“Well, this is it. Our last game. I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck since we last talked?”
Nancy had phoned the coach several times to update him on the case. There had been little to report, though—until now. She wasn’t looking forward to telling him about his star forward.
She swallowed. “Yes, I have. Coach Burnett, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but . . . but . . .”
Go on, tell him! she said to herself. Somehow she couldn’t do it. The problem was, she wasn’t totally sure that she was right. True, the evidence against Mike was overwhelming, yet for all that she still had no idea why he was doing such horrible things. Why was he pulling the pranks? Why was he assaulting innocent students? And why did he have two thousand dollars in his locker?
The money! All at once, Nancy remembered Tom Stafford’s charge. Was it true that illegal salaries were being paid? If so, it might shed some light on Mike’s motives, she knew. With all the tact at her command, Nancy quietly put the issue to the coach. His jaw tightened.
“Absolutely not, young lady,” he pronounced when she had finished. “No Emerson player has ever . . . or will ever . . . be paid a penny to play for this school. Not while I’m around!”
“Is it possible that someone else could have made such payments?” Nancy asked. “Someone on the admissions staff, maybe?”
“No way! If they were doing anything like that, believe me, I’d know!”
She believed him. What else could she do? The force and conviction of his words were enough to persuade a stone!
Suddenly Nancy felt as if twenty tons of lead had been lifted from her shoulders. The coach’s words meant that Ned was honest—every bit as honest as she had always believed! What a relief! At the same time, however, the denial left open the question of the money in Mike’s locker. Where had it come from, if not from the school?
There was no time left for speculation, she knew. Her time was up. The coach was waiting impatiently for her report.
“Well, Nancy? Can you tell me the name of the practical joker?” he asked.
She nodded. “Unfortunately I can. Mr. Burnett, I’m afraid he’s—”
Nancy never finished her sentence. At that moment, a security guard rushed through the door and ran up to the coach.
“Mr. Burnett? You’d better come with me, sir,” the guard panted. “One of your players is hurt. He says his name is Mike O’Shea, and it looks like he fell off the roof!”
Chapter Fourteen
In the middle of the gym, Ned was getting ready to introduce the coach. Pat Burnett was already gone, however, and Nancy was only two steps behind him. She hated to leave Ned in such an awkward spot, but what could she do? Finding out about Mike came first!
Mike was lying in the snow near the base of one of the building’s side walls. Glancing up, Nancy estimated the drop at sixty feet or so. The snow below her feet was only a foot deep, so Mike’s fall had not been cushioned. Her heart began to race.
How badly was he hurt? It was hard to tell. One thing was clear. He was in agony. His face was twisted with pain, and his breath came in shallow gulps.
“Hang on, Mike. The guards are bringing the ambulance around from the parking lot,” the coach told him.
Nancy remembered seeing the vehicle in front of the building before the rally. State law required one to be present at every large public and sporting event.
Mike cried out. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. “Coach . . . get . . . get . . .”
“Like I said, the ambulance is on the way,” the coach repeated.
“No! Get . . . Nancy Drew!”
Startled, Nancy stepped forward and sank down next to him. “I’m here, Mike.”
“N-nancy . . . I’ve got to . . . to tell you what happened!” he gasped.
“I’m listening. But, Mike, please take it easy! You’re hurt!”