“He didn’t forget you,” said Don. “He didn’t want to know you. There is something strange about his being here. Let’s see which way they went.”
The three boys hurried out of the store and looked up and down the street. No one was in sight and they walked to the corner and looked in that direction. The two men had disappeared.
“I agree with you that there is something strange about his being here,” commented Vench on the way back. “And it must be something highly important to make Paul Morro pass me up like that. I think we’d do well to keep our eyes open from now on.”
Don had considered making a change in one of his subjects for some time, and at last he decided to go and see the major about it. He waited until one morning when the cadets were marching off to their classes and finding a minute or two before studies began he went to the office. The day was cold and gray and there was a promise of snow in the air.
The major was not in when Don entered the office and he knew that he would not be able to wait long. The major’s desk was open and a number of papers were scattered around, and Don wandered over to the rail beside the headmaster’s desk to wait. He glanced down casually at the papers on the desk, noting that most of them had to do with school subjects. There was a letter there, unsealed, and in its envelope. Without thinking much about it Don looked at the name on the outside. Then he stiffened and looked closely at it.
The letter was addressed to Mr. Morton Dennings. There was no address number or town on it.
Naturally Don was interested. Morton Dennings was the last man, apparently, who had seen Colonel Morrell and it seemed strange that the major knew him and was writing to him. Don would have been glad to read the letter, but he had no intention of even touching it. The thought came to him that it would be wise to find out what the major knew of Dennings before turning over the evidence gathered on their recent trip to Spotville Point.
On the previous evening Rhodes had told them that Major Tireson was going away on a brief business trip. They had decided to wait for his return before giving him the postcard and telling him of Morton Dennings, and they had also decided to break into Clanhammer Hall that very night. As Rhodes put it, “We had to put off our first attempt because of the fire, but I see no reason why we should wait any longer. We’ll just give the major time enough to get away, and then we’ll take a quiet snoop through that old building. I think it’s time we found out what’s going on in there.”
So they had agreed to make the secret excursion that night, and all of them were looking forward to it. Don wondered what the result would be, and what bearing the major’s letter to Morton Dennings would have on following events.
It was then that he realized the major was standing at a side door watching him.
How long the major had been there he did not know. He had been so absorbed in his reflections as he looked at the name on the letter that he had not heard the man come in. The major bent one long sharp look upon him, and Don straightened and saluted. The major returned the salute and came forward.
“Well, Mercer, what is it?” the major asked, his tone a trifle sharp.
Don explained about the change which he wished made in his lesson and the major granted his permission. The bell rang and Don knew that he would be late for his class. As he turned to leave the office the major was standing at his desk, the letter in his hand. When Don reached the door the man called to him.
“One moment, Mr. Mercer.”
Don returned to the desk and looked questioningly at his superior. The major was apparently in deep thought and looked once at the letter. Then he sat down, and keeping the pages well screened behind a book, took the sheets and read them over. Picking up a pen, he wrote something at the end of the letter, refolded it and sealed the envelope.
“Do you know the country hereabouts very well, Mercer?” asked Tireson.
“I don’t think so, sir,” replied Don. “Only in a general way.”
“Do you know any of it across the lake?” the major pressed.
“I have been over there once or twice,” Don answered.
The major walked to a window and pointed across the lake. “Have you ever seen an old farmhouse off there in the woods?” he asked.
Don hesitated. He was not sure whether the major was pumping him or not. But feeling that the truth would be the best course he nodded.
“Yes, sir, I have seen the place. I think it is the only farm on that side of the lake.”
“That’s the place,” affirmed the major. “I wish you would do me a great favor, Mr. Mercer. I have had word that a friend of mine will be at that house today, and I want you to deliver a letter to him. I will excuse you from classes this morning and I would appreciate it if you would take this letter over there at once and wait for an answer.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Don, wondering at the strangeness of the request.
“Very well,” the major said, handing him the letter. “You may go at once. Remember, wait for an answer, and I would also appreciate it if you would not tell anyone that you are doing this for me.”
“I’ll do that, Major Tireson,” promised Don.
“Thank you. You may go now, Mercer. Take a boat and cross the lake.”
Don returned to his room, got his hat and gray overcoat and went down to the boathouse. He saw no one on the way, for all the cadets were in class. The man who was in charge of the boats was not in the boathouse when he arrived there, so Don opened the doors and rolled out a flat-bottomed rowboat and pushed it into the water. When he had closed the doors he got in, and pushing off from the shore sat down at the oars and began to pull for the opposite shore.
The day was bitter cold and he was glad that he had on his overcoat. A gray darkness lay over the entire sky and a faint wind swept over the lake.
“Bet we’ll have snow before the day is over,” Don thought as he bent to the oars.
He speculated as he rowed across the lake, but he could make nothing out of the strange situation. The major had evidently decided on the spur of the moment to send him with the letter, but it was evident that he had been about to send someone with it, and whoever was to go was not to tell that they had been. The whole affair had an unusual look that Don did not like, and the fact that the letter was going to Dennings was another step in a case that puzzled him greatly. If Dennings himself was to be at the old farmhouse Don would get a good look at him, a thing which might come in handy later on. Although he was not sure that everything was as it should be, he was nevertheless glad that the major had picked him out to deliver the message. If he could definitely find out where Dennings was he could add greatly to their store of information.
He decided, as he beached the boat on the opposite shore, that as soon as he returned to school he would inform the authorities and the colonel’s brother of all the facts discovered. By holding on to the card and what little information they had they were delaying justice and the finding of the colonel, and there was no use in keeping things to themselves any longer. He was glad that they had not taken the major into their confidence, however. He did not like the look of things. It would be safer to carry their plans out without consulting the temporary headmaster.
He pulled the boat far up on the shore, hid the oars so that no chance wanderer could make off with them, and then turned into the woods. He had seen the farmhouse twice, once when they had seen the sunlight message from Clanhammer Hall and a second time when they had tramped through the woods. They had not gone up to it on that last visit, and from the outside it had appeared to be empty. He was sure of the direction and walked confidently on, enjoying the brisk walk in the keen, cold air.
When he arrived in sight of it he found that it once more appeared to be devoid of any kind of life. There was no smoke rising from any chimney and the doors and windows were closed and barred. He went up onto the back porch and peered through a near-by window, but an empty kitchen met his view. He knocked and waited, but there was no reply, so he walked around to the front door and tried the same thing, without result. No one was in the house, or if they were they had no intention of allowing him to enter. Disappointed, he walked around to the back again and paused to consider.
The major had expected someone to be at the place. Perhaps it was still too early, and although Don did not relish the thought of walking around in the cold and waiting, he felt that he should make a reasonable attempt to find someone. Realizing that it would not do to stand around in the cold he was considering the possibility of making a tour of the surrounding woods, when the sound of an approaching automobile attracted his attention.
It appeared in the distance and lurched in the rutted road, until it was driven into the yard beside him. The man at the wheel, the same tall individual in the black coat and cap, looked searchingly at him. He was a man past forty-five, with a weather-beaten face and piercing gray eyes. He looked keenly at Don and his uniform as he stopped the car.
“What are you doing here, son?” he asked.
“I have a letter for you, from Major Tireson,” Don answered. “Are you Mr. Dennings?”
“Yes,” nodded the man and swung out of the car. He closed the door with a slam and took the letter.
“Major Tireson told me to wait for an answer,” said Don, as the man hesitated.
“All right,” Dennings answered, leading the way toward the house. “Let’s get inside. We won’t get much done by standing out here.”
He produced a key from his pocket and opened the back door, allowing Don to enter first. Once in the kitchen he locked the door, tore open the letter and began to read. Don stood a few feet from him, waiting. The second page of the letter, loosely held in the man’s hand, slipped from him and fell to the floor, right at Don’s feet. As the man did not move Don stooped and picked it up.
As he did so he glanced at it. His eyes fell upon the postscript which the major had written and his blood leaped. The message was brief but pointed. The postscript read as follows:
“P.S. This boy knows too much. Keep him a prisoner until you hear further from me.Tireson.”
“P.S. This boy knows too much. Keep him a prisoner until you hear further from me.
Tireson.”
For a long minute Don stared at the piece of paper which he had in his hand. The words were perfectly clear but he was not able to realize immediately what they meant to him. Dennings was looking at him, and when the man saw that Don was reading the letter a frown gathered quickly on his forehead. With a single swoop of his hand he snapped the sheet from the cadet’s hand and hastily read the postscript.
Sudden vigor flashed in his eye and he raised his head to look at Don. But by this time the boy was ready for action. Before Dennings could move Don had stepped to the door leading into the other rooms. Seeing that Don meant to flee Dennings took a step nearer to him.
“Here, you!” called the man. “Where are you going? Come back here!”
Don knew it would be useless to try and get out of the door back of Dennings, and without answering the man he began to run down the dark hall that led to the front of the farmhouse. Dennings sprang after him in swift pursuit. When Don reached the hall which opened from the narrow passage he found that he had no time to try and open a door. Dennings was close behind him so the cadet turned at the foot of the stairs and ran rapidly up them. His pursuer followed unhesitatingly, and Don rushed into a bedroom in the center of the place and slammed the door. To his joy he found a bolt on the inside and he shot it closed just as Dennings threw his weight against the door.
“You open that door!” shouted the man, kicking savagely against the lower part of the wooden barrier.
“Nothing doing!” Don panted, leaning against the door. “You can’t come in here, Mr. Dennings!”
There was a pause and then Dennings spoke up. “Well, never mind, kid. I was told to keep you a prisoner until I heard from the major, and that’s what you are now. You saved me the trouble of locking you up myself.”
“Seems to me like I did the locking,” Don replied.
A key was thrust into the lock and to Don’s dismay it was turned with a sharp clicking noise. A chuckle came from the other side.
“Just doing a little locking of my own,” Dennings informed him. “You’ll just stay where you are for some time, boy. Don’t waste your time calling or pounding. No one will hear you out here.”
He walked away from the outside of the door and Don could hear him going down the front stairs. He shook the door, after drawing his bolt, and found that it was tightly locked. Then he turned to examine the room, a task that did not take him long. It was unfurnished, and the two windows were boarded up tightly. There was only the one door and a single deep closet with a shelf. Otherwise there was not a single object in the room.
“Well here’s a pretty mess,” reflected Don, in disgust. “Ran my head right into a noose. So the major is deeply concerned in all of this business, eh? Not a doubt in the world but what he knows very well where the colonel is, too. If I get a chance I’ll certainly ruin their little game.”
He set to work to find a way out of his prison, but after an hour of searching he gave up. The door was solid and the windows were well boarded. There were no other openings. He stopped and began to consider seriously his position. As there was no fire any place in the house he was beginning to feel chilled through, and he fell to rubbing his hands.
Three hours passed in this way and it grew darker in the room. The only light which entered the place filtered in through cracks in the boards, and it was not until some snow drifted in that Don realized what was causing the darkness. The threatened snowstorm had arrived.
Once more he looked around the room and his eyes fell on the closet. He opened the door and looked around the little compartment, but the walls were as firmly built as the rest of the room, and he had no hope of breaking through them. Then he looked at the ceiling above the shelf and a new thought struck him.
“Perhaps the ceiling above the shelf is not so strong as the rest,” he thought. “Might as well give it a try.”
The next problem was to climb upon the shelf. He tried the strength of the boards by hanging on them with all his weight suspended and he found that they would stand the strain. Using the door frame for his hands and feet he scrambled up on the shelf and sat there panting for a moment, to regain his breath. Then he reached up and pressed the ceiling with his hands.
The plaster was soft and the ceiling springy. It was evident that a layer of lath was the only covering, and he felt confident of breaking through that. Sliding forward on his back he raised one foot and sent his heel crashing against the ceiling of the closet. The heel broke through the soft plaster and the wood above splintered loudly. A shower of powdery plaster sprinkled over him, but he did not care for that. Much encouraged he sent another kick and still another against the ceiling, until his feet had crashed out a jagged hole in the plaster.
Now he sat up and carefully removed the fragments which hung around the ragged hole. He had broken a place between two beams, an opening large enough to admit his body, and when he had torn the splinters away he stood up and thrust his head and shoulders through the opening. Although he could see very little he realized that he was half way in an attic, and it took him but a brief instant to raise his body and haul himself to the level of the floor. He stood up and knew that he was free, for the moment at least.
His next task was to find the stairs. This took him several minutes, for the attic was dark by this time, and he had to proceed with caution. But at length he located them and began a careful descent. A door stood at the foot of the steps. He opened it and after a hasty look around, stepped out into the upper hall.
There was no sound in the house and Don made his way to the head of the stairs up which he had run a few hours ago. He looked over the railing and peered into the darkness below, but there was no light to be seen anywhere. Perhaps Dennings had gone away, and if such was the case he was free to get out of the house and make for the lake. He had no future plan in mind, but his sole idea was to get out of the farmhouse.
He made his way down the stairs with increasing boldness and arrived safely at the lower landing. The windows in the downstairs floor were unbroken and not all boarded up, and if he found that he could not raise one he was planning to break his way out and to freedom. He tiptoed into the living room and was making his way toward the nearest window when hasty steps sounded on the front porch. Someone stamped the snow from his feet and a key rattled in the lock. Waiting until the door was swung inward Don smashed the glass with a single kick and jumped the sill, landing on the porch with a bound. A startled cry sounded near him and he turned to run.
But the new-fallen snow proved his undoing. It was slippery and he fell. Scrambling desperately, he managed to get to his knees, but it was too late. Someone loomed up in the darkness and grasped him by the collar.
“Got him, chief,” cried a strange voice, and the grip on his collar tightened. With the quickness of thought Don brought his fists up against the chin of the man who had hold of him. The blow was a hard one and the man grunted in anger, but did not loosen his grip. The man who had entered the house ran up at that minute and Dennings grasped him by the arm.
“Thought you’d get away, did you, sonny?” asked the man, pushing his face close to Don’s. “Well, we were too fast for you that time.”
“You had better let me go,” cried Don, struggling furiously. “This will mean a lot of trouble for you if you don’t.”
“It would mean a lot more trouble if we did,” returned Dennings. “March him in the house, Dan.”
Between them they pushed Don into the hall and out into the kitchen, where the leader lighted a candle. Don discovered that the man who had captured him was a powerfully built man, with a rough, hard face and narrow eyes. He kept his grasp on the cadet’s arm until Dennings ordered him to let go.
“He won’t get away again, Dan,” Dennings promised, as he looked Don over. “How did you manage to get out of that room?”
“I just walked out,” Don replied, briefly.
“I see,” nodded Dennings. “Won’t talk, eh? Well, it is perfectly all right, son. We were just coming to get you anyway, so you saved us the trouble of going upstairs. I’ll find out how you got out some other time.” He turned to Dan. “I guess it’s safe to get him over now, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” growled the man, rubbing his chin where Don had hit him.
“Then let’s go,” said Dennings. “Just keep a tight hold on him, and if he tries to get away, you know what to do.”
“You bet I do!” the man replied. “I hope he does try something. I’ll pay him back for that crack on the chin with interest.”
Dennings lighted a lantern and led the way out of the house, Dan and the unwilling Don following. It was snowing lightly at the time and Don found that the ground was covered to a depth of two inches. The evening was clear and cold, and a keen wind was blowing. Dennings ranged himself beside Don and the three made their way through the woods side by side in silence, going away from the house and parallel with the lake.
“The snow will cover up any footprints,” observed Dan, as they went along, and Dennings nodded.
“See here, where are you taking me?” demanded Don, as they plunged deeper into the woods.
“You’ll know soon enough,” Dennings growled, swinging the lantern before him. “Keep quiet and come along, or it will be the worse for you.”
Seeing that obedience would be the best policy Don hurried along, glad of the opportunity to walk briskly and keep his blood in circulation. They skirted the shore for a distance of a mile or more and then the two men turned abruptly toward the water. Just before they reached the edge of the lake they came to a dense tangle of brush and creepers, and cleverly concealed under this natural bower Don was astonished to find a low boathouse.
Leaving him in charge of Dan, who kept an iron grip on his arm, Dennings unlocked the door of the hidden boathouse and dragged out a round-bottomed rowboat. Dan pushed the boy into it and followed, and Dennings, after putting out the lantern, took his place at the oars. Under Dennings’ expert guidance, the boat headed for the opposite shore.
The snow continued to drift down over the boat and the three men in it. They were at the lower end of the body of water, a part that Don was not familiar with, and it took them less than a half hour to gain the shore upon which the school stood. Don wondered if they were going to take him directly to the school, but as he could see no reasonable excuse for doing that he gave the problem up. When they had reached the other side they got out and Dennings led the way along the shore in the direction of the school.
They followed the shore for a distance of three quarters of a mile and the outline of Clanhammer Hall loomed before them. They were making straight for the old building. In an instant some inkling of the truth came to him, and when at last they stood on the stone steps and Morton Dennings took a key from his pocket, his guess became a certainty. They were indeed going to enter Clanhammer Hall.
“Well,” reflected Don grimly as the door was swung open. “We fellows agreed to break into Clanhammer Hall tonight, but it looks as if I would be the only one to get in, after all. All I hope is that I can break out of it once I get in.”
Dennings pushed him through the open doorway, into the blackness of the school and stepped in himself, followed by Dan. The door was closed and locked and then Dennings again took his arm.
“Now I guess we have you where you won’t break out in a hurry,” he said. And then he turned and whistled loudly into the darkness.
Jim and Terry noted with some astonishment that Don failed to attend any of his classes that morning. They were aware of the fact that he contemplated going to the major and asking for a change in his schedule, but why he had not appeared during the course of the first class they did not know. As the second and the third class came and Don had not appeared, they found themselves growing anxious.
After the third period Jim ran up to their room, to see if Don had become ill, but he was not there. His hat and overcoat were both gone, a circumstance which caused some lively speculation. He was not there at dinnertime, and after their last period Jim and Terry hunted up the major and asked him about Don.
The major looked interested and tapped his glasses on his thumb. “He was coming here to see me about a change in lessons, eh?” asked the major. “But, gentlemen, he never did come here. I haven’t seen him at all. You say his overcoat and hat are gone?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jim.
“How very odd,” commented the major. “He certainly wouldn’t have left the building without permission, and no one gave him that, I’m sure. Wait until I call Captain Chalmers.”
Captain Chalmers had not given Don permission to go anywhere, it developed. The major was more puzzled than ever. He went to their room with them and looked about carefully, but nothing was found.
“This is most unexpected and disturbing,” declared the major. “We must find out from town if any of the cadets were seen there.”
A telephone call to town failed to lead to the discovery of the missing boy. It was with anxious hearts that Jim and Terry went to the supper table that night.
The news of Don’s strange disappearance spread over the school like wildfire and the cadets dropped in to see Jim and express their sympathy and their determination to help if possible. It was on that evening that one lone clue was discovered. A man who worked in the kitchen told Chipps that he had seen Don go out the back door and head for the lake. Jim and Terry went to see this man, but he had no news but what he had told Chipps.
“He had on his hat and his overcoat,” the man told Jim. “And he went down to the boathouse. That’s all I saw of him. I only noticed it because I thought it was funny he wasn’t in class. I don’t know if he went into the boathouse or not.”
The major dropped in to tell them that he had put off his business trip until Don should be found. Jim thanked him for his interest and thought.
“Oh, nonsense,” protested the major, waving his hand. “I’m deeply interested in all of my boys, and of course I wouldn’t rest easily until he had been found.”
The light fall of snow, which the boys had looked forward to with eagerness, was disregarded in their new anxiety. It made the school and its surrounding hills a picture of beauty, but the boys were not in a mood to enjoy it. After a restless night Jim and Terry again attended classes, but they did poorly and the instructors said nothing about it, knowing the strain the young men were under. During noon recess Rhodes, Jim and Terry decided to push a vigorous search as soon as classes were over.
“It seems to me,” argued the senior, “that we might be able to pick up some tracks somewhere in this snow. We don’t know how far he could have gotten before the snow, but if he was traveling after it did begin to come down there are tracks somewhere and we’ll try to find ’em. They may be across the lake.”
“What would he be doing across the lake?” Jim asked.
Rhodes shrugged his Shoulders. “What did he go away for?” he asked. “No one knows, but we do know that he went toward the lake, at least toward the boathouse. The very first thing we’ll find out after classes is whether or not a boat was taken from the boathouse. I don’t know what he would cross the lake for but he may have and we can make a good attempt to find out.”
Every cadet in the school had Don’s disappearance on his mind and no one was more puzzled and interested than Cadet Vench. He turned the problem over and over in his mind and he longed to be of service. Back in his head the idea was firmly seated that he should be the one to find the missing cadet. That would give him a chance to even his score with Jim for his heroic act at Hill 31, and Vench decided to put his whole mind and energy to the problem.
As soon as classes had ended that day Vench put on his overcoat and walked swiftly to the lake. It had not occurred to him to check up on the boats to see if one had been taken, but he planned to scour the edge of the lakefront in both directions. He was now walking along the shore away from the school, wholly absorbed in watching the snow-covered ground, when he heard his name called. Even as he glanced up he knew that the voice was unfamiliar and had a slight accent to it. Then, a few yards before him he saw the man who had cut him dead in the drugstore, Paul Morro.
Instinctively, Vench stiffened and grew cold. Morro had evidently been taking a walk around the lake path and the meeting was quite accidental, and Vench, who knew Morro’s love for nature in all aspects, could readily guess that the Frenchman was walking merely for the sheer pleasure of the day and the prospect of the magnificent view. Comparing the attitude of the man on the previous meeting to his friendly attitude now, there was something to wonder about. Vench was astonished that his friend of former days should so readily hail him. Vench bowed distantly.
Morro strode forward and held out his hand. “How do you do, Raoul?” greeted Morro impulsively. Then, seeing that Vench had no intention of taking his hand the artist hurried on, “My dear friend, forgive me for not speaking to you the last time I saw you. It was so totally unexpected, so much of a shock, that I could not speak or collect my wits. Won’t you forget my rudeness?”
“It struck me as being a bit queer to treat me like that after the type of friend I have always been to you, Paul,” answered Vench still aloof.
“I know, my dear friend, and I apologize. Won’t you forgive me?”
He looked appealingly at Vench, and the cadet relented so far as to shake hands briefly with him. Morro fell into step beside him and they followed the edge of the water together.
“I had no idea that you were a student in this academy,” Paul Morro said to him. “I often wondered what had become of you after you returned from Paris.”
“I wrote to you several times,” Vench retorted. “You did not answer.”
Morro smiled, showing a set of unusually white teeth. “You must blame that on my artistic temperament, my friend,” he said. “I meant to, but never got to it.”
“I see,” said Vench, evenly. “What are you doing here, Paul?”
The Frenchman hesitated. “I cannot tell you that, my friend,” he declared, at last. “I am employed by the man with whom you saw me, and I am not at liberty to disclose his secrets.”
“Very well,” said Vench. “I don’t want to know, if that is the case. Would you like to go back and look around the academy?”
Morro smiled. “I have seen quite a bit of your academy, my friend. Your headmaster is a most mysterious man.”
“What do you mean?” asked Vench, stopping suddenly.
“What do you keep in that old building, that Clanhammer Hall?” Morro countered.
“There is nothing in there,” Vench declared. “That is, there is nothing important. Some desks and old books and several portraits, that is all.”
“Portraits!” cried Morro, eagerly. “Are there portraits in that old place?”
“Yes, there are a few. Why do you ask?”
“It is nothing,” hastily replied Morro. “But I will tell you why I say your headmaster is a mysterious man. Almost every night he goes to Clanhammer Hall and lets himself in with a key.”
“Major Tireson goes into Clanhammer Hall every night?” Vench demanded, now keenly interested.
“I have seen him go in several times,” Morro insisted.
“How have you seen him?” Vench demanded. “What are you doing on the school grounds at night?”
“That I cannot tell you yet,” Paul Morro evaded. “I have a proposition to make to you, and then perhaps I can tell you everything. But I have been on your grounds several times and I have seen your Major Tireson enter the building.”
“How do you know it is Major Tireson?”
“My companion and I have made it our business to learn who all the officials of your school are,” his friend said.
“Look here,” cried Vench. “What is going on around here? What kind of a game are you playing, Paul?”
“I can’t tell you that unless you agree to do certain things for us,” Morro persisted.
“Okay. What do you want me to do? If I think it is straight, I’ll probably help you,” Vench went on.
Morro smiled. “If it is straight? I think you are more particular about ‘straightness’ than you were in Paris, my friend.”
A faint spot of red showed briefly in Vench’s cheeks. “I am more particular,” he agreed firmly. “I was never dishonest, Paul, but I’m more careful of what I do now than I was. I’ve learned a thing or two in that school. What is your proposition?”
“My companion and I want you to open the doors for us and let us into your school on any night we want to come in,” Morro declared.
“Let you into the school!” cried Vench. “What for?”
“I can’t tell you now. You’ll have to have faith in us and do as we tell you. Later on we’ll explain all.”
“You’d have to explain right now before I’d do a stunt like that,” declared Vench with conviction. “I don’t like the sound of that. Why should you want to get into the school at night?”
“I will not tell you,” affirmed Morro.
“Then you will not get into the school through my help,” said Vench, as firmly.
Morro’s eyes flashed. “Do not be foolish, my friend. There is much in it for you, if you do as we tell you and keep quiet. Come, say you will aid us.”
“Not in a game like that,” Vench decided. “It doesn’t look good to me, and I won’t have anything to do with it. No, Paul, you can count me out. I’d do anything in reason to help a friend, but that hasn’t a healthy look, and I’d rather not be in on it.”
“You’ll regret it to the end of your days!” snapped Morro.
“I don’t think so,” Vench returned, smoothly. “If I can’t know why I am to play in a game like that I’d rather not play. That is final, Paul.”
“Very well!” fairly shouted the Frenchman. “Then let me give you a warning! Mind your own business! Don’t attempt to put your nose into anything you may see going on, or it shall be the worse for you!”
Without waiting for Vench to reply he turned and walked off, his eyes snapping with rage. The little cadet made a move as though to follow him and then stopped, lost in thought. Morro disappeared from view over a low hill and Vench stood still, his mind occupied by this new problem.
Then he reached up, pulled his military hat more firmly over his eyes, and started back for the school, a plan of action shaping in his active mind.
When Dennings whistled into the blackness of Clanhammer Hall there was a moment’s pause before there was any answer. At last a faint light showed against the walls of the upper hall, and this gleam was soon followed by an old man with a candle. He peered down at them over the banisters, and after having satisfied himself that all was well and the parties known to him, he descended slowly, picking his steps with care. From Terry’s and Vench’s descriptions of the old man seen in Clanhammer Hall Don was sure that it was the same man.
He flashed his light upon them and then, without speaking, looked stolidly at Dennings. The leader pushed Don forward.
“Put this boy away for safekeeping,” directed the leader. “Is everything all right with the other?”
The old man nodded. Turning around he led the way up the stairs, Don just back of him and the two men following. When they reached the broad hall on the second floor the old man halted beside a heavy door and drew a key from his pocket. He inserted it in the lock and opened the door, holding the candle above his head. He turned his dull eyes upon the cadet and motioned toward the room with his head.
“That room is all right, is it?” questioned Dennings. “This boy is a slippery lad, Elmo.”
“He won’t get out of there,” said the old man.
“All right,” nodded Dennings. “Get in there, son, and if you’re wise, keep quiet. It won’t do you any good to make a noise, but it might be annoying, and if it gets too much so you’re likely to receive a gentle tap on the head to keep you quiet.”
Realizing that all talk would be a waste of time Don walked into the small room and the door was slammed after him. He heard the key turned and then found himself in total darkness. The footsteps of the men receded down the hall and a heavy silence closed around him.
When he was sure that they had all gone he felt his way around the room but it was empty. Blank walls met his groping fingers and there was not even a chair anywhere in the place. He gave up trying to find his way out.
“Might as well wait until daybreak,” he decided. “There may be some light in here then, although I don’t know where it will come from. Lucky thing for me it isn’t very cold in here.”
Although there couldn’t be a fire in Clanhammer Hall, the building seemed warm, and Don was in no danger of being cold. He was hungry and sleepy, and realizing that a good sleep would fit him for the problem of the morrow he took off his hat and rolled his overcoat more closely around him. The floor made a hard bed but he was not in a mood to complain about that.
“I can’t understand their game,” he reflected, just before he fell asleep. “Here they have me right under the noses of my friends and yet there isn’t a chance of my rescue unless the boys carry out their plan and break in the place. That isn’t likely now that they have discovered my absence. Of all the high-handed games, this beats ’em all.”
Don had no trouble sleeping. The events of the day had worn him out, and he slept soundly. It was daylight when he awoke, and his first sensation upon awakening was that of hunger.
A faint light entered the room from a very high and dirty skylight, and Don saw at once that there was no use in looking in that direction for a possible outlet. The skylight was too high for him to reach and there was nothing to stand on. His impressions of the previous night were confirmed, the room was empty and had no windows. It had evidently been a small classroom at one time, for two sides of the wall were composed of blackboards.
But Don was not discouraged by the outlook. He stooped down and examined the board walls under the blackboards. Clanhammer Hall was a very old building and the passing of the years had not improved it any. He noted with interest that the walls close to the floor were made of light wood and that the wood was dry and warped. It was with a thrill of hope that he took his pocket knife out and without wasting a moment of time, began a determined attack on the thin boards.
He was far luckier than he had dared to hope. The boarding had originally been secured with light nails which had almost no heads at all, and it was a simple job to spring them out and away from the supporting beams, which ran vertically. In less than a half hour the cadet had a dozen boards torn out of the wall, and an opening large enough to admit his body had been made.
There were still the boards on the other side of the beams to be reckoned with, but Don found that he had no trouble with them. By pushing he forced them out into the adjoining room, taking care not to make much noise, and before long he had opened a regular tunnel for himself. Picking up his hat he forced his body through and stepped out into a larger classroom, for the moment at least, free.
He listened intently, but there was no sound in the building and he made his way into the hall. He was undecided as to whether to try to sneak down and gain his liberty or to make a dash for it. Perhaps Dennings was still in the place, and if so he stood in grave danger. He had no fear of overcoming the old man if need be, but he was sure that Dennings would not leave the old man alone, and Don was not disposed to run any risks.
He decided to steal quietly out of the place and make his way on tiptoe to the head of the stairs. No sooner had he poked his head over the railing than he drew back in swift alarm. The old man was in the lower hall, seated at an old desk, deeply engrossed in a newspaper spread out before him. It was useless to think of getting out that way, and Don was sure that there were no other stairs in the building. Although it looked as though there was no one with the old man he felt that such was not the case, and he was puzzled as to what course to pursue now.
It came to him that perhaps he could drop out of some window onto a roof or even into the snow, and so get a running start. Perhaps there was some rain pipe that he could climb down and reach the ground without injury. The windows in the hall were pretty high, he noted, and would be hard to raise without making some kind of a noise. There was nothing left to do but to try it and trust to luck.
He made his way to the windows and looked out of them. They were all high above the ground and it was useless to risk a bad fall that way. Moving by inches he went down the back part of the hall, in hopes of finding something more promising there, but he was disappointed. The windows were all so high above the ground that a drop would almost certainly injure him.