"Now's your chance, Norn! I'll skirmish for laggards and report."
She came back in a moment, triumphant.
"There isn't a soul in sight," she announced. "Hustle while the coast's clear. Someone may come back at any moment."
They hurried into the deserted room, and with eager haste they swung the big lantern up to the circle of electric fixtures above the model stand, the stout cord that Elinor had fastened to its bottom hanging concealed among the drapery of the screen that stood behind the model's chair.
"It's all ship-shape now," whispered Patricia as they scrambled down from the stools whereon they had perched to accomplish their purpose. "Aren't we in luck? Not a soul even saw us come in."
"Now for a sight of the dislocated gentleman," said Elinor gayly. "And then for the great event."
The anatomical wonder appealed to them so little that they gave up the seats that the kind Slav had saved for them, and went out, rather sickened by such limberness, to wait the gong of the night life in the seclusion of the print room.
The hall and corridor were dim and the circle of lights above the model stand was twinkling brightly when Patricia peeped in at the crack of the door during the first rest.
"Nothing seems to be happening," said Elinor to her in an undertone as she joined her. "I believe I'll wait till later, unless I see signs of action."
"Don't keep me hanging on here in the dark too long," protested Patricia. "I'm worn to a bone already."