By the time they had reached Miss Arbuckle and the finding of her album in the woods they were feeling delightfully thrilly and farther away from sleep than ever.
“It really must be a mystery,” Connie was saying, snuggling deeper into the covers and staring at Billie’s pretty face and tousled hair weirdly illumined by the pale moonlight that sifted through the window, when there came a tap on the door. And right upon the tap came Mrs. Bradley, wearing a loose robe that made her look mysteriously lovely in the dim light. She sat down on the edge of the bed and regarded the girls smilingly.
“It’s twelve o’clock,” she said, and they stared at her unbelievingly. “Twelve o’clock,” she repeated relentlessly, “and time for girls who have to be up early in the morning to be asleep.”
“But we’re not sleepy,” protested Billie.
“Not a bit,” added Connie.
“Then it’s time you were,” she said, adding, with a little laugh: “If I hear a sound in here ten minutes from now, I’m coming after you with a broomstick. Remember,” she added, laughing back at them from the doorway, “I give you just ten minutes.”
“I think you’ve got just the loveliest mother,” sighed Connie, as she turned over obediently with her back to Billie; “but I’m sure I never can go to sleep.”
Five minutes passed, and the girls who could “never go to sleep,” felt their eyelids grow heavy and a delicious drowsiness steal over them. Once Connie roused herself enough to say sleepily: “We’ll just have to form that Detective Club, Billie, you know.”
“Yes,” said Billie, already half in the land of dreams. “When we—have—the time—good night, Connie——”