The Mark of the Knife

by Clayton H. Ernst

"Oh, Teeny-bits, you're wanted on the telephone."

Teeny-bits pulled on a sweater and went downstairs. In answer to his inquiry he heard a voice—an unnaturally gruff voice, he remembered afterwards—telling him startling news. His father, old Daniel Holbrook, had been hurt—a train had struck him at the station—Teeny-bits was wanted at home at once.

Waiting to hear no more, he hung up the receiver and without pausing to tell any one where he was going, hurried out of Gannett Hall and ran across the campus toward the hill-road that led down to the village of Hamilton a mile away. He had covered half the distance when he saw an automobile just ahead of him standing beside the road. As he approached, he noticed that, though the lights were out, the engine was running; he determined to explain the emergency and ask for a ride to the village. He never made the request, however, for as he came abreast of the car he heard a sharp whistle close beside him and was suddenly assailed by two dark figures that sprang upon him and, almost before he could struggle, bore him to the ground.

Teeny-bits had been in many a rough-and-tumble wrestling match and was able to take care of himself in competition with any ordinary opponent, even when weight was against him; he struggled desperately, but within the space of a very few seconds he realized that he was helpless. At the first onslaught something that felt like a voluminous cloth had been thrown over his head and he found himself enveloped in its folds; he tried to cry out for help, but his voice was muffled and ineffective. Though unable to see his assailants, he kicked and struck out with desperation, but all to no avail. His feet were brought together and fastened with the same material that covered his head and pinioned his arms to his body. In a moment he felt himself raised from the ground and realized that he was being lifted into the automobile. Hands fumbled at the cloth about his head, tightening the folds over his mouth and eyes, loosening the folds over his nose so that, though he could neither see nor talk, he could breathe without difficulty.

The whole attack had been carried out swiftly, and it was so entirely different from anything that Teeny-bits had experienced that he felt dazed and bewildered. The automobile was moving rapidly now, as he could tell by its tremulous motion and its frequent lurches. No sound that would aid him in identifying his assailants came to his ears, however, and he could only helplessly await the next development. A cautious tightening of his muscles convinced him quickly that it was of no use whatever to strain against his bonds. Whoever these men were who had bound him in so strange a manner, they had done their work well. Minutes passed, and still the automobile rolled on swiftly; whither it was carrying him—north or south or east or west—Teeny-bits had no way of knowing. Finally it began to move more slowly and after a few moments vibrated as if passing over cobble-stones.

Teeny-bits knew instantly when it came to a stop, for the vibrations ceased. Only a moment passed before he felt himself lifted by two pairs of hands and a moment later realized by the sound and the motion that he was being carried up a long flight of steps. He heard a door open and shut and he sniffed a strange odor; food cooking and smoke, it seemed to suggest, but strange food and strange smoke. Another flight of steps was mounted, another door was opened, and Teeny-bits felt himself deposited upon something that seemed like a mattress. He tried to speak, to ask where he was and what his captors intended, but only muffled mumblings came from his lips. He heard the door close and knew that he was alone. A feeling of despair, the equal of which he had never experienced, swept over him; he was in the power of nameless enemies whose purposes were unknown and perhaps sinister.

For a long while Teeny-bits lay in dumb misery, while one dismal thought after another marched through his mind. On the eve of the big game—the game in which for long weeks his hopes had been fastened, first with interest and then with an almost feverish anticipation—he had been mysteriously spirited away. Now he would not even witness the great struggle between his school and its ancient rival—to say nothing of playing and winning his R. But there were other thoughts. What of his father,—old Daniel Holbrook? Teeny-bits now suspected that the telephone summons was part of a plan to entice him away from the school, but, of course, there was a possibility that an accident had occurred and that even now Daniel Holbrook was hovering between life and death, and wondering why Teeny-bits did not come to him. There was still another thought: circumstances had cast about him a cloud of suspicion which was evident to two persons whose respect he wished to retain,—Doctor Wells and Mr. Stevens. What would their feeling toward him be when they learned that he had disappeared from the school without saying a word to any one? They could arrive at only one conclusion: that he was guilty of stealing from his schoolmates and that, fearing to face the charges against him, he had run away like a coward. If the worst should happen—if he should not come out alive from the predicament in which he now found himself—his name would be remembered forever as that of one who had neither honor nor courage.

Those thoughts seemed to Teeny-bits more than he could bear, and suddenly a feeling of bitter rage welled up within him against the unknown enemy who had caused him all this misery. He could not believe that Snubby Turner had anything to do with it. The only persons in Ridgley School whom he had reason to suspect were Bassett and Tracey Campbell. He made up his mind that if he ever escaped from his present predicament he would go straight to those two members of Ridgley School and ask them point-blank if they were at the bottom of his troubles. If they could not come forth with an answer that rang true, he would give them both a thrashing that they would never forget. He would welcome a chance to meet them singly or as a pair. He began to struggle at his bonds and was soon dripping with perspiration from his efforts. After a time he saw the uselessness of it and, almost exhausted, lay breathing deeply the close atmosphere of the room.

The night before the "big game" at Ridgley School resembled the lull before a storm; word had been passed as usual that the dormitories were to be quiet and members of the school were to keep away from the rooms of the football players, who, of course, needed, on this night of all nights, a sound and long sleep. In Lincoln Hall, at meal time, there had been a hum of eager conversation: the Jefferson team had arrived in Hamilton and had gone to comfortable quarters at Grey Stone Inn, three miles from the school. They would remain at the inn until just before the game, when they would come to the field in automobiles. Several of the Ridgleyites who had been in the station at the time of the visitors' arrival reported that the Jefferson players were "huskies" and that Norris, the renowned full-back, was the biggest "of the lot." The main body of Jefferson students would arrive by special train at noon on Saturday.

Many a member of Ridgley School on this eve of the great struggle was filled with a feeling of restlessness; it seemed that the minutes were dragging with indescribable slowness, that the night would never pass and that the hour would never come when the referee would blow his whistle to start the contest upon which the Ridgley hopes and fears were centered.