Seo urease poe eames Pere eee = @. o <—) n —_ pd be : & & | baled [es | x lz a PUBLISHERS ing An Enemy inn or W EET © SMITH STR FR An Ideal Publication For The American Youth Issued Weekly. Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York Post Office, according to an act of Congress, pe ch 8, 1879. STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Ave., New York, Copyright, 1914, dy STREET & SMITH. O. G. Smith and G. Published by C. Smith, Proprietors. ‘Terms to.NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY Mail Subscribers. ; (Postage Free.) Single Copies or Back Numbers, Sc. Each. How to Send Money—By post-office or express money order, regis- tered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage stamps in ordinary letter. 3 ae danakies see sie'cew seis 65C. ONG YAY .soe--reee a ceceee scenes ee Receipts—Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper 4 months.. eee - 8c. 2 copies one year .- ee+e 4,00 change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been 6 MONEHS..-....-- eee eee eee “1. 25 1 copy two years.- » 4.00 properly credited, and should Jet us know at once. No. 120. NEW YORK, November 14, Price Five Cents. ™ “1914. Frank Merriwell’s Conquest; Or, WINNING AN ENEMY. By BURT L. STANDISH. CHAPTER I. 4 THE WARNING. “I stood on the bub-bridge at Dud-Denver— ’Twas the bub-bridge of a half back’s nose!” Not many people besides himself believed that Joe Gamp could sing. But Joe said that was merely eee they were jealous of his,abilities. . Gamp was walking in the direction of the Colorado Springs gridiron, entertaining himself musically as he swung along, when proof that he was a singer of no mean -order was given by a bright- ues young man who joins him. “A rather suggestive aitty—thae and you sing it well. Aren’t the football boys practicing down here, some- where?” ‘ “Jest daown bub-below here,” said-Gamp, beaming; “I’m goin’ dud-doown to see haow they’re gug-gittin’ on. I can show ye wh-where ’tis, if yeou like.” “I should like to see it.” “We-well, you jest tag along with me, and we'll bub-be there purty quick. Mum- Merry’s daown there, givin’ ’em a pup-pup-pup——” The bright-faced young man iooked at him with an amused smile and a flashing of dark eyes. > Feeenting them with a pup for a mascot, sume.” -Gamp contorted his face, snapped his fingers, and > I pre- whistled; and so got his vocal organs working again. “Naw! I didn’t mean that. He’s jest givin’ ’em a pup- pup—p’inter er two on haow tew play fuf-football. He’s the cuc-coach.” “Oh ” _“Y-yes, that’s what 1 mum-mean. They gug-got at him, and naow he’s wh-whippin’ ’em i “Gracious me ! He has to use a whip?” . Merry’s cuc-coachin’ ’em, Gamp’s face grew red, as he tried to speak, and whistled and snapped his fingers again. “Nun-naw!” he exploded. “Cuc-course not. be as green as a pup-pup-pup——’ “As a pup that hasn’t been trained! it; [——” “Nun-naw! Yeou must I am, and I admit Green as a pup-pup-persimmon. Mum- so’s they'll have a gug-good chance to win in the gug-game against Cuc-Cafion City; th-that’s what I mean.” “It seems funny. ‘Now, I always thought a coach was something to ride in,” “Gug-gug-goshiry ! Gamp demanded. “Up in the mountains for a number of years. I never saw a football game. So when I heard the football team was down here practicing I thought I'd like to see what © it looked like.” “Looks mum-mighty lul-like fightin’, when a hot gug- game is on. But Mum-Merry won’t st-stand for any . rough-house.” “Who is this Merry?” “Gug-gug-gug-gug——” The thought that any one didn’t know Who Merry was rendered him speechless, “At first I thought you said Mary; and thee you were speaking of a woman or a girl.” “Gug-gug-gug-goshfry! Ahaw, ahaw! Never heard of Frank Mum-Merriwell?” “Oh, Frank Merriwell! I saw something about him in— the Pilot. But it wasn’t very nice. It said he had been uttering lies about a Hindu anda cowboy; and had made false charges against them before the police, so that they had been forced to leave the town.” “One o’ these fuf-fine days that lyin’ editor is gug-goin’ tew git killed. Wh-why, he’s the one that’s bub-been tut- — Wh-where yeou bub-been livin’ ?” Mum-Mary! eo te | - NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. tellin’ lies. That Hindu wa’n’t nun-no Hindu; he was a wh-white man named Sus-Santanel, and he tut-tried to kill Mum-Merry’s whole craowd. I’m knowin’ tut-to that myself, fer I’m one of ’em.” “He tried to kill you?” “Sh-shure he did.” Gamp stopped and eae out the fingers of his right hand. “Sus-see that pu-place there, what ain’t healed yit? I gug-got that jest by shakin’ hands with the cuc-critter; he cuc-cut me there, he did, with his fuf-finger nail, and there was pizen under it; pizened me blind. I cuc-come nigh dyin’. And he put pup-pizen in Cuc-Carker’s drinkin’ water. And his daugh- ter cuc-come nigh killin’ Jack Dud-Diamond, with some kind 0’ pizen smoke. And then he gug-got holt of Inza, and would ’a’ killed her, I ruh-reckon, if Merry hadn’t fooled him slick’s a whistle and gug-got there in time. And yit that pup-pup-pup-pup——” “You mean the editor!” Gamp snapped his fingers and whistied. “Let it gug-go that way—he is a pup; though I was tryin’ to say pup-paper.” “Why, I never heard the like.” “Naw. Nobody else. But Merry won aout. Naow them cuc-eritters are gone, and we're tut-tryin’ to git some peace and quiet. We had that cuc-caowboy that was helpin’ the Hindu. Carker and me had cot him, and we was holdin’ him, but he gus got away from us. Hope well nun-never see ’em ag’in’ They were moving on again, while Gamp was making his explanations. “Th-there it. is, “fight ahead O° ye,” Caran announced, as they came in sight of the gridiron and the lusty young fellows who were engaged in practice play. Some signals were ringing out: “Three, seven, eleven, thirteen, twenty.” “What does that mean?” the young man asked Gamp. “Sus-signals.” “What do they mean?” “W-well, I du-don’t know myself wh-what they mean,. only. that they’re signals, directin’ the play. You sus-see that feller goin’ with the bub-ball. The quarter back threw the ball to him, and he went through the right end with it, aided by the interference. The sus-signals told ’em what w-was gug-goin’ to be done.” “Now they’ve got him down! that?” “Naw. Cuc-course not. The sus-signals was only for his eleven; t’others dud-didn’t know what they meant nun-no more’n I do, Maybe they didn’t; they sure wouldn’t if they was the ruh-reg’lar opposin’ eleven.” Onl yt “The eleven have to ee the meanin’ cf their SHS-Sizs nals secret. For, if the other eleven understood ’em, thy’d know j-just what was gug-goin tew be tried.” “Where are the other eleven? I see only nine.” “Wow! In Cuc-Cafion City, I reckon. That nine yé se belongs to the second eleven of this taown. Bub-but say—if yeou cota me atly more questions. lul-like them, Tul gug-go crazy.” A young fellow came walking out to them, sent by Mer- - riwell. He glanced ey at Gamp, Hnowing he was ‘Merriwell’s friend. “Tl have to eles you to leave,” he said politely) : Did the signals tell “we're practicing secret work and can have no specta- tors—that is, none unknown to us. Mr. Gamp may re- main, if he wishes.” Gamp flushed with confusion. The stranger who had been so inquisitive and ignorant looked blank. “That’s too bad,” he said. it"! “We shall be glad to have you attend the game when it is played,” said the youth in football clothing. “But Mr. Merriwell insists that we must be alone this after- noon. He thinks it is important. " “I suppose you think he is a wonderful man?” “We think he knows a few things about football.” He glanced at the gridiron. “The play has stopped, you can see. Theyre waiting until you go.” “Sus-sorry abaout me said Gamp; Mum-Merry sus-says As the inquisitive stranger turned and walked away, Gamp took out his handkerchief to wipe the confusion out of his face. Falling out of his handkerchief, or drawn out of his pocket by it, a paper fluttered to the ground. Gamp picked it up, for he had no recollection of putting into his pocket a paper like that. When he opened it, he read: “T thought I should enjoy “but whatever “Frank Merriwe.l: Your foes are not dead, nor have they left the town, nor are they sleeping. If you care for. safety and peace of mind you will not linger here.’ You know that after a warning I strike a blow. This is the warning. SANTANEL.” Joe Gamp’s eyes grew big and staring. “Gug-gug-gug-gug—— Unable to express his emotions, he turned and stared at the young man who was walking away. Mie Site soshary |. Dud-did he pu-put that in my Pup- pocket?” CHAPTER Il. SANTANEL AND HIS DAUGHTER, The bright-faced young man, disappearing from’ the vicinity of \the football field, appeared again many streets distant, where he took a car. At the end of ‘hasty. jour- neying, and some changes, he approached a shabby house. ‘This house he entered, but not openly by way of the front- door; he dipped into a secretive-looking alley, came up to the house from the rear, and so got in. A few minutes later he was in an upper room, stand- ing before a man who was no other than Santanel him- self, though so much changed in appearance that few acquaintances would have known him, even when he was not trying to conceal his identity. Santanel, the bitter enemy of Frank Merriwell, Sane of the notorious Dion Santanel, who, at New Haven and other places had sought Merry’s life with a fiendishness and cunning almost unbelievable, had posed before the people of the pleasant little city of Colorado Springs as a converted Hindu; amusing them with stories of India and some of the black-art cunning popularly sup-- posed to belong almost exclusively to the falciss and jugglers of that distant land. He had been dark- faced, libs a Hindu, aid dressed, © when in public, in Hindu costume. Now, although ‘his face was still dark, its hue was merely that of a white man of the dark-brunette type. The metamorphosis was completed by the change of clothing and by the fact that Santanel now wore a beard of benevolent cut. It was a dark beard, and plentifully sprinkled with gray. “Ah! back so soon?” he said. “Just a minute, and [ll make my report.” The young man lifted his wide-brimmed Western hat and allowed a coil of black hair to flow down on his shoulders. Nothing more would have been needed to. disclose the truth, that the young man was in truth a young woman. “T’ve got to get out of this clothing,” she said, making a wry face. “While I’m doing it, you can look that over. It shows the signals that have been adopted for the football eleven, and which they’re practicing now. Ill tell you all about it in a minute. Phew! I don’t see how any one can wear such clothes. Excuse me just a minute.” Five minutes passed before the young woman emerged in her own proper clothing, and stood before him in a dress of shimmering red silk, in which she had, a few days previous, appeared. before Jack Diamond, as the fortune-telling daughter of the famous Hindu. Santanel was still poring over the sheet of paper on which she had set down the signals of the football eleven. “Are you finding it Picresting, papa, dear?” she said, with a little Jaugh that pouted her red lips and made her lustrous eyes shine even more brightly. “I went down to the field, to get a look at their practice work, but I was shooed away. They’re very anxious that no one shall know anything about it, and, as for the sig- nals, they’re guarding them like gold. Gamp was very kind, He showed me his sore finger.” She laughed again, and snuggled down on the arin ot the chair, “The second number spoken is always the signal num- ber,” she said; “all that follow it are a blind. If at any time they think the opposing eleven have caught on: to their signals, they drop to the third spoken number, and make that the signal number. The signal for that change to be made is ‘one’ The signal to change back is ‘two.’” P¥es, I see,” he. said. : “You see how it opens there: Three, seven, eleven, and so on, The only number the players listen for is the second one given out—seven. It means the ball is going to the right end, and he will try to go round the oppos- ing left end with it. If the second number was ten, the left end would get it and would try to go round.” “You're quite a football strategist yourself,’ said San- tanel. She laughed again; a sly, gurgling, musical laugh. “Credit it to Joe Gamp; he gave me a let of pointers while we were on our way to the grounds.” “What about Holker? You got this of him, of course?” “Our friend Holker seems to have forgot that he ever even pretended that he was a cowboy. Yes,I got them of him. He is a fine young Irishman now, by the name of Dan McGlory, and one of the girls at the hotel told me seriously that he was the best and most: willing por- ter they have. She said a new broom always sweeps clean, and McGlory is doing so well just because he is a new broom there. I think she likes McGlory—more than very well, and T’ll be able, I hope, to get a lot of informa- tion through her. I told McGlory to make up to her, NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. and he'll do it. He has a great eye for a girl, Holker— I mean McGlory has. You remember how he tried to sing love’s song to me.” “Go into the other room now,” he said, how our dictograph business works.” Laughing, she went into the other room, and Santanel, applying to his ear a receiver, began to listen intently. What he heard came to him clearly enough: “You get me? I am now my natural self!. Presto, change! Here is Inza Merriwell. Inza is now talking in her rooms at the Antlers: “ “Frank, dear, now that that terrible Santanel has been driven out of the country, we ought to be able to enjoy ourselves here a few days. But if you think there’s any danger that he may come back, I want to leave at once. He frightened me so when he was holding me that I want to scream every time I think of it, And, Frank, dear—do be careful!’” “How’s that for a stage imitation?” “It would deceive Merriwell himself |” Santanel mut- tered. “Me for the vaudeville spotlight. But I’ll have to keep to female rdlés. It was an awful strain, trying to make my voice heavy, when I was ‘talking with Gamp. It squeaked now and then, and I thought he would notice it. I wouldn’t dare to try that on Merriwell. Ha, ha! Won- der what Gamp will think when he finds that note [| dropped into his pocket?” She emerged from the other room, smiling. “How was that?” she demanded again. “Excellent,” she was assured. “Tt will fool .Leslie?” Sure tox” “Say, I like that fellow!” Santanel gave her a sharp and inquiring look. “Be careful,’ he urged. “Oh, don’t feel alarmed. like Jack Diarhond better. When I fall in love, or throw myself away, it will be on a man who has money; and Leslie hasn’t any. Besides, he is a fool. Yet he is nice looking, and has fine eyes, How would Carker suit you for a son-in-law?” “You were always a joker,’ Santanel said. ‘“Carker is a bigger fool than Leslie ever thought of Being. He thinks he is very wise, and that makes it worse.” “and we'll see CHAPTER III. THE DICTOGRAPH, Thomas Jefferson Leslie, editor and publisher of the Pilot, turning from his desk to his telephone, that even- ing, heard a voice he did not expect to hear again in Colorado Springs—the voice of the man he had known as the Hindu: “Tt is very important that you should see me this even- ing. Say about nine o'clock.” The Hindu gave his street and number, and instruc- tions. “Of great interest to you,” he added; what that means. I have many words to say to you, but can say none of them here.” Leslie turned back to his desk and tboked at the screed he had been writing. It was another attack on Frank Merriwell, and was to appear in the next issue of the Pilot, as a continuation of a campaign of hatred; a cause- less enmity, so far as Merry was concerned. “and you know : ech SSS SEIS ANE EE DLT ETT ER SAE AEE RITA LATA ts only basis was Leslie’s dislike of Merriwell be- ‘cause he had gone to the help of Greg Carker, when Carker was imprisoned in Trinidad. The Pilot, and a Denver paper. that Leslie represented as correspondent ~ during the mining troubles at Trinidad, had attacked Carker because he was delivering socialistic speeches “to the striking miners. Then, in an altercation, Carker had knocked Leslie down, and had been jailed for as- sault, with a strong feeling and influence behind the charge, that threatened to keep him locked up until after the strike troubles had ended. And because Merry had gone to his help, as a friend and old Yale comrade, when called on by, Carker, Leslie had opened his newspaper batteries on him. Merry had been paying no attention to Leslie’s dia- tribes, but had found it difficult to keep Jack Diamond from mixing with the offending editor. The thing that linked the Hindu with these inky as- saults on Merry was that the Hindu, as Leslie still thought him, had come to the Pilot office, after reading the first of them,’ and had put money in Leslie’s hands to encourage him to continue his attacks. Up to that time it had been Leslie’s boast that his paper -‘was an untrammeled sheet, his opinions his own, and his pen’ unbought. He would have scorned the offer of money if he had not so seriously needed it. There was a paper bill to meet, and the Hindu’s money would en- able him to meet it. Besides, it was not selling his pen, he argued; for, if he had not received a cent from any one, he would have made that attack on Frank Mer- -riwell. The Hindu’s money merely helped him to go on in the path he had already selected. “T wonder what the fellow wants now?” he muttered “I was sure he had skipped. Merriwell will have hin arrested if he learns he is still here. Well, I’ll go to see him. Perhaps he’s got some more money for me, and I sure need it.” The editorial he was writing attacked not only Frank Merriwell, but the captain of the football eleven.’ Leslie was, or had been, a member of the eleven, and was accounted a good: football player, and he had bit- terly opposed the proposition to ask Merry to coach the eleven so that it could meet the team from Cafion City. When his influence was not capable of excluding Merry, he had sulked and dropped out. He looked at his watch, saw that he had plenty of time, and read over what he had written: “The interest of the Pilot in the success of our foot- ball eleven cannot be questioned, simply because it has opposed the selection of Frank Merriwell for coach. It is well known to every one that it has been several years since Merriwell was prominently identified with football at Yale, and that the rules and methods of playing the game have since then materially changed. His methods are antiquated; he is a back number, and doesn’t know it. Under his coaching, our eleven will go to sure defeat | in the game to be played with Cafion City. It is not too late to undo the harm already accomplished, but it must be done at once. Frank Merriwell must be pulled down from his pedestal, and a man who knows football right up to date must be put in his place.” There was much more of this, combined with an attack on the captain. It was not in the bitter strain with which he had attacked Merry at first, for even Leslie was cS NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. coaching your eleven. - pellent look. discovering that abuse never helps the one who uses it. He was trying now to be argumentative, and at the same time was trying to conceal the fact that he held a personal grudge. Having corrected the éditorial, fie hung it on the copy hook, and, taking up his hat and topcoat, he wended his way to the street and number given him by the Hindu. As he went up the steps of the house he was seeking, he passed a young man, who gave him a sharp look after glancing up and down and across the street. This was the Hindu’s daughter in her masculine attire, a thing unguessed by Leslie. The girl had been posted there to steer Leslie into the house by the rear way, if any one ‘was on the street who stan possibly be noting his movements. In the hall the Hindu was waiting, and he came to the door when Leslie rang; but he was no longer the Hindu. The change in his appearance was so great that Leslie gave a violent start of surprise on hearing the familiar voice. He looked at Santanel keenly, by the light of the hall lamp, when the door had been closed. “T should never have known you,’ he confessed; “and I see now that Frank Merriwell was right—you are not a Hindu.” “An Englishman, born in the East’ Indies—shall we say that? Yet it doesn’t matter, really. I want to talk with you about Merriwell. And I have a little money for you. I made this alteration to assure my safety.” “T sure need the money,” Leslie admitted; “yet—I don’t care to be bribed.” “Just a contribution to help a good cause along,” San- tanel remarked, and could not hide his sneer—a sneer that made Leslie wince. “Come upstairs, as I’ve some- thing interesting to show you.” When they were in the room above, and Leslie had divested himself of his topcoat, Santanel produced a copy he had made of the football signals. “You want to disgrace Merriwell and drive him from I here put the weapon in your hands. These are the signals now being used by your eleven—the signals that will be used when ul meet the fellows from Cafion City.” Leslie caught the paper out of his hand, giving him at the same time a strange look. He was still bewildered by his discovery that this man was not a Hindu, and that his appearance had so changed. Santanel. had not been able to dim the glim in his fiery eyes, yet that seemed all that had not undergone transformation, except that his voice now, as he talked with Leslie, was the same that it had been. Leslie was a keen-faced, gray-eyed young fellow, who took himself too seriously, as if the weight of the world’s affairs rested on his shoulders, and he was just beginning to make the unpleasant: discovery that he was a good deal of a scoundrel at heart, or in swift danger of be- coming one. He caught a look at himself. in the mirror on a tanel’s wall as he held up the paper, and he was not pleased with the personal picture, for ugly thoughts were cutting hard lines in his forehead and giving him a te- “Where did you get this?” he asked. “From Frank Merriwell himself.” “What?” “You ought to be willing to believe that,” Santanel re- marked, sneering again, for you’re ready to believe any- thing against him,” “But this is your handwriting. of it, you know.” “Oh, yes, that’s my handwriting. I wrote down the signals there just as I heard them from his own lips.” Leslie sat staring at Santanel, incredulous. “That's ‘asking me to believe a good deal,’ he urged. “It doesn’t seem likely, you'll admit yourself.” “Permit me to explain,’ said Santanel, smoothing his false beard. “Td like you to. I can hardly believe that you’re the Hindu I’ve known, that is, the man I thought was a Hindu—who claimed to be one, and fooled all the people here into thinking he was one. So, of course——” “I haven’t said that Merriwell told me that. I said I had it from his own lips.” “T guess I don’t get you,” said Leslie, puzzled. “Well, you know what a dictograph is: a’ sort of con- cealed telephone, used by detectives, police officers, and others, to overhear talk they could not get hold of other- wise. In Merriwell’s room J have a dictograph con- cealed on the under side of his desk, which stands close by his telephone; and wires run from it to my ropm here.” I’ve seen specimens unctuously He pointed to two small wires that ran down a leg of his desk and disappeared through a small hole in the floor, by the wall. ‘“That’s where the wires come into my room,” From beneath the table he took the receiver. “From my chair here, with this dictograph, I can hear every word that is spoken in Merriwell’s room at his hotel, Last evening he had some of the football squad there, and they went over the signals together privately. I was listening here, and wrote them down.” He held the instrument to his ear. Leslie was staring at him in amazement. It. rushed on him that all the accusations Merriwell had made against this man must every one be true. Merry had charged him with being a brazen fraud, a faker, and a danger- ous man, Of the first two charges here was the proof. This ingenious change of appearance Santanel was speaking—his burning eyes flaring. suddenly “Ah,” he cried, “here and now, as it happens, I can furnish you with proof of the truth of what I said— that I have complete communication with Frank Mer- riwell’s rooms! His wife is now speaking—apparently phoning to some one. Do you care to listen?” With~hands that shook, Leslie caught the instrument and clapped it to his ear. As he did so, he heard the voice speaking. It sounded as clearly as if the speaker were talking to him over a telephone: “Yes? Well, Frank thinks the eleven shows fine promise. They worked out the signals this afternoon. He is glad to be rid of Leslie, not because Leslie has been attacking him in the paper—Frank doesn’t care so much about that—but Leslie, he says, is a rather poor player, and, in addition, has such a high opinion of him- self that, if he cannot have his way, he wants to ruin everything. Leslie said he would have nothing to do | with the eleven, you know, if Frank took a hand, and ~ Frank is very glad of it.” Leslie’s face became white, and his gray eyes over- NEW TIP TOP WEERLY. bright as he listened to this. He had met Inza Merri- well and had heard her speak, and now he had not a doubt but that he was hearing her again. “Good-by,” he heard her say. That was followed by the tinkle of the telephone. bell. The young editor turned to the man who sat smilingly regarding him, and his eyes were blazing. “T can’t doubt you,” he said; “I got all of that—and it was Mrs. Merriwell talking.” As Leslie dropped the receiver, Santanel caught it and pushed it out of sight, under the desk. “It’s fortunate that she happened to be in their rooms just now, so that you could hear her and get the ‘proof, for I could see that you were doubting me. A wonder- ful little thing, isn’t it—the dictograph?” “I never saw one before!” _ ‘Santanel could have told him truly that he was not seeing one now. He would have been bewilderingly sur- prised if he had known that the voice he thought Inza Merriwell’s was but a clever counterfeit by Santanel’s daughter, reaching him over wires running into the back rooin, and attached to an ordinary telephone. He would have been from Missouri, until shown. The young editor was still puzzled as to the line that Santanel was taking. He sat looking at the arch- schemer, wondering, bitterly resentful against Merriwell, too, as he thought of the eleven, and that he was out of it, while Merry seemed to have entered into control. Merriwell had defeated him there, and he was sore. He was losing sight of his original source of enmity—his encounter with Greg Carker, in Trinidad. He wasn’t even thinking of Carker now. “You can guess how much I dislike Frank Merriwell,” he heard Santanel saying; “how much I dislike him, with cause. I am here, in this house, in hiding, and-——” | “Tell me how you got that dictograph into his rooms,” said Leslie, voicing his amazement. “I don’t see how you accomplished it.” “That astonishes you?” said Santanel, chuckling. “Tt stuns me.” . Sit was easy) 73. “I don’t see how—I don’t see how you could do it at all. For, if I understand it, the dictograph has to be concealed there somewhere, and concealed wires must be run from it to your place here, and the workman who did it would be seen in Merri- well’s rooms.” That was why the thing had not really been done, but Santanel did not have to make that confession. “Ah! Give me credit for some shrewdness,” he said. ‘““T have a man in my pay who is working in the hotel. He is clever. While Merriwell and his friends were at the football grounds, and. Mrs. Merriwell was making some calls, this man put the dictograph in for me. He bribed the maid and one of the men there, and got time enough free from observation, and so did the work.” “You're a marvel,” said Leslie, forced to this tribute. “Now those signals,” said Santanel. “I have put into your hands the weapon by which you can drive Merri- well out of the position he holds, put on him the stigma of dishonesty, and so disgrace him.” “How is that?” “Take those signals and go with them to the captain of your football eleven. —not supposed to be known—except by the players and That means work,’ Those signals are not known SNES SAEED SCA OTE RECTAN } 6 coach. by treachery. Make the charge boldly that Merriwell gave those signals to a member of the Cafion City eleven. Say that he has plunged with a heavy bet on the Cafion City team, and intends to have your eleven defeated when they play this game; his plan being to assure that by having their signals known to their opponents. Make that charge. Your captain and the football boys will know that those are the signals, and that they couldn’t have got into the hands of a Cafion City player without barter and sale or the worst form of treachery. Say to them that it has come to you Straight that Merriwell has sold them out. If they doubt it, ask them to name any one else connected with the eleven who would sell them out. If you don’t fasten proof on him, you will cover him with such suspicion that he will have to get out under a cloud of disgrace.” The pallor of the young editor did not lessen. He was having a fight with himself. This bald invitation to enter on a course of despicable treachery gave him an odd feeling of shock. At the same time, he could not suppress his desire to strike at Frank Merriwell. He was trying to convince himself that anything was justifiable it a case like this, for a man must always justify himself to himself, no matter what he does, or he cannot do it. Even a man who kills another is nearly always able to convince himself that, under the cir- cumstances, he could not do otherwise, or the man de- served to be killed. Santanel, crafty reader of faces, did not at the moment disturb the young editor. He saw that a struggle was going on in the young man’s mind, and that the good was fighting with the evil. But he believed that the evil would win, as he desired. And it did. The words which Leslie believed Inza had spoken turned the scale. She had declared, as he supposed, that Merry thought he was a poor player, and, in &ddition, had such a high opinion of himself that he was ready to ruin everything if he could not have his way. It seemed clear that Merry had been making that sort of talk generally. Twisting round in his chair, Leslie brought his hand down with a thump of decision. “Til do it!” he said. Santanel’s crafty smile could not hide his feeling of victory. _ “I knew you were wise enough to see the advantage this gives you in your fight against Merriwell,” he urged. “You can now ruin him.” “Tl do it!” said the young editor. “You had better make a copy of the signals. tain the list in my ee ay Leslie made the copy. TAL re- “You'll discover that Phose: are all right as soon as you show them to any member of your eleven,’ Santanel purred. ‘He thrust his hand into his peek and drew out a roll of bills. ‘ “Here’s fifty dollars,” he said, “and there will be more coming. I’m acknowledging that I’m expecting to rake in some money if the Cafion City eleven is victorious. It can win only HE Merriwell is thrown into the dis- card.” Leslie sat flushing, looking into the burning eyes of He knew he was .debased, polluted by the the tempter. NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. So, if they got out, it must evidently have been. touch of that money, yet he was accepiiie it, clutching it eagerly. Hé could not read the thought that lay behind those eyes. If he could have done it, he would have seen that Santanel knew he had to displace Merry to keep the Colorado Springs eleven from winning; for his wager was laid on the success of the team that opposed them. “Tl smash him,” said Leslie, rising stiffly. “I must thank you for giving me the chance.” “Come and see me again,” said Santanel. “Or, I may call you up and ask you to visit me, if anything of im- portance arises. In coming here, should you do so again, be cautious, for I dare not have it known that I am stopping here, as there is a warrant out for my arrest, you know.” With the money given ae in his pocket, Leslie was thus made also to feel that he was the consort of a jail- bird, the assistant of a criminal in hiding. “But I’ve got to do it,” he muttered, as he took his way to the street. CHAPTER TV. THE ACCUSATION. Leslie knew he would find many, if not all, of the football boys in the room back of Silsby’s harness store. Guy Silsby was the captain, and a popular fellow, and that room was the rallying place for the athletic crowd. They would be sure to be there now, talking over the practice of the afternoon and wishing confusion to their opponents in the coming game. So to that room he went, with what he considered his incriminating evidence.. It pleased him to think that matters were turning out somewhat as he had prophesied. He had declared to Silsby that Frank Merriwell was not fit to be coach. He and Silsby had fought a wordy bat- tle over it. And here he had proof to present to Silsby which would show him that Merriwell was far worse than merely incompetent. He wondered how Silsby would take it. The football boys in the back room at the harness store were noisy enough when Leslie came up to the door, but quieted significantly when he entered. The sudden silence cut him to the quick. His keen eyes flicked over the room. “Can I see you out front just a minute, Silsby?” he requested, his heart burning. “I’ve something important to say to you.” When Silsby joined him and they were proceeding into the harness store, the conversation broke into a buzz in the room again, and Leslie had the unpleasant sen- sation of surmising that comments not favorable to him were passing back and forth there. Silsby was a sturdy young fellow, hard as nails, and a good runner. He was a good organizer, in addition, and had a host of friends in the town among all classes. He and Leslie had been rivals, and, after their bout over the question of asking Merry to do some coaching work for the team, it seemed that they were to become enemies. an “In the back part of the store, here,” “there are some people out at the front!” “The store will be closed in a little while, but we can talk here;” and Silsby led the way into a corner, behind one of the long counters. ea Dee: ee, Aw —_ tv NEW TIF TOP WEEKLY as Leslie pulled out his copy of the signals and showed it under the light of a wall lamp. “Those are the signals you’re using in practice now, and are to use in the game?” he said. He watched the flush of surprise with which Silsby read the list. “Where'd you get this?” Silsby demanded. “Tell me first if those are the signals of your eleven. Then Ill tell you where I got them.” “They're our signals,” Silsby admitted, looking at him with suspicion. “You know personally every man who is supposed to be in possession of this information?” nm Yes, hn Silsby admitted. “Where did you get them ?” “Then some one of those fellows has leaked,” said Leslie; “isn’t that right? Which one do you think did it?” -“T don’t know, of course. Tell me how you got them.” “You don’t believe a single one of our fellows would leak that information? As I understand it, this was to be kept close—exceedingly close. It had been feared that some spies were about who were friendly to Cafion “City.” ~“T don’t. get you-—”. “Let me tell you,” said Leslie, leaning nearer, “those signals were furnished to the Cafion City eleven by your coach, Frank Merriwell.” Silsby’s face flushed as hot as fire. “That doesn’t sound likely,” he protested. “It’s true, though.” “You mean he sold us out—for money?” “Likely: he got money; but he has sold you out® be- cause he wants Cafion City to win.” “That sounds worse—sounds like nonsense.” -“Here’s the proof. I got those signals from a man who is friendly with the Cafion City crowd. One of the -C€afion City boys told him that, and you admit they’re the correct signals. Frank Merriwell wanted the posi- ‘tion you have tibet him solely to enable him to sell you out.” ‘ : “You'll let us see S chat Cation City man—have a talk with him? This is important. I don’t. want to believe that about Merriwell. It goes against. everything we ‘have ever heard about him. The. fact that you have those signals isn’t proof. Some of the fellows may have been loose-mouthed. Or some spy may have eaves- dropped.” “So you: still intend to’ stand up te Merriwell ?” -“Not if it can be shown that he is guilty. But this -is only an accusation. I’m going to speak to him about it. And, of course, we'll have to change the signals.” _ “T want.to make this charge to the fellows back there,” said Leslie. ‘“You’re so stuck on Merriwell—— “No, I’m not stuck on him, but I can’t see any sense in dragging your political and personal grudges into a matter of this kind. I’ve always tried to be your friend. You’ve got a grouch against Merriwell.” Leslie walked to the door of the back room, and en- tered, closely followed by Silsby. The boisterous talking stilled again. ' “Pye been making charges out there to Silsby, which © now I want to make to you,” said Leslie. “I have here the signals you fellows have been practicing with and are to use in the game with Cafion City. I got them from a friend, whose name’! can’t now use; he got them from a member of. the Cafion City eleven, to whom they were furnished by your new coach, Frank Merriwell. Here they are—take a look at them.” Though Leslie’s accusation created a. stir, it did not produce the angry outburst he had expected; yet he saw that in the minds of a number it had driven an en- tering wedge of suspicion.’ Naturally, it had the most effect on those who were Leslie’s intimates and friends. They knew that in the past he had been honest, and they could not conceive that he would say now what he did not believe. Still, they could see that this was not full proof of his. charges; ‘for the man who had given him the signals might be a liar. The outstanding fact was, however, that Leslie had the signals. The upshot of the wordy war which took place was that a committee was appointed, headed by Silsby, to call. on Merry and lay the accusation before him. This committee came to Frank, at his hotel, that same evening, and saw him alone in his room. Silsby was spokesman, and prefaced his statement by saying that he had always championed Merry, and was still his friend. As Merry began to gather the import ‘of what ‘Silsby was talking about, his face became pale. _. When Silsby had finished, with another apology, he asked Merry what he had to say about it. “Just this,” said a “You may look for another coach,” “But——” “If I haven’t the confidence of your pe that ends it for me. I shouldn’t think of coaching an eleven that could even listen for a moment to a thing like that. I: hope you see. my point.” Silsby began to protest. “We're not believing it. We're just telling you, and oie you-——” “Asking me to deny it, as if you thowet it necessary. I deny it, of course. But you will have to get another coach.” e Leslie was back at his office, when -the news came from one of the eleven over his phone. He took the article he had written off the copy hook, tore it up, and consigned it to the wastebasket, and wrote another, in which he announced to the public that Frank Merriwell had resigned as coach of the football. eleven, under fire, charges having been made against him of selling the signals to a member of the opposing team. This he hung on the copy hook Deters going home for the night. CHAPTER V. DIAMOND BREAKS LOOSE. Though Merry had not said so to Silsby and his com- mittee, he was sure he recognized behind the accusa- tion the crafty hand of Santanel, this belief being based on the fact that a warning from Santanel had found its way into Joe Gamp’s pocket. Before seeing that written warning, Merry tod been resting in the assurance that Santanel had. quitted the town. Now it appeared he was merely in hiding, and was ready to strike a blow when he could. a It was plain, that if this theory was. correct,) the ee ¢ 8 a NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. was not the first time proof had been furnished that they had an understanding. Two readers of the next issue of ‘the Pilot were very differently moved. measure at this evidence that he had joined the editor with him in his continued fight on | ee The other was Jack Diamond. “The skunk,” said Diamond. With a motion of contempt he threw the paper into the gutter, and moved on the editorial office. Unfortu- nately, he found the young editor in. On the editorial desk was a copy of the paper, with the offensive article visible. “You wrote and published that!” said Diamond, in a tone which indicated his knowledge of the correctness of the statement. The editor wheeled on him, half rising out of his chair, and at the same time drew a revolver from a drawer of his desk. “T wrote that,” he said; “what have you got to say about it?” Diamond was on him like a leaping cat, and tore the revolver out of his hand. “Just this,” he cried, throwing the revolver to the floor: “you'll publish a retraction, or you'll fight me.” _The editor sank back into his chair, pale-faced. “You'll pay for this,” he said. “That doesn’t scare me. . But oe fight me, or publish a retraction.” “You mean that you will jump. on me, now that you have disarmed me?” He glanced in the direction of the composing room, as if he meant to a for help. - Diamond . stepped back. “Certainly not,” he said; “I'll give you a a chances you can ask. Pll send you a challenge. Then you can meet me, anywhere, at any time, in any way. Otherwise, sir, I shall ‘slap your face and brand you as a liar and a coward” Leslie got his breath. “Merriwell sent you here to insult me?” “Sir, you couldn’t be insulted! But Merriwell did not send me.. He knows nothing about this, sir. This is on my.own initiative. Shall I send you a challenge?” “Where do you think you’re living?” Leslie sneered. “Will you accept my challenge?’ Diamond demanded, trying to control his fiery temper. “Send it along. Ill publish it in my paper. I'd like to show you up to the people here as you are. I’ve been putting my pen through the gas bag known as Merri- well, and it will please me to do the same for you. There’s the door.” Diamond stood, gasping. For a moment he was on the point of slapping Leslie’s face. Controlling the de- sire with difficulty, he lifted his hat and turned toward the entrance. ¢ “Sir, you will hear from me again. If you are a gentleman you will give me satisfaction. I presume you are not a gentleman. You seem to be a journalistic high- binder. But you will hear from me again, sir.” Leslie tried to laugh as Diamond departed. He was _ picking up his revolver, when a Slender girl came out of the other room, “What was the trouble?” she asked, her face white. tised by Santanel was that of the editor of the Pilot. It- One was Santanel, pleased beyond — “Nothing that concerns you, sister mine,” said Leslie, trying to laugh as he tucked his revolver out of sight. “That man—Mr. Diamond—challenged you to a duel; I heard him.” “He said he intended to, He nee to follow all the accepted dueling forms. He’s an ass.” “l’ye been so afraid, on account of those things you’ve been publishing about Mr. Merriwell. I’ve told you that before.” “Ho, ho! Who is the editor of the Pilot? You go back to your case. I'll have a stick or two of hot stuff about Mr. Diamond for you to set up in another minute. Run along.” “But if he——” “Don’t worry; he won’t. He’s another gas bag, like Merriwell, with not quite so much sense. I'll shoot Mer- riwell’s reputation so full of holes that he'll wonder what has happened to it. And I'll likewise pay my respects to Jack Diamond.” “Jefferson, I wish you wouldn’t.” “Run along,” he ordered. Less than half an hour later Joe Gamp came into Leslie’s office, red-faced and foolish looking, with a sheet of paper in his hand. Diamond had encountered him, and, by the strength of persuasion, had induced him to be the bearer of a challenge. Gamp had protested. “Mum-Merry ain’t gug-goin’ tew like it,” he had urged. “This isn’t Merry’s fight; ane she isn’t going to know anything about it until it’s over,’ “Wh-what if yeou gug-got killed?” “Don’t bother your head about that. me.” “Or if yeou kuk-killed him?’ “Tl not kill him. I'll just teach him a lesson——?” “And I was to bub-be arrested myself fer——” “Gamp, you weary me. Take this and go along. I want you to bring me back his acceptance. I wish he would fight me with swords.” Hell not fight “He may use a-pup-pistol and sh-shoot yeou’re head off.” This was in Gamp’s mind as he stood before the young editor and noted the editor’s frown. “It’s a ch-challenge tew a dud-duel by my fuf-friend Jack Diamond,” he stammered. Leslie laughed uneasily. “So you're to be his second?” “He dud-didn’t say nothin’ abaout that,’ said Gamp. “I’m tew give this to yeou, an’ there ’tis. He says if yeou dud-don’t accept it, he'll come up. here and pup-pull yeour nose,” “Oh, he said that?” “And he w-will.” w Leslie looked at the written challenge, and laughed. “Tell him his manuscript is accepted, with thanks, please, and that it will appear in our next issue, out to-morrow. I'll send him a marked copy.” Joe Gamp stood staring. “He w-wanted yeou tew accept his challenge.” “T’ve accepted it, and it will appear in the paper to- morrow. Give him my thanks, assure him of my inability to pay for contributions at present, which I much regret.” ~ Gamp still stared. “Th-that all?” “Oh, I see! I beg your pardon.” He drew from his go iLO ng nd cS, ut O- ty ; 9 iS * NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. | | 9 pocket a silver dime. “It didn’t occur to me until this moment that you were waiting for a tip. I beg your pardon. Here it is,’ He held out the silver piece. Gamp’s face reddened painfully. “K-keep_ it tew bub-buy bub-brains with,” he stut- tered. “Calf's brains! Thanks, for the ee awiully. Have them notify me as soon as yours are in the market.” Tee Gamp stumbled out at the door and down the steps. “If Dud-Diamond don’t wh-whip that sk-skunk, I w-will,” he was stammering. Diamond was waiting at the street corner below. He saw that Gamp’s face was fiery red. “He refused to accept the challenge?” he exclaimed. “I was sure he would, and ]-———” “Nun-naw!” said Gamp. “He accepted it.” “He. did? Good!” “He accepted it for pup-publication in to-morrow’s paper; he——” Diamond began to walk toward the Pilot’s . editorial rooms. ‘On entering, he found the chair there occupied hy the slender, girlish young woman whom he knew as Leslie’s sister. Her face was pale and her luminous brown eyes appealing. Diamond stopped short. The girl rose to meet him, and he could see that she trembled. Diamond removed his hat. “T beg your pardon,” he said; “I thought your brother was here.” “Is there something I can do for you?” she inquired sweetly. “Not at present; I—want to see your brother. —left the building?” “He has gone out.” “Out the’ back way, the coward,” thought Jack, “and left his sister here, in his place! But what can you ex- pect from such a hound?” To the girl he said: ““THl just wait here for him, if you please.” She looked at him pleadingly. ““T know about this,” she said, “and I’m sorry. Won’t you go away, Mr. Diamond, and let this matter drop?” Diamond stared and reddened. His face had been pale with rage. “You'll not be able to understand’ my viewpoint,” he urged. “Your brother has engaged in slandering my friend Merriwell.: And he has refused to stop it and apologize, I came Sa to demand satisfaction. “I dis- like to say this to you.” : “I think, myself, that he should. not have published some of those things.” Has he “I respect you as a lady,” said Diamond; “therefore I will say no more about it to you. I beg your pardon.” “But you will not go away and avoid trouble?” “We will say no more about it. Theregmay be no trouble. I will wait here.” “Take my advice and leave,” better for you, Mr. Diamond.” “Sorry to-——" The doorway darkened. ~ Entering the room came the editor, with an officer wearing a star. Diamond stood up, cold and sneering. “I knew you were not a gentleman,’ he said; “and she begged. Tt will be * now you prove it. And you also prove that you are a coward.” The officer produced an imposing document. “A. warrant for you,’ he announced, “if your name is Jack Diamond. You have threatened this man, and we have here the challenge you sent him. Sending a challenge to fight a duel is a crime in this State, as I suppose you know.” Diamond’s flashing eyes met those of the editor. “Proof positive that you are no gentleman,” he said, sneering, apparently pleased that his contention had been so clearly proved. | He turned to the girl and bowed. “Sorry to have been the occasion of a scene in your presence. Pray pardon me. Now.1 will go.” CHAPTER: Vi. DIAMOND DROPS OUT. The daughter of Santanel, in her masculine attire, came along in a smart buggy, behind a spirited horse. She was on her way to the gridiron beyond the town, where ~ she hoped to find opportunity for a word with Dan Mc- Glory, whose suddenly developed passion for football made him watch all the practice work he could. Though Diamond had met Santanel’s daughter, it had been when she was posing as a fortune‘teller, in the semi- darkness of a mystery-enshrouded room. So, though he looked straight at her now, he had not the dawning of an idea that he was looking at the dark-eyed witch who had so attracted him. He saw, though, that the horse had become frightened and was about to bolt. It flung round, cramping the wheels of the buggy. Diamond sprang to stop it, got it by the bit, and was dragged, as the horse plunged ahead. At the corner, the horse came down. on its knees, and Diamond was flung against the curbing, striking his head. The people from the Pilot office. were advancing at a run, as the girl sprang out over the wheel, to Diamond’s assistance. : “He’s hurt,” she said to.a man who ran-up. “Help me get him into the buggy, and I’ll take -him to the hos- pital.” : Another man took. the forse by the head... The man she had spoken to lifted Diamond, limp and tinconscious, and got into the buggy with. him, to support him.: a girl scrambled: in; and clutched -the reins. The officer .came MD, Name his. hand. _ “Here, that man- “He is seriously hurt, and must be taken straight to the hospital,” the girl declared imperiously. “Telephone to the hospital, and have them prepared to receive. him.” The officer fell back, and she. drove off, as Gamp and the editor and others arrived from the office. “Gug-gug-gug-goshfry!” Gamp sputtered. “Dud-didn’t that fapaee quick? Diamond ee mebby; and is——” He turned back with the officer, who was. looking troubled. oe Entering the Pilot editorial room, the officer called up the hospital and gave notice that a young man who had been injured was on his way there. After a suitable time, he called the hospital again and was told that the injured man had not arrived. 7) Then came a queer statement from the hospital. The man who had been in the buggy with Diamond, support- ‘ing him, had appeared to make an inquiry. He had got out at a drug store, at the request of the driver, to get a stimulant for the injured man, and, on coming out, he had found’ the buggy gone. - “Somethin’ queer about that,” said the officer, quick suspicion in his tone: He began, to telephone to various places. Soon a “report came that a horse and buggy had been found abandoned, The officer. looked hard at Gamp, who had done more or__less talking, proclaiming | loudly his friendship for Diamond. “Tsn’t. there a trick here?” the officer demanded. “Cuc-course not,’ said Gamp. ‘“That’s fuf-foolish. If he’d wanted tew, he cuc-couldn’t ingineered that run- away and got his head cracked. He got worse on the way, and was tuck into some doctor’s office.” One after, another, the doctors along the route of the buggy were communicated with. They knew nothing of Diamond. Then. like officer. hurried away, to hacia a unt SCRPCHE ey ares aay requested the 4 “use oe thie editors: telephone. -“Your colossal. nerve. hhasn’t been weakened,” editor. “I gug-got to call up Mum-Merry,”. Gamp oe Leslie moved out-of the way. “Give him my regards. But you don’t expect me to accept the ie you're purine up. You know who that driver was. Gamp flushed guiltily.. “Nun-naw!”. he protested. “I’m sure you do. I saw you give a start of recognition when you first saw him, Isn’t that right?” “Nun-naw,” said Gamp; “tut-’tain’t,’ But his face was red with confusion as he turned to the phone and began to paw through the directory. He believed the driver of the buggy was the young man who had dropped. into his pocket that warning from San- tanel. Frank Merriwell was not at “the hotel. they said there that he had gone with his wife on a trip to Mani- tou, but his early return was expected. Having thrown aside his work as football coach, Merry thought he could find more time to devote to the en- joyment of his vacation, and, with Inza, he was begin- ning to visit the places of interest. Though they had more than once seen the queer shapes of rock in the Garden of the Gods, they were to go there again. They meant to climb Cheyenne Mountain and add their quota of stones to the cairn that stands on it as a monument to the author of Ramona, though the body of Helen Hunt Jackson no longer rests there. They would ascend Pike’s Peak by the cog railway. Already, beyond the . Colorado Springs suburbs, they had visited the Printers’ Home, built and maintained by the compositors of the United States, a place filled with many bright minds, now cast by disease into the commercial discard. Returning from Manitou, Merry found Gamp awaiting him at the Antlers. Gamp had been up to Merry’s rooms, and on the floor, by one of the doors, he had pounced on a crumpled paper, which he now held in his hands. ¥ a | NEW TIP TOP WEEKLY. said the “T got tew tell yeou my story first, and then I’ll show yeou this paper,” he said to Merry. He had waited until Inza had gone out, not dene to alarm. her. It was an odd story he told, of Jack Diamond’s ie. tures and his own. He: did- not spare himself in the telling, Then he spread the co paper on his inden and asked Merry to look at it, at the same time placing by it the note he had found in his pocket from Santanel. “Sus-same handwritin’, ain’t they?” he asked. They were identical. The second note was. very. brief. It merely said: “Want to see you this eve. Important for success of our plan.” oe “The young man who cuc-carried Diamond off in that buggy gave me the. first nun-note—so we've. th-thought. And. th-this second ‘one, I bub-believe, was dropped. in that hall up th-there by Dan McGlory, the pup-porter. For aiter I had pup-picked it up he cuc-come pokin’ ‘along that hall like he had dud-dropped somethin’ and was lul-lookin’ for it.” Merriwell had, almost from the first, suspected the new porter. McGlory had’ been sly and pussy-footed; he had been seen in places that he* might have chosen if he wished to eavesdrop, and he was too often around, as if listening, when he was not expected, “McGlory!” said Merriwell, comparing the - two writ- ings. “The way to find aout if he is the man what dud- dropped it is to fuf-foller him this evening. We~ can bub-believe that the note means this evenin’, Anyway, by watching him and sh-shadowing him, we can find aout if he has anything tut-to do with Sus-Santanel. That's jest mum-my idea.” “It’s a good one,” Merry admitted. However, Gamp saw that he hesitated. “Perhaps I’m inclined to be too suspicious,” Merry confessed, while he still compared and studied the hand- writing and wording of the two notes. “I admit that I’m likely to be, wherever Santanel is concerned. This scoundrel here is not the original Santanel, but only his brother, but he is of the same coyote-rattlesnake brood. So I’m always wondering when I come up against any- thing he may have had a hand in, if it doesn’t mean just the opposite of what it seems to mean.” “He’s a ruh-rattlesnake all ruh-right,” Gamp admitted. “On the face of it, granting that this was dropped by McGlory, it was an accident. He didn’t mean to drop it, and when he found it missing he came back along the hall looking for it. But if he is Santanel’s tool, it is quite as likely he dropped it there at that particular time for you to find, and came back so that you would be led to suspect he had dropped it by mistake. See?” “I hear ye, but I dud-don’t git ye.” “To make’ it short, it may be a frame-up. If so, it is intended to induce me to follow McGlory this evening and run into a trap.” Gamp sat blinking. This was so stunning a suggestion that his mind felt suddenly topsy- turvy. “Yet you see how flimsy the foundation seems to be on which to support that theory. I think, as a rule, I’m not easy to stampede. But this whole Santanel business seems to get my goat. Whenever any one goes up —— fade" eh CD ee OS REE x Pees SO