"By Jove!" he said, "I think I know a way to force Chip Dixon to do as we want to have him. If he doesn't do it, there's a fair chance of his ending his career here. I hate to be mean, but when the other fellow is mean and will not let up, we've got to meet him with his own weapons."
"Well, fire away, young Sleuth; do you hold a deadly secret over his head? Out with it if you do."
Frank quickly gave the Wee One a description of the hazing, which was interrupted very frequently by Patterson with snorts of indignation.
"I'll bet Dixon was mixed up in that affair. If we only knew, we'd fix him."
"But supposing we did know?"
"We'd have him where the wool was short and the skin tender."
"Well, that's just it, for when I got back to the room that night Gleason had picked up a wristlet that Chip wore the first day I came here. I haven't seen a wristlet on him since. I looked particularly to-day, and he had none on."
"Any marks on the wristlet you found?" inquired the Wee One, eagerly, beginning to catch the drift of Frank's plan.
"Yes, 'C. D.' inked plainly on the inside of one of the small straps, and besides that I made a hunt in the grass near the boat-house the next morning, trying to trace out the way we went to the river, and accidentally came across the strap with which they tied my hands, and on that was printed Chip's full name. It looks like one of the straps which go around an extension grip. Here it is, and here's the leather wristlet."