WHAT HAPPENED TO BRAD.
The boys waited in Dick’s room for him to reappear. They were confident
he had escaped Maloney. With tears of merriment streaming down his
cheeks, Tucker rehearsed every particular of the preposterously amusing
affair that had taken place in the kitchen. Tommy’s version of it was
sufficient to bring a ghastly smile to the solemn face of Jones.
“Oh, yes, it was funny, wasn’t it?” sneered Bigelow. “I ruined a good
suit of clothes, and then Tucker stuck a butcher knife into me about a
foot and a half, and that Irish policeman wiped his feet on me and broke
a couple of ribs.”
“What I want to know,” said Buckhart, “is who fastened me under the
sink. Had to brace and push with all my strength in order to break that
door open.”
“When Dick skipped and Maloney went after him, howling like a madman,”
laughed Tommy, “Maggie promptly collapsed. About that time Mrs. Watson
came down on us, and I expect we’ll all get fired out in the morning.”
“Do wish my pard would show up,” muttered Buckhart, glancing at the
clock. “It’s strange he doesn’t come back. Been more than an hour and a
half now. If he doesn’t get in before eleven, I’m going out looking for
him.”
The restlessness of the Texan finally led him to slip downstairs, and,
hearing the murmur of voices coming from the kitchen, he tiptoed to the
door and listened. A few minutes later he came charging into the room
where the boys were gathered.
“Great horn spoon!” he gasped, his face pale and his eyes betraying the
greatest excitement. “That Irish cop is in the kitchen this minute. Just
heard him telling Maggie how they chased Dick clean to the river, and he
tried to get away by swimming. Maloney says he got cramps and went down.
Maloney said he sure was drowned. I don’t believe it, but I’m going to
find out what I can about it. Who’s with me?”
Seizing their hats, they followed the Texan; but on the front steps they
encountered Merriwell, who was getting out his latchkey.
“Hello, fellows,” said Dick coolly. “Where are you bound in such a
rush?”
“Well,” breathed Brad, in relief, “this sure is some satisfying,
partner. Just heard you were last seen hollering for help in the river.
You’re supposed to be drowned.”
“That’s right,” laughed Dick, “and I’m willing they should continue to
cherish that delusion. It was the only way I could escape. I pretended
to sink, but when the current carried me under the bridge I clung to a
pier until I could swim ashore without being seen. It was hard work
reaching the costumer’s without attracting undesirable attention in my
dripping clothes, but I finally got there and made a change for my own
garments. I’m here, and I guess I’m all right unless I get cold from
that ducking.”
In his room he told them about the two chaps who had brought bundles of
clothing with the evident intention of casting those bundles into the
river.
“One of the fellows was Ditson,” said Dick. “I think the other was
Lynch. Either Ditson or Lynch wore that satanic masquerade outfit. Of
course, I have no proof against them, and they could give me the laugh
if I accused them; but those chaps were concerned in the game to amuse
themselves at your expense, Tucker.”
“I’ve thought so right along,” said Tommy. “They’ll overstep themselves
yet and get into a scrape they can’t squirm out of.”
In spite of the exciting events of the evening, Merriwell slept well
that night and did not catch cold from his ducking. Shortly before one
o’clock the following day Brad Buckhart came hurrying into Dick’s room
and found Merriwell on the point of going out.
“Pard,” said the Texan, “I’m in a scrape. Just met Mabel Ditson and Bab
Midhurst. Mabel was feeling rather blue and downcast. It seems that Rob
Claxton invited her to attend Professor Oblong’s lecture on Japan and
then found out he couldn’t get seats. I thought I knew where I could get
a couple of seats, and it seemed to me a good chance to get ahead of our
friend, the Virginian, and so I asked her if she would go with me. She
said she sure would, and I’ve been round to the scalpers’ after those
seats. There isn’t one to be had for love or money. Now what do you
think of that? She’s going to be a whole lot disgusted when I tell her I
fizzled the same as Claxton did.”
“Let’s see, when is this lecture?”
“Thursday evening.”
“And Friday afternoon we leave for Providence. It’s just as well you
didn’t get seats, Brad. You’re supposed to turn in at ten o’clock
Thursday night.”
“Oh, I could make it pretty near that,” said the Texan.
“How?”
“Those lectures never last later than ten. I’d have a cab take Mabel
home, drop her, and have cabby land me at this ranch in double-quick
order.”
“Well, you ought to thank your luck that you’re not compelled to listen
to that lecture. Don’t you hear lectures enough?”
“Listen!” snorted Buckhart. “What’s the matter with you, pard? You don’t
suppose I was going to that lecture with the idea of listening to it, do
you? I was going to take a girl—the girl—the only girl. I was going to
steal a lap on Claxton. I wouldn’t care if the old lecture was about the
Hottentots or the Zulus. Partner, I’m going to get into that lecture if
I have to pay a ten-dollar premium on tickets. You hear me warble!”
“You’d better forget it,” said Dick.
But the Texan did not forget it, and on Thursday he triumphantly
announced that he had secured tickets by paying double price for them.
“Well, you’d better consult Jones about staying out after ten to-night,”
advised Dick.
Brad consulted Blessed and was given permission to attend the lecture on
his pledge to lose no time about getting to bed after it was over.
“Going to do this thing up brown, partner,” chuckled Buckhart, as he
dressed that evening. “My carriage will call for me at seven-thirty. If
you happen to see Claxy this evening, be good enough to find a way to
tell him that I’ve taken Miss Ditson to the lecture. That sure ought to
bump him some.”
In spite of his promise to seek the mattress as quickly as possible
after the lecture was over, Brad permitted himself to be lured into the
house by Mabel, who told him that Barbara wished to see him. He did not
stop many minutes, but came out in high good spirits, bounded down the
steps, reached the waiting cab, flung open the door, and jumped in.
He sprang into the enfolding arms of some one who was sitting inside the
cab. Those arms, clasped about his own, held him like bands of steel.
“Whoop!” roared the Texan, in astonishment. “Whatever does this mean?”
Over his shoulder a voice said:
“Lively with that stuff! Come on, quick!”
Then Brad perceived a dark figure in front of him and suddenly a sickly,
pungent odor assailed his nostrils. A handkerchief saturated with
chloroform was held over his mouth and nose.
The Texan put up a savage fight, but his efforts were futile, and in the
end he was overcome, sinking helpless in the arms of the fellow who had
clung to him with such fierce tenacity through it all.
When Brad revived he found himself in a basement room, stretched upon a
wretched cot, with a rough table near at hand and a smoking lamp burning
on the table. It was some time before he could realize his situation.
Gradually he recalled what had happened, and, with a groan, he started
up from the couch. He was still dressed in evening clothes, although his
collar and necktie had been torn away. There was a sensation of nausea
at the pit of his stomach and his head swam. After a moment he was
forced to sink back upon the couch.
“What does it mean?” he muttered. “Where am I, anyhow? How did I get
here?”
There were no windows save a small, narrow transom above the one heavy
door of the room. He was impressed with the belief that the room was
sunken deep beneath the ground and no sounds he made could be heard
outside. Nevertheless, finally summoning his strength, he raised an
outcry.
When there was no answer he succeeded in dragging himself to his feet,
reeled across the cemented floor, and tried to open the door.
It refused to move before his efforts.
“No use,” he muttered, stumbling back to the couch and dropping upon it.
“I’m bagged. I can’t understand it, and I suppose I’ll have to wait
until somebody comes around to explain. If it’s a joke, it’s a blamed
poor one. You hear me gurgle!”