"I know I nearly played my leg off," agreed Tom, with a wry face. "I can just step on it, and that's all."

"Never mind, we beat 'em," consoled Bert. "And you did it, Tom."

"Nonsense. It was team work. Sam played a fair game too. That helped a lot. I was afraid of him at first."

"He didn't dare do anything," said Jack. "I told him I'd have my eye on him."

They talked over the plays in detail. Tom was just beginning to feel sleepy when there came a knock on the door.

"Come in," he called, for it was not yet the hour for lights to be out, and even a professor would find nothing out of the way. One of the school messengers entered.

"Here's a note for you, Mr. Fairfield," he Said. "A special delivery letter."

Tom read it quickly. A change came over his face.

"I've got to go out!" he exclaimed, crumpling up the missive. He reached for his raincoat limping across the room.

"Go out in this storm!" cried Jack. "You oughtn't to!"

"Not with a lame ankle," added Bert.

"I've got to," insisted Tom. "It means more than you think," and telling his chums not to sit up for him, he hurried out into the storm and darkness.

CHAPTER XXII

THE RAGGED MAN

"Well, what do you think of that?" gasped Bert.

"Isn't he the limit?" demanded Jack. "Running off that way before you have a chance to draw your breath. But that's just like Tom Fairfield, anyhow."

"Isn't it? What do you imagine he's up to, this time?"

"Give it up. It must be something important, to go out in this storm, after a hard football game."

"And with an ankle that's on the blink, speaking poetically."

They looked at each other, and in the silence that followed their exclamation after Tom left, they heard the dash of rain on the window, and the howl of the wind as it scattered the cold drops about. For it was a cold November storm that had suddenly descended, not cold enough to snow, yet chilling.

"He said it meant more to him than we thought," spoke Bert, musingly.

"And that's only one thing," said Jack.

"You mean the poison business?"

"Sure."

"Maybe we'd better follow him," suggested Bert. "He may stumble or fall, and get hurt."

"Tom doesn't like anyone to follow him. I guess we'd better stay where we are until he gets back."

Jack got up to walk about the room and quiet his nerves that, all on edge after the football game, had been further excited by Tom's strange action. Suddenly he came to a halt and exclaimed:

"He dropped his letter, Bert. It's here on the floor."

Jack picked up the crumpled sheet. It had been wadded up with the envelope, and the latter showed the blue special delivery stamp.

"Had we better--Oh, of course we can't read it," said Jack. "Only I wish I knew what it was that made Tom go out in such a hurry."

He walked toward his chum's desk, intending to thrust the letter in it, but, as he did so, his eye caught a few words that he could not help reading. They were:

"Meet me down the lane. I'll explain everything. Sorry you had the trouble. I'm straight again.

"RAY BLAKE."

"Ray Blake," murmured Jack. "Ray Blake. I never heard that name before, and I never knew Tom to mention it. And yet--Oh, hang it all, Bert!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "You might as well know as much as I know, though I couldn't help reading this much," and he told his chum what he had seen.

"What does it mean?" asked Bert.

"Give it up, except I think that this is the beginning of the end.

Someone is evidently going to confess."

"And clear Tom?"

"It looks that way. I wish he'd taken us into his confidence. We might have helped him. Wow, what a night!"

There came a fiercer blast of the storm, and a harder dash of rain against the window.

The two chums decided they could do nothing. They would have to wait until Tom returned. And they sat in anxious silence, until that should happen.

"What lane do you think was meant in the letter?" asked Bert, when Jack had placed the missive in Tom's desk.

"The lane leading to Appleby's farm, maybe."

"And if Tom goes there he may get into another row with the old farmer."

"Not much danger to-night. I guess Appleby will stay in where it's dry and warm. I wish Tom had."

Meanwhile the subject of their remarks was tramping on through the storm. His ankle pained him very much, and he realized that he would be better off in bed. But something drove him forward. He saw daylight ahead, even through the blackness of the night.

"At last!" Tom murmured, as he plunged on. "I'll see him, and get him to release me from my promise. Maybe he'll own up that he did the thing himself, and that will free me, though it will be terrible for mother. She never dreamed that Ray would get into such trouble.

"I wonder which of my letters reached him? And why did he have to pick out such a night to want to see me? Well, I give it up. I'll have to wait until I have a talk with him. I wonder what his plans are?"