“Good!” chuckled Leon. “Something will drop on Mr. Renwood to-day! You did a good job, old man.”
But Don had already begun to regret his action, having found time to think it over soberly when his blood had cooled somewhat, and he was not at all proud of what Bentley called “a good job.” His hatred for Renwood had not abated in the least, but his conscience told him he had made a false step. Had he by any honest means obtained possession of a letter from Dolph to Phil Winston in which the Rockspur coach betrayed to Winston the weak points of the Rockspur team, he would have denounced the traitor openly before the members of the eleven, backing up his charges with the letter. But, in a way that now seemed sneaking and underhand, he had succeeded in causing the letter forged by Bentley to fall into the hands of the captain of the team, and, even though he had no doubt of Renwood’s guilt, he now saw that he would not stand in a very favorable light were the whole matter made public. More than that, he felt that he had, to a certain extent, placed himself in Bentley’s power.
Leon, however, troubled by no such prickings of his conscience, chuckled inwardly as he entered the school-room.
“If it’s found out that the letter ain’t genuine, nobody can lay it onto me,” he thought. “I wasn’t around the old club-room to drop it there.”
To the surprise of both Scott and Bentley, the forenoon passed without any reference being made to the letter by Sterndale. The expected exposure did not come, and Leon was greatly disappointed. He hurried after and overtook Don as the doctor’s son was walking swiftly homeward.
“Are you sure Sterndale got hold of that letter?” asked the youthful rascal.
“I saw him pick it up,” asserted Don.
“Did he read it?”
“He looked at it, started, and then quickly put it into his pocket.”
“Well, it’s mighty queer, that’s all,” said Leon. “Why didn’t he jump on Renwood? He didn’t say a word—not a blessed word!”