Sunday passed quietly. Some of the boys attended one or another of the churches in Ashton, and the Rovers went with them. Dudd Flockley and his cronies took a walk up the river, and reaching a warm, sunny spot, threw themselves down to smoke cigarettes and talk.
"Well, what did you do about the dress-suit case, Jerry?" asked
Flockley with a sharp look at his crony.
"Returned it, as you know," was the answer, and Jerry winked suggestively.
"I'd have flung the bag in the river before I would give it to such a chap as Tom Rover," growled Larkspur.
"You trust me, Larky, old boy," answered Jerry Koswell. "I know what
I'm doing."
"Humph!"
"I said I returned the case, but I didn't say I returned all that was in it."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Flockley. "If you've got a secret, out with it."
Koswell looked around to make certain that no outsider was near.
"I kept a few things out of the bag—some things that had Tom Rover's name or his initials on them."