THE END OF THE GAME.
Having finished lunch and lounged on the rocks for a little while, the
four Yale men set out toward the lower fields and thickets in search of
quail.
As before, they did not keep together long. Each one had his own ideas
as to where the birds were to be found, so presently they broke up and
continued on their way alone.
Merriwell did not get much pleasure out of it, however. The day was
perfect, the birds fairly abundant, but his mind persisted in flying
back to the farmhouse and the mystery it contained, decidedly to the
detriment of his gunning.
He kept wondering whether Jellison had returned to the house, and, if
so, what he was doing there. Did Jellison know of the money under the
hearth? What had taken Mac to the village?
He was so preoccupied with all these questions that he made a number of
wretched misses, and at last he broke his gun with a snap and slipped
out the shells.
“That’s about all for to-day,” he grumbled. “I can’t do a thing with
this on my mind. I’m going back.”
Now that he had at last come to this decision, he wished he had done so
long ago. There was no telling what might be going on in the house by
the lake. He was a fool to have come out at all and left the treasure
unguarded.
As he tore his way through the tangle of briars and undergrowth it
seemed as if the very bushes were trying to hinder his progress. He
could not get along fast enough, and the result was that when he emerged
into the more open forest back of the house he was a mass of cuts and
scratches and his hands were full of thorns.
He did not stop for that, however, but kept on his way through the trees
at a dogtrot. The woods were pleasantly free from undergrowth, and
underfoot the soft, springy moss carpeted the ground as far as the eye
could reach and made his progress almost noiseless.
He had almost reached the cleared ground about the house—had just caught
a glimpse of the bright sky line ahead, in fact—when he made out the
figure of a man slipping through the trees in front of him.
“Who the mischief is that?” he muttered, with a perplexed frown.
It looked a little like Joblots, but he supposed that the dapper little
fellow was by this time hundreds of miles away. At any rate, he was
determined to find out, and, quickening his pace, he rapidly and
noiselessly approached the fellow, whose back was toward him.
A moment later he saw that it was Joblots. There was no mistaking the
shape of the little fellow’s back and head, and certainly there could be
no duplicate hereabouts of that giddy, gaudy, shiny, new khaki shooting
rig.
Percy evidently had some very definite object in view. He did not loiter
as one enjoying the beauties of the forest, but pressed steadily forward
toward the line of clearing, darting keen glances to right and left in a
manner which was not at all like the absurd little creature they had
come upon the day before. Moreover, his gun was nowhere to be seen.
As he approached, swiftly and noiselessly, a conviction that this time
he was watching the real man, came upon Dick with overwhelming force.
The next moment, as he reached Joblots’ side and caught his arm, he was
sure. The expression on the fellow’s face, startled and annoyed, but not
in the least idiotic, was proof positive.
The next instant a mask fell over the small man’s countenance.
“Grathiouth thaketh!” he gasped. “How you thurprithed——”
“Cut that!” Dick broke in sharply. “That went last night, but there’s no
use in trying to fool me now. Who are you? and what are you after here?”
A bewildered look came into the pale-blue eyes.
“I weally don’t know what——”
“Cut it, I say!” Merriwell repeated, his eyes flashing. “Spit out the
truth or I’ll knock it out of you! Quick, now! Who are you?”
A slowly dawning expression of keen shrewdness came over the other’s
face, and for an instant he eyed Dick coolly and appraisingly.
“You’re no fool, are you?” he said at length, in a totally different
voice. “I reckon you’ve got me straight this time.”
He hesitated for an instant.
“Reckon I’ll have to trust you,” he went on quickly. “I’m after the guys
who cracked the Hartford bank. Now, the question is, are you going to
help me or try to trip me up?”
Dick’s chin squared and his eyes narrowed as the thought of Archie
flashed into his mind. It was incredible—impossible. He would not
believe.
“Who are you after?” he asked at length.
“That feller McCormick,” returned the detective quickly. “He was seen
around the bank just before the robbery. Him an’ his two pals took the
train out in the morning. At Milton they separated. He come here with
the swag, an’ the other two went on. My partner is following them.”
“What makes you think McCormick has the swag?” Dick asked, though his
heart was cold within him.
“I don’t think; I know,” the man answered. “He brought it in a big bag,
and last night he hid it under the hearth in the dining room. I heard
him sneak downstairs, and I slipped through the kitchen and watched him.
There ain’t no doubt about it.”
Dick did not speak. His heart was too full for words. What he had tried
not to believe was true. All the time that he had been watching Mac
through the crack in the door the detective had been on the lookout from
the kitchen. In spite of all, he could not seem to think of Archie as a
thief. How had he ever been roped into such a thing?
“Well, what are you going to do?” he inquired presently, in a listless
voice.
“Pinch him,” returned the detective tersely. “I’ve been holding off in
hopes of getting his pals. Thought he telegraphed ’em this morning, but
he didn’t. The agent wouldn’t tell me what was in the message he sent,
but I did find out that the reply came from Bloomfield. It ain’t likely
his pals are there. It’s too far away.”
Dick caught his breath suddenly.
“Bloomfield!” he exclaimed, and then was silent.
Bloomfield was where his brother Frank’s school was located. Just now
Archie McCormick’s brother, the one who had served a term in State’s
prison, happened also to be there. What did it all mean? Why was Archie
telegraphing to Jim? His thoughts were suddenly broken in upon by the
detective’s voice.
“Well,” he said briskly, “what are you going to do, help me or hinder
me?”
“Neither one or the other,” Merriwell said shortly. “I can’t hinder you,
and I certainly don’t propose to help you arrest a friend of mine,
especially when I don’t believe he’s had anything to do with this
robbery.”
“That’s all rot,” Joblots said quickly. “The thing’s as good as proved.
Well, I’ve got to get busy. There ain’t no time to waste.”
He started on toward the edge of the woods, Dick following him
listlessly. His mind absolutely refused to credit the truth of the
detective’s assertions, even with the proof seemingly as unassailable as
it was. He would not believe that Archie was a thief. There must be some
other explanation of his peculiar actions.
Suddenly Joblots, reaching the fringe of trees which bordered the field,
stopped short.
“Thunder!” he exclaimed. “Here he comes now with the swag. Jellison,
too. What do you think of that! I never suspected Jellison.”
Leaning over his shoulder, Merriwell saw that he was right. Coming
toward the woods from the house were two men, walking in single file.
The first one, unmistakably Archie, carried a large dress suit case
under the weight of which he seemed barely able to stagger. Behind him
walked Andrew Jellison. What did it mean? Was it possible that the two
were friends and partners in this crime? Had Archie deceived him from
the first?
Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he drew a quick breath. The next instant
he was slipping back through the trees and doubling toward the point
where the path entered the forest. Joblots caught up with him.
“You said you wouldn’t hinder,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re going to
warn them.”
“I’m going to help you,” Dick snapped. “Are you blind, man? Don’t you
see what’s happened? Jellison is forcing Mac to go with him. He’s
driving him along with a gun! Hush, now! Don’t make a sound.”
Bewildered, incredulous, the detective followed Merriwell closely. He
could not believe what the Yale man had said, but there was nothing else
to do, except follow in the other’s lead.
In a moment they had reached the edge of the path and crouched in the
bushes. They were just in time. Already the feet of the two men rustled
in the leaves near at hand.
“How long are you going to keep up this farce?” they heard McCormick
say. “You certainly can’t expect to force me to go on to Middleberry.”
“Never you mind!” snapped Jellison. “Shut your face and do as I tell
you!”
The next instant Archie passed Dick’s hiding place, staggering under the
weight of the heavy bag. A moment later Jellison appeared.
Without a single preliminary sound, Merriwell’s lithe body, launched
from the thicket with a spring like that of a panther, struck the
cashier full on the back, and the two crashed to the ground together.
The shock knocked the revolver from the fellow’s hand, and, though he
struggled hard, Dick had no difficulty in holding him down. Then he
looked about him.
Archie had dropped the bag and was staring at the tangle of arms and
legs in a dazed fashion. As he recognized Dick, he gave a shout of joy.
“Thank Heaven, you came in time, old fellow!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been
an awful fool. He was just getting away with all the money.”
A look of triumph appeared on Joblots’ face.
“Ah! ha!” he muttered. “What did I tell you?”
“What money?” Dick demanded. “Quick, Archie! What are you talking
about?”
His face was strained with the suspense of waiting.
“The money he stole from the Metropolis Bank two years ago,” McCormick
answered eagerly. “He’s the thief. He’s the one who sent Jim to prison.
He hid the money under the hearth, expecting to get it after everything
was safe, but old man Hickey wouldn’t let him in. He came last night for
it. I was awake and heard him slip downstairs. I followed him and saw
him take up the stone to see if it was still there. After he had gone, I
looked myself. There’s no doubt about it.”
Joblots listened with a growing expression of mortification and chagrin.
“Yah!” he snapped. “I don’t believe it! You stole that money from the
Hartford bank two nights ago!”
Archie looked at him in utter bewilderment. Then his face darkened.
“You fool!” he ripped out. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing! Look
and see. The wrappers are still around the bills.”
Scowling fiercely at Joblots, he kicked the bag with one foot.
In an instant the detective was on his knees, fumbling with the catch.
Then, as it yielded, he threw back the cover and snatched up one of the
packages. His face was incredulous. Tossing down the packet he picked up
another, and yet another. They were all the same. Presently he arose
slowly to his feet.
“By thunder!” he muttered. “Looks like there was something in it.”
Then he looked keenly at Archie.
“What were you doing around the bank in Hartford at twelve o’clock the
night of the robbery?” he asked significantly.
“Coming home from a smoker,” the Yale man returned quickly.
“How about those guys you were chummy with on the train yesterday?”
persisted Joblots.
“Never saw them before in my life,” McCormick smiled. “We got talking to
each other in the train.”
The detective looked nonplused. Before he had time to think of any more
questions, a sanctimonious voice sounded from the path behind the little
group.
“Behold the wicked man who diggeth a pit and falleth into it himself.
Look’s as if you’d got him this time, gents.”
Dick loosened his grip on Jellison and sprang to his feet. The ruddy
face of the Reverend Jeremy Pennyfeather grinned at him from a little
distance. His eyes were twinkling shrewdly, and he did not look quite so
pious as he had that morning.
“Well!” Dick remarked. “Are you another detective?”
The fellow laughed.
“Guessed right the first crack, my friend,” he returned easily. “I was
sent out by Mr. Frank Merriwell to keep watch of this here gent.”
He indicated the sullen, lowering Jellison, who had raised himself to a
sitting posture.
“Looks like you boys had saved me a lot of trouble. Caught him with the
goods, didn’t you?”
Dick nodded.
“Yes, and I hope he gets the biggest penalty that can be imposed,” he
said sternly. “He’s pretty near ruined one man’s life.”
“There ain’t any doubt he’ll git all that’s coming to him,” the lank
fellow said, in a tone of satisfaction. “We ought to be able to catch
the last train down and give him his first taste of jail to-night.”
“And I’ll go with you,” Archie said decidedly. “I want to see him good
and safe.”
They all finally decided to go as far as Lysander Cobmore’s place, from
which Archie and the detective could proceed alone with the guilty man.
Making their way quickly through the woods, they found the farmer
standing by the barn, a yellow envelope in his hand. His eyes lit up as
they fell upon the dapper figure of Joblots.
“Waal, waal,” he drawled. “If you ain’t saved me a heap o’ trouble. This
here telegram was jest brought from town, and I hadn’t no more notion
than a cat what to do with it.”
He handed the envelope to the detective, who tore it open eagerly. As he
took in the contents, his face darkened and he bit his lips angrily.
“Two days wasted!” he snapped, crumpling the message in his hand, and
tossing it to the ground. “Wouldn’t that frost you!”
The Reverend Pennyfeather made no bones about picking it up, and, when
he had spread it out, this was what he read:
“Hartford crooks nabbed at Westfield. Swag recovered. You are on false
trail. Report at office at once.”
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