“He won’t try it,” promised Don, grimly. And a few moments later, when Chipps and Rhodes came in on a visit, they told him the cadets would stand back of him.
“In fact,” said Rhodes, getting up. “I think I’ll spread the word right now for a general rebellion!”
“Oh, you aren’t going that far, are you?” asked Don.
“Absolutely!” said the senior captain. “Major Tireson must be shown conclusively that he can’t pull off a stunt like that and get away with it. That would be making ninnies out of the whole cadet corps. Jim did the right thing and we won’t stand for treatment of that kind, as long as the major himself is the guilty one.”
The two seniors departed to spread the word and before taps sounded the cadet body was seething with excitement. A definite plan was formulated and in the morning it was launched.
The cadets, with the exception of Don, filed into chapel in the morning and sat quietly down. The services went off as usual and then the major gave the signal for dismissal. A few fourth class men got up, but the senior and third class remained seated. Following their example the second class remained seated also.
The major looked at them in amazement. “I said assembly dismissed, gentlemen,” he said.
There was nothing but silence over the entire hall and the major’s eyes blazed. “What does this mean?”
Rhodes stood in his place and faced him quietly. “I have been delegated by the cadet corps to say that we will not return either to study or to drill until Cadet Mercer, of the fourth class, has been released and all blame for the campaign affair withdrawn from Lieutenant Stillman and Cadet James Mercer,” he stated.
“Oh!” hissed the major, when he had fully comprehended. “A school rebellion, eh?”
“We hope not, sir,” respectfully returned Rhodes. “But if necessary it will be. The cadet corps has also commissioned me to say that all blame for the Hill 31 affair is to be laid directly to you, Major Tireson. Here at Woodcrest we are taught that military service demands absolute efficiency, especially in the giving and interpreting of orders, and yet the biggest blunder, and one which might have cost two lives, has been made by our commanding officer. We feel that any cadet in the ranks, upon learning that Lieutenant Thompson was ill, would have immediately seen to it that his appointed successor had the correct orders, particularly as those orders had been changed. In the hearing of many of the cadets you were told that Lieutenant Stillman had received orders that were two days old, and yet you allowed that statement to go unchallenged. Under the circumstances the cadet corps feels that punishment of these cadets and the imprisonment of Cadet Mercer is an insult to our organization and will not permit it to go on!”
“A very pretty speech,” sneered the major, livid with rage. “Sit down, sir!”
“We will now march to the breakfast hall,” went on Rhodes, ignoring the order. “But we will not attend any class or any drill until you have complied with our request. We also feel that we are being lenient with you in not asking you to apologize to the cadets you have reprimanded!”
“You sit down!” bellowed the major. “You won’t get a mouthful until you have returned to study and drill! Dictate to me, will you? I’ll punish every one of you and show you how to obey orders quickly!”
“Any tactics such as those,” warned the senior, “will be followed by the worst thing that can possibly happen to the school. Every member will return to his own home and remain there until Colonel Morrell has returned or until you back down in your stand.” The senior captain turned his back on the enraged headmaster. “Corps, attention! March as orderly as possible into the dining room!”
“I’ll have the food stopped and you won’t get a mouthful!” roared the major.
“The minute you give such an order you will be put outside the building and the doors locked against you!” returned Captain Rhodes, quietly. Turning to the waiting cadets he cried briskly: “Get into action, boys. Forward march!”
The corps marched impassively into the dining room and took up its place around the tables. The instructors lingered in the assembly hall for a moment, waiting for word from the major, but as none came, they joined the students in the dining room. Taking complete charge of the situation the senior captain asked a blessing on the food and then the cadets ate a hearty breakfast.
Rhodes kept his eyes open during the meal, but nothing happened until the close when an instructor beckoned him to come outside. The senior left the room and the cadets waited while they finished their coffee. Rhodes returned after a few minutes and rapped for attention.
“The rebellion is over, gentlemen,” he announced. “Major Tireson has agreed to release Cadet Mercer and to forget the entire affair. We will now return to our classes and drill in the spirit of the corps, if you please.”
There was a slight feeling of disappointment on the part of the cadet body, but they went back to routine without murmur. Don was told later in the morning to go down and get his breakfast and report to his second call for classes. He did so, and later Rhodes spoke to him briefly.
“Our threat to leave the school was what finally tamed him,” the senior said. “He wailed a bit about my disrespect and insults and so forth, but finally agreed to hush up the entire matter. You and Jim won’t have any more trouble on that score.”
“I guess not,” agreed Don. “But I’ll bet he won’t love the Mercer brothers from now on!”
One murmur ran through the body of cadets with increasing force. “I wish that something definite would be done about locating our colonel,” Lieutenant Sommers expressed it.
For a time things went on as usual at Woodcrest. The major kept to himself and had almost nothing to do with the cadet corps. He led the morning services and looked briefly on at drill times, but aside from that he paid no attention to them. His attitude, the new boys were told, was directly opposite to that of the colonel, who mixed in with them and shared their life in a spirit of comradeship. The major was not popular and his absence was not greatly mourned.
Once or twice strange men came and talked with the major, men who had the look of police detectives, but evidently nothing new had been learned of the missing headmaster’s whereabouts. The four friends kept a close watch on their own account and several times passed close to Clanhammer Hall purposely to see if there was anything to be learned. But they did not find out anything until Cadet Vench broke his long silence.
The little cadet was growing more and more popular with the corps and was himself astonished at the change in his own life. He had never before realized that to be respected and liked meant everything in the world, and he was slowly learning what it was to have real friends. He had abandoned his over-wise attitude, was now devoting himself to his studies, and on the whole was living a vastly improved life. The Mercers and their own immediate friends helped him all that they could without being tactless about it, and it was to this circumstance that they owed the fact that Vench told his story.
He found the four of them back of the boathouse one late afternoon enjoying the declining sun and discussing sports. They were seated on the boat runway and the little cadet sat down beside them. They greeted him genially.
“Well, what’s on your mind, kid?” said Terry.
“I want to tell you guys something,” returned Vench.
“Fire away,” invited Don.
“I want to tell you what I saw in Clanhammer Hall that night!” said Vench, unexpectedly.
They sat up in genuine interest. “I wish you would,” said Rhodes. “When you get through we’ll tell you why we are so anxious to know. Perhaps you can help us more than you realize.”
“I hope I can,” returned Vench, looking around to see that no one was within earshot. “Well, listen, here is the story. As you know, I said I was going to put on a dance that would make history in this school. We were going to start fixing the place up that night when that business came up in the library, the slashing of the picture and all that. We knew that there would be guards around the school and that it would be even harder to try a stunt like that, but I was determined to put it over, so I went ahead and made plans. And my biggest plan was to have it in Clanhammer Hall.
“At first I had planned to have it in the gym, the usual way, you know. But just about then I got the idea that it would add to the romance or thrill or whatever you want to call it by having it in Clanhammer Hall. Some of the fellows told me that it was strictly against the rules to go into that place, it was a sort of mysterious shrine, they said, but that made me all the more anxious to have it there. So we planned it that way and I asked if anybody knew anything about the outlay of the old place. No one did, so I decided to go in myself and look it over.
“Don was patrolling up and down when I slipped out of the side door and I waited until he got out of sight down along the lake front. Then I sneaked to the back of the old building and pried open a cellar window. I dropped down into the place and looked around—I had a flashlight with me—and I saw that it was an ordinary basement with old ash cans and a big furnace and coal bins, and whatever else goes to make up a basement. After a couple of minutes I found the stairs and went up to the top, where I didn’t have any trouble breaking open the door and getting into the hall. I flashed the light into a room or two downstairs, one an old office and one a classroom that was mighty small, and I decided that upstairs would be the better place to go. We’d be safer, I thought, and so I went up the stairs to the second floor. The thing that puzzled me was this, I smelled cooking in that old place!”
“What!” cried the others, in a breath.
“Yes, real cooking, something with plenty of grease in it. I don’t know just what it was,” said Vench.
“Well, I’ll be darned!” gasped Terry. “I saw evidence of the same thing. Somebody is making a regular hotel of that place!”
“I had half a notion to go down and investigate,” continued Vench. “But I thought I’d take a look around the upstairs before I did. I thought I had a lot of courage to go into the place alone to begin with, but when I got to the upper floor I felt my courage ooze away. One look, I thought, and then I’d go down again and come back with the fellows. There was a small room right off of the staircase and I walked in there. Once inside I turned on the flash, and found to my dismay that it was going out. But in the feeble light that came from it I could see dimly around the room, which seemed to be a small study, with a faded carpet, a desk and a couple of chairs. There was just one small window in that room, rather high up, and as I stood there looking around my light went out.
“I snapped it a couple of times to see if it would go on again, but nothing happened. The room was pitch black, and I was wondering how the devil I was going to get back to the cellar window. At the time I was bending over the useless flashlight, and then I felt the hair on my head begin to crinkle up and pull. There was a faint light coming from somewhere, and a minute later I saw a beam of yellow light in the hall. It was the light of a candle, and it was coming down the hall toward the room I was in. Although my legs seemed stiff as boards I did manage to somehow drop down behind that desk and watch.
“After what seemed an age someone came to the door. The light had been moving toward me all the time, but I hadn’t heard a sound. Now a candle in a tin holder was thrust around the edge of the door and a minute later an old man looked into the room. His face was long, his hair all straggly and his eyes were narrow and close together!”
“The same man I saw!” breathed Terry.
“He looked around the room but did not come in. I guess he was only suspicious, for after a little while he went away, as noiselessly as he had come. He went up to the third floor, judging by the way the light went, and I waited until I was sure he had gone before I left that room. And I assure you I left it in a hurry. I found the stairs all right and got to the cellar, where I got another scare when I saw Don looking in the window. That’s what I saw in Clanhammer Hall, and of course we didn’t have our dance.”
“So that’s what you saw there!” exclaimed Jim, drawing a deep breath.
“Yes, and I’ve been puzzled over it ever since. I kept it to myself and no one else knows it. Now let’s hear what you have to tell me.”
Terry told his part and the others filled in. Vench was impressed. “Something very wrong with that old school,” he commented.
“Do you think we ought to tell Major Tireson?” asked Don, of Rhodes. The senior thought it over and then shook his head.
“No, I don’t,” he said. “That might clear things up and then again it might not. What I do think is this, we ought to go through Clanhammer Hall some day ourselves!”
“But not at night!” objected Jim.
“No, that would be foolish. In the first place, we wouldn’t be able to see anything, and in the second place I am no more keen to prowl around there after dark than you are. We’ll simply break in some afternoon, perhaps tomorrow, and look around ourselves. If we are caught there we can simply tell our story and say that we wanted to investigate. They can’t do much to us for that.”
“No, I don’t think they can. Do you want to go through tomorrow afternoon?” asked Don.
After some more talk they all agreed to break into Clanhammer Hall on the following afternoon and then they prepared for supper. The evening passed as usual and they went to bed. How long they had been asleep they did not know, but they were aroused by the furious ringing of the fire gong. With one accord they leaped from their beds.
“Now what is going on?” began Jim, but Terry, who had raced to the window, interrupted him.
“It’s a sure enough fire this time,” he called. “And, by George, it’s Clanhammer Hall!”
They rushed to the window. One corner of the old school building could be seen from there and Terry had spoken the truth. The back of the place was on fire and the flames could be seen curling up against the sky. Already the campus was dotted here and there with cadets who had run out, scantily clothed.
“Come on!” shouted Don, leaping for his clothes. “Let’s get out there! We’ll find out something important now!”
In a few minutes the boys were out on the campus and running rapidly across the wet grass toward the old building. The flames were mounting higher and they could see that a shed in the back, which was joined to the main building, was burning briskly. The roof was on fire and there was no time to be lost.
The major had arrived on the scene and had taken charge. Some of the cadets ran down to the boathouse and dragged out the fire-fighting equipment, consisting of a hose reel and some axes. There was a fire hydrant at the corner of Clinton Hall, and before long a solid stream of water was playing on the roof of the shed. Some of the cadets had started to form a bucket brigade, but seeing that the hose would do the work much more efficiently they stopped and all stood around watching. Rhodes held the hose and under his direction the fire was speedily put out.
Don, Jim and Terry watched the old building with interest, hoping to see someone show themselves at the windows, but there was no sign of life and soon darkness fell over the landscape. The major, who seemed anxious about the fire, saw to it that the rear portion of the building was well soaked before he allowed the cadets to turn off the water. Rhodes offered to go inside and see if there was any fire inside.
“Never mind, Mr. Rhodes,” said the major. “I’ll attend to that.” He took out a bunch of keys and went around to the front, where he let himself in. Some of the cadets, finding it quite cold outside, went back to bed, but several stayed to see if there were any further developments. In less than five minutes the major was back with them.
“No fire inside,” he announced. “I thank you for your prompt work, boys. I would have felt very badly indeed if anything had happened to the dear old school building. You may put the hose reel away.”
Some of the cadets put the hose reel away and the major, on the plea that they would catch cold, ordered the rest of the young soldiers to their rooms. Rhodes stopped just outside their door and talked in low tones to Terry and the brothers.
“I’m afraid this puts our projected search off a bit,” he said.
“You think it wouldn’t be wise to go in there right away?” questioned Don.
“Yes, that’s it. I am afraid the major will keep a pretty close watch on the place from now on, simply to see that no one does go in there out of curiosity.”
“You noticed that the major had a key, didn’t you?” whispered Jim.
“Yes, but that, in itself, isn’t so very suspicious. There must be some sort of key in the office here. But this is the suspicious part, I wanted to go in with the major. He wouldn’t allow me to go. And he never asked how it got on fire or made any fuss about it. Now I’m more than ever glad that we didn’t take our story to him.”
Before any more could be said Captain Chalmers appeared in the hall. “All in bed, boys,” said the instructor pleasantly, and Rhodes hurried off to his own room.
One of the oldest sports at Woodcrest was the game of hare and hounds, paper chase, the boys called it. It was the custom of those interested to divide into two groups, one the hares and the other the hounds. The hares were provided with canvas bags which they filled full of paper, and they were given an hour’s start of the hounds. The hares dropped the paper as they ran through the woods, thus providing a definite trail for the hounds to follow. The game generally took all day, and the hares were supposed to arrive back at the school before the hounds overtook them. Each year the rivalry was very keen, and for some years past the hares had won. Veteran members of the hounds were out for revenge that year, and the three friends, as members of the track team, were welcomed to the game with eagerness.
One Tuesday was given over to the game, a Tuesday which happened to be Election Day and a holiday at Woodcrest, and early in the morning the two teams met on the edge of the campus down near the woods. There were about thirty boys willing to play the game, which was strenuous in the extreme, and they divided up quickly. All had been provided with sandwiches and the hares had the bags of paper.
Rhodes, Vench, Merton and Chipps were on the side of the hares, with a dozen other boys, and Don, Jim, Terry, Lieutenant Thompson and others were running with the hounds. Final instructions were given and the hares started off for the dark woods.
“See you guys right here at nightfall,” called out Chipps, waving to the hounds as they sallied out.
“Yes, we’ll have a fire going to roast you rabbits!” returned Terry, as the hounds settled down to wait for their time to come.
The hares broke away on a slow run, dropping bits of paper as they went. If the majority of the hares were captured, the decision went to the hounds, but if the hares got a majority back in the yard before the hounds overtook them the victory was theirs. So the hounds waited impatiently for the word to go. Thompson, who was captain of the hounds, had to curb their impatience. Some of them wanted to kick a football around, but the leader put an end to that.
“We’ve got a long run ahead of us,” he warned them. “If we go running around chasing a football we’ll be winded and they’ll run circles around us. Remember, this is our year.”
It was a glorious November day and the hounds found great difficulty in remaining still. Overhead a bright sun shone out of a clear blue sky and a cool breeze assured them that they would not become exhausted from any undue heat. The leaves had turned all colors and the lake was a steel blue. Each young man felt exhilarated and ambition surged high.
When the hour was up Thompson gave the word and the hounds set off at a loping run. They would be compelled to run faster than the hares, who had now a fair start over them, but they were planning to travel steadily and hoped to figure out short-cuts. That was the dangerous part of it all, for they might decide to leave the trail and cut across a hill or valley, figuring that the trail led there, and if they were mistaken valuable time would be lost. The paper trail was easy to follow, for the hares were together, but later on they would split into pairs or threes, and then the work would become harder and the body of hounds would disintegrate. Except on the home stretch, when within a mile or two of the school, the hares never went singly, but always travelled in pairs and threes. That meant that the hounds split up into as many groups and pursued the hares in the same manner.
For about five miles the hounds pursued the hares in one body, and it was not until noontime that they found out from the trail that the hares had split. Down in the hollow of a swamp the paper trail went in different directions, and the hounds stopped to plan their campaign.
“Three of them went this way,” said Thompson, pointing toward the east. “Billings, Barton and I will follow those three. The rest of you fellows pick up a trail and follow it. Well, we’ll be getting on. Don’t lag, and we’ll see you at the fire tonight.”
The three cadets struck off through the woods on the trail and the other boys set about finding trails of their own. Terry and some of the others trotted away to the west on a trail and Don and Jim examined the nearby bushes. Finally Don straightened up.
“There’s a pair running off in this direction,” he said, pointing north. “Let’s get underway, Jim.”
He and Jim followed the trail, picking it up from pieces of paper that showed through the underbrush, and they tirelessly followed it for three miles, without coming across any of the fleeing hares. Shortly past noon they stopped at a farmhouse and took a drink from a well, sitting down against the fence to eat. They did not spend much time eating, but as soon as the meal was over they hurried back to the woods and took up the trail in earnest.
The chase was leading them into wild country, heavily wooded and broken by small ranges of hills. Very few houses were to be seen, and so far they had not noticed anything that would lead them to believe that there was a town near by. It was not until three o’clock that they came to the edge of a clearing and saw before them a little country town. A single spur of the railroad ran through the place, six or seven small frame houses grouped near the station, and off in the distance they saw the roofs of some fairly good-looking homes. Yellow, dusty roads wound over the nearby hills.
“Wonder what place this is?” said Jim.
“I don’t know,” returned Don. “The hares just skirted the place, judging by their trail. Let’s walk down near the station and see what place it is.”
Jim grinned. “I don’t know why such a sleepy-looking place has a station,” he observed. “If the engineer happened to be looking the other way he wouldn’t even notice the town.”
They veered off the paper trail and approached the tiny station which was bathed in the late afternoon sun’s glow. Don narrowed his eyes and read the sign over the structure.
“Spotville Point,” he read. “Well, it isn’t much more than a point, at that.”
“Spotville Point,” mused Jim. “Where have I heard that name before? Oh, I know!”
“And so do I!” exclaimed Don. “This is the town where Colonel Morrell got off the train and was never heard of again!”
Forgetting the paper chase in their interest the two brothers walked up to the little board shack and examined it with interest. It was a one-story affair with a small platform, a single waiting room and a tiny office. Through the screen the boys could look across the tracks and see the station agent inside, bending over a book.
“Don,” said Jim, “the Colonel got off at this spot, and he had a good reason to do so. Maybe we can unearth some clue.”
“Maybe,” shrugged Don. “But I imagine that the detectives have been over every foot of the way. However, I’m willing to make a try at it. What do you suggest?”
“How would it be to talk to the station agent?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he’s tired of talking about it already, but we’ll attempt it. Nothing like trying.”
The Mercer boys approached the window, which was open, and looked through the screen. As their shadows fell across the desk the agent looked up. He was a thin old man in a faded blue uniform.
“Hello,” he nodded. “Ticket for where?”
“We’re not in the market right now,” smiled Don. “We’d just like a little information. I suppose you know all of the people and houses around here, don’t you?”
“Hope so,” said the agent. “Been stationmaster here for ten years.”
“Then of course you know them all,” agreed Don. “You were working during the early part of October weren’t you?”
“No,” was the unexpected reply. “I wasn’t. I was sick then, and Tommy Grady was taking my trick. I came down sick about October fourth and I just got around to my work again on the first of November.”
“Then you were here on the third of October?” questioned Jim, eagerly.
“Sure I was. Why?”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t bother you,” said Don. “No doubt you have been questioned by the detectives.”
The old man stood up, suspicion showing plainly on his face. He looked closely at their uniforms.
“Say, what are you boys up to?” he asked. “No detectives didn’t ask me anything. What’s your game?”
“This is the only Spotville Point there is in the state, isn’t it?” pressed Don.
“Sure it is. But what——”
“Do you mean to say that detectives haven’t been here to see you about an elderly stout man who got off here on the third of October?” asked Jim.
“Nobody’s been to see me. As soon as I was took sick I went away to Spartenburgh to get well. They might have been to see Tommy.”
“Look here,” said Don. “We’re cadets from Woodcrest School. On the third of October our colonel started for the school and for some reason he got off here at Spotville Point. He was never seen again. Now, you say you were here on the third, and detectives say they have checked up thoroughly. How is it that they haven’t been to see you?”
“I’ll tell you why they ain’t!” cried the old man, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “Me and Tommy has had an argument. He claims he was on here since October second, and I know doggone well he wasn’t! He’s tryin’ to get in some extra pay, if you ask me. I know I was here on October third. Maybe they have been talking to Tommy.”
“They must have been,” nodded Don quickly. “But do you remember the man I’m talking about? Surely you must remember everyone who gets off here, and as that was your last day before you got sick, I should think you’d surely remember.”
“I do remember him!” cried the agent. “A little fat man, yes sir! I remember him as plain as day! I—Oh, murder!”
He sat down suddenly and stared at the boys in dismay. They looked blankly back at him.
“What’s wrong?” demanded Jim.
Without answering them the agent opened first one drawer in his desk and then another, searching around in them. At last he brought out a plain postal card and looked at it.
“Good grief,” he groaned. “That little man you’re talking about came in here and wrote out this postal card. He gave it to me to send for him, but I clean forgot it. I put it in the desk to send off the next day, and then I didn’t come into work the next day. Good grief!”
“Will you let me see it?” asked Don, trembling slightly and reaching under the screen. The agent passed it to him, seemed to hesitate and was about to draw it back, but Don, seeing his intention and reading the sudden thoughts which had surged into the old man’s head, drew it to him by the tips of his fingers. Eagerly he and Jim bent over it. It was dated October third and the brief message read as follows:
“Dear Merton;Received a telegram to drop off at Spotville Point to see Morton Dennings. Perhaps I can come to some agreement with him. Going on to the school from here.Elmer.”
“Dear Merton;
Received a telegram to drop off at Spotville Point to see Morton Dennings. Perhaps I can come to some agreement with him. Going on to the school from here.
Elmer.”
Jim turned the card over. It was addressed to “Merton Morrell, 95 Orchard Street, Rockwood, N. Y.”
“The colonel’s brother,” said Don, and Jim nodded.
“That is an important clue,” said his brother.
“Yes,” returned Don. “Do you know of a man named Morton Dennings?” he asked the agent.
“Yes, I know him by sight. He’s a wealthy man who has a summer home here, out at the end of the town, on Blackberry Lane. But you won’t find him now, ’cause he’s gone back to New York City. The house is closed up.”
“How do we get to the house?” asked Jim.
The agent turned in his chair and pointed down the dusty road. “Take that road as far as the crossroads and you’ll see Blackberry Lane. The house is down there; you can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” said Don. “It was a good thing you forgot to mail this postal, sir. Up to the present time there hasn’t been a single clue, but this will perhaps mean much.”
“Say, listen bub,” called the stationmaster, hesitatingly. “If—if—well, in case——”
“I understand what you mean,” said Don, looking closely at the bowed old man in a new light. “Yes, there is a large reward out for the finding of Colonel Morrell, and I promise you that if anything comes of this clue you shall surely profit by it. Now we’re going down the road and take a look at that house Dennings lived in. My name is Mercer, and this is my brother. If you should hear that Colonel Morrell has been found from any clue you may have furnished you can write to us at Woodcrest and we’ll gladly see to it that you are fairly rewarded. Thanks for your information and the card. So long.”
Jim and Don left the station platform and the old man looked after them in some doubt.
“I wonder if I was a fool to give that card to those boys?” he pondered. “They look honest, but you can’t be too sure of anybody these days. I hope they find their colonel.”
He returned to alternately dreaming and shaking his head.
Jim and Don hurried down the road in the direction which the old man had indicated. They knew that haste was necessary for the sun was sinking rapidly and they were a long way from home.
“We’ll have to ride back somehow,” said Don, as they talked it over. “If we don’t the others will think that we were lost in the woods and will be anxious about us.”
“That’s true,” agreed Jim. “But this is an important clue.”
“Thanks to the station agent, yes. I was lucky to get the card away from him when I did, for I could see that he regretted it as soon as he had let it go. You can’t blame him. It came into his head that he could turn it over to the authorities and make something out of it when the colonel was found. I suppose he’s been working hard all his life and a little wealth would mean a new world to him.”
“Sure,” Jim nodded. “Well, if we learn anything important we’ll see to it that he gets what is coming to him. I’d like to see him get it.”
They came to the crossroads and found Blackberry Lane, a rutted road that ran back to the thick woods and came to an abrupt end there. A short way down the road they could see two old country estates, one of which was open and the other closed. They passed the first and walked into the yard of the deserted place. It was a large mansion in rather bad repair, with sagging porches and boarded-up windows. Weeds grew in the front and bushes in the back. They tried to see something from the front porch but failed, and they made their way around to the back. Here everything was boarded up.
“There is certainly no one in the place now,” observed Jim. “Mr. Morton Dennings may be a wealthy man, but he isn’t particular to show it up here.”
“Somebody coming,” said Don, jerking his head toward the house next door.
A man was coming across the grass toward them, looking them over as he came. He seemed to be of the type between a retired businessman and a small farm owner, and the boys felt no alarm at his coming. He hastened up to them and spoke briskly.
“Well, boys,” he said, “are you looking for anyone? No one lives here now.”
“Is this the summer home of Mr. Dennings?” asked Don.
“Yes. He hasn’t been here since last September or early October. Do you boys know Mr. Dennings?”
“Not directly,” said Don. “He is a friend of Colonel Morrell, who is our headmaster at Woodcrest School, and we were just looking the place over. You say that Mr. Dennings left here early in October?”
“Yes,” nodded the man. “You come from Woodcrest School, eh? Seems to me I read in the paper that your headmaster had disappeared.”
“He has,” said Don. “We knew that Colonel Morrell was a friend of Mr. Dennings and we wanted to look at his house.”
“Mr. Dennings left here rather unexpectedly,” supplied the man. “One early morning in October, around the fourth or fifth, I believe, my wife and I heard a car drive out of the yard here and when we got up in the morning the place was empty. He came back later in the day and asked me to keep an eye on the place for him until next summer. No one has been near the place since.”
“I see,” said Don. “Well, we’re much obliged to you, sir. We’ll have to be running along now. I might explain that we were out on a paper chase and lost our trail near here.”
When they had left the man and were near the station Jim said, “I think something of importance will come from what he told us. As far as we know the colonel went there and then this Dennings left early in the morning, probably with the colonel. I hope we won’t find any evidences of foul play.”
“I sincerely hope not,” replied Don. “I didn’t want to say much before the man, because I didn’t know just how friendly he really was. Now, Jim, we’ll have to see to getting back to the school.”
It was dark and they went to the station, to learn that a train was due in a few minutes. Between them they had just enough to get them to Portville, and when the two-car train puffed in they piled gratefully aboard. When they arrived at Portville they were fortunate enough to get a ride to the school, and upon arriving at the campus they found the cadets all assembled around a bonfire. At sight of them the students set up a cry and Terry fairly threw himself upon them.
“Gosh, I thought you two were surely lost,” greeted the red-headed one, in relief.
“Well, we did lose our trail,” explained Don, as they walked up to the fire. “Who won?”
“It was a draw,” Rhodes answered. “We were lucky enough to split this year. An equal number of hounds captured an equal number of hares and brought them in. For awhile we hoped you had been successful, but when Powers and Cranmer came in we knew that you had been left behind. You’ve got just time enough to prepare for supper. Let’s go, and we’ll have a real bonfire after supper.”
Later in the evening Don and Jim related to Terry and Rhodes the events of the afternoon. They were tremendously interested and impressed.
“That looks like something at last,” cried Terry, hopefully.
“Do you advise turning everything over to the major?” asked Don, of the senior.
“I don’t know,” answered Rhodes, slowly. “I suppose we ought to, for we can’t very well do anything ourselves. And if we are found out—I mean if Major Tireson or the authorities ever hear that we have important clues and have withheld them, they won’t think very highly of us. Still and all I feel that you ought to wait at least for a few days and see if anything comes up, and if it doesn’t I’d turn in the material collected.”
“The idea, as I see it,” put in Jim, “is that we don’t know who this Dennings is, and we’re not likely to find out. But the proper authorities can find out and we’ll be simply wasting time by holding back.”
“Look here,” interposed Terry. “Colonel Morrell’s brother evidently knows who Morton Dennings is. Why not write to him and find out who he is?”
“If you do that,” Rhodes objected, “you must first go and tell Major Tireson all about it, for he’ll find out that we knew something and didn’t tell him. I really don’t know what is the best plan. Suppose we think it over and we’ll discuss it in a day or so.”
Don was not very well satisfied at the prospect of waiting, but he agreed to let things go for the time being.
On the following afternoon Vench, Don and Jim walked down to town together. Terry was wrestling in the gym with Chipps, and the three boys, having nothing better to do, and wishing to buy a few things, gained the necessary permission and set out. After making their purchases Don led the way to a local drugstore.
“Pretty cold for ice cream,” he grinned. “You boys want a coke instead?”
“I can always eat ice cream,” smiled Vench, his white teeth flashing out in his dark face.
“Me too,” nodded Jim, and they went into the store.
They sat down and Don gave their order to the man in charge. Then the boys looked around. A few men lounged at the counter; the only other customers were a pair who sat off in a corner. Don and Jim looked at them fleetingly, but Vench uttered a smothered cry and a look of pleasure passed over his face.
“Why, I know one of those fellows,” he exclaimed. “You see the short man, with the little black mustache? That is Paul Morro, a painter whom I met in Paris. We went to the same school of art, and many times I went to see his quaint attic where he did his painting. I wonder what he is doing here?”
The two at the far table had been engrossed in conversation and had not seen the boys come in, nor had they looked up. One of them was stout and short and the other as Vench had described him. The friends ate their ice cream, and when Vench had finished he pushed back his chair.
“I think I’ll just step over and say hello to Morro,” he said. “He’ll be tickled to death to see me, I know. If I get the chance I’ll bring him over and introduce him to you. Pardon me, boys, for a minute.”
“Surely,” replied Jim and Don.
Mr. Vench arose from his chair and made his way to the table occupied by the two Frenchmen. They did not look up as he approached and he leaned down and touched the one named Morro on the shoulder, smiling in anticipation. Paul Morro looked up with a quick start into Vench’s face.
There was not the slightest doubt that he recognized Vench, but no smile of welcome or pleasure showed. He stared for a long minute and then looked pointedly at his companion. The latter nodded and got up briskly, followed by Morro. Nothing was said to Vench, and in his bewilderment the little cadet spoke.
“Hold on, Morro. Don’t you remember me? I’m Vench, that went to school with you. Surely you remember me?”
Morro answered him not a word, but turning on his heel walked away, the other man close beside him. Cadet Vench stared at them in mingled astonishment and anger.
“Well,” exclaimed Jim, in a low voice. “His friend may be tickled to death to see him, but he doesn’t show it!”
For a moment Vench remained rooted to the spot and then he strode to their table.
“What in the world do you make of that?” he gasped, white with rage. “I was one of the best friends that fellow had in Paris. He said he’d never forget me as long as he lived.”