Walker plumped himself into a chair. “Well, you are a cool hand!” he said, with a touch of admiration. “But I’m going to beat you this time, all the same. Whose move is it?” Step lounged across the room, but the others stood watching the play, which went on briskly, and to the advantage of the mathematical genius. The Trojan, beaten rather disgracefully, pushed back his chair. “Tackle him, Poke,” he urged. “Or you take him on, Sam. This isn’t my night, I reckon.” Poke grinned. “Age before beauty! Go ahead, Sam.” But there was to be no more checker play in the club just then. For, while Sam paused, debating his chance of coping with the skilful Shark, there was a loud crash of a breaking window pane, a little shower of fragments of glass fell to the floor, and a big stone shot across the room, just missing the boys standing by the table, which it struck with great force. Over went the table with a crash, rivaling that of the window. Over, too, went the Shark, untouched but thoroughly startled by the bombardment. Sam and Poke, Step and the Trojan and Herman Boyd poured out of the club like bees sallying forth to defend the hive. Around the corner of the building they raced, eager to detect the enemy. Prompt as they had been, however, they were too late. The night was very dark; there was much shrubbery about, which, even in its leafless state, afforded cover. The stone-thrower was gone. The boys could not detect a darker shadow betraying his whereabouts, and there was no sound of fleeing feet. Sam and Poke turned to the right, and the others to the left, spreading out as they neared the barn. The course taken by Sam and his comrade led toward the house, round which they worked their way as rapidly as possible. Strain their eyes as they might, they saw nothing to arouse suspicion; nor were they better rewarded when they moved to the street, and peered up and down road and sidewalk. “Clean get-away,” Poke said reluctantly. “Fellow must have bolted just as soon as he let drive. And it must have been the chap the Shark saw at the window, of course. What a pity he hasn’t a decent pair of eyes!” “It’s the biggest kind of a pity,” Sam agreed. “This affair is no joke, Poke. If that stone had struck one of us--whew!” Poke laid a hand on Sam’s arm. “Come now!” He dropped his voice almost to a whisper. “Fellow who threw that stone was pretty savage, or crazy, or--or revengeful. And--and you won’t need maps or foot-notes to understand who I reckon he is.” “I wouldn’t ask but one guess,” said Sam. Poke was silent for a moment, listening intently. “The others have had no better luck than we,” he reported. “Might as well go back, I suppose.” “All right,” Sam agreed, and they moved toward the club-house.