Nevertheless, not until the vicinity of the Quinnepiac was reached did the boy feel that he had succeeded in his purpose. Resting beside the river a short distance above the drawbridge, Merriwell chuckled over his adventure.
He did not remain long undisturbed. Through the darkness two skulking figures moved toward him, and, fancying they were pursuers searching for him there, he hastily crouched beside a pile of timbers.
The two figures paused a short distance away and began speaking in low tones. Peering through the gloom, the boy made out that each carried a bundle in his hand.
“I’m going to chuck my outfit in right here,” said one.
“I wanted to burn mine,” whispered the other hoarsely, “but I couldn’t find an opportunity.”
“Hello, hello!” thought the hidden boy. “I fancy I know those chaps. I wonder what it is they’re going to chuck into the river. My curiosity is too much for me.”
Suddenly he leaped out and was right upon them before they became aware of his presence.
“Surrender, ye raskills!” he cried. “Don’t thry to resist an officer av the law.”
With gasps of dismay, both dropped their bundles and took to their heels, running as if their very lives depended upon it.
“Thanks,” laughed Dick, picking up the bundles. “Now I’ll find out what you were so anxious to dispose of.”
Returning to the lumber pile, he settled himself on a stick of timber and began to open the bundles, both of which had been tightly rolled and securely tied with cords. The knots bothered Dick, and he felt in vain through the pockets of his unusual clothing in search of a knife.
“Of course I haven’t a knife,” he muttered. “Didn’t think to put my own in a pocket of this suit. I’ll have to untie those knots.”
It was a long and tiresome task, but he finally succeeded with one of the bundles which was untied and spread out on the ground at his feet.
“Clothing of some sort,” he decided, “but it’s too dark to see just what it is. I need a match.”
Once more he searched through his pockets, finally discovering the brimstone end of a broken match.
“This will have to do,” he said, as he carefully struck the match on his trousers leg.
Shading it with his hands, he threw the light upon the clothing outspread before him. It was a masquerade suit of crimson.