“And you look it,” said Dave, cheerfully.
Dick Travers, at this moment, was vainly trying to open the window. But the sash was nailed fast.
“Score another one for Hank Styles,” he said, calmly.
“Stand back, fellows,” cautioned Larry Burnham, picking up a stool. “I know a capital remedy for windows that won’t open.”
“Hold on, Larry, hold on!” interposed Sam Randall. “What’s the use of spoiling perfectly good panes of glass? Where’s your confidence in Bob Somers?”
“That uncommonly tired feeling I had has returned,” said Dave. “I’m going to take a rest.”
Larry placed the stool on the floor and sat down.
“I wonder why Hank Styles locked us in?” he exclaimed. “What can he expect to gain by it?”
A lengthy and earnest discussion followed. Many theories were advanced; but beyond being absolutely certain that the whole affair was most extraordinary none could give a plausible explanation.
“I’ll bet there’s a big bunch around this place,” said Tom.