CHAPTER V.

THE PLOT AGAINST MERRIWELL.

Again there was a meeting in the room of Zeb Fletcher, but this time five nervous, frightened boys had gathered there. Of course, Zeb was on hand, and both Uric Scudder and Jim Watson were present. The others were Mart Reid and Gus Wade, two fellows who, through the blandishments of Zeb, had been induced to sign the protest against permitting Dick Merriwell to be excused from daily drill. Fletcher was trying to reassure Reid and Wade, but was not succeeding very well.

"I tell you," said Reid, "old Gunn has announced his intention of probing the matter to the bottom."

"I didn’t want to sign the paper, anyway," said Wade. "I thought it might get us into trouble."

"Now, how can it get us into trouble?" exclaimed Zeb.

"Why, old Gunn says we’ve got to prove the charges against Merriwell."

"And that we’ll be made examples of if we do not," put in Reid.

"Which means that we’ll be expelled," faltered Wade.

Jim Watson looked frightened, but said nothing.

"Oh, nothing of the kind!" declared Zeb, with attempted bravado. "They can’t expel you for a little thing like that."

"But they say it’s a mighty serious offense to deliberately try to damage a fellow’s character here at Fardale."

"You’re in just as bad a hole as we are," said Reid, "and you are to blame for the whole thing. You made me believe it was a joke more than anything else."

"Me, too," asserted Wade. "It’s a pretty serious joke—for us. My mother sent me here, and it will be hard on her if I’m expelled."

Uric Scudder rubbed his weak chin and looked at Watson, who returned the glance with interest. Then Fletcher turned to them, and his expression was an appeal for backing.

"Don’t you worry," he urged. "Old Gunn won’t do anything."

"It’s no use to say that," said Wade. "He’s doing something now. He’s begun an investigation on his own hook, and I’ll bet anything we’ll all be hauled up before him within a week."

"In which case," said Scudder, attempting to help Fletcher out, "we must be prepared with a slick little story, to which we can all stick."

"Not for me!" cried Reid.

"Nor me!" said Wade.

"Why, you don’t mean you will welch, do you?" snapped Zeb, in apparent amazement.

"I mean that I shall tell the truth," said Mart Reid. "I shall confess that I was sore because Merriwell made the eleven and I was not given a trial."

"You fool!" snarled Zeb, his crooked eye blazing and looking very wicked.

"That will be cutting your own throat," averred Scudder. "You can’t do it!"

"I shall, all the same," persisted Reid.

"And I shall do the same thing," said Gus Wade. "I’d give a hundred dollars this minute, if I had it, if I had never put my name to your old paper!"

"I’d give two hundred!" cried Mart.

Zeb saw that Watson was frightened, as well as Reid and Wade, and, for the first time, he began to fear that the charges against Merriwell might result in injury to the ones who had made them. He tried to think of the proper course to pursue, but he was bewildered and uncertain until Reid said:

"Wish I could get my hands on that old paper. I’d soon fix it so it would not serve as evidence against me."

A light that was new came to Fletcher’s crooked eye.

"Look here, fellows!" he said, "don’t you worry about this matter any more."

"How are we going to help it?" questioned Wade.

"Just don’t. It will be all right, I promise you that. I’ve got a scheme of fixing it."

"What is the scheme?"

"That’s all right. Leave it to me. Your Uncle Fletch knows a thing or two. That paper never will be used as evidence against any of us."

"Why, it’s in old Gunn’s hands. How can——"

"Never mind that. Forget it. No matter what you hear, keep your faces closed, and you’ll be all right. Now, we had better break this meeting up, and you fellows trust in me, that’s all."

Neither Reid nor Wade seemed satisfied, but Zeb made them promise to keep still and wait, after which he hustled them out of his room.

When they were gone, he turned to Scudder and Watson.

"Those chaps are squealers," he said, in a disgusted way.

"But they’ll get us in a bad scrape if we don’t look out," said Uric, still fumbling at his chin with his fingers.

"It’s a desperate case," nodded Watson. "I’m sorry myself that we did it. We can’t back up our charges with proof."

"We might if those chaps who were here just now had backbone," said Zeb. "We could fake up a nice little story and stick to it till the cows came home."

"But they’ll never do that," from Scudder.

"I know it, and there is where the difficulty rises."

"What’s your scheme?"

"A desperate one."

"Tell us."

"Can I trust you? I’ve got to trust you. I wouldn’t think of doing it if it wasn’t that those chaps will squeal, but I’m going to try to—sh-h-h!—to get hold of that paper."

Zeb whispered the final words.

"How?" whispered both Uric and Jim.

"I know a way. I have a key to the door of old Gunn’s den. How did I get it? Made it. He leaves the key in the outside of his door sometimes, you know. I noticed that. Thought I might want to get into his department some time, and so one day I slipped it out when I was passing the door, and took a wax impression of it. I’ve done the thing with other keys just for sport, and I’ve got the trick down fine. I slipped the key back into the lock and got away. Then I made a key from the impression. Here it is."

The crooked-eyed young rascal held up the key he had made. Scudder looked at him in admiration.

"You’re a dandy, Fletch!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I have a little way of preparing for emergencies," said Zeb, with a swagger. "This key is all right, and I’ll bet my life on it. I can open the door of that room first pop."

"But what good will that do you?"

"I know just when old Gunn goes out late in the afternoon for a walk."

"You’ll go there then?"

"If I get the chance. I’ll get into his den, and I’ll bet you anything you like I’ll find that paper. He keeps his important papers on his desk, and the one I want will be there. I’ll get my hands on it, and then it will disappear."

"Pretty desperate!" commented Watson. "If you’re caught——"

"I won’t be. But I’ve got another idea."

"What’s that?"

"We don’t want anybody to think any of us swiped the paper."

"Of course not."

"But it would be clever of us to make it seem that a certain fellow did the job."

"What fellow? You mean——"

"Dick Merriwell. We might make it seem as if he got in there somehow and carried off the complaint against him."

"How can that be done?"

"You fellows room with him?"

"Yes."

"Get into his clothes and bring me one of his handkerchiefs. All linen is marked here, so it can be readily identified. Bring that handkerchief to me."

"What will you do with it?"

"Drop it."

"Where?"

"Old Gunn’s room. Catch on? Oh, it’s a clever idea! Suspicion will be thrown on him. I’ve got a long head."

"I’m afraid——" began Watson.

"Don’t be afraid of anything," said Zeb.

"I’ll get the handkerchief," promised Scudder. "Jim needn’t do anything. I’ll bring you a handkerchief at the first opportunity, Fletch."

"And I’ll do the rest. Leave it to me. Now, get out and look for that hankie. Why, I see where we turn this whole business in our favor and make Merriwell look like thirty cents. There will be something doing around here before long. Trust to little Zeb."

* * * * * * *

That evening, having buttoned his rather shabby old overcoat about him, and taken his crooked walking-stick, Professor Gunn started out for his usual walk.

He strolled along in his accustomed absorbed manner, his head down, buried deep in thought. But it happened that the professor did not walk as far as usual. He had that day been pondering over a most puzzling mathematical problem, and, as he strolled along, carrying his cane behind his back, the solution suddenly dawned on him.

"Hum!" he said, stopping short. "Wonder why I didn’t think of that before?"

Then he felt in his pocket for paper and a pencil. He found the paper, but no pencil. Through every pocket he searched, but not a bit of a pencil could he find.

"Dash it!" he said.

Then he went through his pockets again.

"Dash it!" he said once more, with greater vehemence. "I must put that down at once, for fear it may slip me."

So he turned and retraced his steps to the academy. Up to his room went the professor.

It had grown dark, and there was no light in his room. Somewhat to his surprise, his key did not seem to work right in the lock, and then, turning the knob, he found the door was not locked at all.

"Carelessness!" he muttered, as he entered the room.

He started to approach the shelf on which the matches were kept. Then, of a sudden, a dark form sprang at him and hurled him against the wall with such violence that he fell to the floor, stunned. The dark figure rushed from the room and vanished.

The professor did not rise for several minutes, When he collected his scattered senses he began to wonder what had happened. His head was ringing, and he felt very weak. With great difficulty he dragged himself to his feet.

His first thought was to raise an alarm. Then he reached for the matches, found them, and struck one. Glancing about, he saw that his desk was in disorder, papers being scattered about and the drawers pulled out.

Then beside the desk he saw something white. He picked it up. It was a handkerchief, with the letters "R. M." on one corner.

"‘R. M.,’" muttered the professor. "Now, whose handkerchief is this? It was dropped by the intruder here. It is a clue to the fellow. ‘R. M.’ Can it be——"

He stopped short, appalled by a thought that came to him.

"The boy was here yesterday," he murmured. "Did he see something here that aroused his cupidity? Is it possible he has entered my room in my absence and——"

Again he failed to complete the sentence. Putting the handkerchief out of sight, he closed the door of his room, having lighted a student’s lamp. Then he began an investigation.

In time he discovered that the protest and charges against Dick Merriwell were missing, but nothing else seemed to have been touched. When he made this discovery Professor Gunn sat down by his desk, and the look on his face was one of mingled pain and anger.

"Is it possible," he said, "that I have been mistaken in that boy? Is it possible he is not what I thought him to be? Has he thought to stop the investigation of the charges against him by stealing the paper?

"I am not willing to believe it! There is honesty in his face and in the way he looks one square in the eyes. His brother is the finest young man I ever knew. Yet it looks bad for Dick. I’ll say nothing about this now, but if I find that boy is not what I thought——"