The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  When the young people were seated around the blazing log in the library, the stately Colonel Wainwright appeared and was gladly greeted by all. Then Mrs. Gray called: “Come, children; supper is ready.”

  Geraldine laughed. “I just can’t impress Mrs. Gray with my age and dignity. She always will call me ‘little girl.’”

  “I think she is the dearest old lady,” Adelaine Drexel declared. “She’s just my ideal of a grandmother. I am so glad that she is here with you.”

  Geraldine’s own ideas about how one should feel toward an “upper servant” had undergone such a complete change that she now replied with enthusiasm: “I do love Mrs. Gray. She is very superior to her position. She is the Colonel’s housekeeper, you know.”

  In the brightly lighted dining-room the young people were standing while the little old lady designated their places. Geraldine noticed that she was giving up her own seat at one end of the table for the unexpected guest.

  “Oh, Mrs. Gray,” she intervened. “You have forgotten our plan. You are to sit there. I won’t need a chair just at first, for I am going to serve.”

  “And I am going to help,” Jack Lee declared. Then, taking the self-appointed waitress by the hand, he led her kitchenward.

  “That was great of you, Geraldine,” he said when they were alone. “Lots of girls would have let the old lady wait on them. Now give me a towel to throw over my arm, and a white apron so that I will look like a regular garcon.”

  This added to the fun, and for the first time in her sixteen years Geraldine found herself actually serving others in what she would have scornfully called, two months before, a manner degrading and menial.

  Now and then Bob Angel sprang up to lend a hand, and when Jack and Bob tried to be comedians there was always much laughter and playful bantering.

  The whipped-cream cake was praised until the cheeks of the maker thereof glowed with pleasure. Then, when the others had been served, they moved closer and made room for Geraldine and Jack. When they were leaving the table, Doris said softly to the Irish lad:

  “Danny, I want to see you alone as soon as possible.”

  When the young people were in the library playing old-fashioned games, with dear Mrs. Gray and the Colonel joining in now and then, Doris and Danny slipped away unobserved.

  They sat on a window seat in the hall and the girl turned such glowing eyes toward the boy that a load of dread was lifted from his heart.

  “Good angel,” he said, “after all it isn’t anything about the highway robbery that you have to tell. I can see that by your face. I was so afraid that—”

  The girl placed a finger on his lips. “Danny O’Neil,” she said seriously, “I want you to promise me that you will never again refer to that mistake in your life. I myself would completely forget it if you did not speak of it so often. I want you to forget it, too. We must not let the mistakes of our past hold us down. It is what we are, and what we are going to be that count, not what we have been. Now, remember, sir,” Doris shook a finger at him, “your ‘good angel’ will be good to you no longer if you ever mention that subject again.”

  The lad looked at the pretty girl at his side and said earnestly: “Doris, I can’t understand why you are so kind to me, a no-account Irish boy who isn’t anybody and never will be anybody.”

  Doris laughed. “Danny, would you mind if we changed the subject? I wish to do the talking, so you be as quiet as a little brown mouse while I tell you my glorious plan, but first of all I want to thank you for the beautiful bookrack that you carved for me. It’s hanging on the wall of my room this very minute and my prettiest books are in it.” Then, laying her hand on the boy’s arm, she added: “Danny, please don’t call yourself good-for-nothing. It is not right for us to speak that way of the gifts that God has given us. Mother thinks that the carving of the bookrack shows that you have unusual talent and that the wild rose design is very pretty.”

  The boy’s face glowed with pleasure. “Oh, Doris,” he said eagerly, “do you really think that maybe, sometime, I could make good with my designing? You don’t know what it would mean to me if I could.”

  “It would mean a whole lot to me, too, Danny,” the girl said, rising. “Now we must go back to join the others, but there, I have forgotten the very thing that I wanted to ask you, which is this: Are you willing that I send the bookrack to a friend of Mother’s who is an artist? He would be able to tell just which course of training you ought to have.”

  “Good angel, would you do it for me?” the boy asked eagerly. “Then I wouldn’t have to be just groping in the dark. I’d know better how to plan my life.”

  These two joined the others, who had not missed them. Merry was talking to Geraldine and Doris joined them.

  “Why didn’t Myra Comely come to your dinner party?” the president of the “S. S. C.” was asking their hostess. “You invited her that night at our house.”

  Geraldine nodded. “And, more than that, I dropped her a card telling her the date and that I would send my brother after her, but she ’phoned early this morning that her mother had caught a severe cold that might develop into pneumonia and she could not possibly leave her.”

  “Poor girl!” Doris said. “I’m glad tomorrow will be Saturday again. I shall drive around and see if there is anything I can do for them. Mother would want me to. She likes Myra ever so much. She wanted to meet her when she returned the laundry last Thursday, and she said she thought her an unusually fine girl. Myra told Mother that she had hoped to be able to go through Teachers’ College that she might care for her mother, who is not strong. But now I suppose she will have to give up, just as she is about to graduate from High.”

  “Oh, I hope not!” Merry said. Then three of the boys approached to claim them as partners for a dance.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  KINDNESS REWARDED

  Merry, Geraldine and Doris went alone the next day to the home of Myra Comely. Danny O’Neil drove them there, then waited in the cutter until they came out.

  Myra opened the door slightly, saying that perhaps they would better not come in, but Geraldine declared that she never caught anything, and as Merry and Doris had no fears, they entered the neat little living-room and sat down, while Doris gave the message from her mother.

  Tears sprang to the girl’s eyes. “How very kind of your mother to offer to send us her own private nurse,” she said with sincere appreciation. “Dr. Carson was with us all night, and he says that the crisis is now over and that Mother will not have pneumonia, but that she is worn out and will need absolute rest for a long time. The doctor said that she ought to go where the winters are milder.” Myra was wiping her eyes, trying, as the girls could see, to keep from breaking down. Doris went to her and put an arm across her shoulders. With tender sympathy she said: “Myra, you’re just worn out with these three days and nights of watching and anxiety. I wish you would let me telephone Mother to send our dear old nurse; then I would like to take you home with me for a rest.” But the girl was shaking her head. “Oh, no, no! I couldn’t leave Mother. She still has spells of wandering in her mind. She thinks she is a girl again on her father’s ranch in Arizona—”

  She got no farther, for three girls exclaimed in excited chorus: “Was your mother Myra Cornwall? Has she a brother Caleb in Arizona?”

  The girl dropped her handkerchief and stared in unbelieving amazement. “How in the world did you know my mother’s maiden name?” she gasped. “Mother has told no one. Not that she was ashamed of it, but—but—you see, she married against her parents’ wishes and she knew they would never want to see or hear from her again. Her brother Caleb disliked my—my father, more even than her parents did, and so she never wrote, not even after my father died and we were so poor.” Then with mouth trembling and eyes tear-brimmed, the girl asked: “Won’t you tell me what you know about it?”

  And so Doris told about the clipping they had found in the Dorchester paper, and how they had called on all the Myras they could find. �
�But your mother was born in New York state,” Merry recalled. “That is why we decided that she could not be the one.”

  Myra nodded. “Yes, that is where Mother was born, but her parents went West when she was five, and she lived on a ranch in that beautiful desert country until she was sent East to school.”

  Suddenly she sprang up, a glad light in her face. “Mother is awake! I hear her calling me. I must go and tell her the wonderful news.” Then impulsively she held out a hand to Doris as she said: “How can we thank you. Now, as soon as Mother is well, I can take her to the home she has so yearned to see, knowing that her brother Caleb wants her, really wants her.”

  * * * *

  When the girls were again in the sleigh, they told Danny to race for town. They were to attend the weekly meeting at Peg’s house and they had wonderful news to tell.

  In a remarkably short time they reached there and found the others assembled. “Girls,” Doris burst out before she had removed her outdoor wraps. “The mystery is solved! Myra Comely, I mean the mother, is the one we wanted. And now that she may go back to her Arizona home and won’t have to take in washing any more, she will get well, I am sure, just ever so soon. Myra is going to send a telegram at once to her uncle, and I know that he will send money to them for the journey.”

  “Now all of the mysteries are solved except where the boys have their clubroom,” Peg began, when Bertha laughingly told them that that even wasn’t a mystery any longer.

  “How come?” Peg asked.

  “Well, last night Mother wanted a yeast cake from the store just before bedtime that she might put some dough to rise. Dad had gone to lodge and Bob had left early with the boys, so I took a lantern and went to the store. I had a key to the side door and I went in. At first I was very much startled to see a light coming through cracks in the floor of a storeroom over the back part. One has to go up a ladder on the side wall and then crawl through a trapdoor to get to it. I was just wondering why thieves would want to go up there where Dad keeps hardware supplies and things like that, when I heard a laugh, and I knew it was Bob. Then I realized that I had stumbled on the secret meeting place of the ‘C. D. C.’”

  “Well, that’s a much more sensible place than the old Welsley ruin would be,” Merry commented.

  Having removed their wraps, they all sat about the cozy fire and Peg passed around the garments they were making for the orphans.

  “There’s one thing sure, the solving of our mystery spread sunshine all right, and so we lived up to our first motto without really meaning to,” Merry commented.

  Peg inquired: “Did you hear anything that the boys were talking about?”

  “I tried not to,” Bertha said. “I went at once to the front of the store and got my yeast cake, but, just as I was stealing back out again, so that they wouldn’t hear me, I heard Bob say: ‘Four o’clock Saturday. That’s tomorrow! Surprise the girls.’”

  The seven sleuths looked at each other in puzzled amazement. “Hum! Another mystery, I should say,” Peg commented.

  Merry glanced at her wrist watch. “Well, if the boys are planning a surprise for us, since it is three-thirty now, we won’t be kept long in suspense.”

  Nor were they, for in a half hour, punctually at four, the boys arrived and stated that they had received permission from the parents of the girls to take them somewhere on a sleigh ride.

  “Oh, what fun!” Merry sprang up, as did the others. Little blue garments were folded and outdoor wraps were donned upstairs in Peg’s room.

  “I know! I know!” Peg sang out. “You remember that time at the Drexel Lodge when we wanted to stay and ride home by moonlight, we couldn’t, and the boys said they would take us for a moonlight ride at some other time.”

  Merry nodded. “I believe you’re right. Where do you suppose we are going?”

  It was half an hour later, and the village had been left far behind before the answer was revealed to them. “Up the East Lake Road!” Bertha exclaimed.

  It was half past five and dark when they drew up in front of the Inn. Mr. Wiggin, the genial host, popped out to welcome them. “Come right in! Come right in!” he called good-naturedly. “Everything is piping hot and ready to serve.” The girls were delighted.

  “Oh, boys, you’re giving us a surprise supper, aren’t you?”

  “That’s jolly fun!”

  “Aren’t we glad we know them!” were a few of the many expressions of appreciation from the girls as they were helped from the long sleigh.

  That “something” that was piping hot and ready to be served proved to be the wonderful combination clam chowder for which the Lakeside Inn was famous. The dining-room was warm and cheerful, with red-shaded lamps around the walls, and the jolliest hour was passed while the boys joked and told stories, which they had evidently learned for the occasion.

  When the dessert, Mrs. Wiggin’s equally famous plum pudding, had been removed, Bob tapped on the table for attention. “Young ladies,” he said, “we boys of the ‘C. D. C.’ having heard how cleverly you solved a mystery—”

  “What? How did you hear?” two of the girls exclaimed in surprise.

  “Well, that is an important point to clear up,” Bob acknowledged. “Jack, here, was in the telegraph station about three this afternoon, and Myra Comely was there sending a message to some uncle of hers in Arizona. She was so excited, she spilled the beans, and told Jack all about your mystery club and how you found her mother’s brother.” He paused to look about at the astonished group. Then, seeming to be satisfied, he continued: “We boys are working on a mystery, and since you girls are so clever (no bouquets, please; he pretended to dodge) we thought we would invite you to—er—be associate members of our club. We hope that you will consider it an honor.”

  Merry sprang up and, lifting her glass of water, she said: “Here’s to the combined Conan Doyle and Seven Sleuths’ Clubs. Long may they wave.”

  “Ditto!” Bob lifted his glass, as did the others. Then they all rose, for Jack had dropped a nickel in the automatic organ and it was playing dance music which could not be resisted.

  CHAPTER XXV

  A MUCH LOVED GIRL

  “Geraldine, dearie, why don’t you get up? Aren’t you feeling well this morning?”

  It was the day after the sleigh-ride party. Mrs. Gray had purposely permitted the girl to sleep late, but now it was nearing the hour of noon.

  Geraldine tossed restlessly and her face was feverish. “Oh, Mrs. Gray,” she said, “I have such a headache. I tried to get up, but I couldn’t. Then I tried to call, but you did not hear.”

  The little old lady was truly worried. She placed her cool hand on the hot forehead, and then she hurried from the room, promising to be back in a few moments. She went at once to the Colonel’s study, hoping that he had returned from his morning constitutional, but he was not there. Going to the telephone, Mrs. Gray was soon talking to Doctor Carson.

  “I’m so afraid our little girl has been exposed to some contagious disease,” she said. “Won’t you please come over at once?”

  The kindly doctor was at the house fifteen minutes later and with him was the Colonel, whom he had met on the highway.

  The doctor examined the girl, who was too listless to heed what was going on. “Geraldine is very ill,” he said seriously.

  “Come to think of it, Myra Comely told me that three of the girls, Geraldine among them, had brought her the wonderful news that she had to tell me about her mother’s brother. Mrs. Comely had been ill for nearly a week with a form of influenza which is often fatal.” Then, noting the startled expressions on the faces of his listeners, the doctor added: “Do not be alarmed, however, for we have taken this case in time. I am sure of that.”

  But, as days passed, the Colonel and Mrs. Gray were not so sure, for, in spite of their constant and loving care, Geraldine grew weaker. The little old lady would permit no one else to nurse the girl, but day and night she was near the bedside, ministering with an unceasing tenderness a
nd devotion.

  The Colonel procured two capable young women to assist in the household. They were Matilda and Susan Rankin, who for years had worked for the Morrisons in Dorchester. Merry Lee and Doris Drexel, having been equally exposed, were kept home from school for a week, but they had evidently been able to resist the contagion and were not ill.

  Jack Lee called often to inquire about Geraldine, and his heart was heavy when the news was so discouraging. Then, at last, came a day when, with hope almost gone, the Colonel, with an aching heart, cabled to Geraldine’s father. He was in England still and he could not reach Sunnyside for two weeks, but Geraldine often called faintly for her “Dad,” and the Colonel knew that he must send for him.

  “I expect the crisis tonight,” the doctor said late one afternoon. Jack Lee, hearing of this, sat up with Danny O’Neil in his room over the garage. Alfred had promised to place a lighted candle in a rear window as soon as the doctor believed Geraldine to be out of danger.

  The long dark hours passed and it was nearing dawn. Danny had fallen asleep, but Jack, alone in the dark, sat watching for the candle which did not appear.

  At sunrise, as his friend had not awakened, Jack, unable to stand the suspense longer, went out in the garden hoping that he might see someone from whom he might make inquiries. As he passed beneath a window, it was softly opened and Alfred leaned out. His face was drawn and white.

  “Jack,” he called, “please telephone Merry and the other girls and tell them that Geraldine seems to be asleep. We thought for hours that she would never awaken, but now the doctor reports that her breathing is more normal. He is confident that the worst is over.”

  The listener’s face brightened. “Good!” he ejaculated. “Is there anything you want from town? I am going to take Danny home with me to breakfast and he can bring back anything you may need.”

  Alfred disappeared to consult the housekeeper as to what supplies might be required, and Jack, leaping up the garage stairs two steps at a time, found Danny awake and wondering what had become of his friend.