by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER X
THE LIE.
All night long, when he slept at all, Billy Piper played poker in hisdreams, tossing and muttering and clawing at the bedding with his hands.But there were several protracted periods in those dark hours when helay awake, thinking wretchedly of the almost tragic end of that game inOsgood's rooms. Never had he spent a worse night, and when the graylight of "the morning after" came stealing in at his bedroom window heprayed sincerely that he might never experience another like it.
Dawn brought him some relief from those distressing dreams and hauntingvisions of Hooker's prone, coatless figure and ghastly face; and,utterly worn out, he finally sank into a heavy doze. From this he wasawakened by the sound of his mother's voice calling that it was time forhim to get up if he wished any breakfast.
Her call had startled him and caused him to jerk himself partly uprightin bed, where he remained propped upon his elbow as he answered that hewould be down directly. This start had caused a throbbing in histemples, and after a bit he dropped back on the pillow, huskilymuttering:
"What a night--what a horrible night!"
Lying there, he somewhat reluctantly reviewed the events of the previousevening, and as he thought it all over he regretted most heartily thatcuriosity and a desire to delve into the private doings of others hadled him to become a member of that card party. For the first time hefully realized that the person who attempts to pry into the affairs ofothers without authority or a sufficiently good reason almost invariablybrings upon himself no end of trouble and is sure in time to be regardedas a spy, a meddler and a nuisance. His eyes were opened at last to thereal reason for the aversion with which his former friends and chums hadseemed to regard him of late.
"This being a detective isn't half as fine as it seems in stories," hemuttered; "and, anyhow, I don't believe I was ever cut out for one. I'vemade a mistake. I'm too sensitive, too conscientious. My feelings aretoo easily stirred for me ever to make a success in that line. I'm goingto quit it. Perhaps I can write stories, and I'm sure I'd like thatbetter. They say an experienced crook often makes the most efficientdetective, and I despise crooks. I'm done with the game."
That final word, although he had been thinking of something else, againbrought vividly to his mental view a picture of the green-covered tablebearing chips and cards and the young players sitting around it engagedin what they chose to call "a little friendly game." A few short hoursbefore this had seemed to him all very fine and sporty, and it hadattracted him as the magnet attracts the steel. Now, in the somber lightof a dull spring Sabbath morning, the glamour was swept away, leavingonly a bitter after-taste that was remorse.
They had said that they were playing penny poker with a ten-cent limitsimply to make the game interesting; but as he recalled their intentnessupon the run of the play, the ill-concealed bitterness with which someof them accepted defeat, and their greedy, eager joy in winning, thetruth smote him hard and convincingly. They had been gambling! Thereason why they chose to play so small a game lay in the limitedcondition of their finances. Had they all possessed more money,penny-ante with a dime limit would have seemed tame and unsatisfactory,and therefore games of this sort were but the first steps to somethingbigger and worse.
"Ned Osgood started it here in this town," thought Piper. "He'snaturally a fine fellow, and he doesn't realize what he's doing. I wasnot the only one who couldn't afford to play, putting aside the questionof its being real gambling. In that whole bunch Osgood was the only onewho really could afford it, and he was a winner."
At that time Sleuth did not know that in ninety-nine genuine gamblinggames out of a hundred the majority of the players cannot, fromfinancial reasons alone, afford to participate. If not openly, they takepart in such games with the secret hope that they will come forthwinners, and one of the bad features of it all is the fact that theirwinnings, when made, seldom do them any real, substantial good; formoney easily acquired is rarely rated at its real value and is almost aselusive as quicksilver. The winning gambler regards his gains as"velvet," forgetting his losses of yesterday and disregarding theassured certainty that he must lose again to-morrow or at some futuretime. He spends freely and foolishly, making doubly certain the time ofdeprivation and need which must come in future reverses.
The faint clatter of dishes, coming up from the dining-room, rousedSleuth from his unpleasant reveries, and, with a strange feeling oflassitude and weariness in his limbs, he dragged himself out of bed. Thenight had exacted its penalty in physical enervation as well as mentaltorment.
"No more," he kept repeating--"no more of it for me."
Breakfast over, he was drawn by an intense desire, not unmingled withdread, to learn something of Roy Hooker's condition. Not a word had Royspoken after that blow, and Piper was haunted by the memory of thedazed, uncomprehending look in the boy's eyes.
"He's probably all right now," Sleuth told himself; but he could notdismiss the fear that Roy might not be all right.
Thus worried, he found an early opportunity of getting away from thehouse, his footsteps leading him toward Hooker's home. The streets ofthe village bore the deserted appearance usual upon Sunday morning, butto him they seemed ominously silent and lonely. The early church bellsbegan to ring, but the sound was hateful, for it seemed to add to thatoppressive loneliness.
On the corner of Main and Middle streets, a block from where Hookerlived, he met Phil Springer, and a single glance told him that here wasa companion in misery. For Springer also appeared downcast and troubled,and there was in his eyes an expression that told of sleep denied.
"Huh-hello, Sleuthy," faltered Phil. "What bub-brings you out so early?"
"Same thing that brought you out, I guess. Heard anything from Roy?"
"Not a word. You?"
"No; just came from home."
"You took your chance to skin out and leave him on our hands, dud-didn'tyou?" said Phil resentfully. "Cooper just mum-made me stick by till wegot him home."
"That was a mean trick of mine," admitted Piper instantly. "I'm sorry Idid it, but I was nervous and excited, and I didn't stop to think. Howwas he? How did he appear? Did he talk any?"
"Not a word. Couldn't seem to gug-get any sense into him. Why, Pipe, heactually acted as if he didn't know wh-where he lived. What do you thinkof that?"
"I don't know what to think of it. I don't like to think of it. What didyou do? How did you get him into the house?"
"We took him to the door; it was locked. I pounded until we saw a lightthrough the glass and heard some one coming. Then, like the two cheapsus-sus-skates we were, we up and dusted--ran away." Springer was notinclined to spare himself.
Suddenly Sleuth made a grab at his companion's arm. "Look! Here comesDr. Grindle now! I'll bet he's been to see Roy! Let's ask him."
"Yu-yu-you ask," gurgled Phil, getting pale around the mouth. "It wouldtut-tut-take me tut-tut-too long."
Medicine-case in hand, the doctor approached, and, assuming as far aspossible a natural air, Piper bade him good morning and inquired ifthere was some one ill "over that way."
"Singular case," said the physician, pausing a moment and regarding thetwo boys keenly. "It's Roy Hooker. He came home rather late last nightand seemed to be dazed and stunned. There's a bruise on his cheek andanother bad one upon the back of his head. His folks got him to bed,thinking he'd be all right, although his mother was frightened andworried. This morning when they tried to question him he wouldn't talk.Then they 'phoned for me."
"Roy Hooker?" exclaimed Piper, making a pretense of astonishment, which,however, gave him a throb of self-scorn. "Why, what do you supposehappened to him, doctor?"
"He may have been in a fight, or perhaps he was hurt some other way. Idon't know, but I feel sure one or more persons, probably his intimatefriends or companions, must know. Unless he recovers soon and settles ithimself, they will be called on to come forward and speak up."
Springer found it impossible to keep still. "Cuc-couldn't he sayanything at all, doct
or?"
"Just two words were all I've been able to draw from him, and they seemto cast no light whatever upon the matter. I decided it was not best totry to press him further in his present condition."
"Two words!" muttered Phil.
"Yes, if I understood correctly, he said, 'two spades.' Now whatconnection with his condition two spades can have I don't understand,unless one of those bruises upon his head may have been inflicted bysuch an implement. The bruise on his cheek, I'm sure, was not made insuch a manner; and, considering the fact that the one on the back of hishead is low down toward the base of the skull, I'm wholly disinclined tobelieve it was inflicted by anything resembling a spade. Are you boysparticular friends of Roy?"
"Oh, not--not particular friends; at least, I'm not," Sleuth hastened toreply. "For some reason, he hasn't seemed to like me very well."
"Then you can't throw any light on this odd affair? You weren't with himlast evening?"
"I saw him at the pup-post-office a-bub-bout half past seven," falteredPhil huskily.
"And you didn't see him after that?"
"I don't--remember. I don't th-think so."
"How about you, Billy? Did you see him later in the evening?"
"I wasn't at the post-office," said Piper, finding it impossible to meetthe doctor's steady eyes. "I didn't see Hooker there."
"Nor anywhere else?" persisted the physician.
"Nor--anywhere--else."
"Well, he must have been with some one nearly three hours later, andwe'll find out who it was when he gets able to talk, if not sooner." Thedoctor glanced at his watch. "If you hear anything, let me know."
When Dr. Grindle was gone Piper and Springer stood there, lookinganywhere but at each other. Presently, however, their eyes met, andthen, with the bitterest self-contempt, Billy muttered:
"Two miserable liars, that's what we are!"