“Not an awful lot,” said Andy, ruefully, “unless this latest robbery is. We’d better go see that lawyer. Did he say anything about the mysterious hundred dollars Link got by mail?”
“He mentioned it. There’s no explanation of it yet, and he says it will look queer if it comes out, and if that’s the only explanation Link can give.”
“Why need it come out?”
“Oh, it seems that Link showed the bills to several helpers around college, and some of them have been subpoenaed to testify. The detective will be sure to bring it out. Then there’s that story about the book found in Link’s room.”
“Hello!—” exclaimed Andy, looking around the apartment in order to collect his thoughts. “There’s another note someone left for us. It must have been knocked off the table.” He picked it up off the floor. It was addressed to him, and proved to be from Charley Taylor. It read:
“Dear Andy. I watched you play to-day. You did well. I’ve got a peach of a mushroom bat that I don’t want, for I’m going in for rowing instead of baseball this season. I left the bat in the storeroom on your corridor when I moved out of Wright Hall. You can have it if you like. I gave it to Mortimer Gaffington once, but he said he never could find it. I don’t believe he cared much about it, anyhow. Take it and good luck.”
“By jinks!” cried Andy, as he read the missive and passed it to Dunk. “Do you remember that time Mortimer was hunting for Charley’s bat in the closet?”
“I should say I did! That was the time we were looking for the thief who took Frank Carr’s silver cup and his book.”
“Sure. Well, I’m just going to have a look for that bat now. Maybe I’ll have better luck than Mortimer did.”
“Go ahead. I’ll stay here in case Ikey comes in with the socks. No use having him bother us. Might as well pay him so he’ll quit running in.”