“Let him suspect!” he snapped angrily. “We’ll fix that all right. It wouldn’t be safe for you to buy another, but there’s nothing to prevent my doing so.”
“Of course there isn’t!” Stovebridge exclaimed in a tone of relief. “And you’ll do it?”
Marston’s teeth snapped together.
“I certainly will,” he declared. “I’d do more than that to spite a Merriwell. Lend me your car and I’ll go to Wilton right after lunch.”
Stovebridge breathed a sigh of relief. How fortunate he had confided in Marston. With the question of the cap settled and Jim Hanlon sidetracked, he would have nothing to fear. Dick Merriwell might do his worst, but he could prove nothing.
Marston arose to his feet, yawning.
“Well, let’s toddle in and get something sustaining,” he suggested. “I feel the need of a little bracer.”
“Don’t forget to pick out a medium check,” Stovebridge reminded, as they strolled through the reception hall to the dining room beyond. “I said mine was a little larger than the one he picked up, but if you get it too pronounced, Bob Jennings will smell a rat. He’s a bit doubtful now.”
“Trust me,” Marston returned confidently.
They settled themselves comfortably at a small table near one of the windows, and a waiter hurried up.