other half of the conversation.

  “Was it really Harry Pangborn?” demanded Arden.

  “Of course it was and is! He’s coming over!” Sim laughed merrily.

  “But why?”

  “How?”

  “What for?”

  “Wait! Wait!” begged Sim, holding her hands up to ward off her importunate chums. “He’s going to explain it all when he comes over. It seems he just arrived in Pentville this afternoon. He was nice enough to say he remembered that we all lived here, and he’s lonesome, so he’s been keeping our line busy. He almost gave up finding us in.”

  “But what’s he out here for?” asked Terry.

  “Came especially to see you, my dear,” laughed Sim.

  “Oh, be serious!” begged Arden.

  “Well, I can safely wager he didn’t come to see me,” Dot put in. “I really hardly met him. You three monopolized him at Cedar Ridge and then got his thousand dollars’ reward.”

  “We didn’t get the thousand dollars,” Sim said. “It was really the college swimming pool.”

  “And Arden solved that mystery,” added Terry, referring to one told of in The Orchard Secret.

  “If I can only solve this one of Jockey Hollow I’ll go in for mystery solving as a profession,” Arden laughed. “I might major in it at Cedar Ridge.”

  “Perhaps,” suggested Dot, “now that Harry Pangborn is here, he can help you.”

  Arden looked at the visitor. Was there anything sarcastic in the remark? Hardly, for Dot smiled brightly.

  “I still can’t guess why he has come here,” said Terry.

  “You shall know very soon, child,” mocked Sim. “Now we must get busy and wash our faces. And, oh, I wonder what sort of a dinner Moselle can give us? I must have a talk with her. Run along, girls, get painted and powdered, and I’ll follow as soon as I can.”

  Shortly after this, Harry Pangborn drove up to the Westover home in a “small but expensive car,” as Dot remarked, catching a glimpse of its gleaming lamps out on the drive. The young man came in, bronzed as to complexion, smiling charmingly, and showing his white even teeth, and greeted the girls with the comradeship of a co-ed.

  “So glad to see you again,” he told them. “And now, as I heard Sim say she wondered why I was here, I’ll tell you. I’m here in this particular place because I am lonesome for such company as yours.” (That was being gallant.) “And I’m in Pentville because I have a mission to perform in Jockey Hollow.”

  “Jockey Hollow!” cried the four girls together.

  “Do you mean you are going to try to rid Sycamore Hall of its ghosts?” asked Arden a moment later.

  “Ghosts!” exclaimed young Mr. Pangborn. “I don’t know anything about ghosts and less about Sycamore Hall. What’s the joke?”

  “Ever since they got me here,” supplied Dot, who seemed rather “taken” by the young fellow, “these girls have done nothing but discover ghosts—ghostly noises, dead women on a bed, a man mysteriously missing and found in a cellar—and it all happened at Sycamore Hall, an old Revolutionary mansion in Jockey Hollow that is going to be torn down to make room for a new road.”

  “This is news to me,” said Harry Pangborn. “I didn’t count on this when I was asked to come to Jockey Hollow. But it’s—grand!”

  “Just why were you asked?” Sim wanted to know.

  “Well, you are familiar with the fact that I fell heir to my grandfather’s estate on Long Island,” was the answer. “On it is a big wooded park, and as I happen to be a nature lover, and a wild bird enthusiast in a small way, I carried out some ideas started by my late grandfather and have built up quite a bird sanctuary, as they are called—a place for the conservation of all wild life; you know, of course. I put some new ideas into my experiments. Word of it got around, and I was asked by Dr. Max Thandu, the State Park Commissioner here in your part of the country, to make a sort of survey of Jockey Hollow and lay out a bird sanctuary there. I agreed, for I thoroughly believe in this sort of thing.”

  “You mean you are going to work around here?” Dorothy asked.

  “Work,” echoed Arden. “What Harry does is never just—work.” She had called him “Harry,” and a self-conscious flush made her look even prettier.

  “I understand Jockey Hollow, with its Revolutionary associations, is to be made a state or national park,” Harry went on, smiling kindly at Arden. “The bird sanctuary will only be incidental to its historic value. But I am glad to do my little part there. So, having some leisure time, and the Christmas season being rather a hectic time down our way, and being fond of the woods in winter and solitude—in a way—I decided to use my Christmas vacation by coming to Jockey Hollow and getting some first-hand information.”

  “What could be nicer for us?” Sim complimented.

  “Are you going to stay until after Christmas?” Arden inquired.

  “I hope to. I understand Jockey Hollow is rather a big place, and it will take me several days to survey it, locate proper places for feeding stations, and arrange for a water supply for the birds. When I told Dr. Thandu I would come here, I suddenly happened to remember that you Cedar Ridge girls lived out this way, and so I’m afraid I kept the operator rather busy this afternoon giving her your number, Sim.”

  “Oh, that, too, would have been kind of you
. Central isn’t ever very busy here. I’m sure she rather enjoyed it. The girls listen in, you know.”

  “She hasn’t anything on me!” he laughed. “Well, now you know why I’m here.” They had all settled down comfortably, and it seemed, with Harry there, their party was complete.

  “But I thought you said,” remarked Dot, “that you wanted solitude for Christmas,” her eyes were mischievous.

  “Oh, well, there is solitude—and solitude!” he countered, his gaze sweeping them all in turn, but lingering upon Arden. “But tell me about the ghosts. Are they just too—too divine?”

  They told him at dinner, which was a success in every way, Moselle and her daughter doing themselves proud in the viands and the serving thereof. Moselle simply loved company, especially young men company.

  “Now, what do you think of it all?” Arden asked when the various phases of the happenings at the Hall had been recounted.

  Harry Pangborn was silent for a moment as he crushed the ashes of his cigarette on the plate.

  The girls waited, not a little anxiously, for his opinion. It was good to have a man around—especially such a delightful young man as Harry Pangborn—one whom they knew and could trust.

  “Well?” asked Sim, at length.

  “Well,” he blew out a cloud of smoke, “it sounds to me like either one of two things,” came the answer, slowly given. “It’s either a trick of some mischievous person or persons, as you have hinted, perhaps engineered by a rival contractor. Or—” again a pause—“there may be something in it.”

  “Do you really mean—ghosts?” gasped Terry.

  “Well, perhaps what some persons call ghosts,” the young man answered. “Let us say natural manifestations that take on a weird meaning or significance because they are not understood. I now have a double duty here. I’m going to lay out the Jockey Hollow bird sanctuary and—”

  He lighted a fresh cigarette.

  “If you’ll leave this to me,” he continued as he inhaled the aromatic smoke, “I’ll do some real investigating, if you want me to.”

  “It really ought to be done,” said Arden gladly. “We want to help Granny Howe if we can, to put her in a position where she can claim this property; though it seems hopeless after all these years. And we also want to help this Jim Danton. We’ll be so grateful for your help, Harry, and we are so relieved to have you here—just now.”