The Cup at Last
There was nothing more said until they reached the house, where Don was
quickly ushered into the presence of Arthur Gates. The man was seated in
the library when they entered, with a book in his hand, and he looked up
in apparent surprise when Don was brought in.
“What is this, Garry?” he asked of the caretaker.
“Caught this fellow trespassing on the grounds, sir,” said the
caretaker.
“You did not!” denied Don. “You caught me way over in the next field.”
“But you must have been on the grounds, in order for Garry to have seen
you,” declared Gates, putting his book down. He looked keenly at Don.
“Why, you are one of the cadets from Woodcrest, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” nodded Don. “I am.”
“What are you doing out at this late hour?” asked Gates. “Taking French
leave, I suppose?”
“Yes,” said Don, seeing his course.
“You should be in bed by this time at the school,” Gates went on. “What
were you doing on my property?”
“I haven’t been on your property yet,” said Don.
“The wall is my property,” flashed Gates.
“Oh, so you saw me on the wall?” questioned Don.
Gates bit his lip. He had not intended to say so much. “Never mind who
saw you there; you were there.” He turned to the other two. “You may go
now.” To the laborer he said: “I won’t need you any more tonight, Tom.
Drop around to see me in the morning.”
The two men went out and Gates turned to Don once more. “Now, young man,
what is your name?”
“Mercer,” replied Don.
“What were you snooping around here for tonight, Mercer?”
“Three of us were out on a lark and we looked over your wall on the way
back,” replied Don.
“You were sitting on the wall,” accused Gates.
“Yes, we sat on the wall,” confessed Don. “But we didn’t trespass on
your property and so you can’t hold us. All you can do is report us to
the colonel.”
“I think you were prowling around here for something else, young man,”
growled Gates, rising.
“What for?” asked Don, looking straight into Gates’ eyes.
“How should I know?” the man evaded. “I’m going to take you into custody
for a time at least, Mercer. You come with me.”
“Where are you taking me?” Don asked, as Gates took hold of his arm.
“Never mind asking so many questions, but come along. Don’t make any
resistance or I shall call in the police. By the way, aren’t you one of
those cadets who brought in my father from that accident?”
“Yes,” acknowledged Don.
“Too bad you had to mix yourself up in this business.”
“What business are you talking about?” asked Don pointedly.
“Never mind that. What became of your companions?”
“I suppose they got away.”
“Well, I’ll find out who they were and have them punished, too. Now, out
this way.”
Curiously Don followed his captor out into the hall and up the big
staircase to the second floor, down that hall and up a flight of stairs
to the third floor. Coming to a door there Gates opened it and thrust
Don inside, closing the door after him. A moment later and Don heard a
key rattle in the lock. Then the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps
came to his ears.
He attempted to move around the room and bumped into something sharp
that poked into his waist. Striking a match that he found in his pocket,
Don saw that he was in a billiard room and that he had bumped the table.
Seeing a light switch on the wall he moved toward it and turned on the
lights. Then he looked curiously around his prison.
There were no windows in the room, but a skylight gave it illumination
in the daytime. If necessary Don was sure that he could jump from the
table to the skylight and make his way to the roof, but he had no
intention of trying it at present. Instead, he went to the door and
tried it carefully, finding it locked.
“They won’t keep me in here long,” he thought grimly. “I’ll raise such a
racket that he’ll be glad to let me out. But I wonder if that will be
the best thing to do?”
He began to shake the door, to try its strength, and at last pressed
against the lock with all his strength. Although that had no effect on
the lock directly it had an unexpected outcome. There was a step out in
the hall, and the key was turned in the lock. When the door was thrown
open Don stared into the face of a butler.
He was the first one to recover himself. “Oh, thanks a lot for opening
the door,” he said, carelessly, seeing his way out. “Someone must have
turned the key in the lock.”
“But what—who are you, sir?” the surprised butler stammered.
“I’m an acquaintance of Mr. Gates,” said Don. “I came up here with him
and he left me to go down stairs. Someone must have turned the lock
while I was in here.”
“But, sir,” protested the butler. “No one has been past this door. I
sleep in the next room and I came out before going to bed because I
heard you rattle the door.”
“And that was very kind of you,” said Don. He saw that the butler was
not overly bright and that he would probably have no trouble with the
man. “It must have been an accident, my getting locked in here. Well,
I’ll go downstairs and join Mr. Gates. Thank you very much.”
“You are very welcome, sir. But—”
“But what?” inquired Don, frowning at the man. “Do you think I am a
burglar, man? Can’t you see the uniform I have on? I’m a cadet at
Woodcrest School.”
“No offense meant, sir,” hastily replied the butler. “It was
just—hum—irregular, sir, and I wondered. Goodnight, sir.”
“Goodnight,” responded Don, hoping that Gates had not heard the talking.
Apparently he had not, for there was no movement as he walked cautiously
down to the second floor. The butler had gone back to his room and no
one was in the hall. The young cadet was undecided as to what to do now
that he was free.
“I ought to make a good effort to get hold of that cup, now that I am in
the house,” he reasoned. “But I don’t know how to go about it.”
He tiptoed along the second floor hall, determined to go to the lower
floor and look around down there for the cup. He was not greatly worried
about the whole situation for he knew that the colonel was back of him
in whatever he did, and even in the event that the Gates family got
highhanded about things he was sure that the significant word spoken to
them would serve to cool their temper. So he had some degree of comfort
in the fact that it would probably come out right in the end. And when
he stopped to think of the heavy injustice that George Long had suffered
all these years because of the flagrant villainy of these same people he
had no scruples against prowling around Gates’ house.
A light showed under the door of the room into which the cadets had
carried Melvin Gates the night of the accident and Don stopped there,
struck by an idea. He moved up close to the door and listened, being
rewarded by the murmur of voices inside. Although they were pitched in a
low key he was nevertheless able to make out what was being said.
“But you cannot keep that young man a prisoner,” he heard Melvin Gates
say.
“Well, what am I going to do with him?” his son asked impatiently.
“I do not know, Arthur. You think he was prowling around to find that
cup?”
“Oh, of course!” cried the son, wearily. “That cup has cost me more
anxiety than anything I ever had anything to do with in my life!”
“That is entirely your own fault, Arthur. If you had not been so
dishonest all of your life you wouldn’t be in such a fix.”
“Don’t preach to me, father,” snapped the son, angrily.
“It is too bad I didn’t preach to you when you were smaller, instead of
filling your pockets with money that you didn’t have the sense to take
care of. Where is the cup now?”
“I threw it in the closet in my study, at the end of the hall,” was the
answer, which sent a thrill of hope through Don.
There was a rustle inside the room, much as though someone was getting
out of bed. “Tomorrow we’ll dispose of that cup by melting it in the
furnace,” said the elder Gates. “Wait until I get a bathrobe on and
we’ll go up and interview that young man in the billiard room.”
Don waited to hear no more. Arthur Gates had given him the clue he
needed and like a shot he darted off down the hall to the room at the
end. This was the room which tallied with the brief description the man
had given, but Don poked his head carefully in the door before entering,
as he did not wish to walk into anyone’s bedroom.
But it was a small study which lay before him. In the dim light which
flooded in from the hall he could see the outline of a table, an easy
chair and a pile of books on the table. On the other side of the room he
made out a door. He entered the room and made his way to it, finding it
slightly open. At that moment he heard the two Gates leave the room of
the older man and begin to mount the stairs to the third floor.
Don’s groping hands encountered a wooden box on the floor of the closet.
It seemed to be the same size as the one which had been in the garden
that night, and as there was no other object on the floor or on the
single shelf he was sure that he had at last come across the 1933 class
trophy.
“I’ve got the cup at last,” he reflected. “Now, the big job is to get
out of this house!”