"I—promise—to—pay—to—Nick—Flynn—one—hundred—dollars—when M.—M.—is—fired. Benjamin Bartlett. Received—payment—July—13. Nick Flynn."
The officer took the result, laid it on his desk and took another from his pocket to compare.
"That settles it," said he, looking up at last. "Conspiracy."
"What does this mean, sir?" demanded the angry old squire, who had been waxing more and more impatient under the ordeal. "Why should my son be insulted like a common criminal? Why——"
"Because he is one," responded the other, just as warmly. "Look at those two papers, sir! Your son wrote both, and I know it."
"Where did you get that other?"
"The story is briefly told," said Colonel Harvey. "Two cadets of my academy turned highwaymen yesterday and held up your son at the point of a revolver. I presume he has told you."
"So that's who it was!" cried the furious squire. "So that's the kind of cadets you have! I shall have them both in jail."
"You will not," laughed the other, "for several reasons. In the first place, you do not know who they are, and I do not propose to tell you. In the second, if you do, your son is guilty of conspiracy, and I shall see him punished for that."
"This is preposterous!" exclaimed Squire Bartlett. "That paper proves absolutely nothing——"