“Search me. I know he was gone when I got back at six, or a little before. I thought, of course, that he was around somewhere; probably at Alumni. But he wasn’t at dinner and he didn’t show up afterwards, and I remembered his line of talk this morning and got to snooping around and found his suit-case gone and some of his things; brushes and sponge and the like of those.”
“Maybe he got leave to go home over Sunday.”
“I thought of that and found out from Mr. Hoyt. Had to be careful so he wouldn’t get suspicious, but I got away with it, I guess. He hasn’t asked for leave; and wouldn’t have got it anyway, I guess. No, he’s just plain beat it.”
Andrew whistled softly and expressively.
“That fixes him,” he said regretfully. “On top of probation——”
“That’s the point,” urged Joe. “He’s dished for fair if faculty gets wind of it. That’s why I came. I can’t go. I asked Driscoll and he said nothing doing. So it’s up to you, Andy.”
“Up to me? Go? Where?”
“Go after him and bring him back,” answered Joe. “I looked up trains. He probably waited until after dark, because he wouldn’t have risked being seen with a suit-case, and if he did he must have taken the six-eighteen for New York. There’s no train for Port Foster out of Philadelphia until seven-twelve tomorrow morning. He might stay in New York overnight or go on to Philadelphia, so the best way’ll be to go right through to Philadelphia and watch the Port Foster trains.”
Andrew stared amazedly. “Look here, Joe,” he said, “are you suggesting that I go to Philadelphia after Myron?”