“Most certainly, Merriwell. It has just--ah--occurred to me that if we could locate this Carson, we might thus exonerate Mr. Randall completely. Such a consummation would be--ah--highly pleasing to me.” “He ain’t at the village,” spoke up the constable. “Mr. Hostetter was lookin’ fer him, sir.” “Hostetter knew him, then?” inquired Chip quickly. “They was friends,” replied the constable. Frank turned. “Carson was at Randall’s room just before I left, Colonel Gunn. He departed across the campus, and he might be easily located, I think.” “Ah--by all means!” The principal hastily summoned his orderly and ordered a dozen cadets dispatched in search of Carson, who could be easily recognized by means of his black eye and patch. Randall was looking at the floor, a tumult of emotions in his face. How much Merry knew of the attempt to drug him, he could not guess. Yet Frank was doing his best to help him out of his scrape. The Southerner was smitten with remorse and self-condemnation, but dared say nothing. “We’ll clear you, old man,” said Merry warmly. “This might be a plot to ruin your character--and knowing Carson, as I do, I would not put it past him.” He briefly recounted to Colonel Gunn his late experiences at Carsonville. The principal, however, did not agree that there could be any plot against Randall, and Frank himself had only suggested it as a forlorn hope. “Your anxiety for your friend--ah--does you honor, Merriwell. Yet I would point out that until Mr. Dobbs volunteered his--ah--information, Mr. Randall was not thought of in connection with the unfortunate matter.” Poor Randall was miserable enough, and looked it. He could not doubt Frank’s sincerity in helping him, and his conscience smote him. He wondered whether Merry had drank that glass of water, but Frank gave no signs of being drugged. Going over the facts once more, Merriwell was forced to admit that things looked black for Randall. If he should be arrested and brought before a jury, there was little doubt but that he would be convicted on circumstantial evidence. And yet it was incredible that he should have stolen the money! One by one the searchers brought back word that there was no sign of Carson anywhere about the grounds, and on telephoning the hotel, Colonel Gunn found that he had not returned. Randall’s entire hopes of vindication rested upon his cousin. “I’m sure the constable will be willing that Randall should remain here in your care, colonel,” suggested Merry. “Carson is sure to turn up at the game, and he can be brought over at once to clear Randall.” “Good!” cried the colonel, the constable nodding assent. “And to express my--ah--belief and confidence in Mr. Randall, he shall sit in my box during the game!” Randall tried to thank Merry with his eyes, as the bugles rang out for mess, but Frank departed with an uneasy feeling that something was certainly weighing on the Southerner’s mind. Could he be guilty by any chance? CHAPTER XXXIV. A MYSTERY.