“There’s been a leak over at your place and some dirty work over here. The enclosed sheet, which, as I understand it, is supposed to be an explanation of your signals to be used Saturday, has just come into my hands. I’m sending it to you thinking that perhaps you will be able to find the sneak who sent it. We had nothing to do with it here. The fellow who obtained it did so without authorization on his own hook. I’m sorry about it, but I guess the only thing for you to do is to change your signals for the game. Let me know whether this reaches you. I don’t think it has been seen by more than three or four people here, including the fellow who received it, our coach, and myself, and we haven’t made any study of it. Nevertheless, you’d better protect yourself by changing your signals before the game. We’ll look after the fellow at this end, and I hope you’ll find the traitor at your end and give him what he deserves. You fellows can’t say we haven’t always played fair and you mustn’t blame us for this business. I hope we’ll have a good day for the game and a dandy contest.
“Yours truly,
“William L. Raynor.”
Davis laid down the letter and stared in bewilderment.
“Merriwell got that this morning,” said the coach. “We decided that the best way to trace the authorship of that document was to get all the players to make similar diagrams. There’s one peculiar thing about that first paper, Davis. You’ll notice that Burtis—supposing he did it, and I can’t see any reason to doubt it—labeled the positions with small letters. See what I mean? He has written, or, rather, printed, ‘l. h. b.’ in what printers call lower case, instead of ‘L. H. B.’ in capitals. Now, if you look through all the diagrams submitted to-night, and every fellow handed one in, you’ll find that Burtis is the only one who does that. Then, too, there is the evidence of the paper. Both sheets apparently were torn from the same block. The paper is the same, a deep buff in color. There’s one other paper there that is buff—I think it’s Brinspool’s—but it is lighter. Now, two and two usually make four, Davis.”
“Yes, but—but why should he do it? Why, the fellows were talking of him for captain!”
“Too bad! It’s beyond me; I can’t see any motive. The only explanation I can think of is that some Broadwood fellow got hold of him and fooled him. I’m not willing to think that Burtis did this realizing what it meant. It—it’s absolutely contrary to my conception of the boy’s character, Davis.”
“It was Gibson!” declared Perky. “I’ll bet you anything it was that fellow Gibson! You remember the day he came over to spy on us? We fooled him then, and so he got back at us. But I didn’t know Burtis knew him.”
“It’s a funny affair,” said Merriwell thoughtfully. “Anyway, there’s no use raising a fuss until after the game. We’re in a bad enough fix as it is. We’ve got to work like the very dickens to win to-morrow, and if we let this thing get out the team will be upset, probably, and we’ll get licked as sure as shooting. You aren’t going to say anything to him about it now, are you, sir?”
“No, I think not. Better let him alone. I don’t believe he is morally guilty, fellows. And we need him to-morrow if we ever did.”