“What do you think of that, Dick?” asked Hodge, in young Merriwell’s ear.
“I may be mistaken,” muttered the boy; “but it looks to me like more of Benton Hammerswell’s work.”
“But it doesn’t seem possible,” said Bart, shaking his head. “Why, many of us might have been killed had the car gone off this bank. It’s certain some of us would have been severely injured.”
“In which case,” said Dick, “Maplewood would have had an easy thing this afternoon.”
“It doesn’t seem possible,” continued Hodge; “that man Hammerswell must be a scoundrel of the worst type.”
“Didn’t I tell you so?”
“But he’s the limit! He’s not only a scoundrel, but he’s crazy to try such things.”
“You can bet he had no direct hand in it himself. I believe he was the instructor, and some of his tools did the work.”
There was a long delay, but finally a car from Maplewood picked up the passengers and carried them on to their destination.
As they came in sight of the Maple Heights Hotel, Hodge betrayed his keen interest in the surroundings.