“That’s so. All’s fair in a war of this kind, when I’m trying to establish my mother’s rights,” decided Tom. “We’ll see what we can find out.”
By judicious inquiries of the delivery lad, they learned that the telegram had come in only a few hours before Sam found the torn scrap.
“That settles it then,” Tom said; “he hasn’t kept the Garrison appointment yet, and I’ve got a chance.”
“What are you going to do?” his chum asked, eagerly.
“I’m going to try and be in Garrison, at the hotel, when Captain Hawkesbury and Aaron Doolittle have their conference,” was the reply. “I’m going to try to hear what they say. It isn’t just my usual style of doing things, but it can’t be helped.”
“No,” agreed Sam, “it’s fair enough to get evidence that way against men of that character. The only thing is, though, can you make it work?”
“I can try,” Tom said.
“It’s going to take some pretty good planning,” Sam went on. “You’ll have to leave here soon after the captain does, and follow him. It’s going to be risky.”
“Anything is that’s worth while.”
“I suppose so. Well, I’ll help you all I can, of course.”