“Dick, this is Brose Stovebridge,” Clingwood went on. “We claim for him--and I think justly--the title of champion sprinter of the middle West.”
Merriwell smiled as he held out his hand.
“Very glad indeed to meet you, Mr. Stovebridge,” he said heartily.
Stovebridge gave a sudden gasp and faltered; then he took the proffered hand limply.
Instead of meeting Merriwell’s glance, his eyes were fixed intently on the corner of a checked cap which protruded from the Yale man’s pocket.
It was the cap he had lost out of the car that morning, or one exactly like it. Apparently it did not belong to Merriwell, who held his own in his left hand. Where had he picked it up? Where could he have found it but in that fatal spot? Stovebridge’s brain reeled and he felt a little faint. Then he realized that Clingwood was speaking to him--introducing the other Yale men--and with a tremendous effort he forced himself to turn and greet them with apparent calmness.
For a time there was a confused medley of talk and laughter as some of the other members strolled up and were presented to the strangers. Stovebridge was very thankful for the chance it gave him to pull himself together and hide his emotion.
Presently there was a momentary lull and Dick pulled the cap out of his pocket.
“Does this belong to any of your fellows?” he asked carelessly. “We picked it up in the road this morning.”
“Why, that looks like yours, Brose,” he said as he turned it over.
Stovebridge glanced at it indifferently. He had himself well in hand now.
“Rather like,” he drawled; “but mine is a little larger check; besides, I didn’t wear it this morning, you know.”
“I could have sworn that you bought one exactly like this,” Jennings said in a puzzled tone.
“I wouldn’t advise you to put any money on it, Bob, because you’d lose,” he said lightly. “I’ll wear mine to-morrow, and you’ll see the difference.”
“Where did you find it, Dick?” Roger Clingwood asked.
Merriwell paused and glanced quietly around the circle of men. Most of them looked indifferent, as though they had very little interest in the cap or its unknown owner.
“It was picked up in the road about four miles this side of Wilton,” he said in a low, clear voice. “It lay near the body of a little girl who had been run over by some car and left there to die.”