“It’s only this,” said Jack modestly.  “I’ve been thinking over this confounded thing, as of course you have, and I’ve come to the sudden conclusion that it was Sam Heller who poisoned those horses.”

“Sam Heller?” cried Tom.  “What makes you think so?”

“Several reasons,” insisted Jack.  “Sit down and I’ll tell you about ’em.

“Now, to begin at the beginning, who else but Sam would want to throw the blame on you, Tom?”

“No one, I suppose, unless it was Nick.  And even he hasn’t the grudge against me that Sam has.”

“Right.  It was all to Sam’s interest to make it appear that you were guilty, and things just fitted in with his scheme.  There was your quarrel with the farmer, your threats to get even which you foolishly uttered in public------”

“Yes, that’s where I was wrong,” admitted Tom with a sigh.

“And there’s another thing, Tom,” went on Jack.  “About your school pin.  Where is it?”

“Well, to tell you the truth,” said Jack with a smile and a blush, “I loaned it to a girl I met at a dance.  She took quite a fancy to it.”

“Then you didn’t drop it at the hay stacks?”

“No, indeed!  Was that why you made believe you couldn’t find yours?” asked Tom.

“Sure it was.   I thought------”

“You old Damon and Pythias!” cried Tom, obviously much pleased.  “But it was a useless sacrifice.”

“Then whose pin was it that Appleby found?” asked Bert.

“Give it up,” spoke Tom.

“But then there’s that sweater business,” went on Jack, after a pause.

“If you’d only explain that,” put in Bert.  Tom shook his head.

“I can’t—­not yet,” he said.  “But go on.  What other evidence have you that Sam is guilty?”

“No other direct evidence, perhaps,” admitted Jack, “but, somehow I just feel in my bones that Sam poisoned those horses, and threw the blame on you.  He must have seen you leave here with that sweater on, and come back without it.  It was just pie for him to say what he did.”

Tom slowly shook his head.

“What?  Don’t you believe Sam guilty?” asked Bert.

“No, I can’t say that I do.”

“But he is!” asserted Jack.  “It was his sweater the farmer saw instead of yours.  You’re both about the same height and build.  Of course Sam did it, Tom.”

“No, I can’t agree with you.  I’ll admit I did wear my sweater when I left here the night the horses were poisoned, and I came back without it, but------”

“What in the world happened to it?” demanded Jack.

“That I can’t say—­yet.”

“Will you ever be able to?” Bert wanted to know.

“I hope to in time—­perhaps soon now.  Mr. Appleby picked it up—­that much I’ll have to admit.”

“And can you clear your name?” asked Jack, rather rueful that the fine theory he had built up was thus easily passed over by his chum.