He finally succeeded in sitting up, holding both hands to his head as he groaned and cursed in mingled pain and anger.
“That was just about the worst night I ever experienced. And to think I might have roasted only for Merriwell! Hang it all! I hate to know I owe him anything. Do I owe him anything? Why, of course not. Didn’t he chuck me against the wall and knock me senseless? Gee! I wouldn’t like to tell anybody that he did, but that’s what happened. I suppose some of those sneaks who skipped and left me will tell. No, they won’t. They don’t dare. They’ll keep their faces closed. But Merriwell’s friends—those who were with him—they’ll tell. Let ’em! let ’em! They don’t know who it was rigged up in those devil togs. Anyhow, if they do suspect, they can’t prove it. I won’t acknowledge it, you bet your sweet life!
“No, I don’t owe Merriwell anything. If he’d left me there, it would have been the same as murder. After chucking me against the wall and sending my wits wool-gathering, it was up to him to get me out. I’m not going to blow up with gratitude toward him.”
Lynch was greatly relieved over the thought that he did not owe the lad he bitterly hated anything like a debt of gratitude. This caused him to grin the least bit, and, with some mumbling and muttering, he painfully dragged himself out of bed.
“Suppose a hot bath would do me good,” he said, “but I’m too stiff to get into a tub. I don’t know when I ever felt this way before. Toleman was the only one who had decency enough to come around last night to find out whether I was alive or had been cooked in that fire. I suppose he told the rest of the bunch that I was here, all right. Confound it! what brought Merriwell and his gang out there to the warehouse? That fellow always turns up and spoils things. How did he know we had Tucker there? He seems to get onto every move we make lately. Somebody is giving us away. It can’t be Wolfe, for he wouldn’t dare, and I know it isn’t Ditson or Toleman. I can trust Poland, too. But Daggett—that fellow would do anything for money. If the Merriwell gang tried it, they could buy him easy enough. Still, he seems the fiercest against Dick Merriwell. I don’t trust him. We’ve got to cut him out somehow. It’s pretty hard work doing it now he knows so much, but it’s necessary to find a way. We had to cut Lee out. Only yesterday I gave Wolfe a call-down for telling Lee about our plans. The kid hasn’t any backbone.”
After washing up, Mike began to dress with more or less difficulty. At intervals he paused to touch gently the lump on his head. Every time he did this he growled.
His head still throbbed, and when he stooped over to lace his shoes something like a sledge hammer seemed pounding within it.
“Oh, ache! ache!” he rasped. “You’ll get over it pretty soon—you’ll have to. I’m glad I haven’t any marks on my face, and I won’t wear a bandage round my head. My hat will cover that bump. They can’t spot me. I’ll have to get rid of that devil rig, though. Found my overcoat where we left our clothes when we dressed back of the old warehouse. Only for that I’d never been able to get to this room without being pinched. Lucky my overcoat was good and long and hid my costume. Two fellows did stop to stare at my red ankles, but I took to my heels, and I know they didn’t recognize me.”
Opening his wardrobe door, he found the crimson masquerade suit, which he made into a bundle carefully wrapped in brown paper and securely tied with stout cord. This bundle was hidden away beneath some underclothing in a drawer of the dresser.
“I’ll dispose of that to-night,” he muttered. “Don’t like to have stolen property on my premises. It was Ditson’s idea to rig up in those costumes. He thought it would frighten Tucker. Hanged if it didn’t seem to amuse the little fool! I’m going to quit taking the foolish advice of Ditson or anybody else. I didn’t see anything like a joke in that business. I was in earnest. But now I suppose we wasted our time. Of course this isn’t any good at all, and I may as well destroy it.”