“That’s all we need from you now,” said Dick. “Let him go, Bill. We can get him any time we want him. Now we’ll have to find Foote.”
It took another hour to find Foote, but he had to be found, for without him they could do nothing more. The railroad authorities were doing all they could to trace the cars that had been in the train; but, without knowledge of the exact car in which Jim had been locked, it would be only a lucky chance that would lead to his discovery. And finally Foote was run down. He had not gone back to his own room, or to Parker’s, but was in Moray’s, eating a well-chosen supper with much relish. He paled slightly when Dick Merriwell and Brady appeared, but he assumed an air of bravado.
“Won’t you join me?” he said.
“There’s no use in trying to bluff us,” said the universal coach sternly. “We’ve found out that you had something to do with sending Jim Phillips off in an empty freight car this afternoon. You’d better confess, unless you want to find yourself charged with murder.”
Foote was as resourceful as he was utterly unscrupulous. He was frightened, but he intended, if he could, to brazen it out.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, even,” he said indignantly. “I don’t know anything about Jim Phillips.”
Dick Merriwell was thinking hard. He stared at Foote for a moment without a word. Foote, nervous, picked up a piece of soft bread and pressed it flat between his fingers. Suddenly Dick snatched it from him.
“Go and get Jones,” he commanded, and Brady, understanding, hurried out.
“Then how about the business of the false evidence against Gray and Taylor?” asked Dick. “And the examination book, with the leaves torn out? You thought we wouldn’t find those leaves, but we did. Will you confess to that?”
Only Foote’s eyes showed how terrified he was by this revelation of what Dick Merriwell knew or suspected. If it was only a suspicion, Foote felt that he might still escape. But if Parker, as he began to fear, had confessed the earlier offenses, he was in a serious position.