“Then he acknowledges this?” asked Merriwell.
“Sure! He had to; I made him!”
“How did you get hold of it, Perky?”
“Did a little detective work. Got a clue from George Kirk just by accident. Kirk saw Cotton and that fellow Gibson together in Greenburg the day he came back from the golf match with Broadwood. I put two and two together, found that Cotton was at Broadwood two years ago, and then went and told him I knew all about it. He thought I did and ’fessed up.”
“Where is he now?” asked Merriwell angrily.
Perky shrugged his shoulders. “Search me,” he said. “He left here this morning. That’s all I know!”
A half-hour later Kendall opened the door of Number 28. Outside there were still faint echoes of the cheering that had greeted the announcement of the election. Gerald, who had dined at home that evening, was in the room, and with him was Harry Merrow. Had Kendall been especially discerning just then he might have told from the expressions on their faces that they had heard the news. But he wasn’t; he was too excited for one thing. And, being excited, he tried not to show it. He said, “Hello” restrainedly, laid his cap down and took a chair.
“Hello,” responded Gerald carelessly. “Been to the banquet?”
Kendall nodded.