Scott was invited to come round to the club-room that evening, but he declined, saying it was necessary for him to study. However, he did not do much studying, for, as he was alone in his room shortly after reaching home, there came a signal he could not misunderstand. Some small pebbles rattled against his window and a peculiar whistle sounded below.
“Now, what the dickens does that fellow want?” muttered Don, half resolved to pay no attention to the signal. Then, fearing his father might discover Leon, he thrust up the window and called down, in a guarded tone: “What are you prowling round here for?”
“I’ve got something to show you—something that you’ll like to see,” replied the dusky form below. “Your old man’s gone out; I saw him go five minutes ago. I have the absolute proof against Renwood.”
Don hesitated no longer, but hurried down to let Bentley in; and, a few minutes later, the boys were together in Scott’s room, with the window-shades tightly drawn.
“Now, where is your absolute proof?” demanded the doctor’s son, eagerly. “I want to see it. How did you get hold of it?”
“It’s the tail end of a letter,” said Leon, “which I picked up under Renwood’s desk, where he dropped it. I saw him drop it, too, and I wondered if it amounted to anything. I hung round till he left after school, and then I gobbled it. Here it is.”
He brought out a sheet of crumpled note-paper, on which there were a few lines of writing in a clear, bold hand, and passed it to Don. The page was numbered “3,” and the writing began in the middle of a sentence. This was what Scott read:
“take no chances, so Highland must win again Saturday, and you must tip me off to any particular weakness of the Rockspur team, as you did before. I shall expect a letter from you Friday. Your friend,
P. W.”
“That’s it!” cried Don, exultantly—“that’s the proof! This is the last of a letter to Renwood from Phil Winston, the Highland coach! Now, I can show the fellow up to Dick Sterndale, for I’m going to take this straight to him.”