She puzzled over it all the way home; was puzzling over it still when she left her car at the university.
Somewhat to her surprise she saw Harry Brock leave the same train. He appeared almost to be avoiding her but when she called to him he turned about and smiled.
“So glad to have someone to walk those five lonely blocks with,” she smiled.
“Pleasure mutual,” he murmured, but he seemed ill at ease.
Lucile glanced at him curiously.
“He can’t think I’ve got a crush on him,” she told herself. “Our friendship’s had too much of the ordinary in it for that. I wonder what is the matter with him.”
Conversation on the way to the university grounds rambled along over commonplaces. Each studiously avoided any reference to the mystery of the missing books.
Lucile was distinctly relieved as he left her at the dormitory door.
“Well,” she heaved a sigh, “whatever could have come over him? He has always been so frank and fine. I wonder if he suspects—but, no, how could he?”
As she hung her wrap in the corner of her room, her eye fell upon the papier-mache lunch box. Her hand half reached for it, then she drew it back and flung herself into a chair.