“Some one’s coming in late,” murmured Phil.
“Likely to get caught,” added Tom. “I saw Proc. Zane sneaking around a few minutes ago.”
“By Jove, that walks like Sid!” whispered Phil, a moment later. “It is Sid,” he added.
“Yes, and there goes Zane after him!” groaned Tom. “He’s caught, sure, unless we can warn him. Poor old Sid!”
“Too late,” remarked Phil, as he saw the figure of the proctor break into a run. Sid also darted off, but soon he saw he had no chance to escape, and he stood still.
“Ah, Mr. Henderson, good evening,” greeted the proctor sarcastically. “Out rather late, aren’t you?”
“I’m—I’m afraid so, sir,” answered Sid hesitatingly; his two chums, from their position in the dark shadows of the faculty house being able to hear everything.
“No doubt about it,” went on the proctor gleefully. He had kept vigil for many nights of late, and his prey had escaped him. Now he had a quarry. “Have you permission to be out after hours?” demanded the official.
“No, sir.”