  That night Don settled himself in his chair to study. Jim was across the room intent on history and Terry was visiting down the hall. The redheaded boy was unusually bright in his studies; he was going through Woodcrest on a scholarship which he had won, and he seemed to get along with very little study. So he was able to do a little visiting, while the others found that they must bury themselves in their books. Don and Jim studied for some time and then Don felt that he had his lesson clearly in his mind. He glanced around the room and his eyes fell on some back numbers of the Bombardment, copies of which had helped in the search for the trophies. This copy at which he was looking was dated 1933, and Don idly looked through it, scanning the school and athletic notes of the period. Presently a particular notice attracted his attention. It was an item in the school notes department, and read as follows: “John Mulford, our efficient and pleasant janitor for the past six years, left us quite unexpectedly this past week. We were unable to learn just why he left us. For the next few days the students will do well to thank their lucky stars that it is the spring and not the winter of the year.” Don passed the notice off lightly, wondering what it was that interested him in it at all. His eyes swept up the column and something else drew his attention. It was also a brief paragraph, but it started an idea in his mind. “There has been a let-down to the social activities of the senior class since the regrettable affair of the Gates Scholarship Cup, but we hope that such a condition of affairs will soon mend.” His eyes narrowed slowly. Carefully he read the first note and then the second and tried to construct a picture in his mind. He placed the magazine back on the table and sat back in his chair, his eyes half closed. Jim looked up from his book. “Better go to bed, instead of falling asleep there, kid,” he advised. “I’m not falling asleep, Jim,” Don answered. “Listen here, I’ve got something on my mind, and I want your advice.” For some time he talked to Jim, who forgot his lessons in his interest. At last Jim slowly nodded his head. “It sounds good to me. Are you going to tell the colonel in the morning?” “Yes, the first chance that I get.” Just before his first class the next morning Don found Colonel Morrell in his study. The colonel motioned him to a seat. “What is on your mind this morning, Don?” asked the headmaster. “I was reading one of the back numbers of the Bombardment last night,” Don replied. “And in it the distressing affair of the Gates Cup was mentioned. Right underneath it was mentioned the fact that a janitor by the name of John Mulford disappeared, or rather left the school for some unknown reason. Wasn’t he suspected?” “Yes, he was,” returned the colonel, promptly. “In fact, I had him watched, but he didn’t take a thing out with him.” “I see. Could it have been possible that he came back and got something later on?” “Possible, but I don’t think so. No, I’m pretty sure that he didn’t have anything to do with it, in spite of his oddly abrupt leaving.” “My thought is that Mr. Long was never guilty, Colonel Morrell,” Don went on. “I feel that something strange was connected with that whole case, and that your former captain suffered a grave injustice. I wonder if you’d allow me to do something?” “What do you want to do, Mercer?” “Do you know where this former janitor went?” Don asked. “When he left here he went to live in Ashland, a small manufacturing town seventy miles east of here. I had to write to him once to send him some money due him, so I know that much. But whether or not he lives there now I don’t know, of course.” “I see. Can you find that address and will you allow me to go to Ashland and talk to this man Mulford?” For a brief instant the colonel studied Don’s earnest face and then he nodded shortly. “Yes, I can do all of that,” he said. “You will want to go on a Saturday afternoon, won’t you?” “Yes, sir. You have faith in my idea, colonel?” “Not as much faith in your idea as I have in you,” returned the colonel. “I know what you are capable of. I too have never believed Long guilty, and I’d like to see him cleared.” “Thank you,” said Don, as he left the room. “I’ll go next Saturday, Colonel Morrell.” Nothing more was said on the subject until the following Saturday morning, at which time the colonel gave Don a slip of paper with the name of a street in Ashland on it. While the other cadets were out on the field waiting for a football game to begin Don left the school and boarded a train for Ashland. “I don’t know that this isn’t a wild goose chase for fair,” he reflected, as the swift train bore him across the country. “But I’m willing to make an attempt to find out what happened to that cup.” It was late in the afternoon when he reached the manufacturing city, and after some inquiries he located the street on which the former janitor had lived. Don finally found the house, a narrow affair of red brick, sandwiched in between high rows on either side. He rang the bell and at last it was answered by a tall, thin girl. “Does Mr. Mulford live here?” Don asked, raising his hat. He was not dressed in his uniform, as that would have attracted too much attention, but was clad in a plain everyday dress suit. “Yes, he does,” was the gratifying answer. That was all the girl said, and she seemed to be waiting for something else. “Can he come to the door?” Don went on, seeing that she did not intend to say anything more. “No, he can’t. He ain’t walked for seven years,” was the startling answer. “He’s crippled!” “Oh,” exclaimed Don. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Then I suppose I can’t see him?” “Sure you can, if you’ll come upstairs,” the girl said. “On business, is it?” “Yes,” answered Don. The girl led the way up a flight of dark stairs into a small room which was hot and in which a variety of cooking odors hung in the air. An old man was sitting in a wheel chair near a window, looking out into the gathering darkness of the street below. He had a pale face and white hair, and Don could see that his lower limbs were thin and gathered up. “Somebody here to see you on business, pa,” said the girl, and to Don’s relief she quit the room at once. Mulford looked curiously at Don, who was not certain what to do. He had not expected to find the former janitor a cripple and he wondered if he should question a man in this condition. Mulford spoke up in a voice that was full and strong. “What did you wish to see me about, young man?” he asked. “Sit down, won’t you?” Don sat down facing the man. “I am from Woodcrest School, Mr. Mulford,” he began. “I understand that you were once janitor there, and I came to see you about something that happened years ago. But perhaps I had better not say anything about it. I didn’t expect—didn’t——” “You didn’t expect to find me a cripple, eh?” finished Mulford, quietly. “I wasn’t one when I left the school. So you are one of the cadets there? I’m glad to know you. I liked all of those boys when I was there. What can I do for you?” “Well, it’s rather a delicate subject,” began Don. “Mr. Mulford, if you feel that I’m prying into any of your private affairs you just tell me to get out of here and I’ll go. But first let me tell you a story. You remember George Long and Arthur Gates, don’t you? They were students there when you left so unexpectedly.” Mulford’s face was a study. He looked fixedly at Don and was silent for a moment. Then he said something that astonished the cadet. “Yes, I knew them. I’m glad you came here, young man. I’ve had something on my mind for a number of years and I want to get it off. I haven’t had the nerve to write to Colonel Morrell about it myself, but I have wanted to. You want to know about that silver cup, don’t you?” Don was staggered. He nodded. “As soon as you mentioned the name of Gates and George Long I knew what you had in mind,” the man said. “You want to know what I know about that cup. I’ll tell you right now that I didn’t take it myself, and if you had come to me some years ago I would have driven you out of the door. But this ailment of mine has tamed me down a whole lot and I’ve had nothing to do but think for several years. Do you people at the school think I took it?” “Colonel Morrell doesn’t,” Don answered. He went on to tell of the search for the trophies of the past and the story of the missing cup. “For years George Long has been suspected of having taken that cup,” he went on. “He graduated under a cloud and has never come near the school since. What we are trying to find out, even at this late date, is whether he did take it or not.” “I thought something like that would happen,” the former janitor said, closing his eyes. “I’m responsible for it, too. No, young man, George Long didn’t take that cup. Arthur Gates stole that cup himself, on the morning it was to have been presented to him!” “What! He stole his own cup!” cried Don, open-mouthed. “Yes, and I saw him do it. He came out of Long’s room with it in his hands, trying to get it under his coat, and I saw what was going on. There was only one thing to do, and Gates did it. He paid me a handsome sum to keep quiet and leave the school, and I did it. At that time I was very poor, and the money which I earned in such an easy manner came in mighty handy. But as years went on I found it wasn’t easy. The thing weighed me down, and today I’m glad to get it off my chest.” “But why in the world should Gates have stolen his own cup?” asked Don. “That I don’t know; I can’t help you there, Mr.——” “Mercer,” supplied Don. “Mr. Mercer, that you must learn from someone besides me. I don’t know. I only know that he paid me to keep quiet and to leave. He even got me a good job here in Ashland. But after a while I bitterly regretted the fact that I had ever seen him come out of the room, and I hated myself for taking the money. Dishonesty is a heavy, dragging burden, Mr. Mercer.” “It must be,” Don admitted, dazed at his success. “But you needn’t regret the fact that you saw Gates come out of that room. If you hadn’t, we would never have found out that Arthur Gates took the cup, and Long would never have been cleared. As it is now we can clear him.” “How about me?” demanded the man. “Am I to be dragged into the light at this late day? Can’t you cover me up some way?” “I don’t know,” said Don, frankly. “I think that before we ever clear Long we’ll make a great effort to find out why Gates took his own cup. If we don’t things will be pretty cloudy. Tell me this, have you ever heard of or from Gates since?” “No, and I never made any effort to. When he paid me my money and got me the job I had nothing further to do with him. As I told you before, I was in pressing need of both the money and the job, but now, as I look back, I’d sooner have been poor and at the same time honest. That is all I can tell you about it, Mr. Mercer, but I’m glad to get that off of my chest.” Don rose to go. “I sincerely thank you, Mr. Mulford. I think I can see how we can clear up everything without involving you any further. I guess if we go to Gates and tell him what we know he will be glad to confess without allowing any such disgraceful story to get into the newspapers. He is a very prosperous businessman now, and he would be willing to keep things quiet.” He extended his hand and Mulford shook it. “Good luck to you, Mr. Mercer, and whatever you do in life, keep away from anything shady,” the former janitor said, in parting. The daughter of the man came in at that moment and at her father’s command she showed Don to the door. He went directly to a restaurant and ate a hearty supper, turning the amazing disclosure over and over in his mind. Before very long he was again on the train. “Well, this is turning into a royal mystery,” he reflected on the way back to school, “I certainly would like to know why Arthur Gates should have taken the trouble to steal the very cup which was to be turned over to him!” |
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