As he stood wondering, Jiggins’s door opened, and Jiggins made his appearance, clad in the habiliments of the night.
“Hallo, Jiggins!” said Arthur. “Did you knock?”
“Me? Knock? Me? No,” said Jiggins. “I—I was just in bed, and asleep, and heard that howl above; and then there came a knock. I thought it was you, wanting to see me.”
“No; none of us knocked.”
“Somebody did, then.”
“And some one knocked at our door, too,” said Arthur.
“What does it all mean?” said Jiggins.
By this time the other boys were out in the hall, and were looking at one another. Bart looked along the floor, to see if the knock could have been produced by a stone thrown. Behind Tom might be seen Solomon, afraid to be too far behind, and yet not daring to venture forward.
“It’s queer,’ said Arthur.
“I don’t like it,” said Jiggins, solemnly. “It somehow don’t seem right. I feel really uncomfortable. There’s something about that—is—not—right.”