In spite of the comfort derived from confiding in Anne, the morning seemed endless to Patricia, who alternately longed for and dreaded the arrival of two o’clock. Promptly on the stroke of the hour, the three girls from Arnold Hall were admitted to Dean Walters’ sunny, spacious office. Hardly were they seated in the chairs given them by Miss Jolly, the Dean’s secretary, when Mrs. Vincent walked in.
“The Dean will be in in a few minutes,” murmured Miss Jolly, placing another chair for the latest arrival. As she spoke, the door to an inner room opened, and a dignified, grey-haired woman crossed the room briskly to seat herself behind a large flat-topped desk, facing her callers.
“It is most distasteful to me,” began the Dean without preamble, “to be obliged to question you regarding last night’s catastrophe. Arson is a serious matter, and you will do much harm if you try to shield anyone, or by withholding any detail which might help discover the culprit. So I ask that you be perfectly frank with me, and regard what is said in here as strictly confidential. Mrs. Vincent, I’ll hear first whatever you can tell me.”
Nervously the chaperon of Arnold Hall told the events of her evening, passing rapidly over the fact that she had left Patricia practically alone in the house, and dwelling at some length on her own indisposition. The Dean’s face betrayed no indication of her thoughts, nor did she make any comment when Mrs. Vincent had finished her story.
Little chills began to run up and down Patricia’s spine as she awaited her turn next; but Dean Walters turned slightly in her chair in order to face Frances more directly, and began to question her rapidly as to her whereabouts the previous evening; in what condition she had left her room; whether she or Katharine ever smoked there; if her or her room mate’s clothing and belongings were insured, and so on. Patricia shivered still more as she realized that the Dean intended to question them rather than to listen to their stories. Frances was so frightened that she stumbled and stuttered through her replies, and finally burst into nervous tears.
“There is no reason for you to be so disturbed, Miss Quinne,” said the Dean calmly; “I do not accuse or suspect any one of you; but I must obtain all the information I possibly can, not only in order to apprehend the culprit, if possible, but to satisfy the insurance inspectors. Miss Weldon, can you add anything to the facts your room mate has just given me?”
“No, Dean Walters,” replied Katharine promptly, “except that early in the evening as we were dressing for dinner, our lights kept jumping, going out and then coming on again, you know.”
“Did you try the bulbs to see if they were screwed in tight?”
“No, we didn’t, because it was late and we were in a great hurry.”
“Have the lights ever acted that way before?” inquired the Dean thoughtfully, resting her chin in her hand, and fixing her keen blue eyes on the girl’s face.