“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.”
“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.”
CHAPTER 14
The Postscript
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 Do
n 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.
CHAPTER 15
The Journey in the Night
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!”
The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest Page 9
