The Mercer Boys’ Mystery Case

BY CAPWELL WYCKOFF

When Cadets Don and Jim Mercer and their friend Terry Mackson were ordered by Colonel Morrell of Woodcrest Military Academy to gather together all the school trophies, they were able to find all except one—the cup awarded to the Class of 1933. What had happened to the cup was a mystery the boys were determined to solve. And little by little Don and Jim uncovered a strange story and unraveled a mystery that had puzzled school authorities for years. The Mercer boys uphold the honor of Woodcrest against a conspiracy of silence and dishonor.

Other titles in The Mercer Boys’ Series:
THE MERCER BOYS’ CRUISE IN THE LASSIE
THE MERCER BOYS AT WOODCREST
THE MERCER BOYS ON A TREASURE HUNT

Falcon Books
are published by THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
2231 West 110th Street · Cleveland 2 · Ohio

W 2
COPYRIGHT 1948 BY THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Contents

1. The Glories of the Past 9

2. The Class of 1933 Trophy 20

3. A Mystery Uncovered 28

4. A Visit to Mr. Long 38

5. The Alumni Dinner 48

6. Added Mystery 57

7. The Trustees’ Meeting 65

8. An Old Score Settled 73

9. Terry Engages in an Argument 83

10. The Eagles Disappear 91

11. The Hunt in the Swamp 101

12. The Eagles Are Rescued 109

13. The Call for Help 118

14. Inside Gates’ House 128

15. Arthur Gates’ Letter 136

16. News from Inside 140

17. Mr. Proctor Gets the Bag 146

18. The Published List 150

19. A Conversation in the Dark 158

20. The Digger in the Garden 170

21. The Cup at Last 177

22. Direct Action 185

23. The Mystery Is Solved 195

24. The Alumni Dance 206

THE MERCER BOYS’
MYSTERY CASE

Chapter 1
The Glories of the Past

A group of pleasant-looking young men, neatly dressed in the spruce, gray uniforms of the cadet corps of Woodcrest Military Institute, stood at ease in one of the halls downstairs in Locke Hall. They were representatives from the various classes, ranging from the senior, or first class, to the third or sophomore class. As yet the two representatives from the fourth or freshman class had not arrived, and it was for these two cadets that the others were waiting.

“A special meeting, huh?” spoke up Cadet Don Mercer, one of the representatives from the third class. “Anybody got any idea what Colonel Morell has in mind?”

“I haven’t,” replied Senior Cadet Captain Bob Hudson. “I guess none of us have. Farley and I got a notice to report to the study room here for a special meeting, and that’s all we know.”

“Here comes the rest of the party,” announced the second class representative, as the two fourth class men hurried up. “Now as soon as the colonel comes we can get down to business.”

It was a fall day at the military academy, and Colonel Morrell, the headmaster, had sent word early in the day that he wished to meet the leaders of the various classes briefly after the last lesson period. The boys were waiting now, talking light-heartedly among themselves, for they were all friends of long standing, except for the two men from the fourth class, who were newcomers.

Don Mercer, the cadet who had spoken first, was now entering his second year at Woodcrest Military Institute. With his brother Jim and his friend Terry Mackson he had entered the academy the previous year. Jim, Terry and Don were old friends, and their first real adventures had taken place two summers ago, when they had gone for a summer cruise and had captured some marine bandits, details of which were related in the first volume of this series, The Mercer Boys’ Cruise in the Lassie. In the second volume, The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest, they came to military school and helped to solve the mystery of old Clanhammer Hall and to rescue their beloved headmaster, Colonel Morrell. Then, on the previous summer the three chums had taken a trip to Lower California with a former history teacher, Professor Scott, where, after many thrilling adventures, they had uncovered the buried wreck of a Spanish treasure ship. All of this, told in The Mercer Boys on a Treasure Hunt, had contributed to make their lives adventurous and active, and they were now back in school to take up the duties and pleasures of a new fall term.

Don and Jim Mercer were both healthy-looking young boys in their late teens, curly-haired, and well-built. Their friend Terry was tall, bony and red-headed, chiefly noted for a cheerful disposition and a wide grin.

A short fat man came rapidly down the hall, a good-humored-looking man who was nearing old age but who was not allowing it to get the better of him. He was clad in the gray uniform of a cadet colonel, the sight of which brought the cadets to instant attention, although the colonel himself, and not the uniform, inspired their respect and sincerity. He was the idol of the school, for his sympathetic understanding had won all of the student body to him, and the young men of the cadet corps would have cheerfully gone to the end of the world for their headmaster. When the colonel approached the cadets, he gestured with his hand and said, “Rest.”

“Well, young men, all here I see,” remarked Colonel Morrell, as he opened the door of the study room. “Come right in and be seated. Make yourselves at home, as you generally do when you come here to study.”

The colonel chuckled at his own joke. He knew that sometimes other things than study went on in the study rooms, but he had always known how to give his lively boys enough rope with which to have a good time, and at the same time just how far to go with them on the point of study. The result had been that the cadets had their fun and still kept up a good average of scholarship. They appreciated the headmaster’s sally and entered the room. The colonel sat down in a large chair and they sat on the long window seats facing him.

“All of you are wondering what is in the wind, no doubt. I’ll get to the point at once. All of you know that I have planned for some time to turn old Clanhammer Hall into an Alumni Hall. It has outgrown its usefulness as a school building, and yet its associations are so fine that we don’t wish to tear the place down.” He smiled at Don and continued. “Inasmuch as it once served the part of a prison for Mercer and me, we feel more sentiment for it than the rest of you do! But it is really a fine old place, and it will be the most fitting place in the whole school for our Alumni Hall.

“Now, in order to make that hall live in the memory of the men who will come back here on annual visits we must find all of the trophies that teams in the past have won. What made me think of it was this: I went into an old closet on the top floor of this hall yesterday and down in a corner I found a moth-eaten blue banner which the class of 1893 won in a football championship. I don’t know if it is the right of a soldier to be sentimental, boys, but I couldn’t help feeling as I saw the faded blue color and the small white letters that some fine young fellows had fought very hard in days gone by for that particular piece of cloth and what it represented, and that the bottom of an obscure closet was not the place for it. Later on, when I thought it all over I realized that we have been mighty careless here at Woodcrest in the matter of our trophies and the glories of the past.”

“I have often wondered why we didn’t have trophies around the school,” smiled Cadet Douglas, Don’s brother representative of the class.

“The whole trouble is that we have never had a regular committee to attend to that matter,” the colonel explained. “Each class has won some kind of a trophy in years gone by and has cared for it just as they wanted to. Some few of them were hung up in the various study halls, some in the assembly room, and I’m afraid some of them have just been carelessly stowed away somewhere. I want all of you men, as representatives, to scour the halls from end to end and unearth as many of these emblems of victory as can be found. We’ll check up against a list until we have all the trophies that Woodcrest ever received.”

“Have you a list of all trophies, sir?” asked Hudson.

“No, but I know where we can get one. Ever since the founding of the school we have had our school magazine, the Woodcrest Bombardment, and surely each number will tell of the class winning any emblem and what that emblem was. Fortunately, you will find a complete set in the library, each monthly volume intact, and you will find the set of the greatest value in your quest. My suggestion is that the representative read through the school notes of each book and find out just what each class won and then make a list up, against which we will check the recovered cups, flags, banners or whatever we have.”

“When we get them all it is your plan to place them in Clanhammer Hall, isn’t it?” Don asked.

“Yes, that is my thought. Early this winter I want to open the old historic hall as the Alumni Hall. At that time I want to have the old graduates come back and see the banners and cups hanging on the walls, showing them that we of today appreciate their struggles, their spirit and their loyalty. Nothing keeps a school up like the spirit of loyalty and the remembrance of past deeds of courage and self-sacrifice. You boys can see how it is. If you won a silver cup for Woodcrest this year by hard, determined struggle you wouldn’t want to come here to school ten years from now and find out that no one remembered the first thing about it or even so much as knew where the trophy was. I want all of those old students to come back here and see that the school remembers them and appreciates what they have done in the past to make the institution a place to be proud of.”

“That’s what I’d like to see,” murmured Farley.

“Of course you would, we all would. Well, suppose we meet again on Friday afternoon at the same time and see what we have discovered? If you want to get into any closet or room that is locked up just let me know and I’ll gladly give you the key. That will be all, boys.”

After the colonel had left the room the cadets gathered to talk the situation over. They were all in favor of his plan and they felt confident that they would succeed in bringing to light all of the trophies of the past. Hudson suggested that they go directly to the assembly hall and make out a list of the things to be found in there. As there was still some time before drill they went in a body to the assembly room.

Douglas had a pad and pencil and noted down the trophies as they were called. In the general assembly room they found four banners, two silver cups, one silver football with a figure of a man running the ball mounted on it, and a wooden shield with two small cups on it, the result of a debating team victory. When these items had been written down they all bent over the pad in Douglas’ hand.

“The red banner, the baseball trophy, is dated 1901,” remarked Hendon, of the second class. “How far back do we have to go in the search?”

“How old is the school?” asked a fourth class man.

“The date on Clanhammer Hall is 1885,” supplied Don.

“Then that is the date of the school,” replied Hudson. “Clanhammer Hall is the original building, you know. I guess we’ll find the initial number of the Bombardment is dated that year, too. So it looks as though we’d have to dig back a number of years.”

“Yes, but the school didn’t win a trophy every year,” grinned Farley. “A good old school and all that, but it didn’t win something every year.”

“Perhaps not, but pretty nearly,” came back Don. “Don’t forget, there were baseball, football, basketball, track, debating and tennis teams, to say nothing of swimming teams. I guess we’ll find there are quite a few trophies when we come to look for them.”

The call for drill sounded and the cadets quickly separated to assemble with their several units. Don was now a lieutenant in the infantry, but Jim was far ahead of him in his particular section, the cavalry unit, the first man in the history of the school to attain that honor who was not in the second or first class. His steady attention to drill and his heroism in saving Cadet Vench on Hill 31 had placed him in that responsible position. Terry was, to use his own expression, “still coaxing the big ladies to speak out in meeting,” by which he meant he was still serving in the artillery, around his beloved guns, whose workings fascinated him.

That evening in their room Don told Jim and Terry about the hunt for trophies. He had obtained some copies of the school magazine and together they pored over the early school notes. They found that there had been many trophies in days gone past.

“There must be some up in the storage room in the attic,” Jim said.

“Yes, and I saw a battered cup in the locker of the senior study room,” Terry said. “Looked like somebody heaved it at somebody else. After it has been repaired it will do very nicely to put on a shelf.”

“I’m glad the colonel is going to fix up the old hall and set up the prizes,” Don said. “I think every school should take pride in its past history.”

In the days that followed the committee of young soldiers were very busy. During their spare hours between study, drill and classes, they scoured the school for trophies. The results were astonishing. From old closets, from lockers, from under window seats and from the storage room they brought cups, flags and banners. For some time they were baffled in their search for a big silver cup, but at last found it in the workshop of a former janitor, down in the cellar of the old school. Some of the flags came from the walls of dormitories, though most of them were in Locke Hall, the main hall of the school.

A careful list had been made from the back numbers of the school paper and at last all trophies but one had been found. By checking up they found that a silver cup, given to the class of 1933, was nowhere to be found. Had they gone to the colonel at once they would have saved themselves a lot of fruitless searching, but they did not and so after fairly turning the school upside down they had to admit failure.

“We’ll have to admit we’re licked on that cup,” Hudson decided. “The meeting is to be this afternoon and if there is a corner in this school that we haven’t peeked into I don’t know where it is!”

The colonel met them that afternoon and was pleased with their good work. Hudson explained that fifteen flags and banners, three silver footballs, a number of trophy shields and ten cups had been found.

“These represent victories in every department of work, both athletic and scholastic,” the cadet captain said. “The oldest banner is dated 1887 and is for a football championship. The last trophy is a silver cup dated 1947 and brings our list up to date. From now on we can keep a better record of our trophies and set them up in Clanhammer Hall as we get them.”

“A total of fifty-five trophies,” put in Douglas. “There are quite a number of shields with descriptive plates and small silver cups on them, the prizes of debating teams.”

“Are they all in good order?” asked the colonel.

“Most of them are,” replied Hudson. “Suppose we take a look at them soon and you may see for yourself. One or two of the cups have been bent and the banners are somewhat dirty and in some cases decidedly moth-eaten. But the lettering is all intact, even on the 1887 banner, and I’m sure we can exhibit them without fear of their falling apart.”

“Then you have made a success of the job,” began the colonel, but Hudson stopped him.

“I’m afraid we haven’t quite done that, sir,” he said. “We cannot find the silver cup donated to the class of 1933 anywhere.”

The colonel looked puzzled. “I don’t remember that cup. What are the details?”

“According to the issue of the Bombardment of that time the cup was awarded by Melvin Gates to the school with the highest rate of individual scholarship, and Woodcrest won it, in fact, the son of the donor won the cup. Well, we cannot find that particular cup anywhere in the school.” He paused as a look of recognition came over the colonel’s face. “Do you remember it, sir?”

The colonel spoke slowly. “Yes, boys, from the details you have given, I do remember that cup. There is a story connected with it, a story that is by no means pleasant. I do not know where the cup is, but I’ll tell you the story of its strange disappearance.”

Chapter 2
The Class of 1933 Trophy

The cadets looked astonished and interested and waited in respectful silence as the headmaster thought for a moment to refresh his memory. Then, with the facts in his mind, he related the story.

“In 1933 there was some talk in the local newspapers about high scholarship among the preparatory and military schools and the idea was expressed that military schools gave so much thought and time to drill and military duties that it was impossible for them to produce a high rate of scholarship,” the colonel began. “In the years which have passed since then we have shown here at Woodcrest that such was not the case, that we have turned out scholars as well as gentlemen and soldiers. I ignored it at the time, but one of the trustees, a man who is still trustee, Melvin Gates, became very much incensed over the article in the papers and took steps to challenge it. He conferred with me and I finally agreed to put up at least three cadets whom I thought to be the smartest in their classes, against any three from a preparatory school, and, after an elimination, to allow my brightest scholar to compete against another student from a preparatory school. This was done, and the boy who took the honors in this school was the Arthur Gates you mention, the son of the man who was to donate the cup. He beat the other two boys and won first place.

“A nearby preparatory school, Roxberry, then put forward its best scholar and the examination was held. It embraced every branch of the studies which every scholar is supposed to have had at this stage of preparatory school life, and to the joy of all Woodcrest students, Arthur Gates won it. The questions had been prepared by professors from Roxberry and instructors from this school and the two young men took the examination in a room entirely by themselves. The other student received a marking of ninety-five but Arthur Gates answered every question one hundred per cent. A truly remarkable thing when you think of it, and Woodcrest was mighty proud of him for it.”

“Should think it would be!” murmured Douglas.

“The editor of the paper publicly agreed that he had been wrong in his estimation of military institutions and apologized. Roxberry graciously accepted defeat and we were just ready to award the cup to Arthur Gates when a very unfortunate thing happened. The cup disappeared!

“Just at this point I’ll have to go back a little bit and tell you this fact: One of the cadets who was runner-up with Gates was a class captain named George Long. Long was a fine young man, with a splendid career before him, and he tried hard but was defeated by Gates. After his defeat he became entirely different from his usual self, turned quiet and moody and was seen to talk to Gates privately many times, at which times Gates seemed to say no, as though Long was making him some dishonorable proposition. Even when Gates won the scholarship for the school he was not happy and refused to congratulate him at all. We all put it down to jealousy and a bad school spirit, a thing which was hard to believe, for Long was always a gentleman, but that was his attitude. I suppose that he wanted to win that scholarship himself, as it was his last year in Woodcrest, and it was certain that some college, hearing of his success, would have awarded him a scholarship, which is just what they did to Gates, eventually.

“The senior Mr. Gates had turned the cup over to me and had asked me to present it to his son, as that would look better than it would for him to give it, but I wanted one of the student body to present it, as a mark of honor from the cadet corps. But if I did that Long would have to be the one to present it, as he was senior class captain and also captain of the infantry, and I didn’t know how he would feel about it. So I asked him and he said that there was nothing wrong between Gates and himself and that he would gladly present the cup for the student body.

“I therefore turned the cup over to Cadet Captain Long on the night before the general assembly and he took it to his room. When the next day came all of the cadets assembled in the auditorium and there were guests of the school and representatives of the press in the room. But Captain Long was missing and I could not understand the circumstances. I began the exercises, hoping that he would come, but he did not and before long I was at the point where Arthur Gates was to have been presented with the cup.

“I immediately sent a cadet in search of Long, and the messenger found him in his room, frantically going through every drawer and corner of the room. The cup had been stolen, he declared, sometime in the morning. I had to go up there myself, to find him half-distracted, turning everything inside out in his quest for the cup. It was not found, and I was forced to go back to the auditorium and explain the theft of the cup. The place was in an uproar and Melvin Gates was furious, but all we could do was to make young Gates stand up and honor him that way. There was simply no cup to be found and that was all there was to it.

“Afterward I had my hands full. The senior Gates wanted to arrest Long, believing him a thief, but although I didn’t believe he was I couldn’t understand what had happened to that cup. Gates himself, that is, Arthur Gates, had been in Long’s room on the night before and had seen the cup on Long’s dresser, and it had been there when Long went to bed and when he got up in the morning. It was after chapel that he had first noticed that it was gone, and he had hunted around for it without saying anything to anyone about it. Long had no roommate, so there was no suspicion there. I thought myself that he might have hidden the cup for a joke or even in a mean spirit, but he insisted that he had not done so.

“The newspapers rapped the cadet ‘honor’ severely and it was no easy task to remain patient under it all. Long did not resign or do anything foolish, he finished out the year, but under a distinct cloud. Arthur Gates took the loss of his cup calmly, continued to be Long’s friend, and even made a fine speech about it all in assembly. The elder Gates was finally pacified and things died down, but search as we might, we never did find that cup.

“As I have said, Long finished out the year and graduated, but it was a hard job. You know it is the custom to clap when a senior goes up and receives his diploma, but when the cadet captain of the entire school went up there was only a silence, a brutal, condemning silence. I saw his face redden and harden as I gave him his diploma, and I pressed his hand hard, but he simply dropped mine and went back to his seat with his head held high. That looks as though he was not guilty and I’d like to think so, but the fact remains that everything is dead against Mr. Long. He had never been gracious about Gates’ victory over him and never in the least bit generous in any way about it all, and no one could blame the cadets for feeling the way they did. I was severely scored by the papers for not dismissing him from school for neglect of duty if for no other cause, but I felt that would do no good and so I never went to such a limit. I will confess that I hoped and hoped that the cup would turn up some day and we’d find out it was just some prank or mistake, but it never did.

“We have had alumni meetings each year and Long never comes to any of them. I have purposely written to him more than once, although I don’t know if that is quite wise, for the old graduates might turn the cold shoulder to him when they met him. But I wanted to see if he would come and face them in spite of it all, but he evidently does not want to do so. Gates doesn’t come very often, in fact there are some fellows who have never returned to visit the old school once they left it, but that much is to be expected.

“Well, that’s the story of the 1933 class trophy, boys. We have always called it that because both Gates and Long belonged to the senior class of 1933 and that class represented the whole school. It isn’t a pretty story and I’m sorry that it ever happened. I guess we can count that trophy out and you may cross it off your list.”

The colonel sighed as he concluded and the boys sat for a moment in silence. The honor and courage of his boys was a live issue with the colonel and it hurt him to think that any of them should not be worthy. Even though it had happened a number of years ago it was always a fresh hurt to him, and they suspected that he had always had an affection for Long.

“We’re very sorry to hear that, Colonel Morrell,” said Hudson, at last. “It certainly is mysterious, but all signals point to this Long. Very well, we’ll cross that particular item off our list.”

“Yes, the sooner we forget all that, the better,” the colonel nodded. He got up briskly. “Suppose we go and take a look at the cups and banners now.”

They filed out of the room and went down the hall to a smaller study room, where the school trophies had been placed. The colonel looked them all over with evident enjoyment, recalling incidents and stories about almost every one. He was well pleased with their work and expressed it.

“Now, the next step will be mine,” he announced. “I’m going to have the old hall thoroughly cleaned and then some needed work done in it. After that we’ll have our first big alumni meeting and you boys will be on duty that night, to share in the fun and listen to the talks. I thank you kindly, boys, for your good work. In the future we’ll see to it that the school trophies are properly taken care of and that it will never be necessary for another committee to go around and pick up flags and cups.”

“Well, that ends that,” remarked Farley, as the cadets prepared to separate. “We’ll have to add a few more to the collection this fall and winter.”

“Yes,” agreed Hudson. “Too bad about that 1933 cup.”

“It certainly is,” agreed Don, as the others nodded silently. “I’d like to get ahold of that cup and make it talk! No telling what it would say!”

“You are right there,” laughed a third class man. “They say that dead men tell no tales, and I guess lost cups don’t either!”

Chapter 3
A Mystery Uncovered

That night Don settled himself in his chair to study. Jim was across the room intent on history and Terry was visiting down the hall. The redheaded boy was unusually bright in his studies; he was going through Woodcrest on a scholarship which he had won, and he seemed to get along with very little study. So he was able to do a little visiting, while the others found that they must bury themselves in their books.

Don and Jim studied for some time and then Don felt that he had his lesson clearly in his mind. He glanced around the room and his eyes fell on some back numbers of the Bombardment, copies of which had helped in the search for the trophies. This copy at which he was looking was dated 1933, and Don idly looked through it, scanning the school and athletic notes of the period.

Presently a particular notice attracted his attention. It was an item in the school notes department, and read as follows: “John Mulford, our efficient and pleasant janitor for the past six years, left us quite unexpectedly this past week. We were unable to learn just why he left us. For the next few days the students will do well to thank their lucky stars that it is the spring and not the winter of the year.”

Don passed the notice off lightly, wondering what it was that interested him in it at all. His eyes swept up the column and something else drew his attention. It was also a brief paragraph, but it started an idea in his mind.

“There has been a let-down to the social activities of the senior class since the regrettable affair of the Gates Scholarship Cup, but we hope that such a condition of affairs will soon mend.”

His eyes narrowed slowly. Carefully he read the first note and then the second and tried to construct a picture in his mind. He placed the magazine back on the table and sat back in his chair, his eyes half closed. Jim looked up from his book.

“Better go to bed, instead of falling asleep there, kid,” he advised.

“I’m not falling asleep, Jim,” Don answered. “Listen here, I’ve got something on my mind, and I want your advice.”

For some time he talked to Jim, who forgot his lessons in his interest. At last Jim slowly nodded his head.

“It sounds good to me. Are you going to tell the colonel in the morning?”

“Yes, the first chance that I get.”

Just before his first class the next morning Don found Colonel Morrell in his study. The colonel motioned him to a seat.

“What is on your mind this morning, Don?” asked the headmaster.

“I was reading one of the back numbers of the Bombardment last night,” Don replied. “And in it the distressing affair of the Gates Cup was mentioned. Right underneath it was mentioned the fact that a janitor by the name of John Mulford disappeared, or rather left the school for some unknown reason. Wasn’t he suspected?”

“Yes, he was,” returned the colonel, promptly. “In fact, I had him watched, but he didn’t take a thing out with him.”

“I see. Could it have been possible that he came back and got something later on?”

“Possible, but I don’t think so. No, I’m pretty sure that he didn’t have anything to do with it, in spite of his oddly abrupt leaving.”

“My thought is that Mr. Long was never guilty, Colonel Morrell,” Don went on. “I feel that something strange was connected with that whole case, and that your former captain suffered a grave injustice. I wonder if you’d allow me to do something?”

“What do you want to do, Mercer?”

“Do you know where this former janitor went?” Don asked.

“When he left here he went to live in Ashland, a small manufacturing town seventy miles east of here. I had to write to him once to send him some money due him, so I know that much. But whether or not he lives there now I don’t know, of course.”

“I see. Can you find that address and will you allow me to go to Ashland and talk to this man Mulford?”

For a brief instant the colonel studied Don’s earnest face and then he nodded shortly. “Yes, I can do all of that,” he said. “You will want to go on a Saturday afternoon, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir. You have faith in my idea, colonel?”

“Not as much faith in your idea as I have in you,” returned the colonel. “I know what you are capable of. I too have never believed Long guilty, and I’d like to see him cleared.”

“Thank you,” said Don, as he left the room. “I’ll go next Saturday, Colonel Morrell.”

Nothing more was said on the subject until the following Saturday morning, at which time the colonel gave Don a slip of paper with the name of a street in Ashland on it. While the other cadets were out on the field waiting for a football game to begin Don left the school and boarded a train for Ashland.

“I don’t know that this isn’t a wild goose chase for fair,” he reflected, as the swift train bore him across the country. “But I’m willing to make an attempt to find out what happened to that cup.”

It was late in the afternoon when he reached the manufacturing city, and after some inquiries he located the street on which the former janitor had lived. Don finally found the house, a narrow affair of red brick, sandwiched in between high rows on either side. He rang the bell and at last it was answered by a tall, thin girl.

“Does Mr. Mulford live here?” Don asked, raising his hat. He was not dressed in his uniform, as that would have attracted too much attention, but was clad in a plain everyday dress suit.

“Yes, he does,” was the gratifying answer. That was all the girl said, and she seemed to be waiting for something else.

“Can he come to the door?” Don went on, seeing that she did not intend to say anything more.

“No, he can’t. He ain’t walked for seven years,” was the startling answer. “He’s crippled!”

“Oh,” exclaimed Don. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Then I suppose I can’t see him?”

“Sure you can, if you’ll come upstairs,” the girl said. “On business, is it?”

“Yes,” answered Don.

The girl led the way up a flight of dark stairs into a small room which was hot and in which a variety of cooking odors hung in the air. An old man was sitting in a wheel chair near a window, looking out into the gathering darkness of the street below. He had a pale face and white hair, and Don could see that his lower limbs were thin and gathered up.

“Somebody here to see you on business, pa,” said the girl, and to Don’s relief she quit the room at once.

Mulford looked curiously at Don, who was not certain what to do. He had not expected to find the former janitor a cripple and he wondered if he should question a man in this condition. Mulford spoke up in a voice that was full and strong.

“What did you wish to see me about, young man?” he asked. “Sit down, won’t you?”

Don sat down facing the man. “I am from Woodcrest School, Mr. Mulford,” he began. “I understand that you were once janitor there, and I came to see you about something that happened years ago. But perhaps I had better not say anything about it. I didn’t expect—didn’t——”

“You didn’t expect to find me a cripple, eh?” finished Mulford, quietly. “I wasn’t one when I left the school. So you are one of the cadets there? I’m glad to know you. I liked all of those boys when I was there. What can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s rather a delicate subject,” began Don. “Mr. Mulford, if you feel that I’m prying into any of your private affairs you just tell me to get out of here and I’ll go. But first let me tell you a story. You remember George Long and Arthur Gates, don’t you? They were students there when you left so unexpectedly.”

Mulford’s face was a study. He looked fixedly at Don and was silent for a moment. Then he said something that astonished the cadet.

“Yes, I knew them. I’m glad you came here, young man. I’ve had something on my mind for a number of years and I want to get it off. I haven’t had the nerve to write to Colonel Morrell about it myself, but I have wanted to. You want to know about that silver cup, don’t you?”

Don was staggered. He nodded.

“As soon as you mentioned the name of Gates and George Long I knew what you had in mind,” the man said. “You want to know what I know about that cup. I’ll tell you right now that I didn’t take it myself, and if you had come to me some years ago I would have driven you out of the door. But this ailment of mine has tamed me down a whole lot and I’ve had nothing to do but think for several years. Do you people at the school think I took it?”

“Colonel Morrell doesn’t,” Don answered. He went on to tell of the search for the trophies of the past and the story of the missing cup. “For years George Long has been suspected of having taken that cup,” he went on. “He graduated under a cloud and has never come near the school since. What we are trying to find out, even at this late date, is whether he did take it or not.”

“I thought something like that would happen,” the former janitor said, closing his eyes. “I’m responsible for it, too. No, young man, George Long didn’t take that cup. Arthur Gates stole that cup himself, on the morning it was to have been presented to him!”

“What! He stole his own cup!” cried Don, open-mouthed.

“Yes, and I saw him do it. He came out of Long’s room with it in his hands, trying to get it under his coat, and I saw what was going on. There was only one thing to do, and Gates did it. He paid me a handsome sum to keep quiet and leave the school, and I did it. At that time I was very poor, and the money which I earned in such an easy manner came in mighty handy. But as years went on I found it wasn’t easy. The thing weighed me down, and today I’m glad to get it off my chest.”

“But why in the world should Gates have stolen his own cup?” asked Don.

“That I don’t know; I can’t help you there, Mr.——”

“Mercer,” supplied Don.

“Mr. Mercer, that you must learn from someone besides me. I don’t know. I only know that he paid me to keep quiet and to leave. He even got me a good job here in Ashland. But after a while I bitterly regretted the fact that I had ever seen him come out of the room, and I hated myself for taking the money. Dishonesty is a heavy, dragging burden, Mr. Mercer.”