The Great Oakdale Mystery. Scott Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ he reached the football field that afternoon Fred found Roy Hooker telling a group of boys about the encounter with the mysterious stranger. Of those boys Billy Piper, familiarly known as “Sleuth” on account of his yearning desire to emulate the feats of detective heroes of fiction, appeared to be the most deeply interested. The others showed a disposition to treat the affair as something of minor importance or no importance whatever.

      “Through what I can gather from your statements, Hooker,” said Sleuth, “I am led to infer that this unknown party may have been a red-handed criminal fleeing from justice. Or, perchance, to look at the matter in another light, he was a person deeply wronged, seeking to visit retribution on the head of one who had injured him. I say, Sage,” he called, catching sight of Fred, “have you any reason to suppose that you or any of your immediate relatives may have a bitter and remorseless enemy who seeks reprisal for some fancied injury in the dark and buried years of the past?”

      “As far as I know,” answered Fred, “we have not an enemy in the world.”

      “And you haven’t a notion as to the identity of the mysterious stranger who made inquiries about you and then ran away before you could get a look at him?”

      “Not the remotest idea.”

      “Hah!” breathed Piper in deep satisfaction. “The plot thickens. I scent a mystery of deep and terrible significance. The clues are faint indeed, but they shall not baffle me. If this unknown stranger lingers in the vicinity of Oakdale, I’ll yet lay bare his foul designs and foil him in his fell purpose.”

      “Oh, slush!” cried Phil Springer. “You’ve got another bad attack, Pipe. You bub-better forget it. Here comes Stoney. Let’s start practice, fellows.”

      The group dissolved, leaving Piper, his arms folded, his eyes fixed upon the ground, in profound meditation.

      CHAPTER IV.

      A MAN “WANTED.”

      Captain Stone, who seemed to be amazingly conversant with the new football rules, which of late he had studied faithfully during all his spare moments, tried hard to impart an understanding of them to the other boys, the most of whom were eager to learn, their willingness keeping them at practice until the gathering darkness finally forced them to stop.

      Upon the occasion of his son leaving Oakdale Academy for the purpose of taking a final college preparatory year in one of the leading prep schools of the country, Urian Eliot had contributed five hundred dollars for the purpose of carrying out a plan for certain improvements of the Oakdale gymnasium. These improvements had been made, and now in one end of the former bowling alley there were heated dressing rooms and a number of shower baths. This made it possible for the boys to take their showers after practice or games, and then rub down and dress in comfort.

      Hurrying to the gym, Fred Sage lost no time in stripping off his soiled and sweaty football clothes and making a dive for one of the shower compartments. The rooms resounded with the voices of the boys, and from some of the showers rose whoops and boos and strange gasps mingling with the hissing rush and drip of water.

      “Hey, there, Cooper!” called a voice. “What are you doing? Turn on the cold. You’ll parboil yourself in a minute. Look, fellers – look a’ the steam coming out of Chipper’s cell!”

      “Aw, go on and mind your business,” came from the steaming compartment. “I always start with it warm and turn off the hot gradually till it’s cold enough to suit me.”

      “And that’s abaout cold enough to bile aigs,” chuckled Sile Crane, a lanky country boy who talked through his nose. “Hurry up there, Chipper, and give a feller a chance. Tuttle’s treatin’ on peanuts, and you won’t git none if you don’t git a move on.”

      “Somebody can have my place,” said Sage, as he shot out of the compartment, dripping icy water from every part of his shining body. “Where’s my towel? I left it right here. Somebody has swiped my towel.”

      In a moment he had found the towel and was using it vigorously. A thorough scrubbing set his firm flesh aglow, and he jumped into his clothes feeling as fresh and vigorous as if he had not tramped the forenoon through, carrying a gun, and followed that up by an afternoon of strenuous football practice. He was almost fully dressed when he observed Sleuth Piper, still adorned in football togs, standing a short distance away and regarding him through half closed lids. In some story Sleuth had read that whenever he wished to concentrate his mind on any perplexing problem the hero of the yarn always gazed fixedly at some object through partly closed eyelids.

      “Hi, there, Pipe!” called Fred sharply. “Going to sleep? Wake up. Going to wear those rags the rest of the evening?”

      “Hush!” said Piper, frowning and lifting a reproving hand. “Don’t interrupt me that way when my mind is at work upon a problem.”

      “Forget it,” advised Fred. “You’ll be late for supper. Cæsar’s ghost! but I’m as hungry as a bear.”

      He was the first one to leave the gymnasium, and he strode away whistling. In a few moments, however, he ceased to whistle and proceeded with his head slightly bent and his hands sunk deep in his pockets. Finally, with a shake of his shoulders, he tossed back his head, muttering:

      “Confound Sleuth, anyhow! He’s always trying to make a deep, dark mystery out of any unusual occurrence. It was queer that the man should ask about the Sages and then run away when he knew I was coming, but it isn’t likely he’ll ever be seen again by anyone around here, so what’s the use for me to addle my brains over it?”

      Truly, Fred seemed “hungry as a bear,” and the manner in which he swept the food from the supper table made his mother gasp and caused his father to chuckle.

      “One thing about football,” said Mr. Sage, “boys who play the game aren’t apt to be finicky about their food. How did you get along at the field this afternoon, son?”

      “First-rate, everything considered. Of course the new rules are going to bother us a little, but Stone seems wise to them, and I fancy he’ll be able to do pretty well with the team, though of course we’re going to miss Eliot.”

      “A fine boy, Roger Eliot,” nodded Andrew Sage.

      “Sure thing,” agreed Fred instantly; “and his father comes pretty near being the real thing, too. When we first came to Oakdale people were saying that Urian Eliot was cold and close-fisted, but look what he did for the school. We’ve got a new gym now, heated and lighted and fitted out with shower baths, like a first-class place. I tell you, the fellows take off their hats to Mr. Eliot these days.”

      “Oakdale people are just beginning to realize that Eliot has done a great deal for the town,” said Mr. Sage. “He’s one of our solid, reliable citizens. Only for him, we’d still be without a bank.”

      After supper Andrew Sage lighted his pipe, and Fred, feeling no desire to go out, settled down to a book before the comfortable open fire in the sitting-room.

      An hour had not passed when there came a ring at the door-bell, and Fred himself rose at once to answer. On the steps stood a dark figure with coat collar upturned and cap pulled well down. Blinded a little by the sudden change from light to darkness, the boy failed to recognize the caller.

      “Good evening,” he said.

      “’St!” came back a sibilant hiss. “It’s me, Piper. Why don’t you ask a feller in? Almost cold enough to freeze to-night.”

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