Bosworth agreed to the terms; Varrell stationed the two as he wanted them,—Bosworth in the best light,—and with Dick withdrew to the entry, where Varrell planted himself and fixed his eyes on the faces of the whispering pair in a long intense stare. Dick understood well the game his friend was playing, and his own eyes wandered helplessly from the observer to the observed, trying to guess from Wrenn’s expression his success in reading Bosworth’s lips, fearful of failure as the thief gradually bent his head in Eddy’s direction.
“Face this way!” cried Varrell.
“We’re through now,” replied Bosworth.
“Eddy, go up and stand on the stairs in sight till we call you down,” ordered Varrell. Then in a low tone to Dick he added: “Keep him there a jiffy till I can put on my shoes and get ahead of him to Bosworth’s room. Hang to Bosworth like grim death. Don’t let the fellow get away.”
“You can trust him to me,” answered Dick, eagerly. “What luck?”
“I can’t tell yet,” returned Wrenn.
Two minutes later Eddy was allowed to go, and sauntered leisurely down the first flight of stairs; the second he took more rapidly. At the dormitory entrance he broke into a run, which he maintained up the stairs to Bosworth’s threshold. The door was unlocked,—Bosworth had no fear of thieves,—and inside sat Varrell!
“Shut the door, can’t you?” was the senior’s sharp greeting to the amazed lad. “Now, what did you come here for? Out with it and don’t try to lie, for I shall catch you if you do.”
Eddy gaped helplessly around.
“His—knife,” he stammered, between gasps.