FRED SLIDES INTO THE FREEZE

Monday’s “Blade” contained additional light on the nitroglycerine affair—–­or what passed as “light.”

Len Spencer and the local police had discovered that at least three of the wealthiest men in town had received, during the last few weeks, threatening letters from cranks.

These cranks had all demanded money, under pain of severe harm if they failed to turn over the money.

It now developed that the police chief and Officer Hemingway had, some time before, arrested a nearly harmless lunatic, who, it was believed had written the letters.  The man with the unbalanced mind did not appear dangerous, yet, in view of his threats, he had been quietly “railroaded” off to all asylum for the insane.

Now, the arrival of four pounds of nitroglycerine at the local express office was believed to show that the lunatic had had comrades, or else that the crazy man had been used merely as a tool.

Hemingway hurried off to the asylum, to interview the unfortunate one.  All the plain clothes man succeeded in getting, however, was a rambling talk that didn’t make sense.

Monday’s “Blade” announced that the chief of police had been authorized to offer a reward of five hundred dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the party or parties behind the criminal shipment of the giant explosive to Gridley.

Everyone believed that the frightened rich men had combined to offer the reward.  Many wondered that the offered reward was not larger.

All of the student body at the High School were busy talking about the affair in the big assembly room before the session opened.

“I see where my parents have made a great mistake,” sighed Frank Thompson.

“How?” demanded Ben Badger.

“Instead of wasting my time at the High School they should have apprenticed me to a good journeyman detective,” grumbled Thomp.

“Oh, but couldn’t I use that five hundred, if only my training had fitted me for such deeds as running down a nitroglycerine peddler!”

“It isn’t anything to joke about,” shuddered one of the girls.  “It’s awful!  Would four pounds of the dreadful stuff destroy the town of Gridley?”

“No,” Badger informed her; “but it would be enough to blow up several wood-piles and destroy a lot of clean Monday wash.”

“There you go joking again,” protested the girl, and turned away.

“Oh, well,” declared Fred Ripley, “we must possess ourselves with patience.  We shall soon know the whole truth.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Purcell.

“It’s one of the surest things conceivable,” railed Ripley.  “That bright constellation of freshmen known under the musical title of Dick & Co. will solve the whole affair wit, in forty-eight hours.  Indeed, I’m not sure but Dick & Co., even at this moment, carry the secret looked in their breasts.”