“My gracious, what’s this!” spluttered Mark, who caught some in his eyes. “Who threw that water down on me?”
He leaped up and so did the others. They gazed up at the hall window but could see nobody. Yet they knew that it had come from there and in the mind of each rushed the same thought:
“Hockley!”
“Of course he did it!” cried Darry, brushing off his shoulders. “He wants to pay us for laughing at him.”
“I’ll pay him!” returned Sam, and made a dash for the doorway of the hotel, before Professor Strong could stop him. The others came behind, the professor calling out that they must behave themselves.
It puzzled them greatly to find the door to the room locked. They pounded in vain and then had to wait until Professor Strong opened the door to the apartment adjoining. Then they passed through a connecting door.
“Nobody here,” said Sam, staring around. “If he did it he got out in mighty quick order.”
“Nobody in the hall,” came from Mark, who had taken a look around. “But I don’t believe a servant would have thrown that water into the garden.”
“The wash bowl is empty and the pitcher is less than half full,” came from Frank. “The pitcher was full when we left—the servant just came and filled it.”
“Let’s look for Hockley,” was Darry’s advice, but fearing a bitter quarrel and perhaps a fight, the professor told them to leave the big youth alone and prepare themselves for supper. As all were more than ordinarily hungry, this changed the current of their thoughts and they did as requested.