Chapter XVIII: The Clue

What transpired the next day seemed to the Khaki Boys more in the nature of a wild nightmare than stark reality. As Bob had foreseen, morning brought a flock of newspaper men from not too far distant cities to the scene of the disaster.

Excitement, however, reached fever heat when the latest editions of the evening papers flaunted black scareheads such as, "Soldier Suspected of Poisoning His Comrades." "Incriminating Evidence Found Among Soldier's Belongings." "Franz Schnitzel, a German-American, Accused as Poisoner," and similar glaring headlines.

That same morning a guard detail had entered Company E's barracks with instructions to search the belongings of such of the kitchen men detained on suspicion who were housed in those barracks. Nothing of importance had been unearthed except in the suitcase of Schnitzel. What had been found there was deemed sufficiently serious in character to warrant holding him on a charge of murder, to await trial by a court martial. Not only had a medium-sized bottle of powdered glass been taken from the suitcase, but also a typed sheet of paper, listing various poisons, together with annotations as to the effect, length of time required to act, and the more or less deadly qualities of each.

"I'll never believe it of Schnitz. Never!" exclaimed Jimmy Blaise passionately. Tucked into a corner of the "Y" writing room, with Roger and Bob, the three had just finished reading the account of the affair, as set forth in the evening papers. "Schnitz isn't guilty any more than I am."

"Schnitz isn't guilty, of course." Bob gave a contemptuous snort. "In the first place, I don't believe it was powdered glass that went into that pudding. I'll bet the findings of the autopsy and chemical analysis will prove that it was something else."

"Then he'll be cleared of the charge, won't he?" eagerly asked Jimmy.

"Cleared nothing," was the gloomy retort. "He'll be third degreed to a frazzle to make him confess that he used the poison that did the killing. That list of poisons and the bottle of powdered glass are too strong evidence against him to be overlooked. He's been caught with the goods, you might say. _I_ say he's been caught in a trap laid by an _enemy_."

"You don't mean you think that----" Jimmy paused.

"I do mean just that. But before I say more, let me ask you something. Was Bixton in the squad room all last evening while I was out?"

"I don't remember." Jimmy frowned reflectively. "Let me think. I saw him sitting on his cot around seven o'clock. After that----"

"He _did_ go out," interrupted Roger. "I saw him go. It was about half-past seven, I guess. He came back in a great hurry, too, about ten minutes before Taps sounded. I was just turning in. You fellows were both in bed. I was thinking about poor Schnitz when I saw Bixton and Eldridge hustle in."

"He's done it then; queered Schnitz just as he threatened." Bob's accusation contained savage conviction. "He put that stuff in Schnitz's suitcase some time during the night. It would be a cinch for him, because he bunks next to Schnitz."

"But how and where could he get the glass in such a hurry?" demanded Jimmy. "There's the list, too. Bixton's not smart enough to make any such list himself. Besides, he wouldn't be able to get hold of a book on poisons in this camp, and he certainly wasn't away from camp in that short time."

"Those are some of the things we must figure out." Bob's lips set in a straight line. "This is no joke. It's a life or death proposition for Schnitz. Very well. Now we're going to keep close mouths and run this thing down."

"Let's go to the K. O. and tell him about it," proposed Jimmy eagerly. "He'd take it up in a hurry."

"Where's your proof to back it?" shrugged Bob. "You can't accuse a man offhand of such a serious thing. No; we must watch and wait and work, and spring the trap on Bix just the way he watched and waited, and sprang the trap on Schnitz."

"We might be too late to do any good," demurred Roger gravely.

"Don't you believe it," disagreed Bob. "This affair won't come to a head in a hurry. There'll be more or less delay and argument over the poison itself. Then there'll be a merry chase for more evidence. The K. O.'s not anxious to see one of our men condemned for murder. There are so many German plots floating around that this business will be thoroughly sifted first. Suppose the poison had been mixed in the rice before it was cooked or put in the milk. All that has to be looked into and it will be. The papers say that the Secretary of War intends to investigate this thing to the limit. That means he's going to give Schnitz a chance for his life."

"Maybe Bixton had something to do with the poisoning," Jimmy theorized. "He's a slacker. We know that. Maybe _he's_ a traitor, too."

"Nothing doing." Bob shook his head. "He's only mixed up in queering Schnitz. He saw his chance and grabbed it. I'd sooner think it might be one of the fellows on kitchen detail with Schnitzel than Bixton. Bix and Iggy both finished their kitchen detail at the same time."

"Tough luck." Jimmy vented his feelings in his favorite expression.

"Tough it is, but maybe not forever. My fighting blood is up, and I'm going to camp on the trail of that hound, Bixton, until I get something definite to hang on him," vowed Bob. "I want you two to keep an eye on him whenever you can. Watch where he goes, what he does, and the men he talks with. Be careful not to let him catch you at it, though. That'll be your part of the scheme." Bob rose and rolled up the newspaper he had been reading.

"What are _you_ going to do. What's your part going to be?" Jimmy wanted to know.

"Same as yours, only more so," grinned Bob. "I'm going to gather information about that kitchen detail, Bixton, Eldridge and anyone else who needs looking up. I'm going to be an investigator."

Bob's earnest proposal that the three of them take to sleuthing on their own hook fired the enthusiasm of both Roger and Jimmy. Here was a real mystery to solve, more baffling than any they had ever followed in fiction. On their ability to ferret it out rested not only Schnitzel's life, but the saving of his good name from eternal dishonor.

The next two days, however, were painfully devoid of results. Close and constant watch on Bixton developed nothing that could be used against him.

Ignace had now returned to the fold a paler and slightly thinner edition of himself. According to himself he had been "'ver' seek, but no so seek som' other." He was greatly cast down over Schnitzel's plight, and sturdily expressed his belief in the other's innocence. He was equally eager to do whatever Bob advised, and solemnly promised, "Watch all time."

On the afternoon of the third day after Schnitzel's arrest, Jimmy, Roger and Ignace received a summons to headquarters. At a loss to recollect any misdemeanor on their part, they went, wondering mightily why the K. O. should wish to see them. Once in the presence of their commanding officer they met with a shock. Before them, spread out on the major's desk, lay several letters, minus their envelopes, which reposed beside them. Each man was in turn requested to glance over the letter to which was affixed his signature, and state whether he had written it and at what time. It is needless to say that all told the same story. The letters on the major's desk were the letters that had so mysteriously vanished during the Khaki Boys' first week in camp.

Having duly explained this to the K. O.'s satisfaction, they were treated to a second bewildering surprise. These very letters, it seemed, had been found in Schnitzel's suitcase. Major Stearns had opened them, as a point of duty, and had claimed the right to withhold them in order to make an inquiry. Shown to Schnitzel, he had stubbornly denied ever having seen them before.

"You state, Blaise, that these letters were stolen from a shelf over your cot on the same night that they were written?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you any reason for believing that it was Schnitzel who stole them?"

"No, sir. I _know_ Schnitzel didn't steal them." Jimmy emphasized the 'know' strongly.

"Why are you so positive that he did not?"

"Because, sir, Schnitzel wasn't that sort. He's a true man, and he's innocent of the crime he's charged with." Jimmy's sympathies overcame his awe of Major Stearns.

"Humph!" The K. O. allowed this opinion to stand unrebuked. He was fond of Jimmy, and rather admired him for his staunch defense of the accused soldier. "Is that your only reason?"

Tardily recalling Bob's injunction to secrecy regarding Bixton, Jimmy hesitated, then cautiously answered: "We were not acquainted with Schnitzel, sir, at the time we wrote those letters. There was no reason why he should want to take them."

"Still you can't give me any proof that he didn't, can you?"

"No, sir." Jimmy breathed freely again.

Receiving this negative, the major proceeded to question first Roger, then Ignace, with practically the same result. Profiting by Jimmy's mistake, neither volunteered more than was necessary. In the end they left headquarters without their letters. The fact that these had been stolen added to the case against Schnitzel.

The Khaki Boys left headquarters in a state of intense excitement, manifested in their eager exchange of remarks the moment they were safely outside the building. Directly after the disappearance of their letters they had suspected Bixton of the theft. His later attempt to get at Jimmy's equipment had strengthened the suspicion. Now the lost letters had, at this late date, turned up in Schnitzel's suitcase. Actual proof against Bixton they had none. That did not matter so much at present. It would come. Why? Because at last they had a clue, or what seemed to them a clue. At least, it was a circumstance that connected Bixton with Schnitzel. If Bixton had stolen the letters that were found in Schnitzel's suitcase, it followed that no one save Bixton would have placed them there, and not only the letters but the bottle of powdered glass and the poison list.