“You mean the New York detective?”
“Yes. I think I’ll engage him.”
“But I thought you said you were going to let the boys try to solve the mystery. I was going to ask you, now that they are gone, if you think it wise. But——”
“Oh, well, I’m going to let them try,” said Mr. Slade with a smile. “At the same time I think it’s a good thing to have two strings to your bow. I’ll send the detective on after the boys to sort of watch over them, and he’ll be there on the ground in case they fail. But don’t tell the boys.”
“I won’t,” promised Mr. Baker with a smile, as the bell-boy took the dispatch Mr. Slade had written.
Out on the Boxwood campus bright fires gleamed. Around them circled chanting students casting into the flames various articles, from books, the study of which had ceased, to broken baseball bats, torn gloves and other tokens. The silence of the darkness was broken by more or less weird chants.
It was the closing of the term at Boxwood Hall and the time-honored observance of it was in full swing. It was several days after the accident to Mr. Slade and Mr. Baker. The latter was able to be out, and Mr. Slade had the promise that by the middle of the following week he could walk around on crutches.
Meanwhile, messages had gone to and come from Square Z ranch. The boys had started their preparations and then had entered with zest into the fun of the last days at Boxwood.