Osgood’s manner during the tedious homeward jaunt would not have led any one unaware of what had taken place to fancy that there had been the slightest unpleasantness. He was polite and affable to every one upon the buckboard, and when the boys sang, as they did once or twice, his fine baritone voice was sufficient to command admiration and applause.
This fellow had entered Oakdale Academy in the midst of the term of the previous autumn, and had maintained for a time a certain reserve which prevented his schoolmates from seeking to pry into his personal affairs. It was some time, indeed, before the naturally curious boys learned from him that he was a native of New York, but that, on account of his mother’s health, his parents had removed to California some years before, where his father had suddenly passed away from an attack of heart disease. Of this bereavement he continued to be disinclined to say much, and it was noticeable that while he seemed distinctly proud of his mother, his father was never mentioned in that manner.
Nevertheless, Edwin Osgood took pains to impress upon his associates that there was genuine blue blood in his veins, and his claim was that he was upon his mother’s side a direct descendant of Lord Robert Percival, Earl of Harcourt. Little by little at various times he let drop a few words which, pieced together, told of the banishing of a younger son of Lord Percival, who had brought upon his head the displeasure of the old Earl through his wild and wayward ways. This younger son had come to America, where he married, and Ned asserted that he was of the third generation in this country.
All this was apparently dragged reluctantly from his lips, and he even made some pretense of disdain for ancestry, although his stationery bore a crest, and those chaps who were favored by invitations to his rooms stated that they had seen various portraits of Osgood’s noble forebears.
Unlike other students at Oakdale who came from out of town, Ned did not simply room or board; he lived in the home of a widow by the name of Mrs. Chester, who had been induced to take him in through what was said to be a surprisingly liberal money consideration. In Mrs. Chester’s house he had a sitting-room and a bedroom with an adjacent bath, and it was said that the widow, perhaps a bit impressed by having such a young swell in her home, permitted him to do about as he pleased in his rooms.
Now a fellow like this might through snobbery easily make himself unpopular in a country school, but Osgood’s seeming whole-souled, manly boyishness, combined with an unusual knack at all-round sports and baseball in particular, had overcome the prejudice of many chaps who were inclined at the outset to regard him with disfavor. His staunchest friend, however, was Charley Shultz, with whom he had taken up almost immediately, and who seemed so remarkably different from him in every way that wonderment over their chumminess was justified. Shultz was rough and brusque and not infrequently positively boorish; furthermore, he was something of a bully, although, finding this bent disapproved by Osgood, he plainly sought to hold the inclination in check.
Among the village girls Ned was greatly admired, but with the boys a strong point in his favor was the fact that, although always pleasant and polite, he rarely attempted to play the gallant. He seemed to prefer fellows of his own age and with similar tastes in sports to the prettiest girl of the village or the school, and, although some of the misses were miffed over this, he rarely wasted time in their company.
Another point in his favor was the fact that, although he was known to have a pocket full of spending money and sometimes spent it generously on his companions, he managed to avoid patronism, and did not make the fellow less supplied with coin feel small or mean on that account. In short, he was generally sized up as “a jolly good fellow,” and, although they had not ventured to say as much, several members of the nine had thought that Nelson was rather too hasty and harsh in sending Osgood to the bench for his disregard of orders. Besides Jack Nelson, Rodney Grant and Ben Stone were almost the only ones who had not fallen powerfully beneath the spell of Osgood’s personality.
During the most of the homeward trip Shultz sat silent on a seat which also held Tuttle and Piper. Once or twice he had a few words to say, and he endeavored in saying them to give the impression that he, like Ned, had dismissed the incident of the game which had so nearly led to a personal encounter in the Wyndham gymnasium. But Shultz was no diplomat; subterfuge to him was a most difficult thing.
The result of the game had been telephoned to Oakdale, and the boys were welcomed with cheers as the buckboard rolled up the main street toward Hyde’s livery stable. At the stable they piled out with their bats and bags, shivering a little from the raw cold of the spring evening, which had crept into their bones in spite of overcoats.
At the door of the stable Osgood paused a moment, and, Springer, Hooker and Cooper joining him, he was heard to say:
“See you later, fellows. Don’t forget. So long. I’m hungry as a bear, and I won’t do a thing to Mrs. Chester’s grub to-night.” Carrying the bag that contained his uniform and mitt, he swung off with a vigorous, buoyant stride, whistling cheerfully.
A few low words passed between the trio left behind, after which they dispersed in starting for their various homes.
Jack Nelson was not the only one to perceive something mysterious in the action of these fellows; Sleuth Piper’s eyes and ears were wide open. When Shultz had likewise departed Nelson spoke to Grant.
“I don’t suppose it’s any of my business, but I’d really like to know what’s in the wind. Those fellows are up to something.”
“I reckon so,” nodded Rodney; “but I opine it’s no concern of mine.”
Both were startled as Piper noiselessly appeared beside them.
“There are things going on in this town,” said Sleuth, his voice discreetly lowered, “of which the general public is wholly unaware.”
“Hello!” laughed Rodney, lifting his eyebrows. “The great detective is on the job. I judge you have inside information, Pipe?”
“Very little,” answered Sleuth; “but if I set out to get it I’ll not be balked. Once I take up a case worthy of my attention, I am relentless as Fate.”
“Do you have an idea this matter is a case worthy of your attention?” asked Nelson, winking slyly at Grant.
“That I can’t answer,” confessed Sleuth; “but it’s my theory that persons whose movements are secretive and mysterious deserve to be watched. Possibly I can tell you one little fact of which you are unaware.”
“Let flicker,” invited Jack. “We’re listening, all agog.”
“For some little time,” said Sleuth, in answer to this invitation, “certain fellows have been meeting regularly every Saturday night in the rooms of Ned Osgood.”
“Is that all?” exclaimed Grant, disappointed. “Why, I suppose, as Osgood happens to be such a popular chap, they merely drop in on him for a social call.”
“Is there any reason why a fellow who is merely making a social call should shroud his movements in secrecy?” questioned Sleuth instantly. “If you were going to drop round to see Osgood for a little pleasant chat of a Saturday evening would you take pains to prevent the fact from becoming known? Or would you, if meeting a friend on your way, openly and frankly tell him where you were going?”
“I don’t opine I’d be covering up my tracks any whatever.”
“Not unless it was to be something more than a mere social call,” nodded Sleuth decisively. “By apparent chance it has happened that I have met on different occasions two or three of these fellows who were on their way to call upon Osgood, and when I asked them where they were going they either lied or begged the question. Ha! Now you perceive that there must be some hidden motive for this secrecy. A man who takes extreme pains to conceal his motives should be watched.”
“There’s certain some logic in that,” admitted the Texan; “but I’ll allow I don’t see what those fellows could be up to that would concern anybody but themselves.”
Nelson, however, was thoughtful, frowning the least bit.
“It may not concern any one else,” he said presently, “and, then again, it may. It may be my fault, but I can’t quite trust Osgood. I’ll admit that he acted pretty decent in practically acknowledging that he was wrong to-day; but all the time I couldn’t help feeling that he was playing policy, while thoroughly satisfied that he had been in the right and that I was a chump to call for the sacrifice. As a matter between us three, there’s a feeling of dissension on the team as well as in the school, and I’m sure that Osgood and Shultz are behind it. When I benched Osgood it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if some of the players besides Shultz had made an objection. He has got a grip on them, and they think he knows more baseball than I or any of the old players. I’ve seen them imitating his methods and his style of play. When a ball team loses confidence in the judgment of its captain, that team soon gets into a bad way.”
“I didn’t like the talk Shultz made about Prof. Richardson,” said Grant. “The old boy may not take a natural modern interest in athletics, but you sure hit the nail on the head, Nelson, when you said that he does his work well in the class room and therefore makes a good principal. But I suppose I’d likely object to almost anything coming from Shultz. There’s something about that fellow that certain rubs my fur the wrong way.”
“He’s irritating,” agreed Jack; “but I can’t help thinking that Osgood is the more dangerous man. If there’s trouble, you’ll find that he will really be the leader.”
“Oh, I don’t judge there will really be any trouble,” said Rodney optimistically. “If there was any brewing, I think you nipped it in the bud, captain. I’ve got to hike home, or Aunt Priscilla will begin to worry; she always does if I’m late to meals. Good night.”
Sleuth pulled at Nelson’s sleeve. “Wait a minute,” he requested in a low tone. “I’ve a powerful suspicion that you’re right in thinking there’s trouble brewing—there’s something going on beneath the surface. I’m going to investigate. I’m going to take this matter up professionally. I’ll pierce the dark depths of the plot. I’ll lay it bare in all its heinous nakedness.”
“Go as far as you like, Sleuth,” smiled Nelson. “As far as I’m concerned you have free rein, but don’t drag me into it in any way.”
After shivering for more than half an hour beneath a tree across the street from Mrs. Chester’s home, Sleuth Piper finally decided to make a move. Since seeking the hiding shelter of that tree he had seen four boys ascend the widow’s steps, ring the bell and obtain admission. It was now some time since the last one had disappeared within the house, and Piper believed no more were to follow.
There was a light in Osgood’s room on the second floor, but the shades were closely drawn at the windows. Sleuth would have given much had he been able to look through those windows, but being prevented from doing so, he had decided on a bold move.
Swiftly crossing the road, he softly mounted the steps and hastily gave a single ring at the bell. After a few moments the summons was answered by a maid, and the boy boldly entered the moment the door swung open.
“I’m to see Osgood,” he said in a low tone. “I’m a little late. I presume the other fellows are ahead of me?”
“Mr. Osgood has several friends with him in his room,” said the girl. “He’s expecting you, isn’t he?”
“Why, sure,” returned Piper, although even in his “professional capacity” his conscience was troubled by the falsehood, which surely was something quite surprising in a detective.
By the muffled hall light the boy deliberately mounted the carpeted stairs. He heard the maid retire, and the sound of the door closing behind her was most gratifying to his ears.
There was little trouble in finding the door of Osgood’s room, for from behind it came the subdued murmur of voices; and, listening, Piper heard at intervals a queer, soft, irregular clicking sound. But when he would have taken a peep through the keyhole, he was much disappointed to find it either plugged or covered on the inside by something that baffled him.
“And that proves there’s something queer going on,” he whispered to himself. “They’re not talking loud, either; they’re keeping their voices down. A lot of fellows who get together and chat free and easy don’t bother to talk that way. Wish I could hear something more.”
After a time, growing desperate through the intensity of his increasing curiosity, he placed his hand gently on the knob of the door with his ear close to the panel, and, when the talk seemed to be a bit more general inside, he softly and slowly turned the knob.
The door was locked!
“That settles it,” he mentally exclaimed. “There’s something off color taking place here.”
Still with the utmost caution, he permitted the spring slowly to force the catch back into place and removed his hand from the knob.
“There’s just one thing to do now,” he decided; “I’ve got to put on a bold front. It’s the only play for me to make.”
Lifting his hand, he knocked softly upon the door.
Immediately the hum of voices ceased, and after a little Sleuth fancied he heard some one whisper within the room.
He knocked again.
There was the sound of a person stirring, and the key turned in the lock. The door was opened the tiniest crack, and the voice of Osgood asked:
“Who is it? What’s wanted?”
“Hello, Ned,” called Sleuth, as he again grasped the knob and gave the door a push which flung it wide open. “Thought I’d come round for a little call this—— Why, you’ve got company! Excuse me.”
The scene beheld by Piper’s eyes caused them to grow unusually big and round. Within the room four boys remained seated around a table covered by a green cloth and lighted by a shaded suspension lamp. On that table were red, white and blue poker chips and some cards. In each fellow’s hand were also the cards which he had held when play had been interrupted by Sleuth’s knock. The young gamesters looked somewhat startled, an expression which gave way to annoyance as they recognized the unwelcome caller.
“How the dickens did you get into the house?” exclaimed Osgood, in a manner that was, for him, unusually rude.
“Why,” returned Sleuth instantly, “I just said I came round to make you a little call. But if I’m not welcome——”
“Old Pipe always has his nose into everything,” laughed Chipper Cooper, one of the quartet at the table. “As long as he’s here to call, bring him in and let him do his calling in the game.”
The other three were Charley Shultz, Roy Hooker and Phil Springer. Shultz was scowling darkly and Hooker did not seem exactly pleased; but, like Cooper, Springer appeared to accept the situation good-naturedly.
“Bub-bub-bet he hasn’t any coin with him,” said Phil.
“Come in, Billy,” invited Osgood. “Your unexpected appearance rather upset us. I thought it might be Mrs. Chester or the maid, although we haven’t been making any noise.”
Piper was only too willing to accept the invitation. “You seem to be having a rather nice little game,” he said, as he entered the room and Osgood relocked the door. “What’s the limit?”
“Oh, we’re just playing for amusement,” assured the host. “It’s nothing but penny-ante, with a ten-cent limit; just enough to make it interesting, you know. Do you play?”
Now one of Sleuth’s weaknesses was cards, although his limited finances had never allowed him to play much for money. On this particular occasion, however, he happened to have in his pocket between two and three dollars, and, although he protested that he did not wish to butt in, he was more than willing to take a hand.
“It will get me on the inside with this bunch,” he thought, “and if there’s anything going on likely I’ll catch a hint of it.” So, to the surprise of Springer, he displayed his money, announcing that a ten-cent limit just suited him. A place was made for him between Osgood and Springer, and he sat down at the table.
“We’ll play this hand off,” said Ned; “you can come in on the next. You’re dealing, Cooper, and the pot is all level. I’ll take three cards.”
When that hand was played off Piper was given a dollar’s worth of chips, together with some advice about maintaining silence concerning what was taking place in Osgood’s room.
“The people in this village are so straightlaced and narrow,” said Ned blandly, “that they would regard a little game of this sort, played merely for amusement, as we play it, as something bordering on the criminal. I’m sure you won’t say a word about it, Piper.”
“Better impress it on him harder than that,” broke in Shultz offensively. “I’m not so sure.”
“What do you take me for?” exclaimed Piper, with a touch of indignation. “I’m playing in this game, ain’t I? Don’t I know what folks around here are? Think I’d take a hand and then go out and shoot my face off?”
“He thinks,” explained Osgood smoothly, “that you might let a careless word drop among the fellows, not realizing that they would be likely to spread it. That’s the way such things leak out; a fellow tells a friend under pledge of secrecy, and the friend tells another, and soon the secret is public property. We’ve taken pains to keep our little social gatherings very quiet.”
Sleuth was quite aware of this, and their efforts to keep the matter quiet had awakened his natural suspicions and led him to that room.
“If I’m fool enough to blow about it after playing,” said he, “any one or the whole of you will have the liberty to kick me good and hard. I think I can keep a secret when it’s necessary.”
“Sleuthy won’t pup-pup-peach when he talks like that,” said Springer. “Go on with the gug-game.”
Even though it seemed that he had done some bad guessing regarding the object of these quiet meetings in Osgood’s rooms, Piper was, after the first throb of disappointment, rather glad of it; for, in a way, he was not very popular with the boys of Oakdale. At one time they had regarded his aspirations to become a detective with considerable amusement and had taken no little pleasure in joshing him. But of late his ability to uncover secrets and lay bare unpleasant facts concerning people with whom he came in contact had changed ridicule to a certain respect that was not wholly free from apprehension, causing him to be avoided.
In desiring companionship and friends, Piper was perfectly normal, and he had felt the coldness and slights of his fellows. Even Nelson, although regarding him valuable as an outfielder on the nine, had seemed to hold him at a distance. And so, when the turn of affairs and the singular behavior of the Osgood clique had seemed to point to scheming of some sort, Sleuth had not hesitated to make a bid for Jack’s appreciation and gratitude by offering to discover and reveal what crookedness those chaps were planning.
It now appeared that he had been misled in his reasoning, for the secrecy of the boys who did not wish it generally known that they were playing poker seemed, in the light of his discovery, perfectly natural and excusable.
As Ned skilfully rippled the cards, passed them to Cooper to cut and began dealing, Sleuth sat back on his chair, feeling that Fate had served him a good turn by getting him in with this little gathering of “sports.” In these days nearly every fellow who really amounted to anything played cards, and it was surely far more interesting and shocking to play poker for pennies and dimes than to play it for matches or beans.
The room was rather warm, and both Shultz and Hooker were in their shirt-sleeves. Osgood wore a handsome house coat, with a collar, lapels and cuffs of purple plush. He was really a fine-looking chap, with his clean-cut face and his curly dark hair, a lock of which had strayed over his forehead. His hands were shapely and well formed, and a rich seal ring adorned the one that held the pack of cards. He had lighted a fresh cigarette. Shultz was smoking a cigar. A thin haze of blueish tobacco smoke floated like incense in the room.
Sleuth’s swift appraising eyes had taken in the general appearance of that room as it could dimly be seen beyond the circle of light thrown over the table by the shaded hanging lamp. The furnishings were unusually excellent. Beneath his feet there was a thick carpet, soft and pleasant to the tread. There was a bookcase, a couch piled with cushions, and heavy portieres hung parted at the entrance to the adjoining bedroom. There were pictures on the walls and many photographs and knick-knacks belonging to Osgood upon the old-fashioned marble mantel, which had been hidden by a drapery. There were likewise banners, boxing-gloves, dumb-bells and a tennis-racket, disposed in various ways with a seeming carelessness that was really effective. Above the mantel hung some dim old portraits, which Sleuth immediately fancied must be the pictures of Osgood’s titled ancestors.
“It’s great,” Piper thought. “It was a streak of luck that threw me in with this bunch. I’ll be one of the gang after this.”
He was aroused by the unpleasant voice of Shultz. “Come, wake up there, Vidocq; you haven’t even anted. Shove out a white chip before you look at your cards.”
As the game progressed Piper found himself losing steadily, and, what was most annoying, almost always he was beaten by Shultz, who himself was having bad luck and growling over it.
“Good thing for me you came into the game, Eagle Eye,” said Shultz, laying down three Jacks, which topped Piper’s three tens, and pulling in the chips. “These other sharks would have had me skinned to the bone by this time, only for you.”
“Oh, my turn will come,” declared Sleuth. “Give me another stack, Ned; that one’s gone.”
Osgood counted out another dollar’s worth of chips and received Billy’s money, which he deposited in the handsome chip case.
“You’re the right sort after all, Sleuthy,” he smiled. “You’re a good loser. I realize that I haven’t known you very well up to date.”
“A man,” said Piper loftily, “should take his losings without squealing.”
“What do you mean by that?” snapped Shultz. “Are you knocking me?”
“Oh, no—no, not at all,” Piper hastened to disclaim, aware that the fellow’s bad fortune had aroused his belligerent nature.
“Because if you are,” warned the ruffled gamester, “you’d better cut it out. I don’t like it, and I won’t stand for it.”
“Oh, come, Charley,” protested Osgood; “don’t be so raw. I’ve seen you lose twice as much without growling.”
“But I can’t afford to lose to-night,” was the retort. “I’m not very flush, and my old man thinks I’m blowing too much geldt, anyhow. That’s the worst of having a close-fisted father. If I were in your shoes, Ned, I could stand a loss; but you’re usually lucky, and you seldom quit behind the game.”
“I’ve been having a streak, that’s all,” explained Osgood. “Luck runs that way occasionally, but it usually turns in time. You fellows will get into me if you keep at it; you’re sure to.”
Hooker, likewise a loser, was keeping quiet and attending strictly to business. Unlike Shultz, he had not shown an inclination to force his luck, and doubtless he was waiting for his turn to come. Springer was also slightly behind, while Cooper was a small winner and therefore cheerful. The large pile of chips in front of Osgood denoted how the game was running.
With the suspicion that was characteristic of him, Piper had watched Osgood’s playing closely to discover, if possible, whether or not Ned was winning legitimately, and he had arrived at the conclusion that there was nothing underhanded about it. Moreover, he was falling beneath the subtle spell of the young fellow’s influence, which had been so strangely felt by others. Surely Ned was a whole-souled, genial chap that any one might be proud to claim as a friend; surely Nelson’s suspicions were unfounded; not a word concerning baseball or the management of the team had been spoken by any of these lads since Sleuth entered the room.
It was Hooker’s turn to deal, and Roy tossed the pasteboards around. Piper, picking up his hand, was surprised and delighted to find it contained two pairs, aces up, and while he was secretly congratulating himself Osgood chipped.
“Come on, Mr. Good Loser,” invited Shultz. “What are you going to do? Play faster. You make the game drag.”
“Oh, I’ll come in,” said Sleuth, “and I think—I think I’ll raise it.”
“What do you know a-bub-bub-bout that!” exclaimed Springer. “Sleuth is plunging! Well, he can’t frighten me; I’ll peg along.”
“Oh, let’s make it interesting,” said Shultz, tossing several chips into the middle of the board. “I’ll boost it some more.”
“Well, just to keep the pikers out,” announced Hooker, “I’ll give it another lift.” And he did.
Cooper whistled. “That’s about all I can do for my little measly ante,” he remarked. “I’ve got a small pair, but you chaps are making it too stiff for me. I’ll drop out.”
“Well, really,” murmured Osgood, who had placed his cards face downward before him, “this begins to look like some poker game. I’ll raise ten.”
Piper swallowed and hesitated again. “What do you fellows think you’re doing before the draw?” he inquired, with a touch of whimsicality. “I’ve just got to come in.”
“You don’t raise, eh?” questioned Shultz.
“No, I’m satisfied.”
“I’m more than sus-satisfied,” faltered Springer. “This is ruinous, but I suppose I’m partly to blame. I’ll stay.” He put in the amount needed to make himself level.
“Wait a minute, Hooker,” said Shultz, perceiving that Roy was nervously fingering his chips. “It’s my turn. You boosted me, and now I’m coming back with another limit raise.”
Hooker found that he did not have enough chips, and so before betting he procured another dollar’s worth from Osgood. Then he raised Shultz.
“Oh, my!” sang Cooper. “I’m glad—I’m glad I staid out. It cost me only my little snow-white ante.”
“H’m!” said Osgood, picking up his cards and glancing at them. “It seems that it’s going to cost me more than that. There’s a pair of Indians sitting over at the other side of the table. Well, fellows, I’m coming. I’m playing on your money, and you’re welcome to take it away from me if you can.”
At this point Piper, suddenly getting cold feet, dropped his two pairs. “I’m out,” he said. “This sort of raising before the draw makes it too stiff for me.”
Springer seemed to be perspiring freely, and his hands were not quite steady. “If it’s a game of dud-dud-drive out,” he said, “I’m going to stick to the last gug-gasp. Here I go. That makes me level.”
Without saying a word, Shultz pushed out two blue chips.
“Do you raise again, Charley?” asked Osgood.
“Money talks,” was the answer; “I put in two blue ones.”
Hooker immediately raised again, whereupon Cooper chuckled still more gleefully over his cleverness in declining to be drawn in to defend his ante.
Osgood and Springer met the raise, and Shultz, after giving Hooker a slantwise glance, pushed out a final blue one and announced that he was “content.”
“Very well,” said Roy, picking up the pack. “Call for your cards.”
“I’ll take one,” said Osgood.
Springer called for two, and, glancing over Phil’s shoulder, Piper saw what he held.
“Why, he had me beat,” thought Sleuth. “What can those other fellows hold?”
“How many do you want, Shultz?” asked Hooker.
“I’ll play these,” was the announcement.
“And I’ll play mine without drawing,” said Roy, a touch of excitement creeping into his voice in spite of himself.
“Fine! fine!” laughed Osgood. “I had a fine chance, didn’t I! You’ve got all of my chips that you’ll get. I’m going to drop.”
Springer swallowed once more. “Gee!” he breathed. “I cuc-can’t drop; I’ve got to bet. I make it a white chip.”
Shultz and Hooker did some betting that caused Springer’s eyes to bulge.
“Great fish-hooks!” spluttered Phil. “You’re a pup-pup-pair of robbers! Guess I’ve been fool enough. I’ll lay down, too.”
Shultz gave the player at his left a long, hard look. “I wonder if you’re trying to bluff,” he speculated.
“You’ll find out presently,” answered Roy.
“I ought to raise it again, but I’m going to call, and here’s my hand. Can you beat it?”
“The pot is mine,” said Hooker, spreading out his cards for all to see. “My cards are better.” He reached out with both hands and raked the pile of chips toward him.
“Well, of all infernal luck!” snarled Shultz, flinging his cards fiercely down upon the table. “I thought my flush was good. It looks queer to me. You dealt the cards, Hooker.”
Instantly Roy bridled. “What do you mean by that? I hope you don’t insinuate that there was anything crooked about that deal? You cut.”
“I know I did, but some fellows can——”
“Hold on, Charley,” interrupted Osgood. “There’s no one here that’s going to play crooked. You haven’t any right to think such a thing. I was watching, and I’ll guarantee the deal was on the level.”
“Oh, well, if you guarantee it——”
“You might apologize, Shultz,” said Hooker, his voice hard and his face full of wrath.
“Now don’t you fly off the handle, Roy, old fellow,” entreated Osgood. “You see, Charley has had rotten luck, and he didn’t really realize what he was saying. Come on, let’s play the game like gentlemen. You didn’t mean it, did you, Charley?”
“No, I guess I didn’t,” said Shultz, with apparent reluctance. “I was half-joking. Forget it, Hooker.”
“All right,” agreed Roy readily enough. “That little pot sort of put me on my feet, and I’m not anxious to make a disturbance.”
The tension of the moment relaxed somewhat, and the game was resumed, Cooper giving out the cards.
Piper was heartily glad that Hooker had won, and he felt that Roy was generous in his willingness to overlook Shultz’s innuendo. He believed that an encounter between the two boys had been narrowly averted.
For some ten or fifteen minutes the game went on smoothly, nothing but small hands coming out, which produced little betting. Eventually, however, four “fighting hands” were dealt, and Piper and Springer sat back to watch the others, dropping their cards. There were a number of raises before the draw, in all of which Hooker and Shultz took part.
As if they felt that it was to be a serious struggle, none of the players ventured to jest or make many comments.
Cooper remained in until the cards were drawn and then he dropped out.
Osgood hung on a while longer, although Shultz and Hooker kept raising alternately.
“You each took one card,” said Ned at last, “and, as you’re running wild, I’m going to quit. Fight it out between you.”
“Will you lend me some money, Ned?” asked Shultz.
“Sure,” was the answer. “How much do you want?”
“Well, let me have two dollars’ worth of chips. I may want more.”
“You’re pretty sure, aren’t you?” said Hooker. “You must think you’ve got this pot cinched.”
“My chips talk,” said Shultz.
“Well, mine talk, too,” snapped Roy.
They made several bets.
“You must have a big hand,” muttered Hooker. “Well, so have I.”
“Oh, go as far as you like,” sneered Shultz. “You can bet all night if you wish, and I’ll stick by as long as I can get any chips.”
“What have you got?”
“Four bullets,” announced Shultz triumphantly, as he lay his cards down, exposing four aces.
Hooker took a deep breath. “Well, that beats. I thought I had a pretty good hand. It’s your pot, Shultz.”
“Hold on! Hold on!” spluttered Piper, his eyes bulging. “Just wait a minute. There’s something queer here.”
Every one turned to him, Shultz savagely asking what was the matter.
“There’s something queer about this,” reiterated Sleuth. “Why, I—I’m sure I held an ace in my hand when I laid it down.”
“Go on! you’re dotty!” snarled Shultz. “There are only four aces in the pack.”
But Sleuth had grabbed the discards, and, turning part of them face upwards, he exposed to view the fifth ace!
There was a moment of stunned and breathless silence as the young gamesters stared at the fifth ace thus exposed to view—the ace of spades. This silence was broken by Hooker, who, glaring at Shultz, suddenly snarled:
“You sneaking, cheating robber!”
With that cry, he leaped up, overturning his chair, and made a grab for Shultz’s throat. The latter had likewise risen, and with a sweep of his arm he brushed aside Hooker’s clawlike hand, at the same time driving his fist hard and straight at Roy’s face.
The blow landed with a sickening smack, and Hooker was hurled backward by the force of it, tripping over his upset chair. Both his arms were flung wide in an effort to save himself. His head struck with a thud against the marble mantelpiece, the shock being sufficient to knock one or two bits of bric-a-brac to the floor. Beneath one end of the mantel he collapsed in a heap, with his shoulders against the wall, his head dropping limply over on one of them.
Springer, having failed to seize Shultz in time to check that blow, now grabbed him with both hands and clung fast, panting in his ear:
“For the lul-lul-love of goodness, what have you dud-done?”
With a hissing sound, Shultz drew his breath through his clenched teeth, exposed by his parted lips. His nostrils were dilated, and the rage of an aroused animal blazed in his eyes.
“A fight here!” fluttered Cooper. “Don’t start a fight here!”
“Start one!” said Shultz hoarsely. “I didn’t. He started it. He called me a cheat and a robber. I’ll teach him to apply such words to me!”
“Keep Charley away,” commanded Osgood, quickly kneeling beside the silent figure of the boy who had been struck down. “This is very bad business. Come, Hooker, brace up.” But when he sought to arouse the stricken youth, Hooker’s body simply slid over sidewise with a little scraping sound against the wall, one arm rolling lifelessly across his breast to allow his knuckles to drop with a faint, soft knock upon the thick carpet.
“For the love of goodness!” repeated Springer in a horrified voice. “He lul-looks like a dud-dead one!”
Fiercely Shultz jerked away from Phil’s restraining hands. “You don’t have to hold me,” he rasped. “What do you think I’d do, hit him again when he’s down?”
Betraying the alarm he could not repress, Osgood made one more effort to arouse the limp fellow on the floor. Then he spoke swiftly, excitedly to the others.
“Somebody bring some water from the bathroom,” he directed. “Roy’s stunned. I’ll loosen up his collar so he can breathe. Help me place him on his back. Bring the water quick!”
Trembling and sick at heart, Piper found his way to the bathroom, drew a glass of water from the lavatory faucet, and hurried back with it.
Osgood and Springer were kneeling on either side of the prostrate lad, while Cooper, pale and agitated, stood looking on as if he could not bring himself to offer assistance or did not know what to do. Shultz, his jaws hard set, his breast heaving, stood at a little distance, watching.
“Give me the water, Piper,” requested Osgood, plainly trying to maintain as much calmness as possible. “Hand Phil a book or magazine or something to fan him with. Some one open a window and let some of this smoke out. Make as little noise as you can. Perhaps they didn’t hear him fall, and if we can bring him round all right, nobody must ever know what happened.”
Hooker’s tie had been removed and his collar and neckband unbuttoned. He lay quite still—horribly still, Piper thought. There was a bruise on his almost ghastly cheek where Shultz’s fist had struck. His eyes were closed, and the lids did not even seem to flutter. In his white shirt-sleeves, he seemed fearfully deathlike to the staring eyes of Billy Piper.
“Get that window open, I tell you!” ordered Osgood almost fiercely, as he began pouring water into the palm of his hand and bathing Hooker’s temples. “Fan him, Springer.”
“This is horrible!” Sleuth whispered to himself, as he opened a window. “I wish I’d never come here to-night.”
After a few minutes Shultz began to betray concern. “Isn’t he coming round?” he asked.
“If you’ve killed him,” said Piper bitterly, “you won’t be the only one to suffer for it. Nobody in this bunch ever will be able to hold his head up again in Oakdale.”
“Oh, he’ll come round all right. I didn’t even hit him on the jaw. I don’t see how he was knocked out so easy.”
“It was the bump he got against the mantel,” said Osgood, his dripping hand in Hooker’s hair. “Here’s the spot on his head. It’s swollen almost as big as a hen’s egg.”
“Perhaps—perhaps his skull is fractured,” muttered Piper.
“He brought it on himself,” asserted Shultz in self-defense. “I don’t know where that extra ace came from. I got all of mine honestly and squarely. He had no right to call me a cheat.”
“I sus-saw his eyelids move,” stammered Springer, still fanning. “He’s coming round! He’s breathing!”
“Yes, he’s coming round, thank fortune!” said Osgood in great relief. “He ought to be all right in a few minutes.”
Although these signs of reviving probably gave Shultz the most satisfaction, he now attempted to hide his feelings behind an air of sullen defiance and self-justification. Apparently, with the exception of Osgood, he was the calmest person in the room.
Presently Hooker’s breast heaved and he gave a heavy sigh. Then his eyes opened.
“You’re all right, old man,” said Osgood. “You got a fierce old bump when you fell, but you’ll be on your pins in a minute or two now.”
Hooker looked at him strangely without speaking. After a little time they lifted Roy and placed him on the big leather-covered Morris chair, following which they stood around and tried to get him to say that he was feeling better. He continued to stare at them, one after another, in that same puzzled, bewildered way, and all their efforts to draw a word from him were fruitless. Once his eyes rested on Shultz, but in their depths there was no gleam of light in the slightest way different from that aroused by sight of the others.
“He’s dazed,” whispered Sleuth. “His mind is befogged.”
“If we let him alone a few minutes he ought to come out of it,” said Osgood. “Let’s settle up. We can’t play any more to-night.”
“I’d like to know where that fuf-fifth ace came from,” said Springer, as he turned all the aces over and looked at the backs of the cards. “They’re alike, every one of ’em.”
“I had two packs alike,” explained Osgood. “The extra ace must have gotten into this pack by accident.”
“If we’ve been playing with it all the time,” ventured Cooper timidly, “it’s mighty funny we didn’t discover it before.”
“I’d like to know what you mean by that,” growled Shultz, glaring at Chipper in a manner that made the little fellow draw back a bit. “I hope you don’t insinuate——”
“I’m not insinuating anything,” was the hasty disclaimer. “I just said it was funny, that’s all.”
“Fuf-funny is hardly the word,” muttered Springer.
“I’m sure,” said Osgood quickly, “that no one in this crowd would play a dishonest game. The cards got mixed, and I made up that pack myself. If anybody is to blame, I am. Count up your chips, fellows, and let’s square things right away.”
They did as directed, and he settled up with each of them, turning last to Hooker, who was behind the game. Counting the few chips left to the unfortunate gamester, Osgood announced how many there were and offered their value in change to Roy, who, however, made no attempt to accept the coins.
“This is what’s coming to you, Roy,” said Ned. “Take it.”
Hooker looked at him blankly. In Cooper’s ear Piper whispered:
“He don’t understand. What if he never comes out of it?”
“He will; he must,” Chipper whispered back.
Ned slid the coins into Roy’s pocket. “Now,” he said, “I think this party had better break up. Somebody will have to see Hooker home, and I think the outside air will revive him. This affair must be kept strictly private. If any one breathes a word about it, he will brand himself as a—— Oh, but I know there’s no need of saying such a thing, and I won’t say it.”
“You don’t have to so far as I’m concerned,” asserted Piper promptly. “Any one here would be a chump to tattle.”
As Billy was the only one Osgood had feared, Ned immediately showed his relief and satisfaction.
Hooker, still sitting supinely on the Morris chair, permitted them to readjust his collar and tie. When they lifted him to his feet he stood still while they actually pushed his arms into his heavy, reefer-like coat.
“There you are,” said Osgood, slapping him on the back. “We’re all mighty sorry it happened, Roy, but it was a mistake. As I provided the cards, I must shoulder the blame, if any one. You’ve been a game loser, old chap. Do you need some money? I’ll lend you what you want.”
“Queer,” whispered Piper. “He doesn’t seem to understand a word.”
“I’m going,” said Shultz suddenly. He removed from the doorknob his cap, which had been hanging there, and turned the key in the lock. As if he realized that something more was expected of him, he stopped and forced himself to turn until he could look back at them, though it was plainly with a great struggle that he did so. “Perhaps some of you fellows blame me,” he flung at them. “If you do, just try to put yourselves in my place. Just try to think of yourselves as holding four aces, getting them squarely and fairly, and then being called a cheat and a robber. Perhaps I wouldn’t have hit him if he hadn’t tried to choke me.”
“You’re sorry it happened, aren’t you, Charley?” said Osgood.
“I’m sorry—for your sake, anyhow; but I had to defend myself. Any other fellow would have done the same. Good night.”
“Go out quietly,” cautioned Ned, as Shultz was disappearing.
A few moments later they heard the departing fellow’s footsteps coming up from the sidewalk.
“I’ll let the rest of you out myself,” said the host. “Don’t talk as we go downstairs, and step quietly. Come on, Hooker.”
He took Roy’s arm, and, like guilty creatures, they stole out of the room and tiptoed down the stairs. It was necessary for Osgood to caution Hooker about descending in the dim light of the hall lamp. At the outer door Ned made them wait while he took a look into the street.
“Nobody in sight,” he announced in a low voice. “It’s a good time to get away, fellows. Good night.”
With muttered good nights they left the house and descended the steps, Springer having taken Hooker’s arm. The air was damp and raw, and Piper’s teeth chattered a little.
“Too bad our little pup-party busted up that way,” muttered Phil; “but we were lucky to gug-gug-get out without anybody getting wise. Osgood’s a fine chap, but if people knew about our playing in his rooms and this scrap to-night, they’d think him a regular pirate. Every old gossip in town would gug-gabble.”
“What worries me most,” ventured Cooper, “is about Hooker. Don’t you feel all right now, Roy?”
“Perhaps he doesn’t want to speak,” whispered Piper. “S’pose he can get home all right?”
“Somebody had bub-better go with him,” said Springer. “It’s out of my way, but it’s on your road, Cooper. He’s all right, only he doesn’t talk. You see that he gets home, will you?”
“Yes, you see that he gets home, Chipper,” urged Sleuth quickly. “I’ll be late now. If the folks are still up, I’ll have to make excuses. Good night, fellows.” Turning into a side street, he set off at a run.
All night long, when he slept at all, Billy Piper played poker in his dreams, tossing and muttering and clawing at the bedding with his hands. But there were several protracted periods in those dark hours when he lay awake, thinking wretchedly of the almost tragic end of that game in Osgood’s rooms. Never had he spent a worse night, and when the gray light of “the morning after” came stealing in at his bedroom window he prayed sincerely that he might never experience another like it.
Dawn brought him some relief from those distressing dreams and haunting visions of Hooker’s prone, coatless figure and ghastly face; and, utterly worn out, he finally sank into a heavy doze. From this he was awakened by the sound of his mother’s voice calling that it was time for him to get up if he wished any breakfast.
Her call had startled him and caused him to jerk himself partly upright in bed, where he remained propped upon his elbow as he answered that he would be down directly. This start had caused a throbbing in his temples, and after a bit he dropped back on the pillow, huskily muttering:
“What a night—what a horrible night!”
Lying there, he somewhat reluctantly reviewed the events of the previous evening, and as he thought it all over he regretted most heartily that curiosity and a desire to delve into the private doings of others had led him to become a member of that card party. For the first time he fully realized that the person who attempts to pry into the affairs of others without authority or a sufficiently good reason almost invariably brings upon himself no end of trouble and is sure in time to be regarded as a spy, a meddler and a nuisance. His eyes were opened at last to the real reason for the aversion with which his former friends and chums had seemed to regard him of late.
“This being a detective isn’t half as fine as it seems in stories,” he muttered; “and, anyhow, I don’t believe I was ever cut out for one. I’ve made a mistake. I’m too sensitive, too conscientious. My feelings are too easily stirred for me ever to make a success in that line. I’m going to quit it. Perhaps I can write stories, and I’m sure I’d like that better. They say an experienced crook often makes the most efficient detective, and I despise crooks. I’m done with the game.”
That final word, although he had been thinking of something else, again brought vividly to his mental view a picture of the green-covered table bearing chips and cards and the young players sitting around it engaged in what they chose to call “a little friendly game.” A few short hours before this had seemed to him all very fine and sporty, and it had attracted him as the magnet attracts the steel. Now, in the somber light of a dull spring Sabbath morning, the glamour was swept away, leaving only a bitter after-taste that was remorse.
They had said that they were playing penny poker with a ten-cent limit simply to make the game interesting; but as he recalled their intentness upon the run of the play, the ill-concealed bitterness with which some of them accepted defeat, and their greedy, eager joy in winning, the truth smote him hard and convincingly. They had been gambling! The reason why they chose to play so small a game lay in the limited condition of their finances. Had they all possessed more money, penny-ante with a dime limit would have seemed tame and unsatisfactory, and therefore games of this sort were but the first steps to something bigger and worse.
“Ned Osgood started it here in this town,” thought Piper. “He’s naturally a fine fellow, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. I was not the only one who couldn’t afford to play, putting aside the question of its being real gambling. In that whole bunch Osgood was the only one who really could afford it, and he was a winner.”
At that time Sleuth did not know that in ninety-nine genuine gambling games out of a hundred the majority of the players cannot, from financial reasons alone, afford to participate. If not openly, they take part in such games with the secret hope that they will come forth winners, and one of the bad features of it all is the fact that their winnings, when made, seldom do them any real, substantial good; for money easily acquired is rarely rated at its real value and is almost as elusive as quicksilver. The winning gambler regards his gains as “velvet,” forgetting his losses of yesterday and disregarding the assured certainty that he must lose again to-morrow or at some future time. He spends freely and foolishly, making doubly certain the time of deprivation and need which must come in future reverses.
The faint clatter of dishes, coming up from the dining-room, roused Sleuth from his unpleasant reveries, and, with a strange feeling of lassitude and weariness in his limbs, he dragged himself out of bed. The night had exacted its penalty in physical enervation as well as mental torment.
“No more,” he kept repeating—“no more of it for me.”
Breakfast over, he was drawn by an intense desire, not unmingled with dread, to learn something of Roy Hooker’s condition. Not a word had Roy spoken after that blow, and Piper was haunted by the memory of the dazed, uncomprehending look in the boy’s eyes.
“He’s probably all right now,” Sleuth told himself; but he could not dismiss the fear that Roy might not be all right.
Thus worried, he found an early opportunity of getting away from the house, his footsteps leading him toward Hooker’s home. The streets of the village bore the deserted appearance usual upon Sunday morning, but to him they seemed ominously silent and lonely. The early church bells began to ring, but the sound was hateful, for it seemed to add to that oppressive loneliness.
On the corner of Main and Middle streets, a block from where Hooker lived, he met Phil Springer, and a single glance told him that here was a companion in misery. For Springer also appeared downcast and troubled, and there was in his eyes an expression that told of sleep denied.
“Huh-hello, Sleuthy,” faltered Phil. “What bub-brings you out so early?”
“Same thing that brought you out, I guess. Heard anything from Roy?”
“Not a word. You?”
“No; just came from home.”
“You took your chance to skin out and leave him on our hands, dud-didn’t you?” said Phil resentfully. “Cooper just mum-made me stick by till we got him home.”
“That was a mean trick of mine,” admitted Piper instantly. “I’m sorry I did it, but I was nervous and excited, and I didn’t stop to think. How was he? How did he appear? Did he talk any?”
“Not a word. Couldn’t seem to gug-get any sense into him. Why, Pipe, he actually acted as if he didn’t know wh-where he lived. What do you think of that?”
“I don’t know what to think of it. I don’t like to think of it. What did you do? How did you get him into the house?”
“We took him to the door; it was locked. I pounded until we saw a light through the glass and heard some one coming. Then, like the two cheap sus-sus-skates we were, we up and dusted—ran away.” Springer was not inclined to spare himself.
Suddenly Sleuth made a grab at his companion’s arm. “Look! Here comes Dr. Grindle now! I’ll bet he’s been to see Roy! Let’s ask him.”
“Yu-yu-you ask,” gurgled Phil, getting pale around the mouth. “It would tut-tut-take me tut-tut-too long.”
Medicine-case in hand, the doctor approached, and, assuming as far as possible a natural air, Piper bade him good morning and inquired if there was some one ill “over that way.”
“Singular case,” said the physician, pausing a moment and regarding the two boys keenly. “It’s Roy Hooker. He came home rather late last night and seemed to be dazed and stunned. There’s a bruise on his cheek and another bad one upon the back of his head. His folks got him to bed, thinking he’d be all right, although his mother was frightened and worried. This morning when they tried to question him he wouldn’t talk. Then they ’phoned for me.”
“Roy Hooker?” exclaimed Piper, making a pretense of astonishment, which, however, gave him a throb of self-scorn. “Why, what do you suppose happened to him, doctor?”
“He may have been in a fight, or perhaps he was hurt some other way. I don’t know, but I feel sure one or more persons, probably his intimate friends or companions, must know. Unless he recovers soon and settles it himself, they will be called on to come forward and speak up.”
Springer found it impossible to keep still. “Cuc-couldn’t he say anything at all, doctor?”
“Just two words were all I’ve been able to draw from him, and they seem to cast no light whatever upon the matter. I decided it was not best to try to press him further in his present condition.”
“Two words!” muttered Phil.
“Yes, if I understood correctly, he said, ‘two spades.’ Now what connection with his condition two spades can have I don’t understand, unless one of those bruises upon his head may have been inflicted by such an implement. The bruise on his cheek, I’m sure, was not made in such a manner; and, considering the fact that the one on the back of his head is low down toward the base of the skull, I’m wholly disinclined to believe it was inflicted by anything resembling a spade. Are you boys particular friends of Roy?”
“Oh, not—not particular friends; at least, I’m not,” Sleuth hastened to reply. “For some reason, he hasn’t seemed to like me very well.”
“Then you can’t throw any light on this odd affair? You weren’t with him last evening?”
“I saw him at the pup-post-office a-bub-bout half past seven,” faltered Phil huskily.
“And you didn’t see him after that?”
“I don’t—remember. I don’t th-think so.”
“How about you, Billy? Did you see him later in the evening?”
“I wasn’t at the post-office,” said Piper, finding it impossible to meet the doctor’s steady eyes. “I didn’t see Hooker there.”
“Nor anywhere else?” persisted the physician.
“Nor—anywhere—else.”
“Well, he must have been with some one nearly three hours later, and we’ll find out who it was when he gets able to talk, if not sooner.” The doctor glanced at his watch. “If you hear anything, let me know.”
When Dr. Grindle was gone Piper and Springer stood there, looking anywhere but at each other. Presently, however, their eyes met, and then, with the bitterest self-contempt, Billy muttered:
“Two miserable liars, that’s what we are!”
Utterly miserable and ashamed, even feeling themselves abased, the two boys again remained silent for some moments following Piper’s self-denunciatory words.
“We juj-just had to do it,” Springer finally faltered in an effort at self-justification.
“We didn’t have to,” returned Billy sharply; “but we didn’t have the courage to do anything different. We might have told the truth.”
“And bub-been branded as two black sheep by every sus-stiff-necked, straightlaced——”
“Of course; but that would have been no more than what’s due us for our part in that affair last night.”
“I fuf-fuf-fail to see it,” snapped Springer in sudden anger. “We weren’t to blame for what happened. We were only juj-just playing a little quiet, friendly game of poker, and——”
“We were just gambling, nothing different. You know it, Phil. I’ve thought the whole thing over, and this fiction about a little friendly game was shown to me in its true light. Now wait; don’t get excited. I was tickled almost sick when I blundered into that game last night. I thought it was simply great. I felt that I was doing something real sporty, and it seemed a corking fine thing to sit down with a bunch like that and play cards for money. It wasn’t what I lost that opened my eyes, I tell you that right now. If I’d simply lost my money, I suppose I’d been grouchy over it to myself, but, nothing worse happening, I’d been ready enough to get into the next game, with the hope of winning it back. That’s the way it goes; when a fellow loses he’s bound to play again to get even; if he wins, he can’t quit should he want to, because the other fellows would sneer at him and call him nasty names. So when you’re once started gambling for money, you’ve got to keep it up. Friendly game! Is it friendliness, trying to get the loose cash of another fellow who needs it as much as you do, and perhaps more?”
“I won’t argue a-bub-bout that. Perhaps you’re right, but the point doesn’t interest me now, with Roy Hooker in his pup-present condition. I didn’t like the way the doctor looked at us. Do you thu-think he suspects us, Pipe?”
“Wouldn’t wonder a bit,” answered Sleuth. “But then, it would be natural for him to be suspicious of any fellow who is friendly with Roy.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I dunno. Let’s not stand here any longer; let’s walk up the street. I’ve got to move; I can’t keep still.”
They were on the point of moving when they saw Chipper Cooper hurrying toward them almost at a run.
“Wait!” called the approaching boy. “Where you fellows going?” And then, as he joined them, he asked in a low tone, “Heard anything this morning?”
“I should say we had,” answered Billy. After which he hastily told Cooper what they had learned from Dr. Grindle.
“Oh, my Jinks!” muttered Chipper, aghast. “I was hoping Roy’d be all right this morning. I was hoping he’d explain to his folks—tell them he had a fall or something to account for the bumps he got.”
“You were hoping he’d lie,” said Billy, with a short, bitter laugh. “We had to lie to the doctor when he cornered us. You can see what the business forces us into—lies! It makes me sick to think of it.”
“I’ve worried all night,” sighed Cooper dolefully. “Kept waking up every ten minutes, it seemed, thinking about that scrap and Roy. What was it the doctor said that he said?”
“Just two words, ‘two spades.’ Of course he meant the two aces of spades in that crooked pack.”
“That seems to indicate that he’s coming round, don’t it? He remembered something.”
“And when he cuc-comes round,” said Springer, “he’ll be liable to tell the whole business.”
They were walking up the street toward the Methodist Church, the bell of which had ceased to sound the first call from the steeple. In less than an hour the church-goers would be hurrying along that street. As they approached the church the sexton, who lived across the way a short distance beyond, came out and hobbled toward home, leaning on his cane.
“Where will we go?” asked Springer. “Hadn’t we bub-better take a walk outside the village?”
“I’m not going far,” said Piper. “I mean to hang around so that I won’t miss any news about Roy. It will be half an hour now before people begin to come to church. Let’s go into the old sheds out behind it.”
In one of those sheds at the rear of the church they were hidden from the view of any one who might pass upon the street.
“Wish I hadn’t ever got to playing in that game,” confessed Chipper, who on this morning showed no signs of his usual light-hearted ways and flippancy in conversation.
“I reckon we all feel the same about that,” said Piper; “but it’s no use to cry. We shouldn’t be thinking so much of ourselves. What if Roy is permanently hurt? What if he never comes round right?”
“Shu-Shultz will be to blame for that.”
“Principally; but it wouldn’t have happened if Shultz and Osgood hadn’t found fellows enough to make up a game, so you see, in a way, we’re to blame, too.”
“But if Roy does come round all right and tells everything, we’re all in the soup,” groaned Cooper. “Oh, I’ll catch it at home! My father will be furious if he finds out that I ever played cards for money. You know we’re not rich—far from it.”
“There are others,” reminded Piper sharply. “But when it comes out, if it does, Charley Shultz will have to shoulder the most of the blame.”
“He dud-don’t live in Oakdale. He can get out any tut-time he wants to.”
“Shultz won’t tell,” said Cooper. “Nobody will tell, unless it’s Roy. If somebody could get to see him and talk with him privately——”
“I’ve thought of that,” cut in Piper. “If he comes round, he may talk before he realizes what it will mean to the rest of us. Now if somebody could see him and make him remember things, he might be warned to keep mum. Who’s going to try it?”
“Why dud-don’t you?” suggested Springer.
“Why don’t you?” flung back Billy. “I’ve never been real chummy with Roy.”
“I’d mum-make a mess of it,” said Phil, the idea causing him to shrink.
“Somebody has got to do it,” declared Piper, “and there shouldn’t be much time wasted. The fact that Roy spoke to the doctor shows he’s coming out of his daze. He’s liable to remember everything all at once. Perhaps the sight of one of us would make him remember. Besides Osgood and Shultz, of course we’re the only ones in the game who can go to him, and those fellows couldn’t do it without rousing suspicion. It’s up to us. Who’s going?”
No one volunteered, and after a time Springer feebly suggested that they should draw lots. They were about to do so, when of a sudden Piper commanded all his resolution.
“I’ll go,” he announced. “We won’t draw; that would be gambling, in a way, and I’m done with anything of the sort. I’ll go.”
They looked at him in wonderment, vaguely realizing that this prying chap, who had succeeded in making himself rather unpopular at school, was the possessor of a certain determination and resolution with which he had never been credited.
“That’s the stuff, Sleuthy,” applauded Chipper. “Good old Sleuthy!”
“Now cut that name out,” requested Piper in a manner that was more like a command. “I’m done with that, too. I’ve been rather proud to have fellows call me Sleuth, but it makes me sick now, and I’m liable to fight any one who chucks it at me in future. If you want to do me a favor, you’ll tell the fellows so. Perhaps it will make them worse; perhaps they’ll think it fun to keep that nickname stuck on to me. But there’ll be fights—I tell you there’ll be fights!”
“Gee!” breathed Springer, staring at the speaker’s flushed face. “You’re a regular bub-bantam, Pipe. Well, if you dud-don’t like it, I’ll never call you that again.”
“Me, too; witness my solemn pledge,” said Cooper, lifting his left hand and jerking it down to put up his right. “Phil and I owe you that much for what you’ve offered to do just now.”
“Perhaps I won’t get in to see Roy,” said Billy; “but I’m going to ask the privilege. Even if I do get in, maybe I won’t have a chance to talk with him without anybody round.”
“Report as soon as you can,” urged Chipper.
“Do,” begged Phil. “We’ll go up to my house, Cooper and I; you’ll find us there.”
They left the sheds, and Piper set forth along High Street toward Willow, on which Hooker lived. He had not reached Willow when he met Jack Nelson.
“What are you doing, Sleuth?” asked Jack “You were striding off like a man with a mission. Is the great detective on the trail this——”
“Now that will be enough, Nelson, old man—that will be enough,” interrupted Piper. “I’ve just given certain parties notice that this detective gag is played out and I’m done with it. Also, my friends aren’t to call me Sleuth any more if they wish to remain friends. Grin—grin if you want to. I mean it. I’ll prob’ly be carrying around black eyes and body contusions for a while, but as soon as it becomes generally known in this town that I don’t want to be called Sleuth and I won’t stand any more for the detective joke, I’m going to begin punching anybody who disregards the warning.”
“Well, I’ll be blowed!” breathed Nelson. “I thought you were proud of it. Only last night you offered to do a little piece of detective work for me. What did you find out?”
“Nothing,” was the instant answer—“nothing that concerns you in any way.”
“And you’re disgusted over your failure, eh? I didn’t suppose you’d get down-hearted so easy. No great detective ever——” But the look on Billy’s face caused Jack to stop short. “Oh, say!” he exclaimed; “have you heard about Hooker? I was just told that he——”
“I’ve heard about it,” said Piper, preparing to pass on. “I’m going to see him now, if they’ll let me. Dr. Grindle told Springer and me all about it.”
“It’s queer,” said Nelson. “Aren’t you quitting your professional career at a moment when there’s a case that would really justify your investigation? Perhaps that’s why you’re going to see him. Perhaps you mean to——”