His first impulse had been to confront Archie then and there and get the truth from him, but now he shrank from doing that until he had had time to think. He knew that appearances were often deceptive and that there might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for the position in which he had found McCormick; but the latter had an extremely sensitive, high-spirited nature, and Dick felt that he would be likely to resent any inquiries he himself might make which could not help but show more or less suspicion.
For Merriwell was suspicious. Fight as he might against the thought, he could not help connecting what he had just seen with the robbery of the Hartford bank just twenty-four hours before.
He did not wish to believe anything against Archie McCormick. He had always known him as a perfectly straightforward, truthful fellow with a very keen sense of honor. It was incredible that he could be connected in any way with the robbery, and yet facts were facts and Merriwell could not help putting two and two together.
Archie had gone to Hartford two days before, ostensibly to see a friend who lived there. That was all right, but, unfortunately, he had reached there the very afternoon of the night in which the bank had been broken open. He had suddenly shown up in this deserted spot, and the man at whose invitation he was supposed to have come, had not yet appeared.
Dick remembered Cobmore’s very evident doubt of the story that Barry Lawrence would think of visiting the farmhouse without giving him notice.
The robbers had been tracked to Middleberry and their trail lost. Middleberry was barely twelve miles away, and it would be a very simple matter for any one to make their way unseen through the woods to the house on the shores of Cranberry Lake.
Last, but not least, was the presence of this hoard of bank notes concealed under the stone hearth downstairs. Dick felt sure that they had not belonged to the late occupant of the place. Whatever other eccentricities he might have had, Hickey was not a miser, but a very shrewd old man with a decided belief in the safety of banks. He was not the sort who would keep his savings in the house, and, besides, Merriwell had noticed that the packages of notes had been all neatly tied up just as they had come from the bank. And if they were not the spoil from the late robbery, what were they?
Lying there in the dark, Dick heard McCormick come stealthily back upstairs and slip into his room. And, after that, hour after hour passed as he thought over the problem from every conceivable point of view.
He did not wish to believe his friend guilty. Some how, he could not quite bring himself to that point, and yet every scrap of evidence was strongly against him.
He began to remember little things which he had scarcely noticed at the time, but which now, in the light of this new discovery, came vividly back into his mind.