“It can’t be, though!” Bert gasped, beginning to feel that he must be dreaming. “Perhaps this is the fellow’s sister. Yes, that must be it.”
He had unintentionally made a noise, whereupon the girl—if it was a girl—turned, saw him in the hall, and, immediately drawing back, disappeared.
A moment later he heard voices; then all was still.
“I guess I’ve lost my head completely this evening!” thought the astounded freshman. “Anyway, this isn’t Mrs. Whitlock’s; and, as no one has hurried to give me the glad hand, I’ll get out as quickly as I can.”
His watch told him that it was after nine when he again reached the street, where he found the cabman patiently awaiting his return.
“Wrong place again?” questioned cabbie.
“Yes. Make another try!”
Again the cab containing Bert and his mandolin rattled away.
“I’ll be arrested soon as a lunatic or dangerous person!” he groaned. “Makes me want to go home and manufacture some lie that will let me out of the thing easily. I might say that I had a touch of fever or something. Well, I’m in a pretty pickle! And who in thunder could that have been? That couldn’t have been Inza, and it couldn’t have been the fellow that Ready and I saw this afternoon. I shall have to tell Ready about that.”
Two other houses which the driver said were occupied by Whitlocks were visited. At the last of these unhappy Bert secured a clue.