"Yes. He hasn't succeeded in driving you out of the Hall as he hoped, and now he's up to some more mean tricks."
Tom shook his head. He had a curious disbelief in Sam's guilt.
"Go ahead on that line if you like, Jack," he said. "But I can't agree with you. I'm going to follow my bottle clew to-morrow, and nothing the others could say would make Tom admit that Sam had a hand in poisoning the horses, or in setting the hay on fire.
"But look how ready he was to accuse you," insisted Bert.
"That was only to clear himself," said Tom. "The fact of his sweater being like mine was a strange coincidence, and he had to say something."
"He was ready enough to accuse you," put in Jack. "Say, Tom, old man, why don't you come out and tell us where you went that night—and why? Tell us what you did—how your sweater got away from you, and was found on the farm. Go ahead!"
"Do!" urged Bert.
But Tom shook his head.
"I can't—not yet," he said. "I promised Ray———"
He stopped suddenly. His chums leaned forward eagerly.