CHAPTER XXVIIJEALOUSIES
“Well, how did you like ’em?” demanded Dunk.
“Do you mean both—or one?” asked Andy.
“Huh, you ought to know what I mean?”
“Or—who, I suppose,” and Andy smiled.
He and his chum had come back to their room after taking home the girls with whom they had spent the evening at the theatre. There had followed a little supper, and the affair ended most enjoyably. That is, it seemed to, but there was an undernote of irritation in Dunk’s voice and he regarded Andy with rather a strange look as they sat in the room preparatory to going to bed.
“What did you and she find to talk about so much?” asked Dunk, suspiciously. “I brought Kittie Martin around for you.”
“So I imagined.”
“Yet nearly all the time you kept talking to Alice Jordan. Didn’t you like Miss Martin?”
“Sure. She’s a fine girl. But Miss Jordanand I found we knew the same people back home, where I come from, and naturally she wanted to hear about them.”
“Huh! Well, the next time I get you a girl I’ll make sure the one I bring along doesn’t come from the same part of the country you do.”
“Why?” asked Andy, innocently enough.
“Why? Good land, man! Do you think I want the girl I pick out monopolized by you?”
“I didn’t monopolize her.”
“It was the next thing to it.”
“Look here, Dunk, you’re not mad, are you?”
“No, you old pickle; but I’m the next thing to it.”
“Why, I couldn’t help it, Dunk. She talked to me.”
“Bah! The same old story that Adam rung the changes on when Eve handed him the apple. Oh, forget it! I suppose I oughtn’t to have mentioned it, but when I was all primed for a nice cozy talk to have you butting in every now and then with something about the girls and boys back in Oshkosh——”
“It was Dunmore,” interrupted Andy.
“Well, Dunmore then. It’s the same thing. I’ll do—more to you if you do it again.”
“I tell you she kept asking me questions, and what could I do but answer,” replied Andy.
“You might have changed the subject. Kittie didn’t like it for a cent.”
“She didn’t?”
“No. I saw her looking at you and Alice in a queer way several times.”
“She did?”
“She did. So did Katy!” mocked Dunk, and his voice was rather snappish.
“Well, I didn’t intend anything,” said Andy. “Gee, but when I try to do the polite thing I get in Dutch, as the saying is. I guess I wasn’t cut out for a lady’s man.”
“Oh, you’re all right,” Dunk assured his chum, “only you want to hunt on your own grounds. Keep off my preserves.”
“All right, I will after this. Just give me the high sign when you see me transgressing again.”
“There isn’t likely to be any ‘again,’ Andy. They’re going home to-morrow.”
“I’ve got her address, anyhow,” laughed Andy.
“Whose?” asked Dunk, suspiciously.
“Kittie Martin’s. She’s the one you picked out for me; isn’t she?”
“Yes, and I wish you’d stick to her!” and with this Dunk tumbled into bed and did not talk further. Andy put out the light with a thoughtful air, and did not try to carry on theconversation. It was as near to a quarrel as the roommates had come since the affair of Burke’s.
But matters were smoothed over, at least for a time, when, next day, came notes from the girls saying they had decided to prolong their visit in New Haven.
“Good!” cried Dunk. “We can take them out some more.”
And this time Andy was careful not to pay too much attention to Miss Alice Jordan, though, truth to tell, he liked her better than he did Kittie Martin. And it is betraying no secret to confess that Alice seemed to like Andy very much.
The boys hired a carriage and took the girls for a drive one day, going to the beautiful hill country west of the new Yale Field.
As they were going slowly along they met a taxicab coming in the opposite direction. When it drew near Andy was somewhat surprised to find it contained Miss Mazie Fuller, the actress. She laughed and bowed, waving her hand to Andy.
“Who was that?” asked Dunk, who had been too busy talking to Alice to notice the occupant of the taxi.
“Miss Fuller,” answered Andy.
“Oh, your little actress. Yes.”
Andy blushed and Miss Martin, who sat besidethe youth, rather drew away, while Alice gave him a queer, quick look.
“An actress?” murmured Miss Martin. “She looks young—a mere girl.”
“That’s all she is,” said Andy, eagerly. Too eagerly, in fact. He rather overdid it.
“Tell ’em how you saved her life,” suggested Dunk, laughing.
“Forget it,” returned Andy, with another blush. “I’m tired of being a hero.”
“Oh, I heard about that,” said Miss Jordan. “There was something in the papers about it. She’s real pretty, isn’t she?” and again she looked queerly at Andy.
“Oh, yes,” he admitted, taking warning now. “Say, tell me, shall we go over that cross road?”
“To change the subject,” observed Miss Martin, with a little laugh, and a sidewise glance at Andy.
He was beginning to find that jealousy was not alone confined to Dunk.
The ride came to an end at last and Andy wondered just how he stood with Dunk and the girls.
“Hang it all!” he mused, “I seem to get in Dutch all along the line.”
The girls left New Haven, having been given a little farewell supper by Dunk and Andy. Thetwo boys had hard work to resist the many self-invited guests among their chums.
Several days later there came some letters to Dunk and Andy. One, to the latter, was from Miss Fuller, the actress, telling Andy that she expected to be in New Haven again, and asking Andy to call on her.
“You are going it!” said Dunk, when Andy told of this missive, and also mentioned receiving one from Miss Martin, thanking him for the entertainment he and Dunk had given to her and her chum. “You sure are going it, Andy! Two strings to your bow, all right.”
“Never you mind me,” retorted Andy. “I’m not on your side of the fencethistime.”
There was the sound of running feet in the corridor, and someone rushed past the room, the door of which was open.
“Did you see anyone pass?” cried Frank Carr, who roomed a few apartments away from Andy and Dunk. “Did someone run past here just now?”
“We didn’t see nor hear anyone,” answered Dunk. “Why?”
“Because just as I was coming upstairs I saw someone run out of my room. I thought of the quadrangle robberies at once, and took a look in. One of my books, and the silver vase I won in the tennis match, were gone. The thief came down this way!”
CHAPTER XXVIIITHE BOOK
Andy and Dunk, who had jumped up and come to the door of their room on hearing Frank’s explanation, stood looking at him for a second, rather startled by his news. Then Andy, realizing that this might be a chance to discover who had been carrying on the mysterious quadrangle robberies, exclaimed:
“Come on down this way! The hall ends just around the corner and there’s no way out. It’s a blind alley, and if the fellow went down here we sure have him!”
“Good for you!” cried Dunk. “Wait until we get something to tackle him with in case he fights.”
“That’s so,” said Andy. “Here, I’ll take our poker, and you can have the fire tongs, Dunk.”
From a brass stand near the fireplace Andy caught up the articles he mentioned.
“Where’s something for me?” asked Frank.
“Here, take the shovel,” spoke Dunk passing it over. “Say, what sort of a fellow was it you saw run out of your room?”
“I didn’t have much chance to notice, he went so like a flash.”
“Was it—er—one of our fellows—I mean a college man—did he look like that?” asked Andy. He was conscious of the fact that he had rather stammered over this. Truth to tell, he feared lest Link might have yielded to temptation. Since the episode of Dunk’s watch Andy had been doing some hard thinking.
“Well, the fellow did look like a college chap,” admitted Frank, “but of course it couldn’t be. No Yale man would be guilty of a thing like that.”
“Of course not!” agreed Dunk. “But say, if we’re going to make a capture we’d better get busy. Are you sure there’s no way out from this corridor, Andy?”
“Sure not. It ends blank. The fellow is surely trapped.”
They hurried out into the corridor, and started down it, armed with the fire irons. Though they had talked rather loudly, and were under considerable excitement, no attention had been attracted to them. Most of the rooms on that floor were not occupied just then, and if there were students in the others they did not come out to see what was taking place.
“Say, it would be great if we could capture the thief!” said Dunk.
“Yes, and end the quadrangle mystery,” added Andy.
“I don’t care so much about ending the mystery as I do about getting back my tennis cup and the book,” spoke Frank.
“What sort of a book was it?” Andy inquired.
“A reference work on inorganic chemistry,” answered Frank. “Cost me ten plunks, too. I can’t afford to lose it for I need it in my work.”
“Some book!” murmured Andy, as the three hastened on.
They tried door after door as they passed, but most of them were locked. One or two opened to disclose students dressing or shaving, and to the rather indignant inquiries as to what was wanted, Dunk would exclaim hastily:
“Oh, we are looking for a fellow—that’s all.”
“Hazing?” sometimes would be inquired.
“Sort of,” Dunk would answer. “No use telling ’em what it is until we’ve got something to show,” he added to his companions. They agreed with him.
They had now reached the turn of corridor where a short passage, making an L, branched off. So far they had seen no trace of the thief.
“There’s a big closet, or storeroom, at theend,” explained Andy. “The fellow may be hiding in there.”
An examination of the few rooms remaining on this short turn of the passage did not disclose the youth they sought. All of the doors were locked.
“He may be hiding in one of them,” suggested Dunk.
“If he is all we’ll have to do will be to wait down at the other end, if we don’t find him in the store room,” spoke Andy. “He’ll have to come out some time, and it’s too high up for him to jump.”
“It’s queer we didn’t hear him run past our room,” remarked Dunk.
“He had on rubber shoes—that’s why,” explained Frank. “He went out of my room like a shadow. At first I didn’t realize what it was, but when I found my stuff had vanished I woke up.”
“Rubber shoes, eh?” said Andy. “He’s an up-to-date burglar all right.”
“Well, let’s try the storeroom,” suggested Dunk, as they neared it. They were rather nervous, in spite of the fact that their forces outnumbered the enemy three to one. With shovel, tongs and poker held in readiness, they advanced. The door of the big closet was closed, and, just as Andy was about to put his hand on the knob,the portal swung open, and out stepped—Mortimer Gaffington.
“Why—er—why—you—you——!” stammered Andy.
“Did you—have you——?” This was what Dunk tried to say.
“Is he in there?” Frank wanted to know.
Mortimer looked coolly at the three.
“I say,” he drawled, “what’s up? Are you looking for a rat?”
“No, the quadrangle thief!” exclaimed Andy. “He went in Frank’s room and took his book and silver cup, and lit out. Came down here and we’re after him! Have you seen him?”
“No,” replied Mortimer, slowly. “I came up here to get Charley Taylor’s mushroom bat. He said he stuck it in here when the season was over, and he told me I could have it if I could fish it out. I had the dickens of a time in there, pawing over a lot of old stuff.”
“Did you get the bat?” asked Dunk.
“No. I don’t believe it’s there. If it is I’d have to haul everything out to get at it. I’m going to give it up.”
As he spoke he threw open the closet door. An electric light was burning inside, and there was revealed to the eyes of Andy and his chums a confused mass of material. Most of it was ofa sporting character, and belonged to the students on that floor, they using the store room for the accumulation that could not be crowded into their own apartments.
“A regular junk heap,” commented Frank. “But where the mischief did that fellow go who was in my room?”
“Itissort of queer,” admitted Andy, as he looked down. Without intending to do so he noticed that Mortimer did not wear rubber-soled shoes, but had on a heavy pair that would have made noise enough down the corridor had he hurried along the passage.
“Maybe you dreamed it,” suggested Mortimer. “I didn’t see anything of anyone coming down here, and I was in that closet some time, rummaging away.”
“Must have been pretty warm in there—with the door closed,” suggested Dunk.
“It was hot. The door swung shut when I was away back in a corner trying to fish out that bat, and I didn’t want to climb back and open it. Well, I guess I’ll go clean up. I’m all dust.”
Truth to tell, he was rather disheveled, his clothes being spotted in several places with dust and cobwebs, while his face and hands were also soiled.
“Well, I guess he fooled us,” commented Andy. “I can’t understand it, though. Wecame down this hall right after him, and there’s no stairway going up or down from this end. How could he give us the slip?”
“Easily enough,” said Mortimer. “He could have slid into some empty room, locked the door on the inside and waited until you fellows rushed past. Then he could come out and go down the stairs behind you without you seeing him.”
“That’s what he did then, all right,” decided Dunk. “We might as well give it up. Report your loss, Frank.”
“Yes, I will. Whew! Another quadrangle robbery to add to the list. I wonder when this thing will stop?”
No one could answer him. Mortimer switched off the light in the store room, remarking that he’d have another look for the bat later. Then he accompanied Andy and the others on their way back down the corridor. Gaffington departed to his own dormitory, while Frank went to report to the Dean, and Andy and Dunk turned into their room.
“Well, what do you think of it?” asked Andy.
“I don’t know,” responded his roommate. “Mortimer’s explanation seems to cover it.”
“All the same we’ll leave our door open, on the chance that the thief may still be hiding in some empty room, and will try to sneak out,” suggested Andy.
“Sure, that’s good enough.”
But, though they watched for some time, no one came down the corridor past their room but the regular students.
And so the theft of the book and silver cup passed into history with the other mysteries. Further search was made, and the private detective agency, that had been engaged by the Dean, sent some active men scouting around, but nothing came of it.
The Christmas vacation was at hand and Andy went home to spend it in Dunmore. Chet, Ben and his other school chums were on hand, and as Andy remarked concerning the occasion, “a jolly time was had by all.”
Chet and Ben were with Andy most of the time, and when Andy told of the doings at Yale, Chet responded with an account of the fun at Harvard, while Ben related the doings of the Jersey Tiger.
Andy’s second term at Yale began early in the new year, and he arrived in New Haven during a driving snow storm. He went at once to his room, where he found a note from Dunk, who had come in shortly before.
“Come over to the eating joint,” the missive read, and Andy, stowing away his bag, headed for the place.
“Over in here!”
“Shove in, plenty of room!”
“Oh, you, Andy Blair!”
“Happy New Year!”
Thus was he greeted and thus he greeted in turn. Then, amid laughter and talk, and the rattle of knives and forks, acquaintanceship and friendship were renewed. Andy was beginning to feel like a seasoned Yale man now.
The studies of the second term were of increasing difficulty, and Andy and Dunk found they had to buckle down to steady work. But they had counted on this.
Still they found time for fun and jollity and spent many a pleasant evening in company with their other friends. Once or twice Mortimer and his cronies tried to get Dunk to spend the night with them, but he refused; or, if he did go, he took Andy with him, and the two always came home early, and with clear heads.
“They’re a pair of quitters!” said Len Scott, in disgust, after one occasion of this kind. “What do you want to bother with ’em for, Mort?”
“That’s what I say,” added Clarence Boyle.
“Oh, well, I may have my reasons,” returned Mortimer, loftily. “Dunk would be a good sort if he wasn’t tied fast to Andy. I can’t get along with him, though.”
“Me either,” added Len. “He’s too goody-goody.”Which was somewhat unjust to Andy.
The winter slowly wore on. Now and then there would be another of the mysterious robberies, and on nearly every occasion the article taken was of considerable value—jewelry, sporting trophies or expensive books. There was suspicion of many persons, but not enough to warrant an arrest.
One day Hal Pulter, who roomed in Wright Hall, near Dunk and Andy, reported that an expensive reference book had been taken from his room. The usual experience followed, with no result.
Then, about a week later, as Andy was walking past the small building at High and Elm streets, where the University Press had its quarters, he came up behind Mortimer Gaffington, who seemed to be studying a book.
Andy wondered somewhat at Mortimer’s application, particularly as it was snowing at the time. This enabled Andy to come close up behind Gaffington without the latter being aware of it, and, looking over the shoulder of the youth, Andy saw on the fly-leaf of the volume a peculiar ink blot.
At once a flash of recollection came to Andy. Well did he know that ink blot, for he had made it himself.
“Why, that’s Pulter’s book!” he exclaimed,speaking aloud involuntarily. “Where did you get it?”
Mortimer turned quickly and faced Andy.
“What’s that?” he asked, sharply.
“I say that’s Pulter’s book,” Andy went on.
“How do you know?” asked Mortimer.
“Why, by that big ink blot. I made it. Pulter was in our room with the book just before it was stolen, and my fountain pen leaked on it. That sure is Pulter’s book. Where did you get it? That’s the one he made such a fuss about!”
CHAPTER XXIXTHE ACCUSATION
“Pulter’s book, eh?” murmured Mortimer, slowly, as he turned it about, looking on the front and back blank pages.
“It sure is,” went on Andy, eagerly. “I’d know that ink blot anywhere. Pulter let out a howl like an Indian when my pen leaked on his book. The blot looks like a Chinese laundryman turned upside down.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mortimer. “Queer, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” went on Andy, his curiosity growing. “Where did you get it?”
“Found it,” spoke the rich lad, quickly. “I went out to the new Yale Field to see how the stadium was coming on, and I saw this under a clump of bushes. I knew it was a valuable book, so I brought it back with me. It hasn’t got Pulter’s name in it, though.”
“No,” went on Andy. “His name was on the other front leaf. That was worse blotted with the ink than this one, and he tore it out. But I’m sure that’s Pulter’s book.”
“Very likely,” admitted Mortimer, coolly. “I’ll take it to him. I’m glad I found it. Going my way?”
“Yes,” and Andy walked beside the lad from his home town, thinking of many things. Mortimer went into Wright Hall, but Pulter was not in.
“I’ll leave the book for him,” Mortimer said to Andy, “and you can call his attention to it. If it isn’t his let me know, and I’ll post a notice saying that I’ve found it.”
“All right,” agreed our hero. “But I know it’s Pulter’s.”
He was telling Dunk about the incident, when his roommate came in a little later, and they were discussing the queer coincidence, when Pulter came bursting in.
“Oh, I say!” he cried. “I’ve got my book back! What do you know about that? It was on my table, and——”
He stopped and looked queerly at Andy and Dunk, who were smiling.
“What’s the joke?” demanded Pulter. “Did you fellows——”
“Gaffington found it,” said Andy. “Sit down and I’ll explain,” which he did.
“Well, that is a queer go!” exclaimed Pulter. “How in the world did my book get out to Yale Field? It isn’t so queer that Gaffington wouldfind it, for I understand he goes out there a lot, on walks. But how did my book get there?”
“Probably whoever took it found they couldn’t get much by pawning or selling it, and threw it away,” suggested Dunk.
“Looks that way,” agreed Andy. “But it sure is a queer game all around.”
They discussed it from many standpoints. Pulter was very glad to get his book back, for he was not a wealthy lad, and the cost of a new volume meant more to him than it would to others.
“Well, Andy, how do you size it up?” asked Dunk, when Pulter had gone back to his apartment and Andy and his chum sat in their cozy room before a crackling fire.
“How do you mean?” asked Andy, to gain time.
“Why, about Gaffington having that book. Didn’t it look sort of fishy to you?”
“It did in a way, yes. But his explanation was very natural. It allmighthave happened that way.”
“Oh, yes, of course. But doyoubelieve it?”
“I don’t know why I shouldn’t. Gaffington’s folks have no end of money, you know. He wouldn’t be guilty of taking a book. If he did want to crib something he’d go in for something big.”
“Well, some of these quadrangle robberies have been big enough. There’s my watch, for instance.”
“What! You don’t mean you believe Gaffington is the quadrangle thief!” exclaimed Andy, in surprise.
“I don’t believe it, exactly, no. If he’s rich, as you say, certainly he wouldn’t run the risk for the comparatively few dollars he could get out of the thefts. But I will admit that this book business did make me suspicious.”
“Oh, forget it,” advised Andy, with a laugh. “I don’t like Gaffington, and I never did, but I don’t believe that of him.”
“Oh, well, I dare say I’m wrong. It was only a theory.”
“I would like to know who’s doing all this business, though,” went on Andy.
“It’s probably some of the hired help they have around here,” suggested Dunk. “They can’t investigate the character of all the men and women employed in the kitchens, the dormitories and around the grounds.”
“No, that’s right. I only hope my friend Link doesn’t fall under suspicion.”
For a week or so after this, matters went on quietly at Yale. There were no further thefts and the authorities had begun to hope there would be no more. They had about given upthe hope of solving the mystery of those already committed.
Then came a sensation. Some very valuable books were taken one night from Chittenden Hall—rare volumes worth considerable money. The next morning there was much excitement when the fact became known.
“Now something will be done!” predicted Andy.
“Well, what can they do that hasn’t already been done?” asked Dunk. “They may make a search of every fellow’s room. I wish they’d come here. Maybe they’d find that my watch, after all, has hidden itself away somewhere instead of being taken.”
“They’re welcome if they want to look here,” said Andy. “But I don’t believe they’ll do that. They’ll probably get a real detective now.”
And that was what the Dean did. He disliked very much to call in the public police, but the loss of the rare books was too serious a theft to pass over with the hiring of a private detective.
Just what was done was not disclosed, but it leaked out that a close watch was being kept on all the employees at Yale, and suspicion, it was said, had narrowed down to one or two.
One day Link called on Andy to pay back the money he had borrowed.
“There’s no hurry,” said Andy. “I don’t need it.”
“Oh, I want to pay it back,” said the young farmer. “I have plenty of cash now,” and he exhibited quite a roll of bills.
“Been drawing your salary?” asked Andy, with a laugh.
“No, this is a little windfall that came to me,” was the answer.
“A windfall? Did someone die and leave you a fortune?”
“No, not exactly. It came to me in a curious way. I got it through the mail, and there wasn’t a word of explanation with it. Just the bill folded in a letter. A hundred-dollar bill, it was, but I had it changed.”
“Do you mean someone sent you a hundred dollars, and you don’t know who it’s from?” asked Andy, in surprise.
“That’s right!” exclaimed Link, with a laugh. “I wish I did know, for I’d write and thank whoever it was. It surely came in handy.”
“Why, it’s very strange,” spoke Andy, slowly. “Could you tell by the postmark where the letter came from?”
“It was from New York, but I haven’t a friend there that I know of.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve got it. Take care of it, Link.”
“I intend to. I can lend you some now, if you need it, Mr. Blair.”
“Thank you, I have enough at present.”
Andy watched his protege walk across the campus, and near the middle observed him stopped by a stranger. Link appeared surprised, and started back. There was a quick movement, and the young farmer was seized by the other.
“That’s queer!” exclaimed Andy. “I wonder what’s up? Link may be in trouble. Maybe that fellow’s trying to rob him.”
The quadrangle was almost deserted at the time. Andy hurried down and ran over to where Link was standing. The student caught the gleam of something on the wrist of his friend. It was a steel handcuff!
“What—what’s up, Link?” Andy gasped.
“Why, Mr. Blair—I don’t know. This man—he says he’s a detective, and——”
“So I am a detective, and I don’t want any of your funny work!” was the snappish retort. “There’s my badge,” and it was flashed from under the armhole of the man’s vest, being fastened to his suspenders, where most plain-clothes men carry their official emblem.
“A detective!” gasped Andy. “What’s the matter? Why do you want Link Bardon?”
“We want him because he’s accused of being the quadrangle thief!” was the unexpected answer. “Stand aside now, I’m going to take him to the station house!”
CHAPTER XXXTHE LETTER
Andy could scarcely understand it. Surely, he thought, there must be some mistake. He was glad there was not a crowd of students about to witness the humiliation of Link—a humiliation none the less acute if the charge was groundless.
“Wait a minute—hold on!” exclaimed Andy, sharply, and there was something in his voice that caused the detective to pause.
“Well, what is it?” the officer growled. “I haven’t any time to waste.”
“Do you really want him on a robbery charge?” asked Andy.
“I do—if his name is Link Bardon,” was the cool answer. “I guess he won’t attempt to deny it. I’ve been on his trail for some time.”
“That’s my name, sure enough—I have no reason to deny it,” said Link, who had turned pale. His eyes had traces of tears in them. After all, he was not much older than Andy and he was a gentle sort of youth, unused to the rough ways of the world.
“I thought I was right,” the detective went on. “I’ve been watching for you. Now the question is—are you coming along quietly, or shall I have any trouble?”
“I won’t give you any trouble—certainly not,” protested Link. “But this is all a mistake! I haven’t taken a thing! You know I wouldn’t steal, don’t you, Mr. Blair?”
“I certainly believe it, Link, and I’ll do all I can to help you. What are you going to do with him?” he asked the detective.
“Lock him up—what do you suppose?”
“But can’t he get out on bail?”
“Oh, it could be arranged. I have nothing to do with that. I’m just supposed to get him—and I’ve got him!”
“But I—I haven’t done anything!” insisted Link.
“That’s what they all say,” sneered the detective. “Come along!”
“Do—do I have to go with him?” asked Link, turning to Andy in appeal.
“I’m afraid so,” was the answer. “But I’ll go with you and try to get bail. Don’t worry, Link. It’s all a mistake. You’ll soon be free.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” warned the officer. “I’ve been searching your room, young man, and I guess you know what I found there.”
“You certainly found in my room only thethings that belonged to me!” exclaimed Link, indignantly.
“Did I? What do you call this?” and the detective took from his pocket a small book. Andy recognized it at once as one of the valuable ones taken from Chittenden Hall.
“You—you found that in my room?” cried Link, aghast.
“I sure did. In your room on Crown street. Now maybe you won’t be so high and mighty.”
“If you found that in my room, someone else put it there!” declared Link. “I certainly never did.”
“Well, I won’t say that couldn’t happen,” spoke the officer coolly, “but if you think I planted it there to frame up some evidence against you, you’ve got another guess coming. I took your landlady into the room with me, to have a witness, and she saw me pull this book out from the bottom of a closet.”
“I never put it there!” protested Link.
“You can tell that to the judge,” went on the officer. “How about all the money you’ve been sporting around to-day, too?”
Link started. Andy, too, saw how dangerous this evidence might be.
“I’ve had some money—certainly,” admitted Link.
“Where’d you get it?”
Link hesitated. He realized that the story would sound peculiar.
“It was sent to me,” he answered.
“Who sent it?”
“I don’t know. It came in the mail without a word of explanation.”
The detective laughed.
“I thought you’d have some such yarn as that,” he said. “They all do. I guess you’ll have to come with me. I’m sorry,” he went on in a more gentle tone. “I’m only doing my duty. I’ve been working on the quadrangle case for some time, and I think I’ve landed my man. But it isn’t as much fun as you might think. I’ll only say that I believe I have the goods on you, and I’ll warn you that anything you say now may be used against you. So you’d better keep still. Come along.”
“Must I go?” asked Link again of Andy.
“I’m afraid so. But I’ll have you out on bail as soon as I can. Don’t worry, Link.”
Andy learned from the detective before what judge Link would be arraigned and then, as the young farmer lad was led away in disgrace, Andy started back to his room.
“I’ve got to get Dunk to help me in this,” he reasoned. “To go on bail you have to own property, or else put up the cash, and I can’t do that. Maybe Dunk can suggest a way.”
Andy was glad it was so dark that no one could see Link being taken away by the officer.
“How did that book get in Link’s room?” mused Andy. “That sure will tell against him. But I know he didn’t steal it. Some other janitor or helper who could get into Chittenden may have taken it, and then got afraid and dumped it in Link’s closet. A lot of college employees live on Crown street. I must get Link a lawyer and tell him that.”
Andy found Dunk in the room, and excitedly broke the news to him.
“Whew! You don’t say so!” cried Dunk. “Your friend Link arrested! What do you know about that? And the book in his room!”
“Somebody else put it there,” suggested Andy.
“Possibly. But that money-in-a-letter story sounds sort of fishy.”
“Thatisa weak point,” Andy admitted. “But we’ll have to consider all that later. The question is: How can we get Link out on bail? Got any money?”
Dunk pulled out his pocketbook and made a hurried survey.
“About thirty plunks,” he said.
“I’ve got twenty-five,” said Andy. “Link has nearly a hundred himself.”
“That won’t be enough,” said Dunk. “This is a grand larceny charge and the bail will befive hundred dollars anyhow. Now I’ll tell you the best thing to do.”
“What?”
“Hire a good lawyer. We’ve got money enough, with what Link has, to pay a good retaining fee. Let the lawyer worry about the bail. Those fellows always have ways of getting it.”
“I believe you’re right,” agreed Andy. “We can put up fifty dollars for a retainer to the lawyer.”
“I’ll telegraph for more from home to-night,” said Dunk. “Andy, we’ll see this thing through.”
“It’s mighty good of you, Dunk.”
“Nonsense! Why shouldn’t I help out your friend?”
“Do you think he’s guilty?”
“I wouldn’t want to say. Certainly I hope he isn’t; but I’d like to get my watch back.”
“Well, let’s go get a lawyer,” suggested Andy.
A sporty senior, whom Dunk knew, and who had more than once been in little troubles that required the services of a legal man, gave them the address of a good one. They were fortunate in finding him in his office, though it was rather late, and he agreed to take the case, and said he thought bail could be had.
Andy and Dunk made a hasty supper and then, letting their studies go, hurried to the policecourt, where, occasionally, night sessions were held.
Link was brought out before the judge, having first had a conference with the lawyer Dunk and Andy had engaged. The charge was formally made.
“We plead not guilty,” answered the lawyer, “and I ask that my client be admitted to bail.”
“Hum!” mused the judge. “The specific charge only mentions one book, of the value of two hundred dollars, but I understand there are other charges to follow. I will fix bail at one thousand dollars, the prisoner to stand committed until a bond is signed.”
Andy and Dunk gasped at the mention of a thousand dollars, but the lawyer only smiled quietly.
“I have a bondsman here, your Honor,” he said.
A man, looking like an Italian, came forward, but he proved to have the necessary property, and signed the bond. Then Link was allowed to go, being held, however, to answer to a higher court for the charge against him.
“Now if you’ll come to my office,” suggested the lawyer, “we’ll plan out this case.”
“Oh, I can’t thank you two enough!” gasped Link, when he was free of the police station. “It was awful back there in the cell.”
“Forget it,” advised Dunk, with a laugh. “You’ll never go back there again.”
The consultation with the lawyer took some time, and when it was over Link started for his room. He was cheered by the prospect that the case against him was very slight.
“Unless they get other evidence,” specified the lawyer.
“They can’t!” cried Link, proudly.
Andy and Dunk went back to their room, to do some necessary studying. On their way they stopped in the Yale branch postoffice. There was a letter from home for Andy, and when he had read it he uttered such an exclamation that Dunk asked:
“Any bad news?”
“Yes, but not for me,” replied Andy. “This is from my mother. She writes that Mr. Gaffington—that’s Mortimer’s father—has failed in business and lost all his money. This occurred some time ago, but the family has been keeping it quiet. The Gaffingtons aren’t rich at all, and Mortimer will probably have to leave Yale.”
“Too bad,” said Dunk, and then he started off, leaving Andy to read the letter again.