CHAPTER XIVTHE END OF THE GAME.
Having finished lunch and lounged on the rocks for a little while, the four Yale men set out toward the lower fields and thickets in search of quail.
As before, they did not keep together long. Each one had his own ideas as to where the birds were to be found, so presently they broke up and continued on their way alone.
Merriwell did not get much pleasure out of it, however. The day was perfect, the birds fairly abundant, but his mind persisted in flying back to the farmhouse and the mystery it contained, decidedly to the detriment of his gunning.
He kept wondering whether Jellison had returned to the house, and, if so, what he was doing there. Did Jellison know of the money under the hearth? What had taken Mac to the village?
He was so preoccupied with all these questions that he made a number of wretched misses, and at last he broke his gun with a snap and slipped out the shells.
“That’s about all for to-day,” he grumbled. “I can’t do a thing with this on my mind. I’m going back.”
Now that he had at last come to this decision, he wished he had done so long ago. There was no telling what might be going on in the house by the lake. He was a fool to have come out at all and left the treasure unguarded.
As he tore his way through the tangle of briars and undergrowth it seemed as if the very bushes were trying to hinder his progress. He could not get along fast enough, and the result was that when he emerged into the more open forest back of the house he was a mass of cuts and scratches and his hands were full of thorns.
He did not stop for that, however, but kept on his way through the trees at a dogtrot. The woods were pleasantly free from undergrowth, and underfoot the soft, springy moss carpeted the ground as far as the eye could reach and made his progress almost noiseless.
He had almost reached the cleared ground about the house—had just caught a glimpse of the bright sky line ahead, in fact—when he made out the figure of a man slipping through the trees in front of him.
“Who the mischief is that?” he muttered, with a perplexed frown.
It looked a little like Joblots, but he supposed that the dapper little fellow was by this time hundreds of miles away. At any rate, he was determined to find out, and, quickening his pace, he rapidly and noiselessly approached the fellow, whose back was toward him.
A moment later he saw that it was Joblots. There was no mistaking the shape of the little fellow’s back and head, and certainly there could be no duplicate hereabouts of that giddy, gaudy, shiny, new khaki shooting rig.
Percy evidently had some very definite object in view. He did not loiter as one enjoying the beauties of the forest, but pressed steadily forward toward the line of clearing, darting keen glances to right and left in a manner which was not at all like the absurd little creature they had come upon the day before. Moreover, his gun was nowhere to be seen.
As he approached, swiftly and noiselessly, a conviction that this time he was watching the real man, came upon Dick with overwhelming force. The next moment, as he reached Joblots’ side and caught his arm, he was sure. The expression on the fellow’s face, startled and annoyed, but not in the least idiotic, was proof positive.
The next instant a mask fell over the small man’s countenance.
“Grathiouth thaketh!” he gasped. “How you thurprithed——”
“Cut that!” Dick broke in sharply. “That went last night, but there’s no use in trying to fool me now. Who are you? and what are you after here?”
A bewildered look came into the pale-blue eyes.
“I weally don’t know what——”
“Cut it, I say!” Merriwell repeated, his eyes flashing. “Spit out the truth or I’ll knock it out of you! Quick, now! Who are you?”
A slowly dawning expression of keen shrewdness came over the other’s face, and for an instant he eyed Dick coolly and appraisingly.
“You’re no fool, are you?” he said at length, in a totally different voice. “I reckon you’ve got me straight this time.”
He hesitated for an instant.
“Reckon I’ll have to trust you,” he went on quickly. “I’m after the guys who cracked the Hartford bank. Now, the question is, are you going to help me or try to trip me up?”
Dick’s chin squared and his eyes narrowed as the thought of Archie flashed into his mind. It was incredible—impossible. He would not believe.
“Who are you after?” he asked at length.
“That feller McCormick,” returned the detective quickly. “He was seen around the bank just before the robbery. Him an’ his two pals took the train out in the morning. At Milton they separated. He come here with the swag, an’ the other two went on. My partner is following them.”
“What makes you think McCormick has the swag?” Dick asked, though his heart was cold within him.
“I don’t think; I know,” the man answered. “He brought it in a big bag, and last night he hid it under the hearth in the dining room. I heard him sneak downstairs, and I slipped through the kitchen and watched him. There ain’t no doubt about it.”
Dick did not speak. His heart was too full for words. What he had tried not to believe was true. All the time that he had been watching Mac through the crack in the door the detective had been on the lookout from the kitchen. In spite of all, he could not seem to think of Archie as a thief. How had he ever been roped into such a thing?
“Well, what are you going to do?” he inquired presently, in a listless voice.
“Pinch him,” returned the detective tersely. “I’ve been holding off in hopes of getting his pals. Thought he telegraphed ’em this morning, but he didn’t. The agent wouldn’t tell me what was in the message he sent, but I did find out that the reply came from Bloomfield. It ain’t likely his pals are there. It’s too far away.”
Dick caught his breath suddenly.
“Bloomfield!” he exclaimed, and then was silent.
Bloomfield was where his brother Frank’s school was located. Just now Archie McCormick’s brother, the one who had served a term in State’s prison, happened also to be there. What did it all mean? Why was Archie telegraphing to Jim? His thoughts were suddenly broken in upon by the detective’s voice.
“Well,” he said briskly, “what are you going to do, help me or hinder me?”
“Neither one or the other,” Merriwell said shortly. “I can’t hinder you, and I certainly don’t propose to help you arrest a friend of mine, especially when I don’t believe he’s had anything to do with this robbery.”
“That’s all rot,” Joblots said quickly. “The thing’s as good as proved. Well, I’ve got to get busy. There ain’t no time to waste.”
He started on toward the edge of the woods, Dick following him listlessly. His mind absolutely refused to credit the truth of the detective’s assertions, even with the proof seemingly as unassailable as it was. He would not believe that Archie was a thief. There must be some other explanation of his peculiar actions.
Suddenly Joblots, reaching the fringe of trees which bordered the field, stopped short.
“Thunder!” he exclaimed. “Here he comes now with the swag. Jellison, too. What do you think of that! I never suspected Jellison.”
Leaning over his shoulder, Merriwell saw that he was right. Coming toward the woods from the house were two men, walking in single file. The first one, unmistakably Archie, carried a large dress suit case under the weight of which he seemed barely able to stagger. Behind him walked Andrew Jellison. What did it mean? Was it possible that the two were friends and partners in this crime? Had Archie deceived him from the first?
Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he drew a quick breath. The next instant he was slipping back through the trees and doubling toward the point where the path entered the forest. Joblots caught up with him.
“You said you wouldn’t hinder,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re going to warn them.”
“I’m going to help you,” Dick snapped. “Are you blind, man? Don’t you see what’s happened? Jellison is forcing Mac to go with him. He’s driving him along with a gun! Hush, now! Don’t make a sound.”
Bewildered, incredulous, the detective followed Merriwell closely. He could not believe what the Yale man had said, but there was nothing else to do, except follow in the other’s lead.
In a moment they had reached the edge of the path and crouched in the bushes. They were just in time. Already the feet of the two men rustled in the leaves near at hand.
“How long are you going to keep up this farce?” they heard McCormick say. “You certainly can’t expect to force me to go on to Middleberry.”
“Never you mind!” snapped Jellison. “Shut your face and do as I tell you!”
The next instant Archie passed Dick’s hiding place, staggering under the weight of the heavy bag. A moment later Jellison appeared.
Without a single preliminary sound, Merriwell’s lithe body, launched from the thicket with a spring like that of a panther, struck the cashier full on the back, and the two crashed to the ground together. The shock knocked the revolver from the fellow’s hand, and, though he struggled hard, Dick had no difficulty in holding him down. Then he looked about him.
Archie had dropped the bag and was staring at the tangle of arms and legs in a dazed fashion. As he recognized Dick, he gave a shout of joy.
“Thank Heaven, you came in time, old fellow!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been an awful fool. He was just getting away with all the money.”
A look of triumph appeared on Joblots’ face.
“Ah! ha!” he muttered. “What did I tell you?”
“What money?” Dick demanded. “Quick, Archie! What are you talking about?”
His face was strained with the suspense of waiting.
“The money he stole from the Metropolis Bank two years ago,” McCormick answered eagerly. “He’s the thief. He’s the one who sent Jim to prison. He hid the money under the hearth, expecting to get it after everything was safe, but old man Hickey wouldn’t let him in. He came last night for it. I was awake and heard him slip downstairs. I followed him and saw him take up the stone to see if it was still there. After he had gone, I looked myself. There’s no doubt about it.”
Joblots listened with a growing expression of mortification and chagrin.
“Yah!” he snapped. “I don’t believe it! You stole that money from the Hartford bank two nights ago!”
Archie looked at him in utter bewilderment. Then his face darkened.
“You fool!” he ripped out. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing! Look and see. The wrappers are still around the bills.”
Scowling fiercely at Joblots, he kicked the bag with one foot.
In an instant the detective was on his knees, fumbling with the catch. Then, as it yielded, he threw back the cover and snatched up one of the packages. His face was incredulous. Tossing down the packet he picked up another, and yet another. They were all the same. Presently he arose slowly to his feet.
“By thunder!” he muttered. “Looks like there was something in it.”
Then he looked keenly at Archie.
“What were you doing around the bank in Hartford at twelve o’clock the night of the robbery?” he asked significantly.
“Coming home from a smoker,” the Yale man returned quickly.
“How about those guys you were chummy with on the train yesterday?” persisted Joblots.
“Never saw them before in my life,” McCormick smiled. “We got talking to each other in the train.”
The detective looked nonplused. Before he had time to think of any more questions, a sanctimonious voice sounded from the path behind the little group.
“Behold the wicked man who diggeth a pit and falleth into it himself. Look’s as if you’d got him this time, gents.”
Dick loosened his grip on Jellison and sprang to his feet. The ruddy face of the Reverend Jeremy Pennyfeather grinned at him from a little distance. His eyes were twinkling shrewdly, and he did not look quite so pious as he had that morning.
“Well!” Dick remarked. “Are you another detective?”
The fellow laughed.
“Guessed right the first crack, my friend,” he returned easily. “I was sent out by Mr. Frank Merriwell to keep watch of this here gent.”
He indicated the sullen, lowering Jellison, who had raised himself to a sitting posture.
“Looks like you boys had saved me a lot of trouble. Caught him with the goods, didn’t you?”
Dick nodded.
“Yes, and I hope he gets the biggest penalty that can be imposed,” he said sternly. “He’s pretty near ruined one man’s life.”
“There ain’t any doubt he’ll git all that’s coming to him,” the lank fellow said, in a tone of satisfaction. “We ought to be able to catch the last train down and give him his first taste of jail to-night.”
“And I’ll go with you,” Archie said decidedly. “I want to see him good and safe.”
They all finally decided to go as far as Lysander Cobmore’s place, from which Archie and the detective could proceed alone with the guilty man. Making their way quickly through the woods, they found the farmer standing by the barn, a yellow envelope in his hand. His eyes lit up as they fell upon the dapper figure of Joblots.
“Waal, waal,” he drawled. “If you ain’t saved me a heap o’ trouble. This here telegram was jest brought from town, and I hadn’t no more notion than a cat what to do with it.”
He handed the envelope to the detective, who tore it open eagerly. As he took in the contents, his face darkened and he bit his lips angrily.
“Two days wasted!” he snapped, crumpling the message in his hand, and tossing it to the ground. “Wouldn’t that frost you!”
The Reverend Pennyfeather made no bones about picking it up, and, when he had spread it out, this was what he read:
“Hartford crooks nabbed at Westfield. Swag recovered. You are on false trail. Report at office at once.”