Ann Arbor Tales Part 18

"And, Mr. Catherwood," he added, "I am to a.s.sume, am I, that you can throw no light on this--on this most mysterious matter...?"

At that instant a knock fell on the door.

"Come in," Catherwood called.

The door was pushed back and a young man with a note-book in his hand stood on the threshold.

"I'm Green," he explained. "I'm on the _'Varsity News_. You're Catherwood, aren't you? Yes; well, we got wind of the case. Fellow heard your landlady yell and telephoned us. What does it amount to----?"

The a.s.sistant professor, squaring his shoulders, a.s.sumed the privilege of answering the breezy youth.

"Perhaps," he said, "it might be as well not to go into details just now. Mr. Catherwood was a.s.saulted in his room last night and was found gagged and tied in his bed not an hour ago. It is a case for official investigation. Mr. Catherwood was made, much against his will, naturally, to miss an important examination this morning--I may say a very important examination. There is a meeting of the faculty to be held to-night when I shall present the facts of this most shocking affair as I have gathered them and I am confident that an official investigation will follow. You may say as much...."

The reporter had been busy with his note-book.

Now looking up at Catherwood, he asked: "What's the matter with his face?"

"I believe it is iodine," the a.s.sistant professor replied, frigidly.

Little Green grinned.

"You're a sure beaut," he exclaimed.

"I think that will be all," observed the a.s.sistant professor drily.

"Oh yes, yes--that's all--thank you very much; good-morning." And the journalist vanished.

The eyes of Catherwood and the a.s.sistant professor met.

"I think I should wash my face, if I were you," suggested Mr. Lowe.

"You may be able to remove some of the stain."

Catherwood went to the stand in the corner of the room. For a s.p.a.ce he sputtered the water in the bowl. "Any better?" he asked, at length.

Mr. Lowe shook his head sadly.

"No--it won't come off. You had best see a doctor."

He rose.

"Now, Mr. Catherwood," he said, "as I have said, this is a case for the most thorough investigation. You need not give yourself any uneasiness.

The University authorities will, you may be sure, sift matters to the bottom. You have been maltreated; abused, tortured, and, I may say, disfigured."

Catherwood, with a sigh, sank into the Morris chair by the window.

"I shall take the matter up this evening at faculty meeting. Mark my word, we shall discover your a.s.sailant or a.s.sailants at once; for despite your belief to the contrary, it is my opinion that two men, if, indeed, not more, had a hand in your undoing. We shall see. I shall talk of the case to several this afternoon and I suppose you would have no hesitancy in appearing at the meeting to-night, if your presence there should be deemed desirable."

"No," Catherwood replied, weakly, "not if they want me." The hand he pa.s.sed across his brow trembled.

"I observe you are nervous," the a.s.sistant professor said. "Get a little rest this afternoon." He shook his head slowly. "It is very unfortunate," he added, "that the president is away; however, I am confident we shall have the case cleared up before his return. You, of course, Mr. Catherwood, have no reason not to a.s.sist us in every way possible?"

"None at all." The young man leaned back and closed his eyes, and sighed deeply.

"However, I must say, you have not seemed to me as interested as----"

Catherwood sat upright.

"I'm half sick," he cried, "half sick. It's so strange. I know no one who would have a reason for hazing me; I can't understand it; it's like a bad dream."

He rose and paced back and forth the length of the room.

"Ah, yes, to be sure," the a.s.sistant professor murmured, consolingly.

"Now, I shall go. You will hear from me later--perhaps very soon."

Catherwood stood motionless in the middle of the floor until he heard the outer door close, then he descended the stairs slowly, and encountering Mrs. Turner in the kitchen begged the privilege of taking dinner at her table.

"This face," he explained. "I can't go to 'Pret's' with this face."

And she, gentle motherly soul, bade him be seated, and fed him well, and consoled him; while Willie, fascinated by the streaked and horrid face of the self-bidden guest, allowed his rice-pudding to grow cold while he gazed at him.

III

Little Green, the pink-cheeked reporter of the _'Varsity News_, was not that at all, and on this occasion he gave his name the lie direct.

Little Green possessed a nasal organ keenly atuned to news. As he hastened back down town after his summary dismissal from Catherwood's room, he calculated accurately the latent story value in the a.s.sistant professor's indefinite account of his pupil's case.

He glanced at his watch, snapped the case, thrust it back into his pocket--and ran.

He estimated the time with reference to the publication hour of the Detroit afternoon papers.

He saw before him, as plainly as he saw the snow banks, one hour and thirty minutes. The period was material, tangible. Little Green, as he turned into Main Street and sped on toward Huron Street, not only saw it, but felt it; almost _tasted_ it.

"Here, you!" he cried, bursting in upon the indolent operator in the little, box-like telegraph office.

He seized a block of blue-white paper that lay on the counter.

"What's up?" asked the operator dreamily.

By way of answer little Green thrust a sheet of the blue-white paper at him.

"Get that on the wire--hurry--it's a scoop."

The operator smiled sadly and checked off the words. He glanced up at the clock--regulated electrically from the observatory--and scribbled the "filing time" at the bottom of the sheet.

Little Green fidgeted.

"Say, cancha hurry?" he asked anxiously.