  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.” |
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