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Dan, who was nearest him as be passed, leaped and threw both arms around the man, bringing him to the ground. Dave leaped to aid Dalzell, nor was Hazelton long in getting to the spot. Tom Reade decided to defer the punishment of Martin, and went to the aid of his friends instead. Though he had been downed swiftly, Garwood was almost as speedily on his feet, fighting desperately.
"Yes, sir," he said, "as soon as I can find a match." He brushed heavily against Kenneth. "I beg your pardon, Garwood. I'm all turned around. Where ? Oh, here they are." A match flared and Grafton lighted the droplight. Mr. Whipple turned to Kenneth, a triumphant smile on his thin features. "Well, what have you to say?" he asked. "About what, sir!" inquired Kenneth. "About smoking.
Near the center of this clearing, under a flimsy shelter he had made of poles and branches, crouched Amos Garwood. He was at work over a low bench built of a board across two boxes. So intent was Garwood on what he was doing that he appeared not to have heard the approach of the boys. Dick Prescott stood looking on, one hand raised as a signal for the silence of those behind him.
By morning the people of Gridley knew that the ruins of the abandoned water-works cottage had been explored, and that the remains of Amos Garwood had not been found there. But an editorial in the "Blade" suggested that the cottage was not very likely to have taken fire unless the blaze had been started by Garwood.
Dick, however, was soon to get an inkling of a suspicion that chlorate of potash might be used to serve other purposes. As the mentally queer inventor reached into the box for that bottle, the three silent, observing "Injuns" saw that Garwood had on the crude table before him a glass mortar and pestle, the former of about two quarts' capacity.
Dick and his chums speedily realized that they had escaped actual injury, yet their legs shook so that they could hardly stand. "Wh -wh -what was it?" asked Reade in accents that quivered in unison with his trembling legs. "See here, fellows, we mustn't be fools," Dick cried chidingly. "We're not hurt, and Mr. Garwood is. Let's see what we can do for him."
The mystery and the vanishing of Amos Garwood were at an end at last. Those who had feared having a demented man at large in the community breathed more easily. From the day of the race the summer vacation for the late Grammar School boys began in earnest. A few days later Dick and his swimming squad met a similar organization from the South Grammar, and a match was held on the river.
Next, with a few cautious strokes, he carried himself past the hanging side wall and into the open upstream. "Gracious, but no wonder Garwood has been able to keep away from pursuers," thought the boy excitedly, as he swam steadily up toward the other pier. "He has a place where not even a Sherlock Holmes would ever think of looking for him.
"And now for the great finishing touch!" Amos Garwood placed on the board a fairsized wide-mouthed bottle. From where he stood, Dick could read the label on the bottle "Potassium Chlorate -crystals." "Chlorate of potash?" thought Dick. "That's what Dr. Bentley gave me once for sore throat."
Three times more Greg and his fellows whooped before Dick could get together enough wind to make his voice travel. Greg repeated the hail, and again Dick answered. After a few minutes the other Grammar School boys caught up with Dick and his friend, who told to the new-comers the story of the encounter with Amos Garwood. "Get away from you again?" asked Tom blankly.
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