Dave Porter at Oak Hall. Stratemeyer Edward

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      Dave listened to the conversation with deep interest. As the policeman took the telegram he approached the officer.

      "Excuse me, but do you know what that thief stole?" he questioned, in a low voice.

      The policeman stared, and gazed at him sharply.

      "What do you want to know for?"

      "I heard what the telegraph operator said. I was on that train which is delayed, and I saw a man on board who was dressed in a suit of gray. He had a valise which was so heavy he could scarcely carry it. One end bulged open, and I saw something in it which looked like gold plate."

      "Say, is that true?" burst out the policeman. "This telegram says some gold- and silver-ware were taken, also some diamond rings. It was the summer home of Senator Morr—a fine old place that belonged once to the senator's grandfather."

      "Then I shouldn't be surprised if the man I saw was the thief!" burst out Dave, excitedly. "He got on the train at Hemson."

      "Where is he now?"

      "At the barroom of yonder hotel." The youth pointed out the place. "He wanted me to drink with him, but I wouldn't do it." And then Dave ​told of how the valise had dropped from the seat and how he had come to get a peep inside.

      "I guess you have spotted the right man," said the policeman. "But I'd better tell the chief of this, first."

      "Where is he? The man may get away if you delay."

      "The station house is right around the corner."

      "Supposing I go and watch the man while you tell your chief?" suggested Dave.

      "Very well. If he tries to get away, run to the station house and report."

      So it was agreed, and a moment later Dave hurried once more towards the hotel. He found the stranger leaning on the bar, talking earnestly to the one who had served him with drinks. The valise rested on a side table.

      "Hullo!" cried the man. "Do you know when our train moves?"

      "Not yet a while," answered Dave.

      "I've got to get out of town, somehow," went on the stranger. "I can't afford to stay here all day."

      "Maybe you'd like to walk."

      "That's a good joke. Don't you know that the roads around here are beastly?"

      "Perhaps you can hire an automobile," went on Dave, talking merely for the purpose of killing time.

      ​"Say, that's a scheme! Wonder if there are any autos to let around here?"

      "You'll find a garage two blocks up the street," said the barkeeper. "I think they have one or two they hire out by the hour."

      "I want to get over to Hartford by to-night," said the man with the heavy valise. "I'll go and see what they've got."

      He took up his bag, and left the hotel, walking slowly in the direction that had been pointed out. He had nearly reached the automobile establishment when he noticed that Dave was following him.

      "Want to come along to Hartford?" he asked, but not in a pleasant tone.

      "No, I thought I'd see if you managed to get an automobile. I'm going on to Oakdale Junction, as I told you before."

      "Oh, yes, I remember. You said you were going to a boarding school at Oakdale. What's the name of the place?"

      "Oak Hall."

      "And what's your name?"

      "Dave Porter. What's yours?"

      "Mine? My name is——" the man seemed to hesitate, "Peter Snodgrass. I'm from Pittsburg."

      "Peter Snodgrass," thought Dave. "That doesn't square with the initials, W. F. F., that are on that valise."

      ​In a moment more the automobile establishment was reached, and the man who had given his name as Peter Snodgrass walked inside. Looking behind him, Dave saw the policeman approaching rapidly, accompanied by his chief, also in uniform.

      "Where is he?" asked the policeman, and then continued to his superior: "This is the lad, chief."

      "He just went in here to see if he couldn't hire an automobile," answered Dave.

      "Humph! wants to get out of town in a hurry," muttered the chief of police. "It certainly won't do any harm to detain him on suspicion."

      All three entered the automobile establishment, and the chief walked up to the man with the valise and tapped him on the shoulder.

      "We want you," he said, in a low, hard tone.

      The man who had given his name as Peter Snodgrass jumped about a foot. Then he gazed at the guardians of the law in alarm.

      "Hang the luck! I reckon the game is up!" he cried, and as quick as a flash he dropped his valise, ran to the open window of the automobile establishment, and leaping outside, disappeared from view.

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