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 “Oh, well,” spoke Ruth. “They had to go to practice anyhow, and
we won’t be long. Come on.”
It was a delightful day, and the invitation was hard to resist.
Behold then, as a Frenchman would say, behold then, a little later,
the four pretty girls in Boswell’s launch, with himself and Pierce
making themselves as agreeable as they knew how. And to give
them their due, they knew how to interest girls, and were deferential
and polite in their demeanor.
“Your pin is coming unfastened,” remarked Boswell to Ruth, as
they were speeding along, and he motioned to a bit of lace at her
throat—lace caught up with a simple gold bar clasp.
“Oh, thank you,” she answered, as she fastened it, and then she
blushed, and was angry at herself for doing it.
“Where is that lovely old-fashioned brooch you used to wear?”
asked Madge, looking at her chum.
“Oh—er—I wouldn’t wear it out in a boat, anyhow,” said Ruth,
blushing redder than before. “I—I might lose it. See, wasn’t that a
fish that jumped over there!” and she pointed to the left, glad of a
chance to change the subject.
“Yes, and a jolly big fellow, too!” declared Pierce. “Why can’t we
get up a fishing party, and take you girls?” he asked. “My word, it
would be jolly sport! We could take our lunch, and have tea in the
woods, a regular outing, dontcherknow.”
“That’s the ticket!” exclaimed Boswell. “Will you girls come?” and
he looked particularly at Ruth.
“I don’t know,” she replied and then, in the spirit of mischief, she
added: “I’ll ask my brother. Perhaps he’d like to come. He is a good
fisherman.”
“Oh—er—it wasn’t so much about the fish that I was thinking,”
spoke Pierce, a bit dismayed, and then he dropped the subject.
 “Are you fond of old-fashioned jewelry?” asked Boswell, in a low
voice to Ruth. “I mean old brooches and the like?”
“Yes—why?” asked Ruth rather startled.
“Oh, I only just wanted to know. I’m a bit that way myself. My
mother has a very old brooch that I gave her. I mean it was old
when I came across it and bought it. I’ll borrow it some day and let
you see it.”
Ruth murmured a polite rejoinder, scarcely knowing what she did
say, and then, as one of the lake steamers approached rather
dangerously close to the launch, there was a moment of excitement
aboard both craft, for Pierce, who should have been steering, had
neglected it for the agreeable task of being polite to Mabel Harrison.
But nothing more than a scare resulted. When matters had
quieted down, the talk turned into another channel, and Ruth was
glad to keep it there.
The topic of the brooch, she thought, was a rather dangerous one
for her, since she wanted to keep from her friends, and especially
from Tom and her folks, the knowledge of the missing pin. She was
hoping against hope that it would be found. She wondered what
Boswell meant by his reference, but did not dare ask him.
The ride was a pleasant one, though the girls—all of them—felt
that they had, perhaps, been just a bit mean toward their boy
chums. Still, as Madge had said, Tom and his friends did have
practice.
“We better go back now,” said Ruth, after a bit. “It has been
delightful, though.”
“And the engine didn’t break down once,” added Helen.
“Oh I don’t get things that break,” spoke Boswell, with an air of
pride. “But you don’t want to go in so soon; do you?”
“We must,” insisted Madge, and, rather against their wishes, the
boys turned back.
 As Fate would have it, the new launch got to the Boswell dock just
as the craft containing Tom and his chums hove in sight. Their
wheezy boat puffed slowly along, and as it was steered in toward
the dock they had improvised near their tent, the boys saw Boswell
and his chum helping the girls out. Then Boswell walked alongside
Ruth, seeming to be in earnest conversation with her.
“Say, would you look at that!” cried Sid. “The girls were out with
those chaps!”
“And after refusing to come with us!” went on Frank.
“I like their nerve!” declared Phil.
Tom said nothing, but there came a queer look in his eyes.
“Well, I suppose we’re not the only fellows on the island,” spoke
Frank, philosophically. “We couldn’t expect them to stay in, waiting
for us to come back, on such a fine day as this.”
“But they said they were going to be busy,” objected Sid.
“Oh, well, I guess what they had to do could be dropped and
picked up again, when there was a launch ride in the offing,” went
on the Big Californian. “We’ll call around after supper and take ’em
out. There’s going to be a glorious moon.”
“Fine!” cried Sid. But when evening came, and the others attired
themselves more or less gaily, ready for a call, Tom did not doff his
old garments.
“What’s the matter, sport; aren’t you coming?” asked Sid.
“Nope.”
“Why not? Ruth won’t want to go unless you’re there.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going. I don’t feel like it.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Nope.”
 “What shall I tell her?” asked Sid, looking to see that Phil and
Frank had gone on ahead.
“Nothing,” and Tom began filling a lantern, this being one of his
duties that week.
Sid stood regarding his chum for a moment, and then without a
word, but with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders, went out.
 CHAPTER XX
A STRANGE CONFERENCE

“You missed it, old man; we had a dandy time,” remarked Frank,
when he, together with Sid and Phil, drifted into the sleeping tent
some time later.
“That’s right, Tom,” added Sid. “The cake was good.”
“And the lemonade, too,” added Phil.
“Um!” sleepily grunted Tom. Or was he only simulating sleep?
“And the girls were jolly,” went on Frank.
“And Ruth wanted to know why you hadn’t come,” proceeded Sid,
keeping up the chorus of description.
“Oh, let me go to sleep,” growled Tom.
“Bossy and his chum blew in, but they didn’t stay long,” added
Phil. “I guess they didn’t expect to find us there.”
“Was Boswell there?” demanded Tom, sitting up on his cot.
“Sure,” retorted Sid, at the same time giving Frank a nudge in the
ribs as much as to say: “There’s where the shoe pinches.”
“I’ve got a headache,” said Tom, only half truthfully. “I guess that
row in the hot sun was a little too much for me to-day.”
“Can we do anything for you?” asked Frank, trying to make his
voice sound anxious.
“No, I’ll sleep it off,” and turning with his face toward the tent wall,
Tom proceeded to slumber—or pretend to.
 It was two days after this when Tom and Ruth met. He had
studiously avoided calling at the Tyler cottage, though the other
boys went over each evening. Tom gave some excuse, and each
time Sid and the others came in at night they would remark about
the good time they had had.
“You’re missing it,” declared Phil, winking at his chums. “Boswell is
filling in your place fine.”
“Was he there again?” snapped Tom.
“Sure thing. He and Sis seem to get on well together, though I
don’t care for the chap. Still he isn’t such a bad sort as I thought at
first.”
As a matter of fact Boswell had not called since that first evening,
but Phil guessed Tom’s secret, and wickedly and feloniously egged it
on.
“What’s the matter, Tom; why haven’t you called?” asked Ruth
with perfect sincerity when she and the tall pitcher did meet,
following some busy days devoted for the most part by the boys to
rowing practice. “I wanted to ask you about something?”
“I—er—I’ve been busy,” he said, trying to make himself believe
that. Ruth didn’t. “Besides,” he blurted out, with a school-boy
mannerism that he hated himself for disclosing, “I thought Mr.
Boswell could keep you interested.”
“Tom Parsons!” and Ruth’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“He seems to be quite a steady caller,” he stumbled on, growing
more and more confused and uncomfortable. He felt more childish
than ever, and I am not saying he was not. “I didn’t know whether
there’d be room for me and——”
“Tom, I don’t think that’s fair of you,” and Ruth was plainly hurt.
“Mr. Boswell has only been over one evening, when the other boys
were there, and——”
“Only once?” cried Tom.
 “That’s all. The same evening of the day when we were out in his
launch. I couldn’t help talking to him then, and if you think——”
“I don’t think anything!” broke in Tom. “I’ve been a chump. They
said he’d been over there every night. Oh, wait until I get hold of
your brother!”
“Did Phil say that?”
“He did.”
“Then I’ll settle with him, too. But, Tom, I wanted to ask if you
thought there was any chance of finding my brooch?”
“I don’t know, Ruth. It begins to look rather hopeless.”
“That’s what I thought, and, as long as I’m not going to get it
back I may as well admit that it is gone. I can’t go on deceiving
people this way, even in so small a matter. I suppose it was careless
of me to let the clasp get broken in the first place. I put it on in a
hurry one day, and strained it. And in the second place, I suppose I
ought to have given it to a more reliable jeweler.
“But that Mr. Farson called at the college one day soliciting repair
work to do. He said he had some from Boxer Hall, so I thought he
was all right, and let him take my pin. I’m sorry now.”
“Yes, it is too bad,” assented Tom, “but it can’t be helped. I don’t
really believe, Ruth, that there’s any use looking on this island for
the pin. I have been keeping my eyes open for it, but I’m beginning
to think that it’s like hunting for the proverbial thimble in the straw
pile.”
“You mean needle in the haystack.”
“Well, it’s the same thing. I never can get those proverbs straight.
The only hope is that we might, some day, discover who took the
things, and your brooch might be recovered. But it’s a pretty slim
chance, now that all our clues seemed to have failed.”
“That’s what I thought. So I guess I’ll confess and brave
grandmother’s wrath. But, oh! I know she’ll never leave me her
lovely pearls!”
“Maybe someone else will,” suggested Tom. “Will you come down
to the store and have some soda water? He’s got in a fresh lot, I
believe.”
“I will, Tom, for I’m thirsty enough to drink even the lemon-pop
Mr. Richards sells. Come on,” and the two walked on, the little cloud
that had come between them having blown away. But Ruth said
nothing about Boswell’s promise to show her his mother’s old-
fashioned brooch. Perhaps she thought he had forgotten the matter,
and, she reasoned, there was no need of awakening Tom’s jealousy.
It was after Tom had parted from Ruth, with a promise to call that
evening with the other boys, that, walking along the island shore,
taking a short cut to the camp, he heard voices coming from the
direction of the water. He looked through the screen of bushes, and
saw Boswell and the Mexican caretaker, sitting in a boat not far from
shore. The college lad was handing Mendez something, and by the
sun’s rays Tom caught the glitter of gold. At the same time a puff of
wind brought their voices plainly to him, the water aiding in carrying
the tones.
“Do you think you could get an old-fashioned pin like that?”
Boswell was asking. “You know something about jewelry; don’t
you?”
“Of a surety, senor. But this would be hard to duplicate. It is very
old.”
“I know, but I want one like that, or as near it as possible. Can’t
you get one the same place you got that?”
“No, senor, that was the only one there was, and when I sell him
to you for your respected mother I regret that I can get no more of
him.”
“Where did you get that?” asked Boswell, as he took back from
the Mexican what Tom could now see was some sort of breastpin.
“Why do you ask, senor?” retorted the man, quickly.
 “Oh, nothing special. Why, you act as though you thought that I
was going to accuse you of stealing it.”
“Never, senor!” exclaimed the man quickly. “I get this from a
friend, and I sell it to you for very little more than I paid.”
“Oh, it was cheap enough,” went on the lad. “I’m not kicking. Only
I’d like to get another. I knew mother would like this, and she did.
She loves old-fashioned things.”
“And you want another for one who also loves of the time that is
past—is that it, senor?”
“You’ve guessed it, Mendez. But keep mum about it. I want to
surprise her.”
Then the wind, blowing in a contrary direction, carried the voices
away, and Tom kept on, having only halted momentarily.
 CHAPTER XXI
IN THE SHACK

“Jove!” murmured Tom, as he hurried on, “what have I stumbled

upon?”
For the time being his thoughts were in a whirl, for like a flash it
had come to him that the pin he had seen being handled by Mendez
and Boswell was Ruth’s missing brooch.
“I couldn’t get close enough for a good look, but it sure was an
old-fashioned pin, from their talk, and it looked like the one I’ve seen
Ruth wear. The one with the secret spring.”
He walked on a little farther.
“Now what’s to be done?” he asked himself. “I guess I’ll sit down
and think this thing out.”
Rapidly Tom went over in his mind what he had seen and heard.
“This seems to let Boswell out of it,” he murmured. “And I’m glad
of it—for the honor of Randall,” and Tom thought of the events that
had taken place some time ago, when the honor of Randall seemed
to be threatened, events which I have narrated in the book of that
title.
“If Boswell bought the pin of Mendez, then it must be the Mexican
who is the man we’re after,” Tom went on. “He deals in jewelry,
though most of it is that filigree silver stuff that I don’t fancy. And
Boswell wants Mendez to get him another old-fashioned pin like the
one he already has. I wonder who for?”
But Tom did not wonder long on this point.
 “The insolent puppy!” he exclaimed, clenching his fists. “If he tries
to give Ruth a pin I’ll——”
And then he calmed down, for he realized that, aside from the
ethics, or good taste of the matter, Boswell had as much right to
present Ruth with a token as had he himself.
“I guess I’d better reason along a new line,” he told himself. “I’ll
have to let the boys know about this, and——”
Then, like a flash something else occurred to him.
“No, I can’t do that,” he said. “Phil isn’t supposed to know that
Ruth has lost her pin—that is, not yet. It would be too bad if the
grandmother were to turn cranky, because of the loss of the brooch,
and give her pearls to someone else—at least until I can buy Ruth
some pearls myself—and that’s a long way off, I’m afraid,” thought
Tom, ruefully.
“No, I’ve got to play this hand alone,” he went on. “I can’t bring
the fellows in—just yet. And I must tell Ruth not to admit that she
has lost her brooch—at least, not yet. I may be able to get it back
for her. The idea of Boswell having it—at least, I think it’s the same
one.
“And then by Jove! If Mendez had the brooch he has the other
stuff that was in the jewelry box—the Boxer Hall cups and so on.
Tom Parsons, you’ve stumbled on the solution of the mystery, I do
believe. And you’ve got to work it out alone, for if you tell any of the
fellows Ruth’s secret will come out. Now, how are you going to do
it?”
He pondered on the matter, and the first thing he decided on was
that Ruth must be warned not to admit her loss.
“I’ll attend to that right away,” murmured the lad.
“Why, Tom, is anything the matter?” asked Ruth, when he saw
her, a little later, at the Tyler cottage.
“Well, yes, something, but——”
 “Oh, is Phil hurt?” and she clasped her hands.
“No, nothing like that. What made you think something was up,
Ruth?”
“Because your face told me. What is it?”
“Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t tell—just yet—that you haven’t
your brooch.”
“Oh, Tom! Do you mean you think you can get it back?”
“I think so, but I’m not sure. But don’t say anything.”
“I won’t. Oh! I’m only too glad not to have to admit it, though I’m
afraid it’s only postponing the fatal day. But what have you found?”
“I can’t tell you Ruth—just yet. I’ve got quite a problem to work
out. Later on I may need your help.”
“Why, can’t some of the boys?—oh, I see, you’re keeping my
secret for me. That’s fine of you!”
“Just wait—that’s all,” was Tom’s final advice. In the exuberance of
his youth he imagined, that, should it prove that Boswell had bought
Ruth’s pin from the Mexican, the brooch could, by some means or
other, be recovered.
“And now I am up against it,” he went on, still communing with
himself, after he had left Ruth. “I can’t get the boys to help me, so
I’ve got to go alone. And what’s the first thing to be done?”
There were several points that needed clearing up.
“In the first place,” reasoned Tom, “if Mendez had the brooch,
which was in the jewel box, he has, or had, the other things. The
question is—has he them yet? If he sold Boswell the pin he may
have sold the other articles. I guess the only thing for me to do is to
try and get in his shack—when he’s not home. It would be a ticklish
piece of work to stumble in there, and be searching about, and have
him find me. I wonder if I can get in when he’s out? He does go out
quite often.”
 Tom went on to camp, and his absentmindedness caused his
chums no little wonder, until Sid exclaimed:
“Oh, it’s all right—Tom’s got the symptoms.”
“What symptoms?” demanded our hero.
“The love symptoms. A lovers’ quarrel made up is worse than
falling in at first. Look out!” for Tom had shied a shoe at his
tormentor.
“Practice to-day,” announced Frank, the next morning. “Mr. Pierson
said he’d be over early and we’ve got to go down and get the shell.
He’s going to put us through a course of sprouts to-day.”
“All right,” yawned Tom, with a fine appearance of indifference.
“But I’ve got to mix the stuff for cake if I’m going to bake it.” He had
promised to show his skill in pastry-making. “So if you fellows will go
down and get the shell I’ll be ready when you come back.”
“Three of us can’t row a four-oared shell,” protested Sid.
“Well, tow it up by the launch, then. I’m not going to have the
cake spoiled.”
“That’s right,” declared Frank. “The cook is a sacred person. We’ll
tow up the shell,” and they went off, never suspecting their chum.
And how Tom had dissembled! The making of the cake, he knew,
had only been a subterfuge, for he had made up his mind he would
buy one at the store, and offer some excuse to his chums that the
camp-made one had “fallen” which, I believe, is the technical word
to use when the top of a cake displays a tendency to lie on the
bottom of the pan, and not stand up properly. I was once a camp
cook, and some of my friends are still alive to bear witness against
me.
Now what Tom planned was this: As soon as his chums were out
of the way he decided to enter the Mexican’s shack, having learned
the evening before, by skillful questioning, that Mendez had some
work to do around a distant cottage, and would be away all
morning.
“And we’ll see what I can find there,” murmured Tom, as he set
out.
It was an easy matter to enter the shack, at least that part where
the Mexican lived. The store section was closed, but Tom knew there
was an entrance to it through the main shack.
A carelessly-fastened window gave admittance, and soon after his
chums had departed to get the shell (which was kept now in the
new college boathouse, that structure having been nearly
completed), Tom found himself inside the shack.
He began rummaging about, taking care not to unduly disturb
objects. Tom was looking in a trunk, that appeared to contain some
clothing, as well as some of the Mexican drawn-work, and some silks
and satins, when he heard a noise outside.
“Someone is coming!” he whispered. “I’ve got to hide!” and he
made a dive under the cot.
 CHAPTER XXII
THE PAWN TICKETS

“Well, I’m certainly going to be in a nice pickle if that’s Mendez

coming back,” thought Tom, as he gave the blanket on the cot a
surreptitious pull to better conceal his person. “I guess I was seven
kinds of a chump to come here. I ought to have told the fellows, and
then one of them could have done sentry duty for me. As it is, if
anyone comes in here I’m as good as caught. A nice story it will
make, too—a Randall man found in a caretaker’s shack.”
He listened intently, and heard the approaching steps pause
outside the door. Then came a key rattling in the lock.
“Just my luck,” murmured Tom. “It’s Mendez coming back. That
job didn’t last as long as I thought it would, or else he’s forgotten
something. Whew! If he sees me there’ll be a fight all right. He’ll
take me for a burglar, sure, or else he’ll know why I’m here. I
wonder if all Mexicans carry knives? There isn’t much here for a
fellow to defend himself with.”
Tom peered out from under the cot, and made up his mind, if
worst came to worst, that he would roll out, and grab up the heavy
stove poker he saw.
“That will make a pretty good club,” he reasoned. “Hang it all! why
didn’t I tell the fellows? If this Mendez does me up he may hide my
body here, and the fellows will never know what became of me. I
ought to have told them—and yet I did it this way to keep Ruth’s
secret. I meant it for the best.”
Again Tom listened. The fumbling at the lock of the door
continued.
 “If that’s Mendez he doesn’t seem to know how to open his own
door,” mused Tom. “Maybe he’s got the wrong key.”
This seemed to be so, for there was a jingling as of several keys,
and then a voice was heard to mutter. Tom started in his hiding
place under the cot.
“That’s not the voice of Mendez!” he exclaimed. “What am I up
against?”
A wild idea came to him.
“Maybe some of our fellows got wise to the same thing I did, and
they’re trying to get in here,” he thought. “If they see me there’ll be
a surprise,” and he smiled grimly.
The unknown person outside the shack seemed to be trying a
number of keys, one after the other, in the lock. At the same time
there was an impatient muttering.
“That’s not Mendez,” decided Tom. “And from the voice it’s none of
our fellows, either. I wonder if it can be Boswell?”
The complications that might ensue if it was the rich student, who
seemed to be sharing some secret with the Mexican, kept Tom busy
thinking for a few seconds, and then his attention was further drawn
toward the person outside.
“Hang it all!” exclaimed a voice in nasal tones—plainly the voice of
an elderly man—“he’s got some newfangled kind of a lock on here,
and I can’t get in. I wonder if a window is open?”
There was the rattle of a bunch of keys being returned to a
pocket, and then the sound of footsteps coming around to the side
of the shack.
“He’s going to try my game,” thought Tom.
“Well if it isn’t Mendez it’s someone who hasn’t any more right in
here than I have, and I’m not in so much danger. But who can it
be?”
 There was a struggle at the window, the sound of a fall, as if the
attempt to enter had failed. Then came muttered words of anger
and pain, and they were followed by the sound of feet beating a
tattoo on the side of the shack.
“He’s scrambling up to the window,” thought Tom, pulling the cot
blankets farther down. A moment later someone dropped down
inside the shack, and remained quietly in the middle of the floor, as
though taking a survey of the place.
“Humph! It ain’t much changed from when I was here last,” a
voice said, and Tom peered out from beneath a cautiously-raised
blanket. The identity of the unexpected visitor startled him.
“Old Jake Blasdell!” murmured Tom, in a whisper. “The former
caretaker! What in the world does he want here? I thought he had
cleared out of these diggings.”
 “OLD JAKE BLASDELL!” MURMURED TOM, IN A
WHISPER.

Blasdell, for it was he, stood in the middle of the room of the
shack where Mendez cooked, ate and slept—did everything, in fact,
save conduct his small store, which was an addition.
“It’s better than when I had it,” Blasdell murmured, for, as I have
said, when Mendez succeeded the former caretaker he had moved
the shack from the place where Blasdell had built it, and had
considerably improved it. “Much better,” went on the old man. “Them
Mexicans ain’t so lazy as I’ve heard. Lucky for me I knowed of that
window that didn’t close very tight or I mightn’t have gotten in. And
lucky I happened to see Mendez as I did, and learned that he would
be away all day. Now I’m in here where can I hide ’em. I don’t dare
carry ’em around with me much longer. Folks is beginning to
suspect. And I’ll take away that piece I left here, too.”
“What in the world am I stacking up against?” thought the puzzled
Tom. He looked out eagerly. Blasdell’s back was turned toward the
cot, but the old man did not appear to have anything to hide.
“Can he be out of his mind?” thought Tom.
He heard the man fumbling about, but from his position could not
see what he was doing, and Tom dared not put out his head from
under the cot.
“There, I guess nobody’ll think of lookin’ for ’em there,” went on
the old man. “I s’pose mebby I ought t’ destroy ’em, but they may
come in useful some time or other. I’ll leave ’em here, and take away
that trinket.”
Then came a sound as if the man had stepped down off a chair, or
bench. Tom wished he could see what he had done, but at least he
knew that something had been hidden on that side of the room were
the stove was.
“Now I wonder if I can get out of the consarned window?” the
man murmured. Tom heard him cross the room, and, after a
struggle, there came the sound of a jump on the earth outside.
“He’s gone!” murmured Tom, as he listened to the retreating
footsteps. Then he scrambled out from under the cot, and began
making a hasty search of the room.
If he had hoped to find Ruth’s pin, the cups from Boxer Hall or any
of the missing jewelry, Tom was disappointed. He made a thorough,
but quick, search, not only in the shack proper, but in the store,
though he knew Blasdell had not gone in there.
“What could he have hidden?” thought Tom. “I’ve got to get out of
here soon, or the fellows will be waiting for me.”
 He saw a small wooden clock on the mantle over the stove. An
idea came to him.
“Maybe that clock hides a secret hole in the wall,” he thought.
Stepping on a chair he moved the timepiece. As he did so the door
came open, and in the lower part, where swung the pendulum, he
saw several bits of paper. There was no hole in the wall, but,
wonderingly Tom picked up the papers. Then he started.
“Pawn tickets!” he cried, “and some of them for silver cups! I’m on
the trail at last!”
 CHAPTER XXIII
TWO MISSING MEN

“Well, what do you know about that?”

“So that’s where you sneaked off to when we went after the
shell?”
“And that’s why you didn’t bake the cake?”
Tom’s three chums gave expression to these sentiments as they
looked over the bunch of pawn tickets he had brought away with
him from the Mexican’s shack. A hasty glance through them had
shown Tom that none was for a brooch, and realizing that he could
still keep Ruth’s secret, he had decided to tell his friends the whole
story. Which he did, keeping back only as much as was necessary
not to let them know of Ruth’s loss.
He related how he had overheard a “certain” conversation
between Boswell and the Mexican, hurrying over that part of the
story so they might not ask what the talk was about. Then he told of
his own and Blasdell’s visits to the shack.
“Say, this beats anything I ever heard of!” declared Frank.
“That’s right, but what did the old beggar hide—if anything?”
asked Sid.
“The pawn tickets, of course,” declared Phil.
“I’m not sure of that, of course,” spoke Tom.
“I didn’t see him, for I couldn’t look out far enough from under the
cot. But he was certainly on that side of the room. And he didn’t
hide the cups and jewelry, for they’re in pawn, as these tickets show.
So it must have been the tickets.”
 “Then if he had the tickets he took the stuff!” declared Sid.
“Not necessarily,” objected Frank. “The Mexican and this Blasdell
may be in partnership in crime. Either or both may have taken the
jewelry, and Blasdell may have pawned it. Anyhow, I think this lets
Boswell out, and I’m glad of it.”
“So am I!” exclaimed Tom, and yet he wondered what the rich
student and the Mexican could have in common, and he wondered
about the old-fashioned brooch he had seen flashing in the sun,
when the two talked in the boat. Also he wondered what Boswell
wanted of another like it. In fact Tom was doing considerable
wondering, and it was a puzzle in the solution of which he could not
ask his chums’ aid.
“So that’s why you wanted us to go get the shell, and leave you
here; is it?” asked Phil.
“Yes, I wanted time to investigate, and I didn’t want you fellows to
give me the ha ha! if nothing came of it.”
“But lots did come of it!” declared Frank. “We can clear ourselves
of the faint suspicion that I believe Boxer Hall thinks hangs over us,
and we can get them back their trophy cups, and the other people
their jewelry.”
“Yes, I suppose the pawnbroker can be made to give up stolen
stuff,” said Tom. He was puzzling his brains to think of some reason
why Ruth’s brooch was not pawned with the other things. Recalling
the list of missing articles, given out when the jeweler offered the
reward, it was seen that all were represented by the pawn tickets,
save Ruth’s trinket.
“They’re made out in the name ‘A. Smith,’” said Phil, as he
scrutinized the bits of paper. “Might be a blacksmith for all you can
tell—probably a fake name. And the pawnbroker’s place is in
Munroe,” he went on, naming a town about twenty-five miles away.
“Well,” spoke Tom, “I suppose the thing to do is to go there, see
the police, get the stuff, and return it to the jeweler. Then he can do
as he likes with it.”
“Incidentally we’ll collect the reward,” declared Sid.
“We’ll donate it to the new racing association,” suggested Frank.
“Wouldn’t it be a joke, if we did take that part of the reward offered
by Boxer Hall, and use it to help beat them in the race!”
“Sort of adding insult to injury,” suggested Tom. “But I’m thinking
we ought to let the Boxer Hall lads know about these tickets, and
that there’s a prospect of them getting back their trophies.”
There were two opinions about this. Tom and Sid were one side,
while Frank and Phil held it would be better to first get the stuff and
then let Boxer Hall know.
“‘There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip,’ you know, Tom,”
said the Big Californian. “Not meaning a pun, either. But there may
be some complications and it may take some time to get the stuff
away from the pawnbroker. A delay would only fret all those who
have lost things, and would be unpleasant for us. Get the stuff first,
I say, and then hand it around.”
And in the end this idea prevailed.
“Well, I can see where we get in precious little practice to-day,”
remarked Tom. “I think we’d all better go to Haddonfield and give
these tickets to Mr. Farson. Let him get the police busy.”
“All right, we’re with you,” said Phil. “But we need the practice, for
it won’t be long now before we’re back at college.”
“What about arresting Blasdell and the Mexican?” asked Sid.
“Let the jeweler attend to that,” suggested Frank.
Without telling the girls of their discovery, the boys went to town
in their launch, which, for a wonder, did not break down. Frank
declared it was because he had put in a new set of batteries.
That Mr. Farson was astonished, is putting it mildly. He could not
thank the boys enough. Privately, to Tom, who managed to get him
a word in secret, the jeweler said he could not account for Ruth’s pin
not being represented by a ticket.
“But I’ll look all through that pawnbroker’s stock for it,” he said.
Mr. Farson decided that they would first go to Munroe and get the
cups and jewelry, and later see about causing the arrest of the guilty
person, or persons.
“The pawnbroker would have to identify the thief, anyhow,” he
explained. “Now you boys go back to the island and stay there. I’ll
hire an auto and go to Munroe. As soon as I get back I’ll run over
and let you know how I make out. Oh, this is good news for me!”
“What became of Blasdell after he jumped out of the shack, Tom?”
asked Phil.
“How could I tell? I was under the cot.”
“That’s so. And he doesn’t seem to be around these diggings any
more. He just showed up with these pawn tickets, and then lit out
again. And to think he was the fellow who had the stuff all the
while!”
“He or Mendez,” said Tom. “I’m not sure which. It’s queer that
Blasdell should come all the way back to hide the tickets in the
shack. I heard him speak of getting something that belonged to him,
but I don’t know what it was.”
They argued the matter, but could come to no agreement. Going
back to their island camp, they found time for a little practice in the
shell, Mr. Pierson coaching them. Then they waited impatiently for
the return of the jeweler.
“I wonder what Mendez will think when he gets back and finds his
place has been ransacked?” suggested Sid.
“He won’t know it,” declared Tom. “I was mighty careful, and
Blasdell wasn’t inside more than a few minutes. Let’s take a stroll
around there, and size it up.”
 “No, keep away,” decided Frank. “It might make trouble. Let’s wait
until Mr. Farson comes.”
It was nearly dusk when they saw a small launch approaching the
island, and they recognized the jeweler as one of the occupants.
“He doesn’t seem very joyous,” remarked Tom. “He isn’t waving
his hat, or anything like that.”
Somehow his words brought a feeling of doubt to his chums, yet
they could not tell why. Nearer came the launch. It drew up to the
little dock the boys had made.
“Well?” queried Tom, nervously. “How did you make out?”
“Not at all,” was the surprising reply.
“What! Didn’t you get the things?” demanded Phil.
“No. The pawnbroker closed out his place of business last week,
and the store is vacant.”
For a moment no one spoke. Then Frank said:
“But look here. You know a pawnbroker has to be licensed. He
can’t go out of business that way. He may move, but he has to let
people know about it. And he can’t dispose of their things inside of a
year, either. That man had no right to do that.”
“I don’t know about his rights,” said the jeweler, “but the fact
remains that he has skipped out. He may have taken the cups and
jewelry with him for all I know. The police say he was a sort of
‘fence’ through which stolen property was often disposed of. He’s
been arrested several times, but nothing could be proved against
him.”
“What did you do?” asked Sid.
“The police in Munroe promised to try and trace him. I’m going to
have circulars printed, too, and sent to other cities, asking for news
of this pawnbroker.”
 “Say, this is tough, to almost get the stuff and then lose it!”
remarked Phil. “It’s a good thing we didn’t tell the Boxer Hall lads.”
“That’s what,” declared Tom.
“Fellows, I’ve got an idea!” exclaimed Sid.
“Chain it so it doesn’t get away,” advised Frank.
“I say let’s go to that Mexican’s shack, and see if we can get
anything out of him,” went on Sid. “We got on the trail there, and he
must be mixed up in it some way. Come on, Mr. Farson, you’ve got a
right to question him.”
“I believe I will!” decided the jeweler, and he followed the lads
toward the shack, through the lengthening shadows.
“I guess he isn’t home,” remarked Tom, as they saw no light in the
place.
“Knock and see,” suggested Phil.
A tap on the door brought no response. Tom peered a bit closer.
“The place isn’t closed,” he exclaimed. He pushed open the door.
Someone struck a match. Then came an exclamation of surprise
from all.
For there was evidence that Mendez had hastily fled. The room
was in confusion, things being scattered about, and a look into the
store showed that everything he had had for sale had been
removed. Mendez was missing, as was the pawnbroker and the
jewelry.
 CHAPTER XXIV
BACK AT RANDALL

“This is the limit!”

“Where could he have gone?”
“He smelt a rat all right—he’s sure mixed up in this business.”
“And the quiet way he sneaked off! Let’s find out if anyone saw
him go.”
Thus the chums exclaimed as the queer situation dawned upon
them. Mr. Farson, too, was surprised, and did not know what to
make of it.
“I think I will devote all my efforts to locating the pawnbroker,” he
said. “If I get the stuff back that belongs to other persons, I don’t
care so much about an arrest.”
“But we’d like to solve the mystery, seeing that we had a hand in
it,” said Tom. “I wonder where Mendez could have gone?”
But no one knew—no one had seen him go. Later that evening,
when the young men, after the jeweler had gone to his store, made
inquiries of the owner of the cottage where the Mexican had been
working all that day, they were told by a servant that a boy, coming
in a boat, had brought a message to the caretaker. He had seemed
surprised, and had hurried off, leaving his work partly finished,
promising to return. But he did not, and that was the last seen of
him—at least for the time being.
Evidently he had taken alarm at something, had hurried to the
shack, hastily packed up his belongings, and fled in a boat. In fact
the rowboat he generally used was missing.
 As far as it went there was nothing criminal in his actions. There
was no direct connection between him and the missing jewelry. He
bore a good reputation among the cottagers, and had always done
his work well. He was honest in his dealings, and his word could be
taken in regard to the things he sold. Some of the cottagers even
owed him for work performed.
“It’s another mystery connected with this strange affair,” said Tom,
as he and his chums turned in for the night. “We may get to the
bottom of it some day.”
“I hope so,” murmured Frank. “We’ve been doing more detective
work than rowing of late. We’ll have to buckle down from now on.
College opens in three weeks.”
Of course the flight of Mendez was known to the girls, as well as
to all others on the island, but the circumstances connected with it,
and the finding of the pawn tickets, was kept a secret.
I say from all, but that is not quite correct. Tom did tell Ruth all,
and they both puzzled over the fact that there was no ticket for the
brooch. But Tom did not tell Ruth what he had overheard between
Boswell and Mendez.
“It might be Ruth’s brooch that Boswell bought of Mendez, for his
mother,” reasoned Tom. “If Ruth thought so she might make a fuss
and insist on having it back. Then, again, it might not be hers, and
that would make trouble. I’ve got to investigate a little more before I
tell her.”
The Boswell family closed up their cottage the next week, and left
for their mountain home, where the rich lad and his parents were to
spend the rest of the vacation.
Our boys put in some hard practice in the shell, once or twice
getting enough rowers so that they could use the eight. Mr. Pierson
gave them valuable coaching.
Then, on his advice, they gave themselves up to a good rest, and
the enjoyment of camp life.
 “You’ll want a week or two when you don’t see an oar,” he
explained. “There is such a thing as overdoing it. And you will soon
be back at college you say, and begin hard training. So take a rest
now.”
And the boys did, though their “rest” consisted chiefly in giving
the girls a good time. The wheezy little launch was worked to the
limit.
Then came the approach of the college season. Several cottages
on the island were closed. The girls said farewell to Madge, for they
must spend some time with their own folks, and one day Tom
remarked:
“Say, fellows, let’s break camp. It’s no fun here without the girls.”
“That’s right,” agreed Sid, and so the tents were struck, and our
heroes went their several ways to enjoy what was left of their
vacation before again gathering at Randall. And in that time nothing
new developed about the missing cups and jewelry. Nor was any
word heard of the pawnbroker or Mendez.

“Hello, there’s Dutch Housenlager, bigger than ever!”

“Yes, and there’s Bricktop redder than ever. I say, Brick!”
“Hello, Parsons, you look as brown as a berry. What have you
been doing with yourself?”
“Camping.”
“You look it. I was at the shore—beastly hot, too!”
“Say, isn’t the new boathouse swell?”
“Nothing like it. Oh, it’s going to be great at Randall this Fall.”
“Over this way, Henderson! Where’s Phil and Frank?” cried Tom.
“I don’t know. I just got in. Have you been up to the room?”
 “No, I just landed, too. Have you fed your face?”
“Not since I got here. Let’s grub and then we’ll open up the place.
Hi, there, Snail! How’s the night work?”
“Oh, so-so,” replied Sam Looper, re-christened “Snail,” because of
his slowness, and his propensity for night prowling.
“Here come the Jersey twins!”
“That’s right. I hope Jerry makes a good coxswain in the varsity
eight,” went on Tom. “We need him.”
“Hear you did some practicing this Summer,” remarked Dutch, as
he playfully dug his elbow into Tom’s ribs.
“We did. I’m anxious to get hold of an oar again. Have the new
shells come?”
“I haven’t heard. We’ll inquire. I saw Mr. Lighton a bit ago.”
It was the opening of Randall College for the Fall term, and our
friends, as well as their chums, had returned not only to lessons but
to sports as well—cross-country running, football—ever glorious
football—and now and chiefly, rowing, for the regatta was to be held
before the big battles of the gridiron took place.
“Come on!” cried Tom, as he spied his three chums. “Let’s slip up
to our room and talk things over.”
This was after a more or less hurried meal had been eaten.
“And we sure have lots to talk about,” remarked Sid. “But let’s get
through with it and take a run up to Fairview. I guess——”
“You guess the girls are there—that’s what you guess!” interrupted
Tom. “Hark to him, fellows. Isn’t he the limit!”
And then, linking arms, the four inseparables strolled across the
campus, through groups of students, toward their room.
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