“Did he get the tip?” asked Jerry, as he and his brother, together with Phil and Tom, came up.
“He sure did,” answered Bricktop. “Reports from the front are that he is on the warpath.”
“Is everything working all right?” asked Joe.
“Fine. Can’t you smell it?”
Tom and Phil sniffed the air. There was an unmistakable odor of tobacco.
“But if there’s a smoker going on in there, why was Pitchfork tipped off?” inquired Tom.
“Wait an’ ye’ll see, me lad,” advised Bricktop in his rich brogue. “I think he’s coming now. Pump her up, Kindlings!”
Then, for the first time Tom and his chum noticed that Dan Woodhouse had a small air pump, which he was vigorously working, as he stood in a dark corner.
Footsteps sounded down the corridor. There were hasty cautions from the ringleaders, and the lads hid themselves in the dim shadows of the big hall. The footsteps came nearer, and then they seemed to cease. But the reason was soon apparent, for Professor Emerson Tines was now tip-toeing his way toward the door of the suspected room. By the dim light of a half-turned down gas jet he could be seen sneaking up. The only sound from the students was the faint sound of the air pump. Tom and Phil could not imagine what it was for.