“You needn’t be.  Kennedy is glad.  He hopes to make the cavalry, and he says he wants to train that wrist for wielding a sabre.”

“Can you two near-plebes find time to drop in this evening, at just 8.15?” demanded Greg.

“Certain idea!  What’s up, Holmesy?”

“It isn’t a feed,” declared Greg.  “But I think you’d be sorry afterwards if you failed to come.”

“We’ll be here,” promised Dunstan.

“Then I guess our party will be complete,” mumbled the mysterious Greg.

“Say, Holmesy,” nudged Dunstan, “how did you get that smear on the back of your hand?  Do you know, it looks like the famous one that Cadet Dodge rubbed off with a borrowed handkerchief, once on a time.”

“Does it?” asked Greg innocently.  “Be good enough to loan me your handkerchief, then?”

“Not much!” growled Dunstan, backing away.  “The loaning of personal linen seems on its way to becoming a court-martial offence.”

When the visitors had left, Dick turned on his chum, demanding curiously: 

“What’s the game for tonight, anyway, Greg?”

“You didn’t see how I got this smear on my hand, did you, old ramrod?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not going to tell you at present,” replied Greg, going to his washbowl and pouring in water.  “But the way I got it set me to thinking.

“About what?”

“Well, about the way Bert Dodge got his hand smeared back in the days of ancient history.  And, old ramrod, I believe that following up the clue may lead to some other discoveries that will possess a vital interest for you.”

“But-----”

“No more at present!  That’s a special order,” affirmed Greg.  “Be good, like the rest, and wait until 8.15 to-night.”

At supper, in cadet mess hall, the talk all naturally turned to the diamond game with Lehigh that afternoon.  The Army, at the outset, had hardly expected to win against that year’s Lehigh nine.  When the game was well under way, Army hopes had been still lower.  Now, the talk was all on how Prescott and Holmes had saved the game to the Army.  Even Maitland, without a trace of jealousy, conceded them most of the credit.

“What has cherubic, spoonoid Holmesy got up his sleeve for 8.15?” asked Dunstan in an undertone of Anstey.

“I reckon, suh, you’ll have to apply for particulars to the Information and Security Service, suh,” replied the Virginian.  “To the best of my belief, suh, the secret is all Mr. Holmes’s.”

So no more questions were asked.  But at 8.15, to the second, Furlong and Dunstan tapped on the Prescott-Holmes door, and, as they did so.  Anstey turned at the head of the stairs.  Punctuality is one of the cardinal virtues of the soldier; to be a half minute late is a grave breach of etiquette; to be five minutes late amounts almost to a crime.

“Now, Holmesy, we want light,” insisted Furlong.