CLUES!
"The confidence-man?" asked Steve incredulously. "Oh, you run away and
play, Tom! What would he be doing here? Don't be a silly goat!"
"Well, I suppose it isn't he, but--but he certainly looked just like
him."
"Pshaw, I saw him too, didn't I? Well, that chap doesn't look anything
like him."
"Then you didn't look at the fellow I meant," returned Tom doggedly.
"I--I believe it was he, Steve!"
"Oh, sure," said Steve sarcastically, "and the fellow behind him is a
famous second-story burglar and the man with the flannel trousers on,
who looks like a teacher, is a popular murderer. He escaped from Sing
Sing this morning. And the little man with the grey moustache----"
"That's all right," replied Tom earnestly, "but you'll find I'm right.
It--it was he, I tell you! There couldn't be two people as much alike!"
"You'd better follow him then," laughed Steve, "and ask him for my
suit-case. Tell him I want my pajamas, will you?"
But Tom refused to treat the matter so lightly. He was evidently quite
convinced that he was really on the trail of the thief, and all Steve's
ridicule failed to move him from that conviction. He was too anxious to
begin the search for the "confidence-man" to do justice to the rest of
his supper, and when, at last, they were once more outside the building
he gazed up and down the Row eagerly and was disappointed to find that
neither his quarry nor anyone else was visible in the half-darkness. As
they passed Torrence Hall, however, an open window on the first floor
sent a flood of light across the walk, and Tom, crossing the narrow
strip of turf that divided building from pavement, raised himself on his
tiptoes and looked into the room. The next instant a face appeared with
disconcerting suddenness within a foot of his own and the occupant of
the room, who had been reclining on the window-seat, enquiring abruptly:
"Well, fresh, what do you want?"
"N-Nothing, thanks," stammered Tom, withdrawing quickly.
"Keep your head out of my window then," was the indignant response, "or
I'll come out there and teach you manners!"
Tom hurried away into the friendly darkness and joined Steve, who was
chuckling audibly.
"Did you find him, Tom?"
"No." And then, as Steve continued to be amused, Tom said with spirit;
"I should think you'd be enough interested to help a fellow instead of
giggling like a silly goat!"
"Oh, I'm not a Sherlock Holmes," replied Steve airily. "Detecting isn't
in my line."
"I should think you'd want to get your bag back, though. I tell you that
was really the fellow, Steve. Don't you believe me?"
"Oh, yes!"
"You don't, though," said Tom bitterly. "All right, then. You find your
own bag. I'm through."
"Oh, don't say that!" begged Steve. "You were doing so nicely. Look,
there's a lighted window up there, Tom. If you get a ladder now----"
"Aw, cut it!" growled Tom.
Mr. Daley was in when they rapped at the door of Number 8, on the first
floor of Billings, and, accepting his invitation to enter, they found
themselves in a very cosy, lamp-lighted, nicely furnished study, from
which a smaller room, evidently a bedroom, opened. Mr. Horace Daley was
a young man with an embarrassed manner and a desire to appear quite at
ease. He shook hands heartily, stumbled through a few words of welcome
and arranged chairs for them. He asked a good many questions, invariably
remarking "Fine!" with deep enthusiasm after every answer and smiled
jovially at all times. But the boys saw that he was much more
embarrassed than they were and were secretly pleased and amused. When at
last the instructor had finished the usual questions and was searching
around in his mind for more, Steve began asking for information.
Breakfast, responded Mr. Daley, was at seven-thirty and ran half an
hour. Chapel was at eight-fifteen usually, although there would be none
to-morrow, as school did not officially begin until noon. The first
recitation hour was nine o'clock. Dinner ran from twelve-thirty to
one-thirty. Recitations began again at two and lasted until half-past
three. Supper was at six. Between seven and eight the students were
required to remain in their rooms and study, although on permission of
the House Master one could study in the library instead. All lights were
supposed to be out at ten-thirty. And Mr. Daley hoped the boys would
get on swimmingly and become very fond of Brimfield.
"I--ah--I want you to feel that I am ready and anxious to help you at
any time, fellows. I--ah--want you to look on me as--ah--as a big
brother and come to me in your--ah--perplexities and troubles, should
you have any, and of course there are bound to be--ah--little worries at
first. One has to accustom oneself to any--ah--new environment. Don't
hesitate to call on me for advice or assistance. Sometimes an older
head--ah--you see what I mean?"
Steve replied that they did and thanked him and, with Tom crowding at
his heels, withdrew.
"He's a funny dub," confided Steve, as they made their way up to the
next floor. "Guess he must be new here. What does he teach, Tom?"
"Modern languages, I think the catalogue said. His first name is
Horace."
"Horace!" Steve chuckled. "It ought to be Percy. Hello, they've fixed
the beds up."
The room looked far more habitable when Steve had switched the light on.
Tom sighed luxuriously as he stretched himself out on one of the beds.
"Bet you I'm going to do a tall line of sleeping to-night, Steve," he
said. "This bed isn't half bad, either."
"Well, don't put your feet all over the spread," replied Steve. "Get up
out of that and unpack your bag, you lazy duffer."
"I will in a minute. I'm tired. Say, what do you think of this place,
anyway, Steve?"
"The school? Oh, I guess it'll do. You can't tell much about it yet, I
suppose. I'm going to snoop around to-morrow after breakfast and see the
sights. I suppose things will be a lot different when the crowd comes. I
guess we're the only fellows in this dormitory to-night."
"Scared?" asked Tom, with a grin. "Remember Horace is downstairs to
protect you."
"Huh! Bet you he'd crawl under the bed if he saw a burglar! I wonder if
the rest of the faculty is like him."
"Oh, I dare say he's all right when you get to know him," said Tom, with
a yawn. "Say, pull down that window, Steve. It's getting chilly in
here."
"Get up and move around and you won't feel chilly," replied Steve
unsympathetically. "Gee, I wish I had my pajamas and things."
"You might have had them by this time if you'd helped me look for that
fellow," said Tom. "I'm just as certain as I am that I'm lying here
that the fellow we saw in the dining-hall was the fellow who swiped your
suit-case!"
"Oh, forget that," said Steve disgustedly. "Common-sense ought to tell
you that a sneak thief you saw in New York wouldn't be having his supper
here at Brimfield!"
"He was, though," replied the other stubbornly.
"Oh, run away! Don't you suppose there are two people who look alike in
this world?"
"Not as much alike as those two."
"Why, you didn't even get a good look at the fellow in the dining-hall.
He had his back turned to you."
"Not when I saw him first, he didn't," answered Tom with a vigorous
shake of his head. "I saw his face before he turned at the doorway and
_it was him_!"
"You mean it was he, you ignoramus. All right, Tom, have your own way
about it. Only someone ought to warn the principal about him. Why, he
might run off with a couple of the buildings some night!"
"Enjoy yourself," murmured Tom. "But you'll find I was right some day,
you old pig-headed chump!"
"When I do I--I'll make you a present," answered Steve, with a grin.
"Any present you'd give me wouldn't cut much figure, I guess," said the
boy on the bed contemptuously.
"Is that so? Say, what'll I do with this bag?" Steve laid the suit-case
in question on his bed and threw open the lid. "The pajamas look clean,
anyway," he continued as he viewed them. "I suppose I'll have to wear
them." He drew the cap out and set it on his head. "Wonder what the B
stands for, Tom."
"What bee?" asked Tom lazily.
"The B on this cap," replied the other, studying it.
Tom suddenly sat up on the bed. "Why, Brimfield, of course!" he
exclaimed in triumph. "There now! Was I right or wasn't I?"
"Shucks! It might stand for anything: Brown, Brooklyn, beans,
brownbread, basketball----"
"Yes, and Brimfield! And aren't the Brimfield colours maroon-and-grey,
and isn't that cap grey, and isn't that B maroon?"
"It's red."
"So is maroon, a brownish-red." Tom had deserted his bed and was turning
the cap about eagerly. "This belongs to some fellow here who has won
his letter, Steve," he said with deep conviction.
"Some fellow who has _lost_ his letter, you mean," replied Steve with a
laugh. "All right; it will save me from buying a cap when I make the
football team. How does it look on me?"
"It's too big," said Tom. "It's about a seven, I guess. That's what that
fellow would wear, I think." Tom frowned thoughtfully. "Are there any
more clues?" he asked, dropping the cap and seizing the pajamas
excitedly.
"Sure! There are brushes in the case and they mean that the fellow has
hair on his head, Tom. So there's no use looking for a bald-headed man,
eh? That's what they call 'the process of elimination,' isn't it? Say,
what are you trying to do with those things? Ruin them? Please remember
that I've got to wear them to-night."
"Looking for laundry marks," replied Tom. "But there aren't any. I guess
they're new ones." He dropped the pajamas regretfully and turned his
attention to the other objects in the bag. "A magazine," he muttered.
"'Fine'!--as Horace would say. The man can read. Therefore he is not
blind. Elimination again! At this rate we'll know all about him in a
minute, Tom. Gee, but you're a wise guy. Have a look at the collar and
tell me the fellow's name. Go on!"
"It begins with an M, anyway," muttered Tom, studying the object in
question.
"Ha!" exclaimed Steve melodramatically. "The net is closing! He has hair
on his head, is not blind, wears purple pajamas and spells his name with
an M! The rest is easy, Tom. Put your hat on and we'll go out and get
him."
"Oh, shut up, you silly goat!" Tom had the magazine in his hands again
and was glancing through it. Suddenly, with an exclamation, he thrust it
into Steve's hands. "There! Hold it up and let it fall open itself,
Steve!"
"All right. What about it?"
"Look where it opened!"
"Page 64."
"Yes, but what's there?"
"'Men Who Have Made Football History, by----'"
"There you are! Don't you see! That's what he was reading. He's a
football man and that B is his football letter!"
"Oh! But, say, Tom, you're forgetting that this suit-case is supposed to
have been stolen from someone else. Then what?"
"We don't know that it was. We just thought so. It looks now as if it
really belonged to the fellow."
"And he went and swapped it for mine? What would he do that for?"
"Maybe he thought yours might have something valuable in it," faltered
Tom. "Maybe--say, Steve, perhaps he got yours by mistake!"
"Sure!" replied the other sarcastically. "Reached down and dragged it
from under your feet, thinking all the while it was his. Sounds very
probable--I don't think!"
"Well, you can see for yourself----"
"What was that?" interrupted Steve.
"What was what?"
"I thought I heard a knock at the door." They listened. It sounded
again. Steve hustled the things back into the bag and slammed the lid
shut in a twinkling. Then, "Come in!" he called.
The door opened and a tall youth stepped inside. He carried a suit-case
in one hand. Tom gasped. It was the "confidence-man"!