“I did not turn until I saw your searchlight,” Randolph explained. “It was that which brought me to my senses. The moment I saw it flash far behind me, I knew that another aëroplane was following me. I knew there was no other around here but Holton’s, and he was—er—locked up. It puzzled me for a moment, and then the realization suddenly came to me that it must be you. I don’t know just what made me think so, but the conviction was a very positive one.
“You had found out about Holton in some way, and had taken the only possible means of following me to bring me back. And at the thought of the tremendous risk you were running to save the life of a total stranger, I seemed to realize for the first time what a horrible thing I had done. I turned at once and started back. I was just in time, thank God! Holton was almost gone.”
He paused and then went on in a lighter tone:
“I leave him to your care. I cannot stay. I can only say that I am glad to have met you, Dick Merriwell. You’re a thoroughbred, if there ever was one, and I shall not soon forget you. After what I have done, you probably won’t shake hands, so I’ll just say good-by.”
Without another word, he wheeled and started down the hall.
Holton struggled to his feet.
“Catch him!” he gasped thickly. “Don’t let him get away! He must not get away!”
Dick ran down the hall with the officer stumbling after him.
“Stop, Randolph!” the Yale man cried.
The loud slam of a door was his only answer. It was the door at the end of the hall which Randolph had told them the night before led into a closet.