  The High School at Cloverfield was quiet as the hands of the clock approached the three-o’clock hour. Then a gong pealed out and the building became a very beehive of sound. The thump of many feet and the hum of voices was heard. Healthy, wholesome young boys and girls poured out of the side doors and swarmed over the campus. Overcoats were pulled tighter as the nip of the keen Vermont air was encountered. Two boys had come out together, and they paused to wait for two others. The boy with the clean-cut, manly face and the sparkling eyes was Barry Garrison, an outstanding boy in the Cloverfield High School. He had been the right halfback on the school team this year and had helped to lead it to a glorious record of no defeats and first place on the Conference list. He was an all-around athlete and stood well in his senior-year studies. Although Barry Garrison would have turned the idea aside with a good-natured laugh, he was the most popular boy in the high school. His lifelong chum was Kent Marple. Kent’s father owned the local hotel, and the boy had enjoyed many advantages in life. He and Barry had been friends ever since they had been small boys. Young Marple was broader than Barry, with a heavy shock of black hair and a chin that was a trifle determined. He had played fullback on the football team during the past season. These two boys did not seem to be in any hurry. Barry leaned against a maple tree and whistled softly, while Kent glanced from one side door of the school to the other. “The twins must have been kept in,” Barry observed. “Maybe they are clapping erasers for the teacher,” Kent grinned. “If they are, they’ll clap ’em clean,” Barry laughed. “The Ford twins always finish what they start. Here they come now.” Two boys came springing down the steps of the school building and looked around for Barry and Kent. When they had seen their particular friends, one of them waved, and then both boys dashed across the hard ground toward the boys under the trees. At first glance there was little to distinguish between Mac and Tim Ford. They were both the same height and build, stocky young fellows who had made splendid ends on the team. But at closer range some differences were apparent. Mac was sandy-haired, and Tim was gifted with a light brown mass of hair that sometimes managed to stay combed. Both boys had attractive, lively countenances and were well liked by everyone in the small town. They were often the leaders in the fun and could always be counted on to join in any kind of a lark. With Kent and Barry, they made up a quartet that was widely known. Mac Ford beat his brother to the maple tree by a yard. “Thought we never would get out,” he panted. “Took Tim’s advice in a problem, and it was wrong. Had to do it over.” “The trouble is that you didn’t take my advice,” Tim denied. “I tried to show you how to work it, but——” “Never mind,” Barry interposed, thrusting his hands deep into his sweater pockets. “Let’s move along. It’s cold today.” “It ought to be,” Kent observed. “Christmas is almost here.” Two high-school boys and a girl passed them and nodded and smiled. “There they go,” the girl cried. “The mystery hunters!” “Four Sherlocks, the locker-room detectives!” chimed in one of the boys. When this trio had passed on, the four chums looked at one another. “They seem to keep calling us the mystery hunters,” Barry smiled. “Just because we found out who was stealing things out of the lockers,” grunted Tim. “That wasn’t such a big job.” “Anybody could have done it, if he had taken the trouble to,” Kent said. “The biggest surprise about the whole thing was the fact that a boy like Carter Wolf was doing it,” Mac put in. Proceeding slowly along the sidewalk toward home, the four boys once more discussed the recent events which had resulted in earning the name of “mystery hunters.” For a long time someone had been stealing athletic supplies and even rings and watches from the gymnasium locker room. Persistent efforts had been made to trap the thief, but without success. Finally the four boys had entered the case, chiefly because a birthday ring of Mac’s had been among the things taken. But for a long time they had not made any progress. The prowler seemed to know exactly what they were about. They even tried sleeping in the locker room, but even this produced no results. Finally they decided on strategy and rigged up a camera. This was placed in another room, at a place in the wall where a single brick had been knocked out. The locker doors were hooked up in such a way that when one of them was opened, the camera would operate. They got immediate results with this. And on the day they took the camera down, a certain wealthy boy named Carter Wolf left school. The negative, when developed, showed that Carter Wolf was the guilty one. His startled face was turned toward the camera, whose click he had heard, and one hand was plainly seen opening a locker door. At first he denied the charges, but finally he had made good the losses in one way or another. Mac was lucky enough to get his ring back, but others found that their property had been sold to pay gambling debts that Wolf had contracted. Only the influence and pleading of his father had saved the boy from the punishment he richly deserved. For the time being he had disappeared from the community, but not until he had left a threat behind him. “I’ll even scores with that Barry Garrison bunch,” he had promised. With the identification of the mysterious sneak thief a wave of relief had swept over Cloverfield High School. The teachers and students were grateful to the four boys whose persistence had finally caught the prowler. The good-natured title of “mystery hunters” had been given them, and the boys knew that under it lay a genuine admiration for the piece of work that they had done. “When you figure it all out,” Kent declared, as they stopped a moment before the brownstone house in which Barry lived, “there wasn’t much to it. Maybe there would be a different story if we ever ran up against a real mystery.” “Mysteries are few and far between,” Tim said. “Let’s talk about something more vital. We’ll have about ten days of vacation at Christmas time. What’ll we do with it?” “Eat popcorn and candy off the Christmas tree,” Mac grinned. “Our tree won’t have enough on to keep us eating very long,” Tim answered. “Shall we do a little winter camping?” “Either that or hunt some,” Barry agreed. “Let’s give it some thought in the next few days.” The other boys went on down the street, while Barry turned in at the door of the brownstone house. Kent lived two doors beyond, and the twins lived around the corner in a big frame house. The Fords were not among the wealthiest people in the town, although Mr. Ford did have a fairly good business in dry goods. But they were a fine family, and Kent and Barry had been fond of the two lively boys since grammar-school days. As Barry entered the hall, his sister Pearl was going up the stairs. In the library to the right of him he could see his father, seated under a lamp, reading a magazine. The rattling of a pan on the stove told him where his mother was. Pearl was in her first year of high school and had preceded him home by several minutes. She paused a moment on the upper landing to address him. “Here is the chief of the mystery hunters!” she called cheerfully. “Do you know that everybody is calling you that?” “Yes, I know it,” he nodded. “I wish they would forget it.” Mr. Garrison looked up from his magazine. “I need some real mystery hunters right now,” he said. “If you want to take on a real puzzler, come ahead.” Barry was at once interested. His father was a lawyer and frequently handled important cases. The boy placed his books on a hall table and walked into the library. “What’s it all about, Dad? What mystery are you talking about?” Mr. Garrison took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “I was thinking about that haunted hunting lodge up on Lake Arrowtip,” he said. “But I was only joking when I told you to come ahead. It is a job that will test the brains of an expert detective.” |
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