“That’s the ticket!” approved Dan.
As the Cubs loitered around the village streets, they became increasingly aware of unfriendly stares directed toward them. While not everyone they met seemed hostile, now and then they were scrutinized with an intent gaze which made them uncomfortable.
“Have we got measles or something?” Red muttered.
“Someone has been doing us dirt in this town,” Brad volunteered his opinion. “And I have a hunch who it is too!”
“Saul Dobbs?” Dan demanded.
“I’m not making any accusations just yet. After we’ve talked to Mr. Silverton we may have the answer. Come on, let’s make that telephone call.”
Seeking another drugstore at the edge of the village, the Cubs dialed the number of Mr. Silverton’s office. Again they were informed he had not returned.
Brad next called the sportsman’s home. Finally, after considerable delay, he heard Mr. Silverton on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Silverton,” he began, in his eagerness, talking too rapidly. “I’m sorry to bother you at your home, but there’s an important matter the Cubs feel should be straightened out. It’s about visiting your pheasant farm—”
“You’re one of those boys who came to my office?”
“Yes, I’m Brad Wilbur.”
“Well, get this!” said Mr. Silverton speaking with biting accent “Your privileges are at an end! Now don’t bother me again!”
“Mr. Silverton, let me explain,” Brad said quickly. “I assure you we didn’t deliberately break our promise—”
“You’ll explain nothing to me,” the sportsman replied. “I’ve seen quite enough of your behavior. The Cubs may consider themselves lucky if I don’t notify their parents and the police!”
And with that remark, Mr. Silverton slammed the telephone receiver.
Brad, bewildered by the tongue lashing he had received, called the telephone number again. But Mr. Silverton would not answer.
“What did he say, Brad?” Dan demanded as the Den Chief turned to face the group of Cubs.
“Plenty! We’re to stay away from the farm.”
“It’s just like we thought,” Chips declared. “Old Dobbs got to him first and gave him a line about us.”
“I guess so,” Brad nodded gloomily. “Silverton said we could consider ourselves lucky that he hadn’t notified our parents or the police.”
“The police!” Dan burst out. “How does he figure? Even if we did make a mistake and go into the restricted area of the farm, that’s no crime! He couldn’t turn us over to Juvenile Court authorities for that, could he?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Brad said, frowning. “But there may be more to this than appears on the surface.”
“Meaning what?” demanded Red.
“Well, I don’t know. That’s what bothers me. Mr. Silverton acted as if we had done something serious. And you’ve noticed how the townsfolk here act toward us.”
“Dobbs may have been telling them tales too!” Chips said bitterly. “Why don’t we have it out with that bird?”
“If only we could see Mr. Silverton face to face, maybe we could make him understand,” Dan ventured. “Any chance he’ll talk to us?”
“I’m afraid not,” replied Brad. “He slammed the receiver and now he won’t answer the ’phone.”
Leaving the drugstore, the four boys crossed the bridge and started on the long walk back to Webster City. Their spirits depressed, they had little to say.
Chips and Red were inclined to feel slightly abused. On the other hand, Brad and Dan were worried because all the Cubs had been blamed for an innocent mistake. Without question, unless the matter were cleared up, the reputation of Den 2 would severely suffer.
At Denwood Avenue, Red and Chips took leave of their companions, going to their separate homes. Brad and Dan continued toward the residential section of Brandon Heights.
“Mr. Silverton lives somewhere in this part of the city, doesn’t he?” Dan asked thoughtfully.
“256 Eagle Road,” Brad replied, recalling the number from having read it in the telephone directory.
“That’s only two streets from here. Brad, why don’t we go there and try to see him?”
“Again?” Brad kicked a pebble across the sidewalk. “What’s the use?”
“Well, I hate to give up,” Dan said doggedly. “If we’d actually done anything so bad, I’d be in favor of taking our medicine as Dobbs said. But Silverton at least ought to listen to our side of the story.”
“All right, we can try,” Brad consented, though without enthusiasm. “Maybe if we tell him about that log jam, he’ll soften up a bit.”
Two blocks farther on, the boys came to Eagle Road, an exclusive residential street in which the homes were few and far apart. High above the river valley, the large dwellings overlooked the business section of the city.
Mr. Silverton’s home near the end of the winding street, was hemmed in behind a tall privet hedge which half-hid a view of the handsome 15-room brick home. At the rear was a rose garden.
“Nice little shack Mr. Silverton has here,” Dan observed, impressed.
“A butler probably will answer the door and say his master regrets he cannot see us,” Brad declared as he unlatched the front gate.
But in walking up to the porch, Dan spied Mr. Silverton at the west side of the yard, talking to a gardener who was weeding a flower bed.
“We’re in luck, Brad!” he exclaimed. “There he is now!”
The wealthy sportsman saw the boys as they crossed the lawn. Straightening up from the flower bed, he regarded them with cold disapproval.
“Mr. Silverton, we apologize for intruding,” Brad said. “We wouldn’t have come, only we want to clear up the misunderstanding.”
“As far as I am concerned, there is no misunderstanding,” Mr. Silverton answered, starting toward the house. “I understand only too well.”
“Saul Dobbs prejudiced you against us,” Dan accused, following after the sportsman, who plainly intended to walk away from the pair.
“Prejudiced me?” Mr. Silverton paused and turned angrily toward Brad and Dan. “I saw the evidence with my own eyes!”
“Evidence?” Brad caught him up. “You mean footprints in the restricted area?”
“I mean dead pheasants. Two of my most valuable cocks imported from Burma were killed!”
“When, sir?” gasped Brad, stunned by the disclosure.
“Saul Dobbs found them yesterday not far from the creek.”
“Surely you don’t think the Cubs had anything to do with it,” said Dan in quick protest.
For reply, Mr. Silverton dug into the pocket of his sports jacket and brought forth a tarnished badge bearing the design of a wolf with two pointed ears.
“This was found close to the two dead pheasants,” he informed cuttingly. “Recognize it?”
“A wolf rank badge,” Brad admitted. “Maybe it’s the one Red lost.”
“Furthermore,” Mr. Silverton went on, “Dobbs has been making a check of the pheasants. A large number of the common variety seem to be missing. Some may have flown over the fences, but others have been taken.”