“Our camp’s gone, of course?” queried Sam.
“Yes. We saved some of the truck, though.”
“And you woke up the folks across the lake?”
“You bet we did! They sent to town for help.”
There was a pause in the talk. Hagle, unhappily aware of the interested, if unobtrusive, scrutiny to which he was subjected, sat with bowed head. Sam glanced at him doubtfully. The cowering youth was in marked contrast to Zorn who sat erect, and whose expression was determined, if not defiant. The pair had a story to tell, a story the club was eager to hear, but how was it to be begun?
Step precipitated matters.
“Say, Sam! Picked up company, didn’t you? We—Poke and I—we figured somebody was in the woods besides our crowd.”
At that Jack raised his head. “Look here, you fellows!” he began. “You—you’ve got to know things. I’ll start at the beginning. You know all the trouble started when the Latin book—Trojan’s book—was found in the desk after the examination. Well, I put it there—and I left it there!”
“You did—you!” Step blurted incredulously. “Why, I supposed——” There he broke off, and glanced significantly at Zorn.
“I put it there, and I left it there,” Jack repeated.