“That beats the world!” he muttered, when the story was finished. “But I think it’s a mighty unlucky thing that you turned up there last night, old man.”
“Unlucky?” cried Don. “How is that? Didn’t I catch the fellow right in the act?”
“Yes; but it might have been better if you had not caught him.”
“I don’t understand. How could it have been better?”
“Well, he—er—perhaps he might have—left a—a clew—there in the dressing-room,” faltered Leon, lamely. “He might have dropped the knife, you know, and—er—forgotten it.”
“Not at all likely! If I hadn’t come on him just as I did, he’d done the job and got away without leaving a trace. No one could have sworn who did it, and any one else might have been suspected. Why, they might have suspected me!”
“I don’t know but you’re right,” slowly admitted Bentley; “still, something tells me it would have been better if you hadn’t run onto him.”
“Why, you’re daffy!” laughed Don, his eyes gleaming. “I have the fellow—have him foul!”
“What are you going to do?”
“Why, I’m going to expose him! I’m going to show him up to the boys! I’ll show them what sort of a chap they have as coach for the eleven.”