Then the office boy hurried to the rear of the building, intent on other duties.
Mr.Pollock returned to his desk, opening the mail.

The football folks in the further corner lowered their voices almost to whispers.
"Letter for you, Dick," called Mr.Pollock, tossing aside an envelope.
Excusing himself, Dick darted over to get his mail.

In an instant he came back, with a flushed face.
"Here's something that may interest you all," whispered Dick, shaking as though fever had seized him.
Mr.Morton took the sheet of paper, from which he read: _"Dear Old Gridleyites: If the enclosed is a fake, it won't work.
If there's really a traitor in your camp you ought to know it.
Milton High School doesn't take any games except by the use of its own fair fighting devices.
Decker, Captain, Milton High School Football Team."_ "And here's a duplicate set of our signals, returned by our Milton friends," went on Dick, with almost a sob in his voice.

"Fortunately, Mr.Decker thought to preserve the envelope that contained our signal code.

Here is the envelope, addressed in some person's handwriting." Coach Morton seized the envelope, staring at it hard.