Billy sniffed. "Well, perhaps hardly a purse of sovereigns, but something—"
"Well?" prompted Jack.
"I don't know whether I ought to tell you," said Billy, enigmatically. He ran his fingers through his thick, black hair, and stared out of the window.
"Hang it all," protested Jack, "you're starting this term in a jolly mysterious way! What's the giddy joke? What have you got up your sleeve—or in your bag?"
Billy shot a look of sharp inquiry at his friend.
"You're cute, Jack," was all he said. "You've dropped to it that there's something."
"Also that our friend Tiger is interested in your bag. Perhaps he knows what's in it."
"Knows—or guesses," said Billy, with a queer smile.
"But this is a bit too thick. And there's that revolver, too, just to make a real, nice, soupy mystery of it. I tell you, Billy, when you came out with the canister I—"
He opened his mouth, spread his hands, and indicated immense surprise.