“We don’t need any proof of his identity, Jode! We can take his word, and then confront him with this damning evidence of his rascality!”
Lenning put out his hand and rested it on his uncle’s arm.
“Colonel,” said he, his voice shaking, “let us have this race to-morrow afternoon. Don’t interfere. There’s a chance that, after all, the fellow is not Darrel.”
“There’s not a shadow of a doubt, not a shadow!”
“But you needn’t hurry about arresting him, need you? Let’s find out how far Merriwell will go in trying to shield him. Wait until after the race; and then—well,” and Lenning drew a long, regretful sigh, “do what you think you have to—what you think you must.”
“If Darrel knows I am here with Hawkins he may suspect something, and clear out,” demurred the colonel. “It isn’t well, my boy, to dally too much with an affair of this kind.”
“Have Hawkins watch him,” suggested Lenning.
“True,” said the colonel, “I could probably do that. It’s impossible, though, that Young Merriwell is mixed up, in any way, with Darrel’s wrongdoing. He has been deceived in the fellow. I know of the elder Merriwell, and a straighter man or a better all-round athlete the world never produced.”
“I hope young Merriwell is square, and a real chip of the old block, as I understand his friends mean to suggest when they call him ‘Chip’—but, well, I don’t like the way he has been acting. To-morrow afternoon, uncle, we may know a lot more about him and about Darrel, too.”
“Very well,” said the colonel, though reluctantly, “we’ll leave the matter, Jode, as you desire.”