Callahan had returned. They waited in the dimly lighted entry while their message was carried aloft, depressed by the strange surroundings and a sense of inadequacy to the task which they had undertaken. Presently a heavy step was heard descending the bare treads of the second flight above, and soon Callahan’s forbidding face came into the half-light. He stopped on the third stair and peered suspiciously down upon his visitors. It had been arranged that Dunn should begin the interview, but at the crisis Jason was dumb. “What is it?” demanded Callahan. “What do you want?” “We come from Westcott’s School,” said Wilmot, perceiving that it was useless to wait for Dunn. “You’ve probably seen in the papers the trouble we’re in about the Newbury game.” “Yes, I have,” snarled Callahan, with an oath; “and a nice mess you’ve got me into with your talk!” “We haven’t been talking,” Wilmot answered; “it’s Newbury that’s doing the talking. We thought you’d be willing to help us out by saying that we didn’t get any signals from you, and—” “Of course you didn’t get any signals from me—for the very good reason that I wouldn’t have given ’em to you.” “But you offered them to us,” said Dunn, his tongue loosened by this strange statement. “You told me that day at Adams’s—” Callahan turned fiercely upon him. “It’s a lie! I never offered you any signals. I said I was through with Newbury and could coach you if you wanted me.” Dunn, amazed, opened his mouth to reply, but Wilmot was too quick for him. “Will you write us a statement that you didn’t give us any signals? Of course we know you didn’t, but the statement might help us.” “Write nothing!” said the coach, shortly. “It’s none of my business. There’s nothing in it for me.” “We’ll pay you for it,” began Dunn, with eagerness; but Wilmot, who perceived instantly that an evil interpretation might be given to this transaction, checked his colleague. “No, we couldn’t do that, of course. It wouldn’t look right. But if you’d give us a statement denying that we got the Newbury signals from you, we should be very thankful for it.” “I’m not giving statements. Anybody who knows Jake Callahan knows he wouldn’t sell signals. Anybody who says he did, lies!” While speaking these words, Callahan had finished his descent of the stairs and opened the outer door. Wilmot said good night and went forth, dragging after him Dunn, who seemed on the point of raising again the question of the conversation which he had held with Callahan at the field. “But he did offer the signals just the same!” Dunn broke out, after they had walked in silence a hundred yards down the street. “What difference does it make?” answered Wilmot, wearily. “He’s no good to us, anyway.”