“Perhaps he jumped.”
“No,” said young Joe positively, “he didn’t do that.”
“I’m not so sure of it. I’ve seen the time when he would think nothing of dropping out of a window this distance from the ground.”
“That time is past. Really, Dick, my grandfather is getting old and feeble. He’s not the man he was. I’ve seen a great change in him. I doubt if he could jump from this window to the ground without injuring himself.”
“Old as he is,” returned Dick, “I’ll guarantee, if put to it, or pitted against a desperate enemy, he would astonish some people. I’ve seen him before when he seemed nearly all in, and I’ve likewise seen him ‘come back.’”
Dick opened the closet door and peered into it. Suddenly he lifted his hand, with his ear bent toward the closet.
Young Joe stepped swiftly and noiselessly to the Yale man’s side.
A faint smile crept over Dick Merriwell’s face.
“We’ve located Shangowah,” he said, in a low tone, as the sound of voices came to their ears. “He’s in the adjoining room, and, so help me! I believe he’s playing poker with a bunch in there.”
Mingled with the murmur of voices they heard the clinking of money and shuffling of cards.