Much to his disappointment, Billy Piper was not permitted to see Roy Hooker. At the door Roy’s mother, who was plainly in a deeply distressed and anxious state of mind, told him that the doctor had given orders that Roy was not to be disturbed and had administered a mild opiate to quiet the unfortunate lad, who had grown fearfully excited when questioned concerning the cause of his injury.

“It’s a dreadful thing, Billy Piper,—a dreadful thing!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know why any one should hurt my poor boy like that. Some one must have done it. It was a wicked thing—a wicked, wicked thing! What if he never recovers? What if he is always wrong in his head? He doesn’t seem to remember anything, and maybe he never will.”

“It can’t be as bad as that, Mrs. Hooker,” said Billy, in an effort to cheer her up. “We—I talked with the doctor a short time ago, and he seems to think Roy will come round all right very soon. Don’t you think he fell, or something, and hurt himself that way?”

“How could he fall and hurt his face and the back of his head at the same time? I’m sure some one struck him, and it was a wicked blow. But we’ll find out who it was; such things always come out in time. You know all the boys, Billy Piper. Do you know anything about it? Have you heard anything?”

“Of course not, Mrs. Hooker,” answered Piper, feeling cheap and mean and miserable. “Do you think I wouldn’t tell you if I knew anything?”

“Not unless—— Oh, but of course you weren’t concerned in it. But perhaps you can find out, Billy. Roy says you’re a real wonder at finding out anything you want to know, and we all remember how you and Roy caught one of those bank robbers. Roy gave you all the credit. He said that you tracked the man, and that you even knew all about Fred Sage’s brother being alive before any one else was aware of it. Now, if you can do things like that, why can’t you find out who hurt my boy? The scoundrel who did it should be punished. Won’t you try to find out the truth and tell us about it?” Entreating him thus, she placed her hand on his shoulder, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he refrained from shrinking beneath her touch.

“I’ll do all I can,” he promised in a low tone. “I’m awful sorry this happened, Mrs. Hooker, but, believe me, I can’t really think any one hurt Roy maliciously and with deliberate design. It must have been an accident.”

“If it was that, wouldn’t the person who did it come forward and own up?”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps he’s frightened. Roy has a temper, you know, and maybe he got into a fight with some one who struck him in self-defense.”

“Any boy who would do such a thing, and then keep still about it with his victim in a dangerous condition, is a bad, bad fellow. There are some very bad boys in Oakdale, Billy, and you must know it. Roy has said more than once that you’re a regular detective. Here is something for you to detect—something worth while.”

“I’ve been a chump,” acknowledged Piper, with an unmistakable intonation of self-scorn. “I’ve played that detective game for my own amusement, and made lots of trouble by it. I’m done with it now, Mrs. Hooker, for it’s sneaky, cheap, underhand business. Any one who wants to become a detective may do so for all of me—I never shall.”

“Then you won’t try to find out? You won’t help us any?”

“I’ve promised already to do all I can, and I shall keep my promise, Mrs. Hooker. But I’m sure you’re unnecessarily worried. Roy will be all right to-morrow. Of course he will tell you everything.”

He departed with his head hanging and his feet dragging, a spiritless, downcast chap.

“Another lie,” he muttered. “What will she think of me when she knows? And she’ll find out. She was right, things like this always come out. Well, I see where some fellows in this town will have something to live down, and I’m one of them.”

Springer and Cooper received his report with disappointment.

“You made a fuf-fizzle of it,” said Phil. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Nothing except tell a lie. I led Roy’s mother to believe that I didn’t know a thing about it.”

“You couldn’t do anything else,” said Cooper.

“I could have told the truth, couldn’t I?”

“That would have been peaching; that would have been blowing on us all. You couldn’t do that.”

“If you fellows have got the notion that we’re going to hide and escape through lying and deception, you’d better give it up. We’ll have to shoulder our part of the blame, sooner or later.”

“That’s fine!” sighed Chipper dolefully. “My father hasn’t used the strap on me for some time, but I’m going to pad my trousers in preparation for the coming walloping.”

“I’d like to pup-punch old Shultz!” rasped Springer. “He’s the one that’s to bub-blame for it all.”

“No,” contradicted Piper promptly, “we can’t duck behind any such excuse. If we hadn’t been there it never would have happened, for it takes more than two or three to make up a decent game of poker. We were all doing something on the sly—something that we didn’t wish respectable people to know about, and something we mortally dread to have them find out about.”

“Dread it!” groaned Chipper. “I should say I do!”

“It wasn’t a cuc-crime,” spluttered Springer, in an attempt at justification.

“I don’t know about that,” snapped Billy. “Gambling is illegal, and so it was a crime.”

“Oh, but we wasn’t gug-gambling; we were just playing for fun.”

“And we’re getting a lot of fun out of it, aren’t we? Perhaps you enjoy it!”

At this point Phil’s anger blazed and he raged at Billy, calling him chicken-hearted. Piper refused to listen; shrugging his shoulders, he walked hastily away, heedless of the calls of the two lads, who begged him to come back.

The church bells were sounding the second call and people in their Sunday clothes were passing on their way to services when Piper rang at Mrs. Chester’s door. The maid appeared, and, answering his inquiry, informed him that Ned Osgood had already departed for church.

“He goes every Sunday reg’ler,” she said, with a touch of pride. “The misses calls him ‘a most exempl’ry young man.’ Maybe you’ll see him at the church if you go, too.”

“Thank you,” said Billy, descending the steps.

As soon as possible, he struck off across lots, to avoid the church-goers. “A most exempl’ry young man!” he muttered, with a short laugh. “He’s got her fooled. She doesn’t know what’s been going on in his rooms every Saturday night. I wonder if she’s heard about Roy? Don’t s’pose she’d have an idea anything happened to him in her house if she has heard.”

He next thought of finding Shultz, but, from lack of courage or an aversion for facing the fellow, could not bring himself to look for the prime cause of all the trouble.

Returning home, he found the house deserted, his folks being away to church, and his manner of wandering restlessly about through the empty rooms made him think of the old simile about the caged tiger. It was practically impossible for him to keep still. He wanted to do something, and his tortured conscience bade him do the right thing; but what that was, he could not for the life of him decide. Gradually his restlessness wore away, but still dread, like a bird of evil omen, seemed to hover near.

His parents returned, and, as usually happened when he remained away from church, which, it must be confessed, was often, he was sharply scolded by his father. Mr. Piper was much given to scolding, but only when especially aroused did he attempt to exert genuine parental authority over his son. In fact, Billy, like far too many boys of the present day, was permitted to do practically as he pleased as long as he did not worry his folks by getting into “scrapes.”

The day wore slowly away without further information concerning Hooker until near night, when it was learned that some one had made inquiries about him over the phone, and that his mother had said his condition seemed unchanged.

At dusk Piper met Chipper Cooper at the end of the upper bridge. They looked at each other inquiringly, and, after some moments of silence, Chipper said:

“Well?”

“Well?” returned Billy with precisely the same inflection.

“I’m pretty near sick,” declared Cooper. “I hear Roy is no better. It’s bad, Pipe—bad.”

“Rotten,” agreed Billy, leaning against the railing.

Cooper leaned at his side, and their tongues seemed chained. Beneath the bridge the water gurgled and whispered. In the gathering shadows a robin called plaintively from a treetop some distance away. The village appeared almost as deserted and lonely as the hamlet of Goldsmith’s immortal poem. A heavy weight, like lead, seemed to weigh upon the souls of the two unhappy boys.

After a time Cooper heaved a sigh.

“It’s bad,” he repeated—“bad!”

“Rotten,” said Piper again.