Colonel Gunn was fat, ponderous, and highly dignified. He owned his
military title by virtue of having been an aid on the governor’s staff,
but none the less he was an extremely capable man.
Merry had no inkling of what trouble Randall was mixed up in, for the
orderly had wisely refrained from discussing it. Upon entering the
office of the principal, Chip found Colonel Gunn seated at his desk.
Before him was Randall, white-faced and evidently badly frightened,
while at one side stood the constable from Fardale village.
To judge by the general air of things, the situation was anything but
pleasant for Bob Randall. Merry came to attention.
“Ah, Mr. Merriwell,” exclaimed the colonel, in his ponderous
style, “I sent for you at--ah--Mr. Randall’s request. There is a
considerable--ah--difficulty, and Mr. Randall seems to think that you
can--ah--help matters out. I’m sure I hope so.”
“Yes, sir,” returned Frank, quite in the dark as yet. “I didn’t know
that Randall was in any trouble, sir.”
“I did not intend to convey that--ah--intelligence, Merriwell. I
merely ventured the--ah--statement that there was a difficulty. You
will please note that there is not only a technical, but a moral,
difference--I might say a tremendous difference--between leveling an
accusation of--ah--guilt, or presupposing such a conclusion, and making
a statement of bare and unvarnished fact.”
Merry was tempted to smile, but knew better.
“Yes, sir,” he gravely answered. “I beg your pardon, Colonel Gunn, for
having unintentionally miscomprehended your prior remark. If I may be
allowed a word with Randall, sir, it might serve to----”
“Ah--certainly, certainly!” wheezed the colonel.
Merry turned. Until then, Randall had not dared to break silence,
knowing that the principal was a stickler for discipline. Now he leaned
over the table toward Frank, his face white and tense.
“Chip, I swear that I didn’t do it!” he cried passionately. “I never
dreamed of such a thing!”
“I hope not,” returned Frank, his eyes twinkling. Then, noting the
terrible strain that Randall labored under, he became serious. “What is
it, old man? What kind of trouble are you in?”
“This heah officeh says that I stole a thousand dollahs last night!”
cried out Randall, indicating the constable.
Merry smiled. To any one who knew Bob Randall, the preposterous
absurdity of such a charge was evident. Randall might be a murderer,
but never a thief.
“Why, old man,” said Frank, “surely there’s no evidence for such a
charge? You have plenty of money, for one thing. For another, any one
who knows you must believe you incapable of such a thing.”
“Yo’ sho’ ahe true blue, Chip!” Randall cried eagerly. “Of co’se, no
one would accuse a Randall of theft, except a low-down Yankee----”
Colonel Gunn cleared his throat heavily. His face looked troubled,
and Chip saw that he also found it hard to reconcile the charge with
Randall’s character.
“You--ah--are presupposing a good deal, gentlemen,” he declared
ponderously. “In the first place, allow me to make the assertion
that--ah--no one has accused Mr. Randall of the theft. Is that not
right, constable?”
“Yes, sir,” said the perplexed officer. “I didn’t accuse him, exactly.
I only wanted to know how much he knew.”
“A distinction with a difference,” said the colonel.
Frank made a grimace of despair. If he was going to get to the bottom
of this before time for mess, he would have to wade in.
“Excuse me, sir,” he exclaimed, “but I know nothing of the
circumstances referred to. I don’t see how I can help Randall, but if
you’ll be good enough to explain the nature of the difficulty I’ll be
only too glad to tell anything I know, or to do anything I can to help
out matters.”
“Ah--quite so, quite so, Merriwell!”
Colonel Gunn swung around in his chair, taking a paper from the desk
before him, and proceeded to elucidate.
“Putting up at the Dobbs Hotel in the village, Merriwell, is a
gentleman named--ah--Hostetter, Ezra Hostetter. It is his assertion
that at some time last night, some person or persons unknown
did feloniously gain admittance to his room at the hotel, and
did--ah--remove from beneath his pillow a black leather wallet,
containing--ah--certain papers. The wallet also contained a thousand
dollars in hundred-dollar bills.”
“He must have been pining for adventure, sir, to carry that much around
with him in currency,” observed Frank. The colonel’s mouth twitched
slightly. “But if the thieves are unknown, where does Randall come in?
He was in barracks last night, as would be easy to prove.”
“That is just the--ah--difficulty,” observed the colonel heavily,
fixing his eye on Randall. “According to the inspector’s report, Mr.
Randall and his roommate were asleep at the proper time. But when I
asked Mr. Randall whether he had been to the village last night, he
admitted it. Is not that correct, sir?”
“Of course, Colonel Gunn,” said the Southerner proudly. “There was a
dummy in my bed to fool the inspector. But when you asked, of course, I
would not lie about it, sir.”
“A highly proper--ah--sentiment, Mr. Randall,” said the colonel.
He stopped Merry with uplifted hand. “One moment, sir! Mr. Randall
was seen to enter the hotel in question, and to leave, each time by
the back door, and in a stealthy manner. When I asked him for an
explanation, he--ah--asked that you be sent for.”
Merry looked at the Southerner in astonishment. Randall stood erect, a
dark flush in his cheeks, his eyes desperate. But he had regained his
self-control.
“I was frightened, Chip,” he said quietly. “Of course, you know nothing
about it, only the evidence seemed so terribly circumstantial that you
were the first person I thought of.”
“I’m glad you did think of me, old man,” said Chip, smiling. “But let’s
get this business straightened out. May I ask who observed Randall’s
entry and departure, Colonel Gunn?”
“Mr. Dobbs himself,” stated the colonel, referring to his paper. “But
allow me to--ah--mention that Mr. Randall makes no denial, and no
explanation.”
Frank glanced again at Randall, in perplexity.
“What’s the answer, old man?”
“I received a letter from my cousin, Edward Carson, the son of Colonel
Carson, of Carsonville,” said Randall. “He asked me to meet him at the
hotel on important business. I was unable to get away before taps, so I
left my room by means of a rope, and entered the hotel quietly, hoping
to avoid observation.”
“Ah, Mr. Randall,” wheezed the colonel, “and what, may I inquire,
was the nature of the--ah--important business to which your cousin
referred?”
“I must refuse to answer, sir,” and Randall suddenly went white. “I
give you my word, sir, that it was entirely personal and private. More
than that, I cannot say.”
A little silence ensued. Frank studied Randall, but could find no
trace of guilt in the dark, handsome features. Nor did he believe the
Southerner guilty.
“You know nothing of the theft, of course?”
“Nothing, Chip.”
“I must say, colonel,” exclaimed Frank, turning to the principal, “that
I do not think Randall at all guilty. He could have easily lied out of
the whole thing, and the inspector’s report would have borne him out.
The fact that he refused to do so must surely count in his favor?”
“Most certainly, Merriwell. It has just--ah--occurred to me that if
we could locate this Carson, we might thus exonerate Mr. Randall
completely. Such a consummation would be--ah--highly pleasing to me.”
“He ain’t at the village,” spoke up the constable. “Mr. Hostetter was
lookin’ fer him, sir.”
“Hostetter knew him, then?” inquired Chip quickly.
“They was friends,” replied the constable. Frank turned.
“Carson was at Randall’s room just before I left, Colonel Gunn. He
departed across the campus, and he might be easily located, I think.”
“Ah--by all means!”
The principal hastily summoned his orderly and ordered a dozen cadets
dispatched in search of Carson, who could be easily recognized by means
of his black eye and patch. Randall was looking at the floor, a tumult
of emotions in his face.
How much Merry knew of the attempt to drug him, he could not guess. Yet
Frank was doing his best to help him out of his scrape. The Southerner
was smitten with remorse and self-condemnation, but dared say nothing.
“We’ll clear you, old man,” said Merry warmly. “This might be a plot
to ruin your character--and knowing Carson, as I do, I would not put it
past him.”
He briefly recounted to Colonel Gunn his late experiences at
Carsonville. The principal, however, did not agree that there could be
any plot against Randall, and Frank himself had only suggested it as a
forlorn hope.
“Your anxiety for your friend--ah--does you honor, Merriwell. Yet I
would point out that until Mr. Dobbs volunteered his--ah--information,
Mr. Randall was not thought of in connection with the unfortunate
matter.”
Poor Randall was miserable enough, and looked it. He could not doubt
Frank’s sincerity in helping him, and his conscience smote him. He
wondered whether Merry had drank that glass of water, but Frank gave no
signs of being drugged.
Going over the facts once more, Merriwell was forced to admit that
things looked black for Randall. If he should be arrested and brought
before a jury, there was little doubt but that he would be convicted on
circumstantial evidence. And yet it was incredible that he should have
stolen the money!
One by one the searchers brought back word that there was no sign
of Carson anywhere about the grounds, and on telephoning the hotel,
Colonel Gunn found that he had not returned. Randall’s entire hopes of
vindication rested upon his cousin.
“I’m sure the constable will be willing that Randall should remain here
in your care, colonel,” suggested Merry. “Carson is sure to turn up at
the game, and he can be brought over at once to clear Randall.”
“Good!” cried the colonel, the constable nodding assent. “And to
express my--ah--belief and confidence in Mr. Randall, he shall sit in
my box during the game!”
Randall tried to thank Merry with his eyes, as the bugles rang out for
mess, but Frank departed with an uneasy feeling that something was
certainly weighing on the Southerner’s mind. Could he be guilty by any
chance?