Smoothing it out he saw that it was a piece of book paper and was written on.
When it was nicely smoothed out and laid upon the inside of the book found in his desk and now produced from his pocket, he read the following inscription written in a scrawly hand:
“This book is the property of Peter Herring, Hilltop. Don’t steal.”
The torn edges fitted perfectly and the letters remaining on the inner edge of the leaf were followed regularly by those on the other side.
“That accuses Peter Herring all right,” said Jack. “This is his book and if he did not put it in my desk who would? At any rate, it will be safe enough to make the accusation.”
Putting the book back in his pocket, the torn leaf being now in its place, Jack went up stairs and out upon the grounds.
There were some of his chums at a little distance and Herring and Merritt were just going around the corner of the building toward the barn, being evidently engaged in earnest conversation.
Jack waited a minute and then followed them into the barn.
“Maybe it didn’t work all right,” Herring was saying, “but folks’ll suspect him just the same.”
“It wouldn’t have went all right if I hadn’t seen your name in it,” snapped Merritt, “and made you tear it out before you slipped it in his desk last night.”