“But how do you account for him entering the school that night, before the bracelet was stolen?” asked Frank.
“Maybe he was shadowing us—or, rather, you fellows—” said Fenn, who, as will be remembered, was not present on that occasion. “Or, maybe we’re mistaken, and the man Bart saw to-day may not have been the one who entered the school.”
“Oh, he’s the same one,” declared Bart, with conviction.
There was more discussion, and, if it did nothing more, it served a good turn, for it shunted the thoughts of the lads into new channels, and they began to feel sleepy.
But, just as they were about to doze off, there came an exclamation of dismay from Bart.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bart.
“Stream of water trickling down my neck,” was the answer. “I believe it’s raining!”
There was no doubt of it. Instead of turning colder it had grown warmer, and the snow had changed to rain. The tree, thick as were the branches, was little protection against the rain, and, as it increased to a regular downpour, the plight of our heroes was miserable in the extreme. There was nothing to be done but make the best of it. They huddled together, turned up the collars of their coats, and tried to crawl to spots more or less protected. But they were soon pretty wet, and, to add to their misery, they saw their fire die down, and go out.
“Wow! This is fierce!” exclaimed Ned, as a stream of water trickled down his neck. “I wish it was morning. It wouldn’t be so bad if we could travel.” But there was no help for it, and they had to sit there in the storm and darkness, waiting for daylight.