"Let's go and see who's playing," she whispered to Helen, who had clung close to her ever since they had come aboard the steamboat. And as Tom was on the other side of his sister, he went with them into the forward part of the boat.

"Well, what do you know about _that_?" demanded Tom, almost before the girls were in the forward cabin. "Isn't that the big man with the red waistcoat that frightened that little woman on the _Lanawaxa_? You know, you pointed them out to me on the dock at Portageton, Helen?

Isn't that him at the harp?"

"Oh! it is, indeed!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed his sister. "What a horrid man he is!

Let's come away."

But Ruth was deeply interested in the harpist. She wondered what knowledge of, or what connection he had with, the little French teacher, Miss Picolet. And she wondered, too, if her suspicions regarding the mystery of the campus--the sounding of the harpstring in the dead of night--were borne out by the facts?

Had this coa.r.s.e fellow, with his pudgy hands, his corpulency, his drooping black mustache, some hold upon Miss Picolet? Had he followed her to Briarwood Hall, and had he made her meet him behind the fountain just at that hour when the Upedes were engaged in hazing Helen and herself? These thoughts arose in her mind again as Ruth gazed apprehensively at the ugly-looking harpist.

Helen pulled her sleeve and Ruth was turning away when she saw that the little, piglike eyes of the harpist were turned upon them. He smiled in his sly way and actually nodded at them.

"Sh! he remembers us," whispered Helen. "Oh, do come away, Ruth!"

"He isn't any handsome object, that's a fact," muttered Tom. "And the cheek of him--nodding to you two girls!"

After the excitement of the accident on the lake our friends did not feel much like skating until it came time to go back to the landing.

Mr. Hargreaves was out on the ice with those students of the two schools who preferred to skate; but Miss Reynolds remained in the cabin. Mary c.o.x had had her lunch in the little stateroom, wrapped in blankets and in the company of an oil-stove, for heat's sake. Now she came out, re-dressed in her own clothes, which were somewhat mussed and shrunken in appearance.

Helen ran to her at once to congratulate Mary on her escape. "And wasn't it lucky Tom and Ruth were so near you?" she cried. "And dear old Ruthie! she's quite a heroine; isn't she? And you must meet Tom."

"I shall be glad to meet and thank your brother, Helen," said The Fox, rather crossly. "But I don't see what need there is to make a fuss over Fielding. Your brother and Mr. Hargreaves pulled Mr. Steele and me out or the lake."

Helen stepped back and her pretty face flushed. She had begun to see Mary c.o.x in her true light. Certainly she was in no mood just then to hear her chum disparaged. She looked around for Tom and Ruth; the former was talking quietly with Miss Reynolds, but Ruth had slipped away when The Fox came into the cabin.

Mary c.o.x walked unperturbed to the teacher and Tom and put out her hand to the youth, thanking him very nicely for what he had done.

"Oh, you mustn't thank me more than the rest of them," urged Tom. "At least, I did no more than Ruthie. By the way, where _is_ Ruthie?"

But Ruth Fielding had disappeared, and they did not see her again until the call was given for the start home. Then she appeared from the forward part of the boat, very pale and silent, and all the way to the sh.o.r.e, skating between Tom and Helen, she had scarcely a word to say.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE SECRET

For there was the burden of a secret on Ruth Fielding's mind and heart.

She had slipped away when she saw The Fox appear in the outer cabin and, walking forward, had been stopped suddenly in a cross gallery by a firm touch upon her arm.

"Sh! Mademoiselle!"

Before she looked into the shadowy place she realized that it was the harpist. His very presence so near her made Ruth shrink and tremble for an instant. But then she recovered her self-possession and asked, unshakenly:

"What do you want of me?"

"Ah, Mademoiselle! Kind Mademoiselle!" purred the great creature--and Ruth knew well what his villainous smile must look like, although she could not see it. "May the unfortunate vagabond musician speak a single word into Mademoiselle's ear?"

"You have spoken several words into it already, sir," said Ruth, sharply. "What do you want?"

"Ah! the Mademoiselle is so practical," murmured the harpist again.

"Be quick," commanded Ruth, for although she had a strong repugnance for the fellow there was no reason why she should fear him, with so many people within call. "State your reason for stopping me, sir."

"The Mademoiselle is from the school--the inst.i.tute where learning is taught the lo-fe-ly Misses?"

He thus made three syllables of "lovely" and Ruth knew that he leered like a Billiken in the dark.

"I am at Briarwood Hall--yes," she said.

"I have seen the kind Mademoiselle before," said the man. "On the boat on that other so-beeg lake--Osago, is it?"

"On the _Lanawaxa_--yes," admitted Ruth.

"Ah! I am proud. The Mademoiselle remember me," he exclaimed, bowing in the dark alley.

"Go on," urged Ruth, impatiently.

"It is of the leetle lady--Mademoiselle Picolet--I would speak," he said, more quickly.

"Our French teacher--yes."

"Then, knowing her, will the Mademoiselle take a small note from the poor musician to the good Picolet? 'Tis a small matter--no?"

"You want me to do this without telling anybody about it?" questioned Ruth, bluntly.

"_Oui, oui_, Mademoiselle! You have the discernment beyond your years.

Indeed!"

"I knew it must be something underhanded you wanted," declared Ruth, boldly.

He laughed and Ruth saw a small envelope thrust toward her in the dusk of the pa.s.sage. "You will take it?" he said.

"I will take it--providing you do not come there again," exclaimed Ruth.

"Come where?" he demanded.

"To the school. To the campus where the fountain is."

"Ha! you know _that_, my pretty bird?" he returned. "Well! this will perhaps relieve the good Picolet of my presence--who knows?"

"Then I will take it," Ruth said, hastily, her hand closing on the billet.

"_Comme il faut_," he said, and went away down the pa.s.sage, humming in his ba.s.soon voice.

And so, as she sped sh.o.r.eward between her two friends, Ruth had the little letter tucked away in the bosom of her frock. The secret troubled her. She was really glad to say good bye to Tom at the landing, and all the way back in the wagonette, although Helen sat close to her and tried to show her how sorry she was for her past neglect, Ruth was very silent.