For fifteen minutes Teeny-bits sat in the study with Doctor Wells; he never remembered in detail what they talked about, but he had a vague memory that it concerned football and the game with Jefferson.
Gannett Hall was dark and quiet when the Head and the newcomer to the school stole softly up the stairs and stopped at Number 34 on the third floor. Teeny-bits unlocked the door, reached in to switch on the electric lights and stood aside to let Doctor Wells enter first. He followed and led the way directly to the closet where he kept his clothes. Swinging open the door he looked down.
At first glance it seemed that the boards were not in any way disturbed from their normal appearance, and Teeny-bits was about to speak when his eyes fell on a groove at the point where the ends of two boards came together. He had not for an instant supposed that he and Doctor Wells would discover anything in the closet, but now suddenly a great fear came over him.
"There's a mark on this board," he said, getting down closer, "and the nails have been pulled out."
A minute or two later Teeny-bits and Doctor Wells had pried up the loose boards with a heavy paper-knife from Teeny-bits' table and were gazing down at a small pile of loot which consisted of the objects that various members of the school had reported as lost. It included Fred Harper's silver sailing trophy, Ned Stillson's gold knife, Snubby Turner's watch and ten or a dozen other trinkets. Teeny-bits felt stunned. Doctor Wells had picked out the articles one after another before Teeny-bits found his voice. Then he said:
"I don't know what you think, Doctor Wells, but the honest truth is that I didn't know a thing about this. I can't even guess—"
He could say no more; his voice broke a little and he felt as if he were half a dozen years younger and about to cry in little-boy manner.
"Teeny-bits," said Doctor Wells—it was the second time that night that Findley Holbrook had been thus addressed by a person in authority at Ridgley—"I've said once that I believe in you; this doesn't shake my confidence in your honesty. I'll take charge of these things; I think you'd better go to bed now and let me see what I can do to solve the problem. I'll borrow this empty laundry bag."
After Doctor Wells had gone, Teeny-bits undressed and got into bed, but for hours he did not fall asleep. He kept thinking of Snubby Turner climbing down the fire escape. Could it be possible that the genial Snubby was guilty of stealing from his friends, of professing to have lost property himself and finally of attempting to throw the blame on another? It seemed unbelievable. But why had Snubby stayed away from the mass meeting except to break into the rooms of his classmates? It was all too confusing. Teeny-bits could evolve no satisfactory explanation. At two or three in the morning he fell into a troubled sleep during which he dreamed that he was playing in the Jefferson game and that the stands were yelling in a tremendous chorus:
"He's a thief; he's a thief!"