“I—did—not!” exclaimed Tom in such a manner that they could not help believing him.
“Then where is it?” demanded Frank.
There was silence for several seconds, while the white-clad figures regarded one another. Then Tom burst out with:
“I have it!”
“I thought you did,” said Sid significantly.
“No, you gump! I mean I have the solution. It was that chap who was in here, and whom I took for you, Sid. He has our clock. I’ll get it back!”
Tom was about to rush out into the corridor, when Frank laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Hold on, son,” he began mildly. “There’s been enough running around for one night. It won’t be healthy, for one thing, to do any more, for it is beastly cold. And, for another, there is no use in running our heads into a noose. Simond was decent, you say, Tom, and there’s no sense in putting it on him—rubbing it in, so to speak. We’ll just lay low until morning and then we’ll get our clock. You say you know where it is?”
“Well, I saw the fellow that was in here enter some room on the floor above. I couldn’t pick it out exactly, but I can come pretty near it.”