Frank Merriwell's Reward Part 22

Now, Barton was really not watching Buck Badger, but he was watching Morton Agnew. Slips of the printed questions had been stolen by some member of the soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s the day previous, and Agnew was suspected of the theft. That was why the keen eyes of the professor were so constantly turned toward that part of the room. He hoped to discover some evidence of Agnew's guilt, if, indeed, Agnew was guilty, as was believed.

When his eyes fell on the piece of paper which Morton had tossed so cleverly beneath Badger's desk, he knew in an instant that it had not been there a moment before. The natural conclusion was, therefore, that the Kansan had dropped it.

Its discovery was very suggestive. He began to watch Badger as well as Agnew. In a little while Badger saw the paper also, and stooped to pick it up.

"I will take that piece of paper!" came in the calm, even voice of the professor, as the Westerner's fingers closed on the crumpled slip.

Badger, who had intended to open it, wondering what it contained, and vaguely thinking it might be a note which some member of the cla.s.s had tried to get to him, flushed in a manner to arouse the professor's suspicions. He was almost tempted to tear it open and possess himself of its contents, but Barton was moving toward him, with his eyes glued on the paper.

"I will take that piece of paper," the professor repeated, and Badger reluctantly gave it to him.

Agnew looked down at his work to veil the look of triumph that had come into his face. Badger anxiously watched Barton as he opened the slip and glanced it over.

"That is your handwriting, I believe?" in an ominous voice.

He held it for Badger to read, and, to the Kansan's intense astonishment, he saw that the paper was scribbled over with answers to the questions used in the examination, and that the handwriting seemed to be his own. He was so bewildered he could not say a word. Answers were there to only a part of the questions, however.

There was a strange look on Barton's bearded face. He had seen Badger fishing in his right vest pocket for a stub of a pencil awhile before.

He thought, as he remembered this, that it was the left pocket of the vest.

"What is in that left pocket of your vest?" he asked, in a voice that fairly made Badger jump.

Barton believed the slip he held in his fingers had come from that left pocket, and he thought it possible more like it might be concealed there.

"Not a thing!" said the Westerner, the angry flush in his face extending to the roots of his dark hair, for he was not accustomed to being spoken to in that suspicious tone, and it enraged him.

"Will you see if there is not?" Barton asked, striving to maintain his calm, though his suspicions were growing. Badger confidently thrust in his fingers and--drew out a slip of paper like the others, which was also scribbled over with answers to questions!

He could not have regarded it with more surprise and bewilderment if it had been a snake. Barton took it from his shaking fingers, and saw that the handwriting seemed to be the same.

This exciting dialogue was beginning to attract attention, and many eyes were turned in that direction, which made the Kansan get even redder in the face. Badger thrust a hand into one of the upper pockets of his vest and drew out another paper of the same kind.

"What does this mean?" he growled.

He dived frantically into other pockets. He knew that his position was one hard to explain away, but, with a sort of recklessness, he was determined to know if there were more papers of that kind anywhere about him. He could not imagine how they came there, and the rather wild idea occurred to him that he might have scribbled them over that way in his sleep, for the coming examination had disturbed him and made his nights a bit restless.

There were no other incriminating slips.

"I should like to know what it means myself," said Barton.

He looked sternly at Agnew, but the latter had now obtained control of his countenance, and met the professor's suspicious look with an air of innocent confidence. Agnew felt safe. The paper he had crumpled and thrown under Badger's desk was the only one he had secreted about him.

So he knew that even if a search was forced, nothing of an incriminating character could be discovered on him.

"I think I have put you in a mighty tight box, Mr. Buck Badger!" was his gloating thought.

And again that look of triumph returned with such force that he could hide it only by lowering his eyes, and did not raise them throughout the rest of the hour.

That evening, while Morton Agnew was amusing himself with a game of solitaire, and chuckling with glee over the clever manner in which he had put Buck Badger in a "box," a rap sounded on the door of his room that made him jump.

"Come in!" he said.

And Frank Merriwell walked in!

Agnew half-rose out of his chair.

"Sit down!" Merriwell urged, closing the door behind him.

Then he turned the key in the lock and dropped the key into his pocket.

"What do you mean by that?" starting to his feet in an agitated way.

"Sit down!" Frank again commanded, in a smooth, quiet tone, which, however, sounded very ominous. Agnew looked toward the closed window, and then dropped limply into the chair.

"It's two stories down, and a hard pavement below that window. I'd advise you, Agnew, not to pitch yourself out of that on your head. It would probably give the undertaker a job."

Agnew pushed the cards about, without knowing what he did, and stared at Merriwell, his face white and his eyes anxious. He was afraid of Merriwell. Of all the men at Yale, Merriwell was the one he most feared.

And his heart told him that there was something serious back of this unexpected call.

"I'm glad to find you in," said Frank, "for I want to have a talk with you. I will take this chair, with your leave. You won't mind if I come to the point at once?"

"I don't know what you're driving at, and I think you must be drunk or luny to come into a fellow's room and lock him in! If you have an idea that there is anything funny about this, I'm pleased to tell you that there isn't."

"I was afraid you might be so uncivil as to desert me. I shall not try to take anything away with me but a bit of your writing. You're a good penman, Agnew, and I shall want a sample, after we've had a friendly chat."

The cold sweat came out on Agnew's brow.

"I don't intend to beat about the bush at all. It is not needed. You know what I think of you, for I've given you abundant opportunity. Twice within my knowledge you have tried to murder me--once when you slipped a ball cartridge into Badger's musket in 'A Mountain Vendetta,' hoping and believing that I would be killed, and again on the grounds of the gun club, when you slipped some prepared sh.e.l.ls into my box, thinking I would get hold of one of them, and that I would be killed by the explosion of my gun!"

Agnew's face grew as white as writing-paper. He opened his lips to reply, but Frank went on:

"Of course, you are ready to deny these things. But I have some proofs.

You thought you could get all the 'fixed' sh.e.l.ls when you knocked Rattleton over in the crowd, pretending you were shot. But one of them you failed to get. I have had its contents a.n.a.lyzed by one of the professors of chemistry, and he says that in place of powder, the sh.e.l.l contained a sort of gun-cotton, and that he does not see why the gun was not torn into splinters."

"This----"

"Just keep still, Agnew, until I am through! I have found the dealer of whom you purchased those sh.e.l.ls, and I have found the dealer of whom you procured that gun-cotton!"

Again Agnew opened his mouth to protest. He had stopped pushing the cards about.

"Once you tried to ruin my right arm by injecting into it a preparation that would produce atrophy of the muscles. I can produce evidence of that, too!"

"It's a lie!" Agnew finally gasped. "There is not a word of truth in these accusations!"

"I have been acc.u.mulating evidence against you for some time. You have struck at me and at my friends time and again. It is my time to strike now, and I shall strike hard."

The dangerous smile which friends and enemies alike had come to know so well rested on Merriwell's face. Agnew had seen it there before, and the sight of it made him shiver.

"Badger used that sh.e.l.l--or one of the sh.e.l.ls, and only chance saved him from being killed or maimed for life. Not satisfied with that, you struck at him to-day again."