“I don’t care so much about ending the mystery as I do about getting back my tennis cup and the book,” spoke Frank.
“What sort of a book was it?” Andy inquired.
“A reference work on inorganic chemistry,” answered Frank. “Cost me ten plunks, too. I can’t afford to lose it for I need it in my work.”
“Some book!” murmured Andy, as the three hastened on.
They tried door after door as they passed, but most of them were locked. One or two opened to disclose students dressing or shaving, and to the rather indignant inquiries as to what was wanted, Dunk would exclaim hastily:
“Oh, we are looking for a fellow—that’s all.”
“Hazing?” sometimes would be inquired.
“Sort of,” Dunk would answer. “No use telling ’em what it is until we’ve got something to show,” he added to his companions. They agreed with him.
They had now reached the turn of corridor where a short passage, making an L, branched off. So far they had seen no trace of the thief.
“There’s a big closet, or storeroom, at the end,” explained Andy. “The fellow may be hiding in there.”