“I’m—I’m going to try the main entrance. Perhaps that is unlocked,” Purt replied.
“I’ll go with you,” volunteered the other, and followed him down the steps.
Purt wanted to get rid of her, whoever she was. He wished now that he hadn’t come back to the schoolhouse. He had read somewhere that criminals are driven by some mysterious power to haunt the scenes of their crimes. And it must be a fact, Purt told himself, for he had certainly been foolish to come back here to Central High—and go without his supper.
He decided to slip out of the girls’ yard and run away. But when he reached the street there was the strange girl right at his elbow. And he remembered that she had a grip as firm as Chet Belding’s own.
So nothing would do but try the front entrance. Of course, he knew it was ridiculous to go to that door. Even by day it was kept locked and visitors had to ring; only the teachers had pass-keys.
But they went in at the main gate and mounted the steps of the portico. It was indeed black under here, for the street lights were too far away to cast any of their radiance into the place. Purt fumbled around, found the doorknob, and tried it. To his amazement it turned in his hand and the door swung open into the dark corridor.
“They’re here, then,” whispered the girl. “Where do you suppose they are?” she continued.
Now Purt had very good reason for believing that he knew just where the girls were whom this stranger wished to see; but he only said, gruffly:
“I’m sure I don’t know. I don’t believe they’re in the building now.”
“Oh, yes, they are. They have not come out. There are several beside those I named. So I was told at the athletic field.”