He came one evening toward the end of the term to Maclaren’s study about half-past ten. Sandy was almost ready for bed. “Chapin and Marsh are not in their rooms, Maclaren,” he said.
“What, sir?” exclaimed Sandy, starting to his feet, “how do you know, sir?”
“That is of no consequence. Chapin and Marsh are out of their rooms.”
“Do you know where they are, sir?”
“I have some reason to suspect that they are playing poker in that wretched shanty in the Woods.”
“Oh, but we raided that, you know; took all their stuff,—if it was they.”
“Yes, but a clever criminal goes directly back to commit his crimes in the same place. After a little time he is nowhere so safe. Most fools think lightning never strikes in the same place twice. I have suspected them for some time, but I have not before been sure that they were missing. I am sorry to ask you to make a journey over to the Woods at this time of night, but I cannot well leave the House. You will probably find them, I think; in which case you will direct them to report to me at once. I will wait up until your return.”
Poor Sandy began to pull on his clothes. He did not like the job, not merely because it was cold and dark, but because he would have preferred to have received the information from another master. He was not adverse to catching Chapin and Marsh, if he was to catch them, but he felt a little sorry for himself as well as them that it all had to come on such a night. He routed out Larry Cummings to go with them, and they started on the dismal journey. After all, duty was duty, they reflected; and if that gang could be broken up it would be a good thing for the school.
It was nearly midnight when Sandy, Larry and their victims—Chapin, Thorndyke and Marsh—returned to Mr. Roylston’s study. The master received them with a quiet satisfaction. It was a good, and thought Sandy a little unkindly, an easy night’s work for him.