“Well, I’ll tell you. I got a look at his face, and I knew he was up to some trick. If ever I saw a sneaky, bloodthirsty mug, it was that of Mike Lynch. You know I’ve had trouble with him, and I don’t love him any. I’m scared to death of him now. He’d cut his grandmother’s throat, that fellow would. Funny nobody noticed what he had in his hand when he was hit by the ball.”
“What he had in his hand?”
“Yes.”
“What did he have in his hand?”
“I can’t show you here. I’ve got it. It’s in my pocket. I picked it up. I want you to have it. You better find out what Mike Lynch was going to do. He was sneaking up behind you.”
“I’ve wondered what he was trying to do,” said Dick. “Lee, you’ve got my curiosity aroused. Come on over to the house and show me what it was you picked up.”
Bertie followed Dick to his room on York Street. The moment the door was closed behind them Dick expectantly faced the little fellow, who had once been prominent in the Ditson set, but who was now practically ostracized.
“I’m liable to get hurt for this,” said Lee, who now appeared genuinely alarmed. “Those fellows have threatened me. They suspect I’ve told you about several of their sneaking plots and schemes against you.”
“It’s too late to back out now, Kid,” said Dick. “You know I won’t betray you. You may as well tell me the whole business. What was it you picked up on the field after Mike Lynch was knocked senseless?”
Bertie unbuttoned his coat and produced something from beneath it.