The next day was Friday and as the hockey team was to play a hard game on the morrow there was an hour of steady practice on the rink. That kept Roy busy from the time he had finished with his last recitation until it was time to get ready for supper. Chub too spent a busy afternoon engaged in matters pertaining to the base-ball team, and so when they met at supper neither he nor Roy was able to say whether Dick had disappeared that afternoon. At all events he was in plain sight now. Roy turned to Chub.

“See how queer he’s acting,” he whispered. “And he isn’t eating much of anything; I’ve been watching him. Look, he doesn’t even know that his fork is empty!”

It would have been very evident to a much less careful observer than a detective that Dick was absent-minded and preoccupied that evening. Once he laid down his fork and began tracing patterns on the table-cloth with his thumb nail and several times he paused with his glass of milk in mid-air to gaze frowningly into space.

“I’ll bet he’s thinking up some scheme to get that money,” said Chub, after a few moments of amused observation. But Roy shook his head.

“I don’t think it’s that,” he answered. “He wouldn’t have to run away out of sight every day to just think. He’s doing something; you see if he isn’t.”

“Well, he can just go ahead and do it for all I care,” said Chub. “I’m not going to stand around in the snow to-night, I’ll tell you that.”

“Nor I,” replied Roy. “Besides, to-morrow will be the time to play detective. We won’t have anything to do in the morning, Chub, so let’s track him. Even if we don’t find out anything it will make him peeved.”

“I didn’t notice that he got much peeved last night,” observed Chub dryly.

“Never mind; he won’t get away from us in daylight as easily as he did then,” responded Roy. “And whatever he’s up to he will be sure to try and sneak off in the morning. So let’s watch him, eh?”

“All right; Vidocq again takes up the relentless pursuit.”

“What we need,” said Roy, “is a clue. Every detective ought to have a clue.”

“That’s so; supposing we ask him for one? We might tell him that if he doesn’t give us a clue we’ll refuse to pay any more attention to him.”

“I guess he’d feel pretty bad,” laughed Roy.

After supper they went into the study-room and sat where they could watch the front door. Presently Dick came down-stairs and passed out. Roy and Chub looked at each other inquiringly, and Chub got half out of his chair. But Roy shook his head.

“Let him go,” he hissed melodramatically. “Our time will come!”

After breakfast the next morning, which was Saturday and a holiday, Chub and Roy went up to the Junior Dormitory and stationed themselves at the windows overlooking the campus. Chub from his post of observation had a clear view of School Hall and the path to the river, while Roy could see the gymnasium, the Cottage and the path to the village. They had left Dick at the breakfast table, but it was after eight o’clock and he would have to leave the dining-room shortly. If he came up-stairs they would hear him, while if he went out of the building they could not fail to see him. But the minutes passed and nothing happened to vary the monotony.

“Bet you he’s gone into the study-room and is reading,” said Chub disgustedly. “He’s just mean enough to do that!”

“Well, he won’t read very long, I guess,” answered Roy cheerfully. “Dick doesn’t care much for reading.”

Ten minutes passed.

“Anything doing, Sister Ann?” asked Chub boredly.

“Not much. Billy Warren and Pryor are going over to the gym and Sid and Chase are throwing snowballs down here.”

“Oh, well, let’s call it off. It’s a dandy day and I’m not going to waste it up here. Let’s go skating. We’ll get Harry and—”

“S-sh! There he goes!” whispered Roy hoarsely. Chub ran to the other window.

“Don’t let him see us,” he said. “He’s going to the village, I’ll bet. We’ll wait until he gets past the gym and then we’ll scoot down.”

Dick was swinging off along the path with long strides. In a moment he had passed the gymnasium and was making for the gate in the hedge.

“Come on!” cried Chub.

Side by side they raced down-stairs, seized their caps from the rack in the hall and then cautiously opened the door. Dick was out of sight. They hurried after him. At the gate they paused and reconnoitered.

“It’s all right,” said Chub. “He’s just turning into the road toward the Cove. Come on, but keep low.”

So they skulked across the athletic field and reached the road just in time to see Dick pass around the first turn, some three hundred yards away. It is a mile to Silver Cove and for that distance Chub and Roy stalked Dick tirelessly. They had to keep at the side of the road lest he should turn around and see them, and frequently, when the road ran straight for some distance, they were forced to hide in the bushes or behind walls. Luckily, however, there are many twists and turns between Ferry Hill and Silver Cove, and so the detectives’ task was not so difficult. Never once, as far as they could tell, did Dick look back.

“He doesn’t suspect,” said Roy triumphantly.

“No,” chuckled Chub, “little does he reck that the human bloodhounds are hot upon his trail.”

“What’s reck?” asked Roy.

“Don’t you study English?” scoffed Chub.

“Yes, but I never heard of reck. I don’t believe there is such a word.”

“That’s all right, my boy. When we get back I’ll show it to you in a book I was reading the other day. Look out!”

They scuttled hurriedly to the side of the road and subsided in the bushes. Dick had stopped and was standing in the middle of the road looking intently at what appeared to be a roll of paper which he had taken from his pocket.

“Must be a map,” said Roy. “Perhaps he’s lost his way.”

Chub laughed. “Whatever it is, I wish he’d put it away again and go on. There’s a peck of snow down the back of my neck.”

“Oh, little you reck,” said Roy cheerfully.

“You dry up,” growled Chub. “There he goes; come on.”

Dick had thrust the roll of paper back into an inner pocket of his coat and was once more on his way.

Ferry Hill is only a small town and the business portion of it occupies but a few blocks along the main street, which runs to the river and the bridge. Dick turned to the left there, and Roy and Chub hurried after. When they reached the corner they peeked cautiously around just in time to see their quarry enter one of the stores.

“We mustn’t get too near,” said Roy, “or he will see us when he comes out.”

“Let’s go over to the drug store, buy some hot chocolate and watch through the window,” suggested Chub. That seemed a good plan and they followed it. The drug store was almost opposite the shop which Dick had entered and for several minutes the detectives sipped their hot chocolate and watched for him to reappear.

“It’s a stationery store,” said Chub. “Wonder what he wants there.”

“When he comes out,” said Roy, “one of us might go over and find out what he bought. That might give us a clue.”

“Yes, but we’d get separated. He is a dangerous man and we must stick together for mutual protection. I wish he’d hurry up.”

They finished their chocolates and Chub bought ten cents’ worth of lemon drops. They munched those for a while, their eyes fixed on the door of the stationery store. Ten minutes passed. Then Chub grew uneasy.

“He must have come out,” he said.

“He couldn’t have. I’ve been watching every instant.”

“Then there’s a back door and he’s gone out that way!”

“Pshaw! Why would he do that? He didn’t know we were following him.”

“N-no; at least, I didn’t think he knew it. But it looks now as though he did. If he doesn’t come out in five minutes we’ll go over. We can make believe we want some pencils or something.”

“All right,” Roy agreed. They cast anxious glances at the store clock from time to time. Never had five minutes taken so long to pass! But finally:

“Come on,” said Roy. “Time’s up.”

“We’ll ask for some pencils if he’s there,” whispered Chub as they crossed the street. The stationery store was small and as soon as they had closed the door behind them they saw that Dick had vanished. The only occupant was a middle-aged man who was arranging some boxes on one of the shelves back of a counter.

“We’re looking for a fellow who came in here a while ago,” said Roy. “Has he gone?”

“A young fellow about your age?” asked the shopkeeper. “Yes, he’s been gone about twenty minutes. But he said you’d be along asking for him and he left a note. Let me see; where did I put it?”

“A note?” faltered Chub.

“Here it is,” said the man. “I guess that’s for you, isn’t it?”

Roy took it and read the address: “Mr. Thomas Eaton, or Mr. Roy Porter.”

“Y-yes, that’s ours,” he muttered, looking sheepishly at Chub. That youth had thrust his hands in his pockets and was whistling softly. Roy unfolded the sheet of paper, read the message and handed it silently across to Chub. Chub read it, refolded it carelessly and turned toward the door.

“Well, there’s no use waiting,” he said. “By the way, I suppose he went out the back way, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” replied the shopkeeper. “He wanted to know if he could get the Ferry Hill road that way and I told him to keep to the left through the alley, cross the field back of the saw-mill and—”

“I see. Did he get what he wanted here?”

The man chuckled. “Yes, but he said I wasn’t to tell you what it was because it was a sort of a surprise to you boys.”

“Oh, he did, eh?” muttered Chub wrathfully as they went out. “He thinks he’s mighty smart, doesn’t he? Let’s see that note again.”

“You put it in your pocket,” said Roy.

“Oh, yes, here it is:

“It’s all your fault. You might have known that he could see that sweater a mile off.”

“I didn’t think he looked around once,” answered Roy meekly.

“Nor did I. But he did. He knew all the time we were following him. He makes me tired. Let’s go home.”

“What’s the use? Now we’re here let’s bum around a while. It’s only half-past nine.”

Roy’s advice prevailed. After a while their good-humor returned and they found the laughable side of the adventure.

“Dick’s a cute one, all right,” said Chub admiringly.

“He surely is,” said Roy. “It isn’t many fellows could fool Sherlock Holmes and Vidocq at the same time!”

“We’re a nice pair of detectives,” laughed Chub. “But we’ve got to get even with him somehow, Roy, and we’re going to do it.”

“I say, let’s tell Harry about it. She’s got bully ideas—for a girl. Maybe she can suggest something. What do you say?”

“All right. We’ll do it as soon as we get back.”

They had a pretty good time of it until after eleven; went through the stamping works and saw them make tin cans and boxes, walked out on the bridge a way, Roy standing treat for the tolls, and ended up at the saw-mill. And it was at the latter place that they found their first clue.

They were sitting on a pile of new boards, basking lazily in the sunlight and watching the big band-saw eating its way through the logs, when one of the men came by and saw them.

“Hello,” he said, “want to buy anything?”

“No, sir,” answered Roy. “We are just looking. Are we in the way?”

“Not a bit, not a bit. Glad to have you. Only there was a fellow here the other day buying some stuff. He was about your style and I thought maybe you wanted something too.”

“Was he a big fellow with yellow hair?” asked Chub eagerly. “With a gray sweater on?”

“Yes, I think so. Friend of yours?”

“Yes, sir. What was he buying?”

“I don’t remember; some kind of lumber; two or three sticks, I guess.”

The man went on and Roy and Chub fell to speculating eagerly on the meaning of Dick’s purchase.

“What’s he want with lumber?” asked Chub. “He couldn’t lug it back to school with him!”

“Anyway, it’s a clue,” said Roy. “Even if it doesn’t tell us anything. Let’s get home. We’ll find him and make him tell us.”

“He won’t, though,” said Chub.

They trudged back in the noonday sunlight over the snowy road and had almost reached the school when one of the rattle-trap carriages which hover about the Silver Cove station overtook them. They paid no particular attention to it, save to draw to the side of the road out of its way, until the occupant of the rear seat addressed them. Then they looked up to see Dick lolling there at ease and smiling down at them as he rattled by.

“You’d better hurry up,” he called. “It’s almost dinner time.”

“What do you think of that!” gasped Chub as the carriage left them behind.

“He must have plenty of money,” said Roy. “They charge fifty cents to bring you over from the Cove.”

“But he’s been over there all the morning when we thought he was back at school! He—he’s just fooled us right and left! I wish I’d shied a snowball at his silly head!”

“Wait till we get hold of him!” muttered Roy.