sterner glanced hesitatingly up and down the street.

"All right," he agreed, again feeling a fierce desire to get at whatever
knowledge Agnew possessed about the exploding shell.

The proprietor nodded familiarly toward him as he walked in.

"Glad to see you. Nice evening!"

Badger, who was not good at acting what he did not feel, mumbled a
reply.

"Have something?" suggested Morton, moving up to the bar.

Badger pushed Agnew's arm away and turned toward a side room.

"No! I don't need a drink to talk."

"It greases a fellow's tongue," said Morton, with one of his persuasive
smiles. "You won't have anything?" as a waiter appeared.

"Not to-night."

"Some whisky," said Agnew, and the waiter went away, returning shortly
with a bottle and some glasses.

"Some cards!" said Agnew, and the waiter brought two unopened packs.

The Westerner's brow grew black. He fancied he saw through Agnew's
little game. He believed that Agnew, who was a card-sharp, hoped to get
him to talking, then to drinking, and finally into a game, and fleece
him out of what money he had. Agnew's funds were low, and he was
probably ready for any expedient.

"We can talk better over a game," Agnew urged, deftly opening a pack.

The Kansan pushed back. His blood was boiling. He could hold in no
longer.

"I allow you're a big fool, Agnew, if you think you can do me up in that
way!" he hotly declared. "I've been told that you tried to kill me the
other day. Do you want to rob me, because you failed in that?"

Agnew grew white.

"What are you talking about?" he gasped. "Tried to kill you? What
nonsense is that? I don't know what you mean."

However, there was a certain tell-tale shrinking in his manner which
Badger could not fail to notice. It convinced the Westerner that
Merriwell was on the right track, and his anger burned into deep rage.

"I can see from your manner that you did. Agnew, you've got the heart of
a wolf! That's whatever!"

Agnew was truly playing a game, but it was not a card-game. He had
learned to hate Badger. To strike the Westerner pleased him now almost
as well as a stroke against Merriwell. He dropped the cards and pushed
back, as if he feared the Kansan would leap at his throat.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he demanded.

"On the gun-club grounds!" said Badger, rising from the table. "You
slipped some dynamite shells into Merriwell's box, and I got one of
them. It came near tearing my hand and arm to pieces, and i