But there was something more than interest in the face of Jode Lenning. A flicker of consternation, and of wild despair, pulsed through his features—but only for a moment. He was quick to get himself in hand.
“It—it’s the same package of bills which I drew from the bank,” murmured the distracted colonel, taking the bundle from Ballard and looking at the inclosing band. “Where did you get it, young man?”
“He’s a chum of Merriwell’s,” spoke up Lenning, with ugly significance, “and Merriwell is helping Darrel. It’s easy to guess where Ballard got the money.”
Ballard jumped for Lenning with a savage exclamation.
“You mealy-mouthed runt,” he cried, “you can’t plaster me with the same pitch you’ve got on yourself. I’ll——”
Merriwell leaped in between Ballard and Lenning.
“Now, Pink,” said Merry, “just stow your temper. We’ve got to keep our heads, you know, if we pull Darrel through. It’s Colonel Hawtrey we want to convince, not Jode Lenning.”
Ballard, with a fierce, warning glance at Lenning, drew back.
“Fritz!” called Frank.
“On teck, you bed you,” boomed the Dutch boy.