“Yes—two to one he’ll be there. Why, of course he will; he’s got to second the motion—something about the fine arts.”
Arthur laughed.
“We’ll try a bit of fine art on him, I vote. Come on, old man; we’ll have a look round his rooms for the traps.”
So they sallied out, and after peeping into the Forum on their way, to ascertain that their man was safely there, they marched boldly up-stairs to his study. If it had not been for the righteousness of their cause, these boys might have thought twice before entering anyone’s room in his absence. But Arthur in his present temper had cast to the winds all scruples, and regarding himself merely as a robbed lioness searching for her whelps, he would have liked to meet the man who would tell him he hadn’t a perfect right to be where he was. Dig, for his part, was not prepared to raise any such awkward question.
The boys’ instinct had told them right. For one of the first things they beheld, on a corner of the window-sill, apparently put there hurriedly before starting for the Forum, was a brown-paper parcel, corresponding exactly with the missing bundle.
It was carefully tied up, and under the string was thrust an envelope addressed to “Mr Bickers.”
Arthur whistled, and Dig ran forward to capture the lost property.
“Steady,” said the former warily. “Perhaps it’s just a dodge to catch us. See how it lies, in case we have to put it back.”
They took the necessary bearings with all precaution, and then hurried back with their prize to their own study.
“How long before the Forum’s up?” demanded Arthur, depositing the parcel on the table.