The Mark of the Knife

The newcomer at Ridgley remained standing in the bushes as if frozen to the spot. He was revolving in his mind many things: Snubby's seemingly frank and happy manner, the fact that it was he who had first reported a loss, his interest in the subsequent thefts. It seemed impossible; and yet here was indisputable evidence that Snubby had chosen a moment when the dormitory was deserted to break into one of the rooms.

Whose room was it, anyway? Teeny-bits, still looking upward, suddenly realized that the room into which Snubby had broken was Tracey Campbell's; confusing thoughts were still sweeping through his mind when he became aware that some one who was stepping swiftly along the walk that passed close behind the hall was almost upon him. Teeny-bits never knew just why he followed the sudden impulse that came over him. His first thought was that he did not want any one to see him standing there in the shrubbery apparently without reason; he started to crouch, but his quick movement caught the eye of the person who was passing. The footfalls came to a sudden pause, and a voice, which Teeny-bits recognized as that of Mr. Stevens, the English master, called out:

"Who's that?"

With a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, Teeny-bits stepped out of the bushes and said:

"It's Findley Holbrook – " and then, as if for good measure, he added his nickname – "Teeny-bits."

"What's up?" asked Mr. Stevens.

The question was put pleasantly, but Teeny-bits knew that behind it there must be wonder and suspicion – yes, surely suspicion – for it was not an ordinary circumstance to find a member of the school concealing himself close to the rear windows of one of the dormitories when all the rest of the school was absent at a mass meeting. For the life of him Teeny-bits could think of nothing to say – he had made up his mind instantly not to tell what he had seen – and there did not seem to be anything else left. For seconds that seemed like hours he did not answer Mr. Stevens' question and then he managed to get a few words across his benumbed lips.

"It's nothing," he said. "I just – I'm – I was coming back from the mass meeting."

Mr. Stevens looked at him keenly and laid a hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter, Teeny-bits?" he asked, and the newcomer at Ridgley knew from the very fact that the master addressed him by his nickname that he expected a straightforward answer.

Teeny-bits looked at Mr. Stevens in dumb misery and said nothing.

"Can I help you?" asked Mr. Stevens.

"No," said Teeny-bits. "Thanks, but I'm just going up to my room; that's all."

They walked round to the front of the hall together; Mr. Stevens said nothing more, and Teeny-bits ran up to his room and sat down to think. A few minutes before the impending struggle with Jefferson had filled his mind so completely that there seemed to be room for nothing else; now suddenly this other thing had come upon him and in an instant had engulfed his mind. Circumstances had involved him in a situation from which he would have given a year of his life to escape. He suddenly realized that he valued his good name above everything else.

Doctor Wells had been away from Ridgley over the week-end, to make an address in Philadelphia. He came back to the school Monday afternoon and did not get an opportunity to attend to his mail until evening. One letter that came to him contained a brief but surprising message. He read it once and then again, and forgot the rest of his mail. He got up from his desk chair and walking over to the window looked out into the night. Voices came to him faintly, – the eager, confident, carefree voices of youth. He knew that the boys were returning from the mass meeting. He turned away from the window, drew down the shade and read again the brief message.

It never took Doctor Wells long to make a decision; the course of action he determined on now he quickly put into execution. He reached for the telephone and in a moment was talking with Mr. Stevens, whose room was situated in Gannett Hall.

"Mr. Stevens," he said, "I want you to go up to Holbrook's room and ask him to come over here immediately. I'd like to have you stay with him until he starts."

Teeny-bits was not greatly surprised when Mr. Stevens came into his room a quarter of an hour after he had said good night to him. When any one was in trouble Mr. Stevens had a way of dropping round to see how he could help. Teeny-bits was surprised, however, when the English master delivered Doctor Wells' message. The first thought that came into his mind was that Mr. Stevens had reported what he had seen and that Doctor Wells was calling him to his office to request an explanation. Mr. Stevens may have read his thought for he looked at Teeny-bits rather searchingly and said:

"I don't know why Doctor Wells wants to see you; I haven't talked with him since he returned except to answer the request that has just been made. If you need me in any way, let me know."

That was the second time the English master had offered himself.

"I guess there isn't anything you can do," said Teeny-bits as he picked up his hat and started out of the room. "I'll run over to the office and see what Doctor Wells wants."

Teeny-bits' heart was pounding a little as he mounted the granite steps of "The White House", as every one called Doctor Wells' home. It was always an impressive thing to make a call on Doctor Wells – and one calculated to make the blood run a little faster, whatever the errand. There was something about this summons, moreover, that gave it an unusual quality, and to Teeny-bits, who had passed through two experiences that evening, it seemed to be a climax that held for him vague and perhaps unpleasant possibilities. He rang the bell and was ushered immediately into Doctor Wells' study where the soft lamplight, the paintings on the walls and the garnet-colored rugs, which harmonized with the mahogany furniture, gave an atmosphere of dignity and refinement. One always carried himself with a certain feeling of awe – at least every member of the school did – in Doctor Wells' office. But there was no unpleasant formality in Doctor Wells' manner. He shook hands with Teeny-bits cordially, asked him to sit down and came to the point immediately.

"I received a letter in the mail to-day which has something to do with you, Holbrook. I thought you'd better see it immediately. It isn't a pleasant subject and I want you to tell me frankly what you know about it."

He handed over a sheet of paper on which were three or four lines of typewritten words. They were simple enough in their meaning, but Teeny-bits had to read them twice before he completely grasped their import. There were two sentences:

Holbrook has the things that were stolen from the dormitories. He keeps them hidden under the floor in his closet.

Teeny-bits' face became red with anger and mortification; he looked Doctor Wells squarely in the eyes and said:

"Whoever sent you this, sir, wrote a lie! He didn't dare to sign his name!"

Doctor Wells never took his eyes from Teeny-bits' face, but the expression in them underwent a slight change; it was as if he had been looking for something that he greatly wanted to see – and suddenly had seen it.

"I believe in you, Holbrook," he said. "And I want you to know that I sympathize with you as I would with any one else against whose honesty a cowardly assault has been made. One has to defend himself sturdily against such underhand attacks. Have you any enemies who might try to injure you in this way?"

"I don't know; I shouldn't think that any one in this school would be mean enough to do it. Doctor Wells, I want you to come over to my room now, and let me prove that it's a lie."

"I'll be glad to," said the Head, "but we might as well wait a few minutes until the lights-out bell rings. We don't need to advertise our business to any of the fellows in Gannett Hall."

For fifteen minutes Teeny-bits sat in the study with Doctor Wells; he never remembered in detail what they talked about, but he had a vague memory that it concerned football and the game with Jefferson.

Gannett Hall was dark and quiet when the Head and the newcomer to the school stole softly up the stairs and stopped at Number 34 on the third floor. Teeny-bits unlocked the door, reached in to switch on the electric lights and stood aside to let Doctor Wells enter first. He followed and led the way directly to the closet where he kept his clothes. Swinging open the door he looked down.

At first glance it seemed that the boards were not in any way disturbed from their normal appearance, and Teeny-bits was about to speak when his eyes fell on a groove at the point where the ends of two boards came together. He had not for an instant supposed that he and Doctor Wells would discover anything in the closet, but now suddenly a great fear came over him.

"There's a mark on this board," he said, getting down closer, "and the nails have been pulled out."

A minute or two later Teeny-bits and Doctor Wells had pried up the loose boards with a heavy paper-knife from Teeny-bits' table and were gazing down at a small pile of loot which consisted of the objects that various members of the school had reported as lost. It included Fred Harper's silver sailing trophy, Ned Stillson's gold knife, Snubby Turner's watch and ten or a dozen other trinkets. Teeny-bits felt stunned. Doctor Wells had picked out the articles one after another before Teeny-bits found his voice. Then he said:

"I don't know what you think, Doctor Wells, but the honest truth is that I didn't know a thing about this. I can't even guess – "

He could say no more; his voice broke a little and he felt as if he were half a dozen years younger and about to cry in little-boy manner.

"Teeny-bits," said Doctor Wells – it was the second time that night that Findley Holbrook had been thus addressed by a person in authority at Ridgley – "I've said once that I believe in you; this doesn't shake my confidence in your honesty. I'll take charge of these things; I think you'd better go to bed now and let me see what I can do to solve the problem. I'll borrow this empty laundry bag."

After Doctor Wells had gone, Teeny-bits undressed and got into bed, but for hours he did not fall asleep. He kept thinking of Snubby Turner climbing down the fire escape. Could it be possible that the genial Snubby was guilty of stealing from his friends, of professing to have lost property himself and finally of attempting to throw the blame on another? It seemed unbelievable. But why had Snubby stayed away from the mass meeting except to break into the rooms of his classmates? It was all too confusing. Teeny-bits could evolve no satisfactory explanation. At two or three in the morning he fell into a troubled sleep during which he dreamed that he was playing in the Jefferson game and that the stands were yelling in a tremendous chorus:

"He's a thief; he's a thief!"

CHAPTER VII

ON THE EVE OF THE STRUGGLE

On the morning after the discovery of the loot hidden under the floor of the closet at 34 Gannett Hall Teeny-bits awoke with the feeling that he had been experiencing a nightmare in which disaster and unhappiness had fastened a death-like clutch upon him. It scarcely seemed possible that those events with which the evening had been crowded were real.

The speech at the mass meeting, the discovery of Snubby Turner sliding down the side of the fire rope and breaking into Campbell's room, the incident with Mr. Stevens, the summons to Doctor Wells' office, the visit to Gannett Hall and the astounding secret that revealed itself when the boards of the closet were lifted, – all those events seemed like strange imaginings. Teeny-bits jumped from bed and opened the door of the closet. The little marks that he and Doctor Wells had made with the paper-knife were sufficient evidence to bring back the reality of each incident and to plunge Teeny-bits into a gloomy perplexity from which not even the crisp brightness of the November day or the prospect of the Jefferson game could divert his mind.

The worst of it was that there seemed to be nothing that he could do except await developments; he thought of going to Snubby Turner and demanding an explanation of the part that Snubby had played in breaking into Tracey Campbell's room, but he could not bring himself to make what would be nothing less than a serious accusation of his friend. He determined to wait.

Throughout the day it seemed to Teeny-bits that he was leading two lives, – the one absorbed in the personal problem that had been thrust upon him, the other concerned with the mechanical performance of the various duties that came his way. He attended classes, ate his meals and took part in the regular football practice, but his mind was elsewhere.

Coach Murray was the first to notice that everything was not quite right. When the practice was two thirds over he spoke to Teeny-bits.

"Aren't you feeling fit?" he asked.

"I'm all right," replied the half-back.

"I'm afraid you've been working a little too hard," said the coach. "We'll call that enough for you to-day."

Doctor Wells had a habit of conferring with Mr. Stevens in matters that concerned his personal relationship with the members of the school. He had a great respect for the English master's understanding of character. On Tuesday morning he summoned Mr. Stevens to his office and put a blunt question.

"What do you think of Holbrook – Teeny-bits, as they call him?"

"Why, I've always liked him," said Mr. Stevens.

"Are you quite sure of him?"

For an instant Mr. Stevens did not answer, and then he said quickly: "Yes, I – , oh, I'm sure he's all right. In fact, I've considered him as the same type – though, of course, with a different background – as Neil Durant; and you know what I think of Neil."

If Doctor Wells had noticed the slight pause which preceded the English master's reply, he gave no sign. "I agree with you," he declared. "But I want to tell you about a puzzling incident that happened last night."

Briefly, but omitting no important detail, Doctor Wells told Mr. Stevens of the unsigned letter that accused Teeny-bits, of his conference with the newcomer and of the visit to Gannett Hall. When the Head described the discovery of the stolen property beneath the floor of Teeny-bits' closet, the expression on Mr. Stevens' face changed.

"You actually found those things in his room!" exclaimed the English master. He was sitting in the same chair in which Teeny-bits had sat just twelve hours before.

Doctor Wells, sitting opposite, smiled slightly at the surprise in Mr. Stevens' voice; he had heard just such a quality of surprise mingled with indignation in the voice of Teeny-bits.

"It astonishes you as much as it did me," said the Head. "What do you think of it?"

Mr. Stevens sat and looked into the fire and did not answer the question. The room became so quiet that the clock on the mantel seemed to raise its voice, – as if suddenly it had become animate and wished to make itself heard. It ticked out a full minute and sixty seconds more and then – as it were – became silent, for the voice of the English master drowned it out.

"That put a real problem up to me," he said. "I didn't know at first what to do, but I think I see clearly now. Something happened last night – something I couldn't quite explain; I've been puzzling over it. Unless I were sure – well sure that you know just what weight to give to outward appearances, I shouldn't tell you this; everything considered, however, I think you ought to know it. The incident happened last night only a few minutes before you asked me to send Holbrook over to you."

While Doctor Wells listened with an intentness that was revealed by the lines of his contracted brows, Mr. Stevens described how he had found Teeny-bits crouching in the shrubbery behind Gannett Hall and mentioned the newcomer's confusion at being discovered.

"I've always believed that character inevitably expresses itself in a person's face," said Doctor Wells, "and I have come gradually into the conviction that I can read faces. I thought I had made no mistake in this case – and I think so still. But they say there are exceptions to the general rule. I don't know – well, for the present, the only thing to do is to wait. Time is a great revealer of secrets."

On Wednesday and Thursday the Ridgley football team went through light signal practice which was intended, as Coach Murray said, to "oil the machinery" and "polish off the rough spots." Thursday afternoon the whole school marched down to the field to watch the practice and to test their cheering and their songs.

At dark when the team was in the locker building Coach Murray announced that there would be no practice on Friday. "I want you to forget football from now until Saturday," he said. "Imagine that no such game ever existed. To-morrow, go on a little walk somewhere or take it easy in any way you like, but don't bother your brains with any football thinking."

On Friday afternoon Tracey Campbell, at the suggestion of Bassett, decided to "forget football" by taking a little tour in his father's automobile. Tracey telephoned home, discovered that the elder Campbell was out of town, and had little difficulty in persuading his mother to send the chauffeur over to Ridgley with the car. Tracey suggested that he might take along one or two members of the football team, but Bassett made a remark or two that caused the substitute back to change his mind. After driving to the "mansion" and leaving the chauffeur, Tracey and Bassett rode out into the country and came back by the way of Greensboro. Their conversation had been none too pleasant, for there were certain things between them that furnished grounds for differences of opinion. But Bassett was clever – more clever than most of the members of Ridgley School believed him to be – and he had a way of putting his finger on weak spots and causing irritation that resulted in action. As on two previous occasions, the pair stopped at Chuan Kai's Oriental Eating Palace, and there Bassett gave voice to what he considered as a finality.

"Well," he said, "if Teeny-bits weren't on hand for the game, of course you'd play in his place, as you deserve to, and then you'd get your letter and the runabout."

"Well, he'll be there, so don't worry yourself about that," said Campbell. "He's on the inside and nothing you can do – got a match? I'm going to smoke."

"Didn't you tell me one time that Chuan Kai had a regular den upstairs where no one ever went – except the Chinks?"

"I guess so," said Tracey.

"The trouble with you," was Bassett's next remark, "is that you can't see a real chance when it's right in front of your nose. Now listen, and I'll tell you something."

The result of the conversation that went on between Bassett and Campbell during the next quarter of an hour was that Campbell finally got up from the table and said:

"We'll talk to Chuan Kai."

As an outcome of what passed between the two members of Ridgley School and Chuan Kai, an agreement was made which involved the payment of a certain amount of money. Chuan Kai counted the bills and slipped them out of sight within the folds of his loose-fitting coat. He had more than one reason for undertaking to help these two young members of the white race; they had money which moved from their pockets to his pockets and they had promised him more; the owner of the building in which Chuan Kai had established the business of the Oriental Eating Palace was Campbell, the leather dealer. Third reason, and greatest in the Chinese mind, was the fact that years ago, but not so long but that the memory of it was as vivid as a lightning flash on a black night, Campbell – who had not been above turning his hand to various undertakings that, though murky of purpose, were productive in returns – had circumvented certain laws that prevented a yellow man from gaining entrance to the land of the Americans. The father of this youth held Chuan Kai in the hollow of his hand, and Chuan Kai knew that a few words spoken to the enforcers-of-law would send him away from these shores, where living came so easily, back to China where stalked a specter which he had reason to fear with the fear of one whose heart trembles like the heart of a field mouse that hears the cry of the long-taloned owl. Those reasons trooped through the Oriental's mind as his black eyes shifted from the face of Campbell to the face of Bassett.

"You understand," said Bassett. "It's an initiation for one of our school societies and it must be always a secret – never tell any one we had anything to do with it. You understand?"

Yes, Chuan Kai understood; he knew English and he knew well enough what societies were; this he imagined was a "play" society, the kind with which young Americans amused themselves, quite unlike some societies he knew about.

Chuan Kai called out suddenly two words that sounded to Bassett and Campbell like "Ka-wah changsee", and within twenty seconds one of the Chinese waiters stood in the doorway with an expectant look in his eyes. More words of Chinese like pebbles rattling over stones and falling into water flowed from the singsong lips of Chuan Kai. The waiter went away and came back with a broad-shouldered Chinaman whose sleeves were rolled up, revealing sinewy yellow muscles. Campbell and Bassett guessed that he came from the kitchen where he had been cutting meat, for his hands were red and the apron he wore was stained. Chuan Kai spoke to these two hench-men at some length; they replied in guttural syllables that signified understanding.

A little after dark, on that same Friday evening, Teeny-bits came back from supper at Lincoln Hall and went up to his room. He had taken a walk with Neil Durant and Ned Stillson and had made up his mind that he would go to bed early and keep his thoughts away from the things that were troubling him. He had started to undress and had removed his shirt and collar, when some one shouted up from below:

"Oh, Teeny-bits, you're wanted on the telephone."

Teeny-bits pulled on a sweater and went downstairs. In answer to his inquiry he heard a voice – an unnaturally gruff voice, he remembered afterwards – telling him startling news. His father, old Daniel Holbrook, had been hurt – a train had struck him at the station – Teeny-bits was wanted at home at once.

Waiting to hear no more, he hung up the receiver and without pausing to tell any one where he was going, hurried out of Gannett Hall and ran across the campus toward the hill-road that led down to the village of Hamilton a mile away. He had covered half the distance when he saw an automobile just ahead of him standing beside the road. As he approached, he noticed that, though the lights were out, the engine was running; he determined to explain the emergency and ask for a ride to the village. He never made the request, however, for as he came abreast of the car he heard a sharp whistle close beside him and was suddenly assailed by two dark figures that sprang upon him and, almost before he could struggle, bore him to the ground.

Teeny-bits had been in many a rough-and-tumble wrestling match and was able to take care of himself in competition with any ordinary opponent, even when weight was against him; he struggled desperately, but within the space of a very few seconds he realized that he was helpless. At the first onslaught something that felt like a voluminous cloth had been thrown over his head and he found himself enveloped in its folds; he tried to cry out for help, but his voice was muffled and ineffective. Though unable to see his assailants, he kicked and struck out with desperation, but all to no avail. His feet were brought together and fastened with the same material that covered his head and pinioned his arms to his body. In a moment he felt himself raised from the ground and realized that he was being lifted into the automobile. Hands fumbled at the cloth about his head, tightening the folds over his mouth and eyes, loosening the folds over his nose so that, though he could neither see nor talk, he could breathe without difficulty.

The whole attack had been carried out swiftly, and it was so entirely different from anything that Teeny-bits had experienced that he felt dazed and bewildered. The automobile was moving rapidly now, as he could tell by its tremulous motion and its frequent lurches. No sound that would aid him in identifying his assailants came to his ears, however, and he could only helplessly await the next development. A cautious tightening of his muscles convinced him quickly that it was of no use whatever to strain against his bonds. Whoever these men were who had bound him in so strange a manner, they had done their work well. Minutes passed, and still the automobile rolled on swiftly; whither it was carrying him – north or south or east or west – Teeny-bits had no way of knowing. Finally it began to move more slowly and after a few moments vibrated as if passing over cobble-stones.