Agnew felt safe.

The paper he had crumpled and thrown under Badger's desk was the only one he had secreted about him.
So he knew that even if a search was forced, nothing of an incriminating character could be discovered on him.
"I think I have put you in a mighty tight box, Mr.Buck Badger!" was his gloating thought.
And again that look of triumph returned with such force that he could hide it only by lowering his eyes, and did not raise them throughout the rest of the hour.
That evening, while Morton Agnew was amusing himself with a game of solitaire, and chuckling with glee over the clever manner in which he had put Buck Badger in a "box," a rap sounded on the door of his room that made him jump.
"Come in!" he said.
And Frank Merriwell walked in! Agnew half-rose out of his chair.
"Sit down!" Merriwell urged, closing the door behind him.
Then he turned the key in the lock and dropped the key into his pocket.
"What do you mean by that ?" starting to his feet in an agitated way.
"Sit down!" Frank again commanded, in a smooth, quiet tone, which, however, sounded very ominous.

Agnew looked toward the closed window, and then dropped limply into the chair.
"It's two stories down, and a hard pavement below that window.

I'd advise you, Agnew, not to pitch yourself out of that on your head.

It would probably give the undertaker a job." Agnew pushed the cards about, without knowing what he did, and stared at Merriwell, his face white and his eyes anxious.