[CHAPTER XVII]
A CRASH IN THE GALE
Curiously, Phil’s chums crowded close to him, looking over his shoulder at the odd key. As he had said, it was one apparently filed down from a larger one of different pattern, so that it would open their door.
And fit their lock it did, as they soon demonstrated, for, though crude in finish, it threw back the catch as easily as did one of their own.
“Worse and more of it!” murmured Phil, as he tried the key. “The fellow, whoever he is, must have been just going in our room when we came along the corridor, and frightened him.”
“In that case, we ought to have seen him go past us down the stairs,” said Sid.
“No, he could use the back flight, that goes down into the janitors’ apartments,” suggested Tom.
“Say!” cried Sid. “I have it. Maybe he was here some time ago, and when he went out, he forgot his key. Let’s look and see if he took anything.”
“The sofa’s here, at any rate,” spoke Tom, with a sigh of relief. “But maybe something else is gone.”
“There are too many ‘may-bees’ for this time of the year,” declared Phil. “The fellow might have run away as we came up; he might have taken his time ransacking our rooms, for we were long enough in the gym; he may be here now; he may have brought back our chair and alarm clock—only he hasn’t,” he added, after a quick glance about the room. “But, as I said, what’s the use of speculating on what might be. We’ve got to get busy and solve this puzzle. We’ve got some sort of a clew in this key.”
“Not much, though,” from Tom.