The Girls of Central High on Track and Field Part 23

Purt replied.

"I'll go with you," volunteered the other, and followed him down the steps.

Purt wanted to get rid of her, whoever she was. He wished now that he hadn't come back to the schoolhouse. He had read somewhere that criminals are driven by some mysterious power to haunt the scenes of their crimes. And it must be a fact, Purt told himself, for he had certainly been foolish to come back here to Central High--and go without his supper.

He decided to slip out of the girls' yard and run away. But when he reached the street there was the strange girl right at his elbow. And he remembered that she had a grip as firm as Chet Belding's own.

So nothing would do but try the front entrance. Of course, he knew it was ridiculous to go to that door. Even by day it was kept locked and visitors had to ring; only the teachers had pa.s.s-keys.

But they went in at the main gate and mounted the steps of the portico.

It was indeed black under here, for the street lights were too far away to cast any of their radiance into the place. Purt fumbled around, found the doork.n.o.b, and tried it. To his amazement it turned in his hand and the door swung open into the dark corridor.

"They're here, then," whispered the girl. "Where do you suppose they are?" she continued.

Now Purt had very good reason for believing that he knew just where the girls were whom this stranger wished to see; but he only said, gruffly:

"I'm sure I don't know. I don't believe they're in the building now."

"Oh, yes, they are. They have not come out. There are several beside those I named. So I was told at the athletic field."

"Well, I don't know anything about them!" denied Purt, hurriedly. "I--I just want to go up for my book----"

He shook himself free and ran for the front stairway. He knew his way in the dark and hoped to leave the girl behind. Once let him reach the foot of the tower stairs, he would unlock the door, fling it open so that the prisoners would hear him above, and then dart down the boys' stairway and so out of the school building again.

But before he reached the top of the first flight he heard the patter of the strange girl's footsteps beside him. Through the long windows enough light filtered to show him her figure. And she ran better than he did, and without panting.

Purt was scared now worse than he had been before.

"She'll tell them who unlocked the door," he thought, "and so they'll know right away who imprisoned them in the first place. Then Laura will tell her brother and Chet will thrash me--I know he will!"

The lad was almost ready to cry now. It seemed to him as though every step he took got him deeper and deeper into trouble.

He dashed up the other flight two steps at a time; but the girl kept on equal terms with him. What good wind she had! She could beat many of the girls of Central High in running, that was sure.

"I don't know what has become of Eve Sitz and that other girl you want to see," exclaimed Purt, stopping suddenly. "And I don't see why you are sticking so close to me."

"You know your way around this building; I don't," declared the girl, shortly.

"I can't help you find them----"

"You seem afraid of something," remarked the girl, shrewdly. "What's the matter with you?"

"Well, I go to school here," complained Purt. "You don't. You'll get into trouble, coming into the building at night."

"I guess you're afraid of getting into trouble yourself," returned the other, quite unshaken.

"Well, if one of the teachers is here and finds us----"

"I'll tell them just what I came for. Will you?" demanded the girl, quickly, and thrusting her face into Purt's so as to see him better.

She had him there! Purt knew it--and he knew _she_ knew it. This strange girl was laughing softly to herself in the darkness.

"Go on--if you're going anywhere," said she, after a minute. "I believe you know where those girls are. I want to see that Evangeline and that Hargrew girl. You show me."

"I--I don't know!" wailed Purt, under his breath.

Then he was sure he heard somebody's step. It was in one of the cla.s.srooms opening into this corridor.

At the sound, spurred by sudden terror, the boy leaped away. He was half-way down the corridor. Around the corner was the door of the tower.

And then, just as he dashed past a door on his right, it opened. A broad band of light streamed out, and to Purt's ears came the quick demand:

"What's this? Who are you?"

"It's Gee Gee!" thought the boy, but he never stopped. In a moment he realized that Miss Carrington had not addressed her question to him, but to the girl.

He ran on, as softly as possible, and rounded the corner, knowing that the strange girl had been caught by the teacher, who repeated her demand in a louder and more emphatic tone.

"Who are you? What are you doing here in the schoolhouse?" Then Miss Carrington saw that the girl was not one of her scholars--indeed, no girl of Central High was ever dressed so gaily, unless it was at a masquerade.

"For goodness sake, child!" exclaimed the teacher, still more sharply.

"Come in here and explain yourself."

She drew her inside the cla.s.sroom and closed the door. In the full light the strange girl was revealed in a purple velvet skirt, a green bodice, a yellow silk scarf, or handkerchief, around her neck, and with a net, on which steel beads were sewed, over her hair. With her dark complexion and high color she was indeed a striking figure as she stood there, hands on her hips, and panting slightly as she gazed back bravely into Miss Carrington's spectacled eyes.

"For goodness sake, child!" repeated the teacher. "Who and what are you?"

"My name is Margit Salgo," said the Gypsy girl, watching Miss Carrington, with her sharp black eyes.

"Salgo?" whispered the teacher, and for a moment the girl thought that Miss Carrington would sink into the nearest chair. Then she drew herself up and, although her pallor remained, her eyes sparkled behind the thick lenses of her spectacles.

"I suppose you are here to tell me your father was Belas Salgo?"

demanded the lady, harshly.

"I don't know who you are, Madam," said the Gypsy girl. "Are you the lady whom the Vareys say knows all about me?"

"Who are the Vareys?" returned Miss Carrington, quickly.

"They are English Gypsies. I was placed in their care when my father's friends brought me to this country. They have held me prisoner but I have got away from them----"

"I do not understand you--I do not understand you," insisted Miss Carrington, weakly. And now she did grope her way to a seat.

"Are you the teacher here whose name has in it eighteen letters?" asked the girl, anxiously. "I do not read your English, although I speak it. I learn to speak languages easily--it is a gift. My father had it."

"True," murmured Miss Carrington. "Belas Salgo was a wonderful linguist."

"Does your name have the eighteen letters?" pursued Margit, eagerly. She repeated her story about the card on which was printed, or written, the name of the lady whom the Vareys had come to Centerport to see. Miss Carrington listened more quietly, and finally bowed.

"Yes. I am the lady. I am Miss Carrington," she admitted.