There were many other newly betrothed couples on the floor that happy night of the graduation ball. The air was fragrant with flowers, but there was more—-the atmosphere of new-found happiness on all sides.
Outside, in the shadow of the moonless night, a stoop-shouldered figure prowled in the near vicinity of Cullum Hall. This was Jordan, intent on guessing when would be the most favorable moment for sending in the message that should call Prescott out to his doom.
One of the watchmen, a soldier, in the quartermaster's department, belted, and with a revolver hanging therefrom in its holster, passed by and noted Jordan.
"Are you waiting for anyone, sir?" asked the watchman, halting a moment, though only in mild curiosity.
"I'm going to send a message in, after the music stops, for my cousin," replied Jordan, who knew that he must give some account of himself.
"Your cousin? A cadet?" asked the watchman.
"Oh, yes. Mr. Atterbury, of the first class," responded Jordan, giving the name of his former roommate at a venture.
"Very good, sir," replied the watchman, and passed on.
Mr. Atterbury, however, at that very moment, chanced to be standing on the further side of a tree not far distant, and with him were two other first classmen.
"Who is that fellow?" queried Atterbury in a low whisper. "I've seen him around here before this, and his voice sounds mighty familiar."