The Orchard Secret Part 35

"I guess you're one of those persons who go around gathering souvenirs from houses where murders have been committed," laughed Arden.

"The sort who sneaks up on the Sphinx and knocks a chip off the nose for an Egyptian tidbit," suggested Sim.

"Come on," urged Terry. "We haven't anything else to do, and we can't go anywhere, as we're still campused, and it's a nice day."

"All right," a.s.sented Sim.

The girls were in a jovial mood as they started toward the orchard, which had been bereft of some of its peril and mystery by the dean's announcement and by Arden's rather perilous adventure.

This was several days after the night of the kitchen raid, the ringing of the bell (which was as yet unexplained), and the attack on the aged chaplain by the vicious black ram. During those days the college had buzzed with talk and rumor, and among the chums of Arden and her two friends considerable was known about the midnight taking of the chickens, milk, and pies.

But the bottles had surrept.i.tiously been restored to the kitchen, the bones of the chickens had been successfully disposed of, and there was nothing left of the pies save a few grease spots on several sweaters.

Whether the dean knew about the raid and chose to ignore it or whether she was still in blissful ignorance, Arden and her friends neither knew nor cared.

"Sometimes I think she knows all about it but doesn't say anything because of what we did for Henny," said Sim.

"Anyhow, she hasn't piled any more punishment on us, so why should we care?" asked Terry.

"That's right," agreed Arden. "But though that part seems to have blown over, we still haven't found out why Henny was in the orchard at midnight."

"And we probably won't until you locate that missing Pangborn chap and get the reward so the swimming pool can be repaired," said Sim, a little sarcastically, it seemed.

"Don't talk about it!" begged Arden. "I guess I'm a failure as a detective. As for the pool, perhaps around Christmas we can prevail on our respective families to chip in and subscribe enough to fix it."

"That's a thought!" exclaimed Sim. "I must remember that!"

What the dean publicly had said about the ram was quite true in the matter of its ugliness, as Arden could testify. A farmer not far from the college grounds owned the big black brute, kept for stock exhibitions. It was larger than the average ram, with immense horns, curving back over a hard head, and when free would run to attack any persons who crossed its path. The beast was supposed to be kept secure in a barn or field but had managed to get out more than one night, roaming afar, and was said to have killed several dogs which had had the temerity to attack it.

"Probably it was attracted to our orchard by the apples," suggested Terry as the three walked along, talking of the brute's acts.

"It must have been attracted to me also," murmured Arden as she recalled the circ.u.mstances of the hazing and how she was knocked down by what she thought was a dark whirlwind.

"Henny couldn't have been in the orchard as a hazing stunt to be attacked by the beast," said Terry thoughtfully. "What was he there for?"

"Perhaps wandering under the midnight stars to think up a theme for a sermon," suggested Sim.

"Maybe," said Arden, though her voice had no conviction in it. "Well, here we are," she added as they left the campus lawn and found themselves under the first row of trees in the orchard. It was the first time since the hazing they had entered it without fear or apprehension. It was very calm and peaceful this bright morning.

"It was right about here," said Arden, indicating the base of a large tree, "that the ram knocked me down that night, and over there is the shed where I locked myself in," she added, pointing.

"And there is where we found Tom Scott," Terry said, indicating the spot.

"Here, Terry," said Sim, breaking off a twig from one of the old gnarled trees. "Here's a souvenir for you."

"Thanks, darling," remarked Terry sarcastically. "What kind of apples are these, anyhow?" She picked up a fairly good windfall and gingerly took a small bite after shaking off an ant or two.

"I haven't any idea," answered Arden, and then, as she remembered something, she suddenly asked: "Oh, Sim! What about that man you saw in the orchard with a lantern the night Mr. Newman brought you back from New York?"

"Oh, yes!" said Sim. "Why, it must have been someone looking for the ram, who was on the rampage then. How disgustingly simple mysteries always turn out to be!"

"Not so simple," Arden objected. "How about the bell and the missing Pangborn chap?"

"Oh--well," Sim temporized. Then, as a distant rustle of footsteps in the dried leaves was heard, she added in a lower voice: "Here comes your hero!"

Arden glanced toward where Sim indicated. Tom Scott, the good-looking young fellow who was a.s.sistant to grim and dour old Anson Yaeger, was swinging along beneath the trees toward the girls. As he caught sight of them he paused, looked behind him as if to see that a way of retreat was clear, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders as if shaking off a weight, advanced again.

Not only to the eyes of Arden, but to those of her chums, it was evident a great change had taken place in Tom Scott. For one thing, he no longer wore blue overalls. He was attired in a well-fitting gray business suit.

Instead of clumsy boots his feet had on neat ties well polished.

"How nice he looks!" murmured Terry. "Why!" she exclaimed. "He's shaved off his mustache. I'm sure he had one when I saw him raking up leaves a couple of days ago!"

"Yes, he has," agreed Sim. "But what of it? I think he looks better without it."

"Hush! He'll hear you," warned Arden. She was staring in a strange manner at the young man.

"He's coming right this way," went on Sim in a low voice. "Can't we do something besides standing here and staring at him as though we came here purposely to see him? Walk, talk--do something!"

"Let's pretend we're after some apples," suggested Terry, stooping down but gathering only a small nubbin.

Sim followed her example, but Arden appeared to be fascinated by the oncoming Tom Scott. She did not move or speak. She just stared at him in a way that would have drawn rebukes from her chums had they seen her fixed gaze.

Tom Scott came on, grinning cheerfully, as he was close to the girls, disclosing white, perfect teeth.

"Altogether too good-looking for a gardener at a girls' college," Sim found herself reflecting as she looked up.

"We--we thought we'd take a few apples," faltered Terry. "I suppose there--there's no--objection."

By this time she and Sim were aware of Arden's queer actions or, rather, lack of action, for Arden was still motionlessly staring.

"Try one of these," suggested Tom Scott, reaching up and picking off a perfect apple from a branch over his head. "You'll find the flavor rather good." He handed the apple to Arden.

"Thank you," she said, in a toneless voice. "What kind is it?"

"Spitzenberg. A very choice variety. You'll not find many of them around here. This is the only orchard I know of where they grow."

"How nice--I mean how strange," murmured Arden. She was not looking at the apple. She was looking at Tom Scott, and she asked: "Have you recovered from your--your accident?"

"Oh!" He laughed. "You mean when the black ram b.u.t.ted me? For it was the sable beast that knocked me out. Yes, thank you, I'm all over that. It wasn't much. Too bad I didn't do for that beast before he had a chance at the chaplain. He fared worse than I did--the chaplain, I mean."

"Yes, he did," agreed Sim. "But you saved Arden from the same ram."

"It so happened," admitted the good-looking gardener.

"Thank you," said Terry as Tom gave her an apple like the one he had handed to Arden and then pa.s.sed one to Sim.

"Well, I must be going," said Tom Scott. "I have an errand in town and----"

"Just a minute!" cried Arden excitedly. In all this time she had not removed her gaze from the young man's face, not even to munch her apple, as Terry and Sim were doing with theirs. "Wait, please----!"