“That’s a funny game,” said Alf anxiously. “Is that straight, Dan?”
“Yes. The only thing I could think of was that Tom had happened in and taken it over here.”
“Have you looked everywhere in the room?”
“Rather! The place looks like a pigsty; we’ve pulled everything out of the drawers and even looked under the mattresses. Oh, it isn’t there, Alf. Some one, I don’t know who, has taken it out of that room. I suppose they’ve done it for a joke, but if I catch them I’ll show them who the joke is on.”
“Well, let’s go over to supper. Afterwards we’ll go up to your room and see if we can’t find it.”
“You’re welcome to look,” said Dan impatiently, “but I tell you it isn’t there.”
“Perhaps whoever swiped it will bring it back by that time,” said Tom cheerfully. “I guess some fresh chump saw it and thought he’d have some fun with you fellows.”
“I’d like to be there when he returned it,” growled Dan, as they hurried across to Whitson and supper.
Half an hour later they climbed the stairs to 28. They all more than half expected to see the silver trophy standing on the table when Dan threw the door open. But it wasn’t there. Alf made the other three sit down and himself began a systematic search of the premises. At the end of ten minutes, however, he was forced to agree with Dan and Gerald. The Pennimore Cup was not in 28 Dudley, wherever it might be. Dan sat down and took one knee into his hands.