Merry and the constable pushed through, to see Bully Carson lying on the ground. He was motionless, and was breathing stertorously. Although his one good eye did not open, he seemed dimly conscious that others were around him. “Go ’way!” he muttered thickly. “Go ’way!” “He don’t look drunk, exactly,” observed the constable, “and he ain’t hurt.” “No, he does not--ah--appear to be under the influence of liquor. Perhaps he is merely--ah--reposing in the arms of Morpheus.” “No, Murphy was lookin’ for him to-day,” rejoined the constable, referring to his assistant. Colonel Gunn’s lips twitched. “See if you can resuscitate him, Merriwell. The sooner we could--ah--relieve Randall of the unfortunate difficulties surrounding him, the better.” Merry knelt over Bully and raised his head, shaking his shoulders in no very gentle fashion. Bully grunted and opened his eyes in a dazed manner. At the same instant a small, very much flustered man pushed through the group. “Hello, here’s Hostetter now,” announced the constable. “Colonel Gunn, this is him.” “I heard that Carson had been found,” exclaimed Hostetter. “Nothing has happened to him, I trust?” Bully answered for himself. Sitting up suddenly and pushing Merry away, he glanced around with dull and yet frightened eyes. “Who’s that?” he muttered thickly. “Where’s Hostetter?” “Right here, old man,” cried the little laundryman fervently. “Have you managed to locate my pocketbook? You know you said this morning that you might be able to get a clew.” “Nothin’ doin’,” said Bully thickly. “I must ’a’ been asleep--it was that there glass o’ water, I’ll bet a dollar!” He tried to get to his feet, Chip assisting him, but stumbled and fell back. As he did so, a long black object fell from his pocket. Hostetter pounced on it with a shrill yell. “My wallet! How----” As he examined it feverishly, Bully once more came to life. He clapped a hand to his pocket, then staggered up. “Where’s my wallet!” he growled, clutching for support. “Your wallet!” cried Merry. “You mean Hostetter’s wallet. Where’d you get it, eh? Are you the one that stole it?” Bully seemed to shrink suddenly into himself, muttering and mumbling. “Who says I stole it?” he grunted defiantly, only half conscious yet. He gave a lurch and caught at Merriwell for support. “Hostetter--durned little fool----” “What do you mean?” exclaimed Merriwell sharply. Bully tried to rouse himself. “Here, one of you fellows get a bucket of water, will you?” “Lemme go,” grunted Bully, trying to reel away. “I got to place bet--thousand-dollar bet--little fool Hostetter handed me his money----” “That’s a lie!” snapped Hostetter suddenly. “I believe you stole that money, Carson!” “I believe so, too,” said Merry dryly. “Constable, you’d better get ready to take charge of him when--ah, here’s the water now!”