When Merriwell entered his room, followed by Jones and Buckhart, he discovered that everything was in disorder. The drawers of his desk had been pulled out and their contents emptied on the floor. This was likewise the case with his dresser.
“Hello!” he cried. “What’s this mean? Some one has been here while I was gone.”
A moment later he had reached the private drawer which he always kept locked. One glance showed him that it had been pried open and the lock broken. The contents of this drawer, however, had not been scattered upon the floor. Everything was there—everything save one thing.
The confession of Mike Lynch was gone.
It was about the time when Merriwell made this discovery that Duncan Ditson entered his own room and found Bern Wolfe waiting for him there.
“Hello!” exclaimed Dunc, in surprise. “Forgot about you in the excitement. Say, do you know what happened? Well, Merriwell went into that game and won it with a corking hit in the ninth inning. Isn’t that just his luck?”
“Don’t talk to me about luck!” snarled Wolfe. “I’m sore! I’m disgusted!”
“Eh? What’s happened? Did you try to get hold of that confession?”
“Try?” rasped Bern, producing an envelope and flinging it on the study table. “I should say I did! There it is!”