As soon as he left, Colonel Morrell called the Mercers and Jordan together for a conference.
“It seems you are not the only person guilty of listening in on telephone conversations, Jim,” he began. Then he told them of Mr. Benson’s visit. “Now I think the next step is to engage a good private detective and see if we can’t have this man Maul located in Crossland. If we merely arrest the paid ghost and don’t get the big man higher up we will accomplish nothing.”
At the evening meal in the mess tent the colonel addressed his corps.
“Boys, some time ago we pledged ourselves to run down this ghost business that is troubling the inhabitants of the Ridge and to date we have made quite a bit of progress, even more than most of you know. In due time full details will be related to you, but at present it seems best to keep things quiet. But this much I wish to tell you: we have learned that this ‘ghost’ is a hired professional who is planning to wipe out our camp. I do not know just how he proposes to do it, whether by fire or mob violence, but it is planned, and according to the information secured the blow will come soon. I am therefore doubling the number of sentries beginning with tonight. Your orders are to alarm the camp instantly if anything out of the ordinary is seen or heard. The Officers of the Guard will exercise unwavering care and conduct rigid inspection of posts.”
The colonel resumed his seat and there was a buzz of excitement and indignation. The cadets welcomed the prospect for some actual and dangerous service, and the prospect of a mob fight was especially alluring. But the feeling was that any move made against them would be in the nature of a stealthy act, and all of the cadets determined to brace themselves for the stern business at hand.
“If any ghost tries to touch the horses I’ll shoot him on sight,” growled Thompson, who loved the animals.
“All I hope is that they rush the camp with a gang,” Terry said. “Wouldn’t that be a swell scrap! Imagine the corps meeting a crowd of roughnecks in a hand-to-hand battle. That would be something to write about!”
“If you were able to write, Redhead,” said a cadet near by.
“Gee, if the battalion couldn’t lick any bunch recruited around here we ought to go back to the school and play tennis all the rest of our lives,” snorted Terry, who was not good at the sport and therefore did not like it.
“I’m afraid that the attack won’t be an open one,” Don told them. “More likely to be something shady.”