Dick Prescott's Second Year at West Point Part 40

It was Greg who raised the brick that had resisted their efforts for so long. Underneath Cadet Holmes found a collection of things that chained the attention of all, as each took eager looks in turn.

"Going to put the stuff back, for the present?" asked Anstey, with an odd quiver in his voice The honorable Virginian was upset by what he had seen.

"Not never!" retorted Greg with ungrammatical emphasis. "It won't be just the thing for old ramrod and myself to have it, either.

Milesy, you and Dunstan take it along with you. Now, old ramrod, just what had we better do?"

"I don't see anything for it but to root out again after taps and the subdivision inspector's visit tonight," muttered d.i.c.k, who was alternately pale and flushed over the discovery, and all that it meant. "Gentlemen, will you come softly to my room fifteen minutes after the sub-division inspector's official visit at taps?"

Greg and Anstey restored the bricked flooring of the fireplace so that nothing indicated the late search.

Then, Dunstan and Furlong carrying away the discovered stuff, the five prowlers turned out the gas and separated.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE "COMMITTEE ON CLa.s.s HONOR"

At a few minutes after eleven, that same April night, five cadets fully dressed stole down the corridor, and the leader laid a hand on Dodge's doork.n.o.b.

In another moment they had stepped inside and their arrival awakened Cadet Brayton.

"Plebes' quarters next floor up, brothers," called Brayton in drowsy good nature.

"I'm sorry to say, Brayton, we're on the right floor, and in the right room," responded Dunstan. "But this visit won't bother you!"

The noise of voices awoke Bert Dodge with start. He awoke with a snort, then sat bolt upright, peering in the dark.

"Wh---who's there?" he demanded hoa.r.s.ely.

"A committee on cla.s.s honor, Mr. Dodge," replied Furlong, while Anstey added, with ironic politeness:

"Don't be alahmed, suh. We do not believe you to be possessed, suh, of any of the commodity of which we are in search."

"Brayton" asked Greg, "will you be good enough to slip into your bathrobe and hang your blankets over the window? Then we can have some light. That's one thing we're going to need," he added significantly.

"Don't you do it, Bray," broke in Dodge stiffly. "As for you fellows, the best thing you can all do is to go back to your cradles.

Bray and I want to sleep the night through. And you've no business here, anyway."

"I'm afraid you've missed the point, suh?" replied Anstey with bored patience. "That is exactly why we're here, suh---because we have business here."

Brayton had slipped into his bathrobe and was now crossing the room with blankets on one arm.

"Chase 'em out, Bray; don't hang any blankets for them to run a light behind," begged Dodge.

"I'm afraid I'd better," murmured Brayton, as he stood on a chair and reached up to put the blankets in place. Didn't you hear the announcement that this is a committee of honor? The cla.s.s has a right to send one to any man, and Prescott, the cla.s.s president, is here. There, those blankets will hold and shut in all light.

Turn on the gas, Holmesy, if you will."

"You'd better get into robe and slippers, too, Mr. Dodge," hinted Dunstan strongly. "Our business is with you, and I think you'll feel more at ease on your feet."

"What is all this nonsense about, anyway growled Dodge, as he slipped out of bed and wrapped himself in his dressing gown.

"That's what we'll ask you to explain," retorted Greg. "But let us go about this in a regular manner. In the first place, Brayton, please understand that you are not being investigated. It is Mr. Dodge who is under suspicion."

"Yes; under fine suspicion!" snarled Dodge. "You mean I'm to be the victim of a plot hatched by my two old enemies back in the home town."

But Greg, ignoring him, turned to his chum.

"d.i.c.k, old ramrod, as you're the aggrieved one, I don't suppose you can exactly act as cla.s.s president in this case. But you can designate some other member of the cla.s.s to act in your place."

"Then I'll name Mr. Anstey," replied d.i.c.k. "I believe he will be satisfactory to everyone."

"Not to me!" snapped Bert Dodge, his uneasy gaze roving from one face to another. "The cla.s.s president can't name his own subst.i.tute."

"Silence!" commanded Brayton, turning on his roommate. "Of course the cla.s.s president can delegate his duties, temporarily, to another."

"Take this matter in charge, Mr. Anstey," begged d.i.c.k, turning to the Virginian.

"Mr. Dodge," continued the Virginian, "be good enough, suh, to pay good heed to what I have to say. That will be necessary, in fairness to yourself, suh. I'll begin at the beginning."

Anstey began with the handkerchief-borrowing episode in barracks area. He dwelt upon the accusation against Cadet Prescott, the court-martial, and the further fact that even the verdict of acquittal had not, at first, been fully accepted by all members of the corps of cadets clearing d.i.c.k of the fearful suspicion against his honor.

"What has all this to do with me?" snarled Dodge. "Is Prescott trying to revive his old and infamous hints against me?

"Wait a moment, Mr. Dodge," continued Anstey patiently. "Now will now move along to the drill in the riding hall yesterday afternoon."

Anstey then described the bared cuff that Prescott had seen on Dodge's left wrist.

"That's a lie," rasped out Dodge.

But Anstey heeded him not; Prescott merely smiled. But the sight of that smile maddened Dodge, who sprang up, crying:

"Yes! You think you have it all cooked up against me, d.i.c.k Prescott!

But you'll find that truth and right will win."

d.i.c.k did not answer, but Anstey, looking impressively at the culprit, declared:

"Mr. Dodge, tonight, while you were away, we pried up that brick!"

Every vestige of color fled from Bert's face. He seemed about to fall, but he clutched at the chair back and remained standing.

"Of course, Mr. Dodge, you know what we found there. Brayton, you don't so you will interested in seeing the things. Milesy, be good enough to spread the collection on that table. Here, you see, first of all, is the cuff of yesterday. Even the writing, in India ink, remains on it. And here are reddish stains, made by the impact of that cuff with the tan-bark of the riding hall.

Here are slips of paper on which the main features of the hardest math. problems of each day have been noted down, ready for writing on a cuff. Here is the water-proof ink and the pen with which the writing on the cuff was done. And here are some other slips of paper, evidently older, on which other problems have been written out more fully. These older slips of paper contain problems of last November and early December---the time when Prescott was in his deep trouble. Now, these older slips are of paper just like the piece that fell from the handkerchief that Prescott took out of his blouse on that tragic day. Somewhere in the files the authorities have that slip that figured in the charges at Prescott's trial by general court-martial. I imagine, on comparison, that slip will be found to be on paper identical with these slips containing older problems. And you will note that these older slips are written on with a typewriting machine, with crude figures drawn in, just as in the case of the slip that figured Prescott's trial. Now, Mr. Dodge, isn't it plain to even the dullest mind that you have been systematically cribbing at math., and that it is to that fact you owe your present high standing in the yearling cla.s.s?"

"Now that I think of it," remarked Brayton, turning and fixing his roommate with a frigid, hostile stare, "I have, on at least two occasions, entered this room just in time to see Mr. Dodge spring up hastily from near the fireplace. But I am a dull-witted fellow, I suppose, and I didn't suspect.

"Have you anything to say, Mr. Dodge?" demanded Anstey.