“Great Scott!” said Dan. “There’s no question about that, Tom. Gerald is sure he left the cup here on the table and now it’s gone. Some one came in, all right enough, but who was it?”
“Who is this Merrow chap?” asked Tom. “Is he the youngster that rooms with Arthur Thompson, Gerald?”
“Yes,” answered Gerald.
“You remember Merrow,” said Alf impatiently, “the kid that Gerald and Thompson pulled out of Marsh Lake last spring?”
“Oh, yes. Well, he isn’t the sort to try a joke like this, is he? You see, he seems to be the only one that knew Gerald had the cup.”
“Not the only one,” said Gerald. “There were six or seven other fellows around there; Craig and Milton and—and Bicknell; I don’t remember the rest; two or three of them I didn’t know. And Hiltz was there, too, only he was farther away.”
“Hiltz!” said Dan.
“Hiltz,” murmured Alf. The three exchanged questioning glances.
“Was he near enough to hear what you and Merrow were saying?” asked Dan. Gerald considered.
“I don’t believe so. He might have heard, though. You know voices sound pretty plain on the ice.”