“What!”
“Sure! Didn’t you know it? Didn’t you mean to?”
Monty shook his head weakly as they stumbled up the steps, and Jimmy gave way to a gale of laughter.
“Oh, that’s great!” he gurgled. “Monty, you’re a wonder! You—you——”
“Shut up!” whispered the other. “Don’t sing about it! How much does Old Whiskers know?”
“Nothing—yet. But watch out for trouble, dearie. And, say, if you still have the key to Number 8 go and drop it in the river. It’s the only one that wasn’t found, and having it on you will be just about as safe as carrying a stick of dynamite. See you at eleven, Monty. Come up to the room.”
Jimmy darted off down the corridor, leaving Monty to climb the stairs to a Latin recitation. As he went his right hand clutched tightly a brass key and tag at the bottom of a pocket. He feared it might jingle!
“What gets me,” said Jimmy later, as they sat in Number 14, “is why Charley didn’t spring something about it in chapel this morning. He must have known by then, because he and ‘Jimmy’ were talking together when Dud and I went in. Maybe he’s going to do some detective work, and find that Number 8 key. I say, you don’t know where it got to, eh?”
Monty hesitated. Then he nodded.