There was little trouble in finding the door of Osgood’s room, for from behind it came the subdued murmur of voices; and, listening, Piper heard at intervals a queer, soft, irregular clicking sound. But when he would have taken a peep through the keyhole, he was much disappointed to find it either plugged or covered on the inside by something that baffled him.
“And that proves there’s something queer going on,” he whispered to himself. “They’re not talking loud, either; they’re keeping their voices down. A lot of fellows who get together and chat free and easy don’t bother to talk that way. Wish I could hear something more.”
After a time, growing desperate through the intensity of his increasing curiosity, he placed his hand gently on the knob of the door with his ear close to the panel, and, when the talk seemed to be a bit more general inside, he softly and slowly turned the knob.
The door was locked!
“That settles it,” he mentally exclaimed. “There’s something off color taking place here.”
Still with the utmost caution, he permitted the spring slowly to force the catch back into place and removed his hand from the knob.
“There’s just one thing to do now,” he decided; “I’ve got to put on a bold front. It’s the only play for me to make.”
Lifting his hand, he knocked softly upon the door.
Immediately the hum of voices ceased, and after a little Sleuth fancied he heard some one whisper within the room.
He knocked again.