"Old Gunn’s room. Catch on? Oh, it’s a clever idea! Suspicion will be thrown on him. I’ve got a long head."
"I’m afraid——" began Watson.
"Don’t be afraid of anything," said Zeb.
"I’ll get the handkerchief," promised Scudder. "Jim needn’t do anything. I’ll bring you a handkerchief at the first opportunity, Fletch."
"And I’ll do the rest. Leave it to me. Now, get out and look for that hankie. Why, I see where we turn this whole business in our favor and make Merriwell look like thirty cents. There will be something doing around here before long. Trust to little Zeb."
* * * * * * *
That evening, having buttoned his rather shabby old overcoat about him, and taken his crooked walking-stick, Professor Gunn started out for his usual walk.
He strolled along in his accustomed absorbed manner, his head down, buried deep in thought. But it happened that the professor did not walk as far as usual. He had that day been pondering over a most puzzling mathematical problem, and, as he strolled along, carrying his cane behind his back, the solution suddenly dawned on him.
"Hum!" he said, stopping short. "Wonder why I didn’t think of that before?"
Then he felt in his pocket for paper and a pencil. He found the paper, but no pencil. Through every pocket he searched, but not a bit of a pencil could he find.