Jim turned the card over. It was addressed to "Merton Morrell, 95
Orchard Street, Rockwood, N. Y."
"The colonel's brother," said Don, and Jim nodded.
"That is an important clue," said his brother.
"Yes," returned Don. "Do you know of a man named Morton Dennings?" he
asked the agent.
"Yes, I know him by sight. He's a wealthy man who has a summer home
here, out at the end of the town, on Blackberry Lane. But you won't find
him now, 'cause he's gone back to New York City. The house is closed
up."
"How do we get to the house?" asked Jim.
The agent turned in his chair and pointed down the dusty road. "Take
that road as far as the crossroads and you'll see Blackberry Lane. The
house is down there; you can't miss it."
"Thanks," said Don. "It was a good thing you forgot to mail this postal,
sir. Up to the present time there hasn't been a single clue, but this
will perhaps mean much."
"Say, listen bub," called the stationmaster, hesitatingly.
"If--if--well, in case----"
"I understand what you mean," said Don, looking closely at the bowed old
man in a new light. "Yes, there is a large reward out for the finding of
Colonel Morrell, and I promise you that if anything comes of this clue
you shall surely profit by it. Now we're going down the road and take a
look at that house Dennings lived in. My name is Mercer, and this is my
brother. If you should hear that Colonel Morrell has been found from any
clue you may have furnished you can write to us at Woodcrest and we'll
gladly see to it that you are fairly rewarded. Thanks for your
information and the card. So long."
Jim and Don left the station platform and the old man looked after them
in some doubt.
"I wonder if I was a fool to give that card to those boys?" he pondered.
"They look honest, but you can't be too sure of anybody these days. I
hope they find their colonel."
He returned to alternately dreaming and shaking his head.
_13. Vench Is Astonished_
Jim and Don hurried down the road in the direction which the old man had
indicated. They knew that haste was necessary for the sun was sinking
rapidly and they were a long way from home.
"We'll have to ride back somehow," said Don, as they talked it over. "If
we don't the others will think that we were lost in the woods and will
be anxious about us."
"That's true," agreed Jim. "But this is an important clue."
"Thanks to the station agent, yes. I was lucky to get the card away from
him when I did, for I could see that he regretted it as soon as he had
let it go. You can't blame him. It came into his head that he could turn
it over to the authorities and make something out of it when the colonel
was found. I suppose he's been working hard all his life and a little
wealth would mean a new world to him."
"Sure," Jim nodded. "Well, if we learn anything important we'll see to
it that he gets what is coming to him. I'd like to see him get it."
They came to the crossroads and found Blackberry Lane, a rutted road
that ran back to the thick woods and came to an abrupt end there. A
short way down the road they could see two old country estates, one of
which was open and the other closed. They passed the first and walked
into the yard of the deserted place. It was a large mansion in rather
bad repair, with sagging porches and boarded-up windows. Weeds grew in
the front and bushes in the back. They tried to see something from the
front porch but failed, and they made their way around to the back. Here
everything was boarded up.
"There is certainly no one in the place now," observed Jim. "Mr. Morton
Dennings may be a wealthy man, but he isn't particular to show it up
here."
"Somebody coming," said Don, jerking his head toward the house next
door.
A man was coming across the grass toward them, looking them over as he
came. He seemed to be of the type between a retired businessman and a
small farm owner, and the boys felt no alarm at his coming. He hastened
up to them and spoke briskly.
"Well, boys," he said, "are you looking for anyone? No one lives here
now."
"Is this the summer home of Mr. Dennings?" asked Don.
"Yes. He hasn't been here since last September or early October. Do you
boys know Mr. Dennings?"
"Not directly," said Don. "He is a friend of Colonel Morrell, who is our
headmaster at Woodcrest School, and we were just looking the place over.
You say that Mr. Dennings left here early in October?"
"Yes," nodded the man. "You come from Woodcrest School, eh? Seems to me
I read in the paper that your headmaster had disappeared."
"He has," said Don. "We knew that Colonel Morrell was a friend of Mr.
Dennings and we wanted to look at his house."
"Mr. Dennings left here rather unexpectedly," supplied the man. "One
early morning in October, around the fourth or fifth, I believe, my wife
and I heard a car drive out of the yard here and when we got up in the
morning the place was empty. He came back later in the day and asked me
to keep an eye on the place for him until next summer. No one has been
near the place since."
"I see," said Don. "Well, we're much obliged to you, sir. We'll have to
be running along now. I might explain that we were out on a paper chase
and lost our trail near here."
When they had left the man and were near the station Jim said, "I think
something of importance will come from what he told us. As far as we
know the colonel went there and then this Dennings left early in the
morning, probably with the colonel. I hope we won't find any evidences
of foul play."
"I sincerely hope not," replied Don. "I didn't want to say much before
the man, because I didn't know just how friendly he really was. Now,
Jim, we'll have to see to getting back to the school."
It was dark and they went to the station, to learn that a train was due
in a few minutes. Between them they had just enough to get them to
Portville, and when the two-car train puffed in they piled gratefully
aboard. When they arrived at Portville they were fortunate enough to get
a ride to the school, and upon arriving at the campus they found the
cadets all assembled around a bonfire. At sight of them the students set
up a cry and Terry fairly threw himself upon them.
"Gosh, I thought you two were surely lost," greeted the red-headed one,
in relief.
"Well, we did lose our trail," explained Don, as they walked up to the
fire. "Who won?"
"It was a draw," Rhodes answered. "We were lucky enough to split this
year. An equal number of hounds captured an equal number of hares and
brought them in. For awhile we hoped you had been successful, but when
Powers and Cranmer came in we knew that you had been left behind. You've
got just time enough to prepare for supper. Let's go, and we'll have a
real bonfire after supper."
Later in the evening Don and Jim related to Terry and Rhodes the events
of the afternoon. They were tremendously interested and impressed.
"That looks like something at last," cried Terry, hopefully.
"Do you advise turning everything over to the major?" asked Don, of the
senior.
"I don't know," answered Rhodes, slowly. "I suppose we ought to, for we
can't very well do anything ourselves. And if we are found out--I mean
if Major Tireson or the authorities ever hear that we have important
clues and have withheld them, they won't think very highly of us. Still
and all I feel that you ought to wait at least for a few days and see if
anything comes up, and if it doesn't I'd turn in the material
collected."
"The idea, as I see it," put in Jim, "is that we don't know who this
Dennings is, and we're not likely to find out. But the proper
authorities can find out and we'll be simply wasting time by holding
back."
"Look here," interposed Terry. "Colonel Morrell's brother evidently
knows who Morton Dennings is. Why not write to him and find out who he
is?"
"If you do that," Rhodes objected, "you must first go and tell Major
Tireson all about it, for he'll find out that we knew something and
didn't tell him. I really don't know what is the best plan. Suppose we
think it over and we'll discuss it in a day or so."
Don was not very well satisfied at the prospect of waiting, but he
agreed to let things go for the time being.
On the following afternoon Vench, Don and Jim walked down to town
together. Terry was wrestling in the gym with Chipps, and the three
boys, having nothing better to do, and wishing to buy a few things,
gained the necessary permission and set out. After making their
purchases Don led the way to a local drugstore.
"Pretty cold for ice cream," he grinned. "You boys want a coke instead?"
"I can always eat ice cream," smiled Vench, his white teeth flashing out
in his dark face.
"Me too," nodded Jim, and they went into the store.
They sat down and Don gave their order to the man in charge. Then the
boys looked around. A few men lounged at the counter; the only other
customers were a pair who sat off in a corner. Don and Jim looked at
them fleetingly, but Vench uttered a smothered cry and a look of
pleasure passed over his face.
"Why, I know one of those fellows," he exclaimed. "You see the short
man, with the little black mustache? That is Paul Morro, a painter whom
I met in Paris. We went to the same school of art, and many times I went
to see his quaint attic where he did his painting. I wonder what he is
doing here?"
The two at the far table had been engrossed in conversation and had not
seen the boys come in, nor had they looked up. One of them was stout and
short and the other as Vench had described him. The friends ate their
ice cream, and when Vench had finished he pushed back his chair.
"I think I'll just step over and say hello to Morro," he said. "He'll be
tickled to death to see me, I know. If I get the chance I'll bring him
over and introduce him to you. Pardon me, boys, for a minute."
"Surely," replied Jim and Don.
Mr. Vench arose from his chair and made his way to the table occupied by
the two Frenchmen. They did not look up as he approached and he leaned
down and touched the one named Morro on the shoulder, smiling in
anticipation. Paul Morro looked up with a quick start into Vench's face.
There was not the slightest doubt that he recognized Vench, but no smile
of welcome or pleasure showed. He stared for a long minute and then
looked pointedly at his companion. The latter nodded and got up briskly,
followed by Morro. Nothing was said to Vench, and in his bewilderment
the little cadet spoke.
"Hold on, Morro. Don't you remember me? I'm Vench, that went to school
with you. Surely you remember me?"
Morro answered him not a word, but turning on his heel walked away, the
other man close beside him. Cadet Vench stared at them in mingled
astonishment and anger.
"Well," exclaimed Jim, in a low voice. "His friend may be tickled to
death to see him, but he doesn't show it!"
For a moment Vench remained rooted to the spot and then he strode to
their table.
"What in the world do you make of that?" he gasped, white with rage. "I
was one of the best friends that fellow had in Paris. He said he'd never
forget me as long as he lived."
"He didn't forget you," said Don. "He didn't want to know you. There is
something strange about his being here. Let's see which way they went."
The three boys hurried out of the store and looked up and down the
street. No one was in sight and they walked to the corner and looked in
that direction. The two men had disappeared.
"I agree with you that there is something strange about his being here,"
commented Vench on the way back. "And it must be something highly
important to make Paul Morro pass me up like that. I think we'd do well
to keep our eyes open from now on."
_14. The Postscript_
Don had considered making a change in one of his subjects for some time,
and at last he decided to go and see the major about it. He waited until
one morning when the cadets were marching off to their classes and
finding a minute or two before studies began he went to the office. The
day was cold and gray and there was a promise of snow in the air.
The major was not in when Don entered the office and he knew that he
would not be able to wait long. The major's desk was open and a number
of papers were scattered around, and Don wandered over to the rail
beside the headmaster's desk to wait. He glanced down casually at the
papers on the desk, noting that most of them had to do with school
subjects. There was a letter there, unsealed, and in its envelope.
Without thinking much about it Don looked at the name on the outside.
Then he stiffened and looked closely at it.
The letter was addressed to Mr. Morton Dennings. There was no address
number or town on it.
Naturally Don was interested. Morton Dennings was the last man,
apparently, who had seen Colonel Morrell and it seemed strange that the
major knew him and was writing to him. Don would have been glad to read
the letter, but he had no intention of even touching it. The thought
came to him that it would be wise to find out what the major knew of
Dennings before turning over the evidence gathered on their recent trip
to Spotville Point.
On the previous evening Rhodes had told them that Major Tireson was
going away on a brief business trip. They had decided to wait for his
return before giving him the postcard and telling him of Morton
Dennings, and they had also decided to break into Clanhammer Hall that
very night. As Rhodes put it, "We had to put off our first attempt
because of the fire, but I see no reason why we should wait any longer.
We'll just give the major time enough to get away, and then we'll take a
quiet snoop through that old building. I think it's time we found out
what's going on in there."
So they had agreed to make the secret excursion that night, and all of
them were looking forward to it. Don wondered what the result would be,
and what bearing the major's letter to Morton Dennings would have on
following events.
It was then that he realized the major was standing at a side door
watching him.
How long the major had been there he did not know. He had been so
absorbed in his reflections as he looked at the name on the letter that
he had not heard the man come in. The major bent one long sharp look
upon him, and Don straightened and saluted. The major returned the
salute and came forward.
"Well, Mercer, what is it?" the major asked, his tone a trifle sharp.
Don explained about the change which he wished made in his lesson and
the major granted his permission. The bell rang and Don knew that he
would be late for his class. As he turned to leave the office the major
was standing at his desk, the letter in his hand. When Don reached the
door the man called to him.
"One moment, Mr. Mercer."
Don returned to the desk and looked questioningly at his superior. The
major was apparently in deep thought and looked once at the letter. Then
he sat down, and keeping the pages well screened behind a book, took the
sheets and read them over. Picking up a pen, he wrote something at the
end of the letter, refolded it and sealed the envelope.
"Do you know the country hereabouts very well, Mercer?" asked Tireson.
"I don't think so, sir," replied Don. "Only in a general way."
"Do you know any of it across the lake?" the major pressed.
"I have been over there once or twice," Don answered.
The major walked to a window and pointed across the lake. "Have you ever
seen an old farmhouse off there in the woods?" he asked.
Don hesitated. He was not sure whether the major was pumping him or not.
But feeling that the truth would be the best course he nodded.
"Yes, sir, I have seen the place. I think it is the only farm on that
side of the lake."
"That's the place," affirmed the major. "I wish you would do me a great
favor, Mr. Mercer. I have had word that a friend of mine will be at that
house today, and I want you to deliver a letter to him. I will excuse
you from classes this morning and I would appreciate it if you would
take this letter over there at once and wait for an answer."
"Certainly, sir," said Don, wondering at the strangeness of the request.
"Very well," the major said, handing him the letter. "You may go at
once. Remember, wait for an answer, and I would also appreciate it if
you would not tell anyone that you are doing this for me."
"I'll do that, Major Tireson," promised Don.
"Thank you. You may go now, Mercer. Take a boat and cross the lake."
Don returned to his room, got his hat and gray overcoat and went down to
the boathouse. He saw no one on the way, for all the cadets were in
class. The man who was in charge of the boats was not in the boathouse
when he arrived there, so Don opened the doors and rolled out a
flat-bottomed rowboat and pushed it into the water. When he had closed
the doors he got in, and pushing off from the shore sat down at the oars
and began to pull for the opposite shore.
The day was bitter cold and he was glad that he had on his overcoat. A
gray darkness lay over the entire sky and a faint wind swept over the
lake.
"Bet we'll have snow before the day is over," Don thought as he bent to
the oars.
He speculated as he rowed across the lake, but he could make nothing out
of the strange situation. The major had evidently decided on the spur of
the moment to send him with the letter, but it was evident that he had
been about to send someone with it, and whoever was to go was not to
tell that they had been. The whole affair had an unusual look that Don
did not like, and the fact that the letter was going to Dennings was
another step in a case that puzzled him greatly. If Dennings himself was
to be at the old farmhouse Don would get a good look at him, a thing
which might come in handy later on. Although he was not sure that
everything was as it should be, he was nevertheless glad that the major
had picked him out to deliver the message. If he could definitely find
out where Dennings was he could add greatly to their store of
information.
He decided, as he beached the boat on the opposite shore, that as soon
as he returned to school he would inform the authorities and the
colonel's brother of all the facts discovered. By holding on to the card
and what little information they had they were delaying justice and the
finding of the colonel, and there was no use in keeping things to
themselves any longer. He was glad that they had not taken the major
into their confidence, however. He did not like the look of things. It
would be safer to carry their plans out without consulting the temporary
headmaster.
He pulled the boat far up on the shore, hid the oars so that no chance
wanderer could make off with them, and then turned into the woods. He
had seen the farmhouse twice, once when they had seen the sunlight
message from Clanhammer Hall and a second time when they had tramped
through the woods. They had not gone up to it on that last visit, and
from the outside it had appeared to be empty. He was sure of the
direction and walked confidently on, enjoying the brisk walk in the
keen, cold air.
When he arrived in sight of it he found that it once more appeared to be
devoid of any kind of life. There was no smoke rising from any chimney
and the doors and windows were closed and barred. He went up onto the
back porch and peered through a near-by window, but an empty kitchen met
his view. He knocked and waited, but there was no reply, so he walked
around to the front door and tried the same thing, without result. No
one was in the house, or if they were they had no intention of allowing
him to enter. Disappointed, he walked around to the back again and
paused to consider.
The major had expected someone to be at the place. Perhaps it was still
too early, and although Don did not relish the thought of walking around
in the cold and waiting, he felt that he should make a reasonable
attempt to find someone. Realizing that it would not do to stand around
in the cold he was considering the possibility of making a tour of the
surrounding woods, when the sound of an approaching automobile attracted
his attention.
It appeared in the distance and lurched in the rutted road, until it was
driven into the yard beside him. The man at the wheel, the same tall
individual in the black coat and cap, looked searchingly at him. He was
a man past forty-five, with a weather-beaten face and piercing gray
eyes. He looked keenly at Don and his uniform as he stopped the car.
"What are you doing here, son?" he asked.
"I have a letter for you, from Major Tireson," Don answered. "Are you
Mr. Dennings?"
"Yes," nodded the man and swung out of the car. He closed the door with
a slam and took the letter.
"Major Tireson told me to wait for an answer," said Don, as the man
hesitated.
"All right," Dennings answered, leading the way toward the house. "Let's
get inside. We won't get much done by standing out here."
He produced a key from his pocket and opened the back door, allowing Don
to enter first. Once in the kitchen he locked the door, tore open the
letter and began to read. Don stood a few feet from him, waiting. The
second page of the letter, loosely held in the man's hand, slipped from
him and fell to the floor, right at Don's feet. As the man did not move
Don stooped and picked it up.
As he did so he glanced at it. His eyes fell upon the postscript which
the major had written and his blood leaped. The message was brief but
pointed. The postscript read as follows:
"P.S. This boy knows too much. Keep him a prisoner until you hear
further from me.