The Mercer Boys at Woodcrest

by Capwell Wyckoff

  “Portraits!” cried Morro, eagerly. “Are there portraits in that old place?”

  “Yes, there are a few. Why do you ask?”

  “It is nothing,” hastily replied Morro. “But I will tell you why I say your headmaster is a mysterious man. Almost every night he goes to Clanhammer Hall and lets himself in with a key.”

  “Major Tireson goes into Clanhammer Hall every night?” Vench demanded, now keenly interested.

  “I have seen him go in several times,” Morro insisted.

  “How have you seen him?” Vench demanded. “What are you doing on the school grounds at night?”

  “That I cannot tell you yet,” Paul Morro evaded. “I have a proposition to make to you, and then perhaps I can tell you everything. But I have been on your grounds several times and I have seen your Major Tireson enter the building.”

  “How do you know it is Major Tireson?”

  “My companion and I have made it our business to learn who all the officials of your school are,” his friend said.

  “Look here,” cried Vench. “What is going on around here? What kind of a game are you playing, Paul?”

  “I can’t tell you that unless you agree to do certain things for us,” Morro persisted.

  “Okay. What do you want me to do? If I think it is straight, I’ll probably help you,” Vench went on.

  Morro smiled. “If it is straight? I think you are more particular about ‘straightness’ than you were in Paris, my friend.”

  A faint spot of red showed briefly in Vench’s cheeks. “I am more particular,” he agreed firmly. “I was never dishonest, Paul, but I’m more careful of what I do now than I was. I’ve learned a thing or two in that school. What is your proposition?”

  “My companion and I want you to open the doors for us and let us into your school on any night we want to come in,” Morro declared.

  “Let you into the school!” cried Vench. “What for?”

  “I can’t tell you now. You’ll have to have faith in us and do as we tell you. Later on we’ll explain all.”

  “You’d have to explain right now before I’d do a stunt like that,” declared Vench with conviction. “I don’t like the sound of that. Why should you want to get into the school at night?”

  “I will not tell you,” affirmed Morro.

  “Then you will not get into the school through my help,” said Vench, as firmly.

  Morro’s eyes flashed. “Do not be foolish, my friend. There is much in it for you, if you do as we tell you and keep quiet. Come, say you will aid us.”

  “Not in a game like that,” Vench decided. “It doesn’t look good to me, and I won’t have anything to do with it. No, Paul, you can count me out. I’d do anything in reason to help a friend, but that hasn’t a healthy look, and I’d rather not be in on it.”

  “You’ll regret it to the end of your days!” snapped Morro.

  “I don’t think so,” Vench returned, smoothly. “If I can’t know why I am to play in a game like that I’d rather not play. That is final, Paul.”

  “Very well!” fairly shouted the Frenchman. “Then let me give you a warning! Mind your own business! Don’t attempt to put your nose into anything you may see going on, or it shall be the worse for you!”

  Without waiting for Vench to reply he turned and walked off, his eyes snapping with rage. The little cadet made a move as though to follow him and then stopped, lost in thought. Morro disappeared from view over a low hill and Vench stood still, his mind occupied by this new problem.

  Then he reached up, pulled his military hat more firmly over his eyes, and started back for the school, a plan of action shaping in his active mind.

  CHAPTER 17

  In Clanhammer Hall

  When Dennings whistled into the blackness of Clanhammer Hall there was a moment’s pause before there was any answer. At last a faint light showed against the walls of the upper hall, and this gleam was soon followed by an old man with a candle. He peered down at them over the banisters, and after having satisfied himself that all was well and the parties known to him, he descended slowly, picking his steps with care. From Terry’s and Vench’s descriptions of the old man seen in Clanhammer Hall Don was sure that it was the same man.

  He flashed his light upon them and then, without speaking, looked stolidly at Dennings. The leader pushed Don forward.

  “Put this boy away for safekeeping,” directed the leader. “Is everything all right with the other?”

  The old man nodded. Turning around he led the way up the stairs, Don just back of him and the two men following. When they reached the broad hall on the second floor the old man halted beside a heavy door and drew a key from his pocket. He inserted it in the lock and opened the door, holding the candle above his head. He turned his dull eyes upon the cadet and motioned toward the room with his head.

  “That room is all right, is it?” questioned Dennings. “This boy is a slippery lad, Elmo.”

  “He won’t get out of there,” said the old man.

  “All right,” nodded Dennings. “Get in there, son, and if you’re wise, keep quiet. It won’t do you any good to make a noise, but it might be annoying, and if it gets too much so you’re likely to receive a gentle tap on the head to keep you quiet.”

  Realizing that all talk would be a waste of time Don walked into the small room and the door was slammed after him. He heard the key turned and then found himself in total darkness. The footsteps of the men receded down the hall and a heavy silence closed around him.

  When he was sure that they had all gone he felt his way around the room but it was empty. Blank walls met his groping fingers and there was not even a chair anywhere in the place. He gave up trying to find his way out.

  “Might as well wait until daybreak,” he decided. “There may be some light in here then, although I don’t know where it will come from. Lucky thing for me it isn’t very cold in here.”

  Although there couldn’t be a fire in Clanhammer Hall, the building seemed warm, and Don was in no danger of being cold. He was hungry and sleepy, and realizing that a good sleep would fit him for the problem of the morrow he took off his hat and rolled his overcoat more closely around him. The floor made a hard bed but he was not in a mood to complain about that.

  “I can’t understand their game,” he reflected, just before he fell asleep. “Here they have me right under the noses of my friends and yet there isn’t a chance of my rescue unless the boys carry out their plan and break in the place. That isn’t likely now that they have discovered my absence. Of all the high-handed games, this beats ’em all.”

  Don had no trouble sleeping. The events of the day had worn him out, and he slept soundly. It was daylight when he awoke, and his first sensation upon awakening was that of hunger.

  A faint light entered the room from a very high and dirty skylight, and Don saw at once that there was no use in looking in that direction for a possible outlet. The skylight was too high for him to reach and there was nothing to stand on. His impressions of the previous night were confirmed, the room was empty and had no windows. It had evidently been a small classroom at one time, for two sides of the wall were composed of blackboards.

  But Don was not discouraged by the outlook. He stooped down and examined the board walls under the blackboards. Clanhammer Hall was a very old building and the passing of the years had not improved it any. He noted with interest that the walls close to the floor were made of light wood and that the wood was dry and warped. It was with a thrill of hope that he took his pocket knife out and without wasting a moment of time, began a determined attack on the thin boards.

  He was far luckier than he had dared to hope. The boarding had originally been secured with light nails which had almost no heads at all, and it was a simple job to spring them out and away from the supporting beams, which ran vertically. In less than a half hour the cadet had a dozen boards torn out of the wall, and an opening large enough to admit his body had been made.

  There we
re still the boards on the other side of the beams to be reckoned with, but Don found that he had no trouble with them. By pushing he forced them out into the adjoining room, taking care not to make much noise, and before long he had opened a regular tunnel for himself. Picking up his hat he forced his body through and stepped out into a larger classroom, for the moment at least, free.

  He listened intently, but there was no sound in the building and he made his way into the hall. He was undecided as to whether to try to sneak down and gain his liberty or to make a dash for it. Perhaps Dennings was still in the place, and if so he stood in grave danger. He had no fear of overcoming the old man if need be, but he was sure that Dennings would not leave the old man alone, and Don was not disposed to run any risks.

  He decided to steal quietly out of the place and make his way on tiptoe to the head of the stairs. No sooner had he poked his head over the railing than he drew back in swift alarm. The old man was in the lower hall, seated at an old desk, deeply engrossed in a newspaper spread out before him. It was useless to think of getting out that way, and Don was sure that there were no other stairs in the building. Although it looked as though there was no one with the old man he felt that such was not the case, and he was puzzled as to what course to pursue now.

  It came to him that perhaps he could drop out of some window onto a roof or even into the snow, and so get a running start. Perhaps there was some rain pipe that he could climb down and reach the ground without injury. The windows in the hall were pretty high, he noted, and would be hard to raise without making some kind of a noise. There was nothing left to do but to try it and trust to luck.

  He made his way to the windows and looked out of them. They were all high above the ground and it was useless to risk a bad fall that way. Moving by inches he went down the back part of the hall, in hopes of finding something more promising there, but he was disappointed. The windows were all so high above the ground that a drop would almost certainly injure him.

  He was now in a state of anxious perplexity. It would be possible to hide somewhere and wait for a more opportune moment, but he hated to lose time and it was a risk in itself. No doubt the old man knew every nook and corner in Clanhammer Hall, and his hiding place, wherever he might find one, would not serve him at all. It was while he was puzzling over his problem that he thought of the third floor and a possible escape along the roof.

  There must be a third floor of some sort in the building and he turned his attention to finding stairs. After a time he located a door in the rear of the hall and when he had opened it a flight of abrupt steps was disclosed to him. He listened for a moment before ascending, not wishing to walk straight into someone on the third floor, but there was no sound from above, and after closing the door carefully behind him he began to climb, listening intently. He gained the top of the boxed-in flight and looked around him.

  He was in a general hall which ran the length of the building and from which doors opened on either side. It occurred to him that when Clanhammer Hall was the main and only building of Woodcrest School some of the students boarded at the school and some of them down in the town. The first floor must of necessity have been given over to the dining room, kitchen and offices, the second floor to the classrooms and this third floor to the few dormitory rooms which the old school boasted. There were at least twenty small rooms opening off the hall in which he stood, and it was in these rooms that the few fortunate students lived. No doubt the seniors or third class men slept there and the lower class men were compelled to put up at friendly boardinghouses near by. The doors were warped and initial-scarred, and faint yellow numbers still showed on them.

  At each end of the hall two windows allowed light to enter, and they were the only openings with the exception of a rusted skylight directly overhead. He walked to the windows facing the new buildings of the school and looked out, to find that no shed or roof was underneath. Nothing but a sheer drop was before him, and help from that source was out of the question. There was a new possibility which entered his head as he looked out on Clinton Hall and a corner of Locke. If the worst came to pass he would try to signal to some of the cadets, none of whom seemed to be around at the present moment. Glancing at his watch Don saw that it was yet too early for them to be stirring, and no signals were likely to be seen for some time.

  He then made his way to the windows at the opposite end, stopping at the stairs to listen, but no sound broke the stillness and he went on. Those two windows overlooked a portion of the lake and the gate at the end of the school grounds and the deserted edges of the woods. There would be no help in that direction, either.

  “Looks like I’d have to set the place on fire to get out,” he grumbled. “Now I’ll look into some of these old dormitories.”

  He began to try the knobs on the doors but to his disappointment every door was tightly locked. This puzzled him. All of the rooms on the second floor were unlocked and open, but these rooms had been carefully closed up. He felt sure that there was nothing in them, and why anyone should be particular enough to lock them he could not see. He had tried them all and in haste, so that one feature of a certain room escaped his attention. In the center of the hall was one room which, judging by the distance between doors, was larger than others, and this door, he subsequently discovered, was locked with a special lock on the outside.

  The other and smaller rooms had been locked with a key in the ordinary manner, but the large dormitory room had been fitted with a padlock on the outside and was locked in that manner. He stopped and looked through the keyhole, but his vision was limited to a blank wall on the other side of the room. Then he sniffed, his attention growing as he did so. After a time he realized someone in that room was smoking tobacco. He could smell it plainly.

  His first impulse was to flee and then he stopped to consider, his gaze fixed on the lock. Whoever was in that room was a prisoner. It was plain that the padlock was meant for business. He tried it, pulling at it with all his strength, but it was tightly locked and his efforts were useless. Bending down, he once more examined it, and then, satisfied that he could remove it with his knife, began to work at it.

  There was a sudden movement in the room as he started to work, but Don paid no attention, and as no one spoke he did not waste his time in speech. The lock itself was screwed into the door, and the screws were so placed that his knife blade, blunted by much use, formed a screw driver that was effective. He did not have any unusual difficulty and the screws came out readily enough under his urging. With patience and speed he extracted four of the screws and the lock hung open, the portion on the post being freed. Hoping that the lock under the knob had not also been turned Don tried the door handle. To his relief it turned and the door opened.

  Pushing it open wide before him Don stepped into the large dormitory.

  CHAPTER 18

  Don Meets the Colonel

  Don stepped into the room, his eyes and nerves alert for whatever emergency which might arise. He found himself facing a short and slightly stout man, who was standing beside an easy chair, a newspaper in his hand and a curved pipe in his mouth. The pipe seemed to have gone out and the man was staring toward Don intently.

  The room was furnished with a bed, a table upon which rested a few books, and a large armchair. An iron stove took up one corner of the room, and a fire had been lighted and was crackling in it. Two small high windows gave light in the room, and the windows had been heavily barred. Don took in the room in a sweeping glance and looked once more at the man.

  An expression of mingled relief and anxiety was on the man’s face and he stepped forward, dropping his paper.

  “Who are you, boy?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

  “Are—are you Colonel Morrell?” gasped Don, a flash of inspiration sweeping over him.

  “Yes!” replied the man, eagerly. “Have you come to rescue me at last? Is the story out?”

  “I’m sorry to say that I may not be able to he
lp you much, colonel,” returned Don, closing the door behind him. He looked searchingly at the colonel, the subject of so much thought and conjecture for the last two months. “I’m a prisoner here myself, and I just escaped from a room on the second floor. I guess I stumbled on their game and they took me in, too.”

  “Just the same, I’m very glad to see you,” cried the colonel, seizing his hands. “What is your name, my boy?”

  “Don Mercer, sir. I’m a fourth class man, and we’ve been greatly concerned about your absence at the school. Have you been right here all along, Colonel Morrell?”

  “Every bit of the time,” nodded the stout colonel. “Clever piece of business, wasn’t it, that of hiding me where no one would have thought of looking for me?”

  “It certainly was,” Don agreed. “Shall we try and make a dash for it, Colonel Morrell?”

  But the colonel shook his head, running his hand through his thick gray hair. “I’m afraid it is no use, my boy. That old man’s never left alone, and we would waste time by trying it. Let’s think up a better plan. Have you had anything to eat?”

  “No,” said Don.

  The colonel hurried to the center table and opened a drawer, from which he took a sandwich wrapped in paper. “Here is a sandwich that was left over from my supper,” he said, handing it to Don. “Sit down here and eat it while I talk to you.”

  Don sat down in the arm chair and gratefully ate the sandwich. The colonel seated himself on the arm of the chair.

  “Of course all you boys wondered what had become of me,” he began. “I’ll tell you the whole story. Some years ago I was in business with Major Tireson and a man named Morton Dennings. I never cared for Dennings, who was a close friend of the major’s, but we got along fairly well and things went smoothly. We all bought shares in some mines in the west in those early days, but they turned out to be worthless and I filed my papers away. I didn’t think anything more about them until this summer, when Major Tireson called on me and asked me to sell him my share in the mine.