At last, however, having reached the hair-raising climax of the chapter, where the fear-crazed horse, bearing the unknown rider, plunges crashing into the depths of the dark ravine, he paused to take a long breath and heard both the whistle and the rattle against the window.
Looking out, he discovered Leon Bentley below. A moment later the window was open and Leon was saying:
“Just going to give it up. Thought you must be asleep or dead. Come down.”
“Come up,” invited Don. “Father is out and Aunt Ella is lying down. I’ll let you in by the back door.”
His resolution to break with Bentley was forgotten, and, for the first time, he admitted the disreputable fellow to his home and his room.
CHAPTER XII.
WHO DID IT?
“Say, this is comfortable,” remarked Leon, flinging himself upon the easiest chair and elevating his polished russet shoes to the top of a small table. “You’ve got a slick den here, though I don’t like your pictures much, and I don’t see what you want of so many books. It’s a bother to read books, and the pictures in my room are of the dead game sort. Got ’em out of the sporting papers, you know. The walls are pretty near covered by pictures of prize-fighters, fast trotters and sporting men. Excuse me if I smoke. I’m dying for a whiff.”
Without further words, he pulled out a package and selected a cigarette, which he coolly prepared and lighted. He was returning the package to his pocket, when Don held out a hand, saying:
“I believe I’ll try one of those things just for fun.”
Bentley let his feet fall from the top of the table to the floor, stared a moment at his companion, then handed over the cigarettes, laughing: