He crept softly along the wooden wall and reconnoitred. The middle window was Hamilton's room, the left was Sanders's, the right was Patricia's. He went carefully to the right window and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still no reply. He knocked loudly.
"Is that you, Bones?" growled Sanders's voice.
Bones gasped.
"Awfully sorry, sir," he whispered agitatedly—"my mistake entirely."
He tiptoed to the left window and rapped smartly. Then he whistled, then he rapped again.
He heard a bed creak, and turned his head modestly away.
"It's Bones, dear old sister," he said, in his loudest whisper. "Arise, for mornin' in the bowl of light has——"
Hamilton's voice raged at him.
"I knew it was you, you blithering——"
"Dear old officer," began Bones, "awfully sorry! Go to sleep again. Night-night!"