A CRASH IN THE GALE
Curiously, Phil's chums crowded close to him, looking over his shoulder
at the odd key. As he had said, it was one apparently filed down from a
larger one of different pattern, so that it would open their door.
And fit their lock it did, as they soon demonstrated, for, though crude
in finish, it threw back the catch as easily as did one of their own.
"Worse and more of it!" murmured Phil, as he tried the key. "The fellow,
whoever he is, must have been just going in our room when we came along
the corridor, and frightened him."
"In that case, we ought to have seen him go past us down the stairs,"
said Sid.
"No, he could use the back flight, that goes down into the janitors'
apartments," suggested Tom.
"Say!" cried Sid. "I have it. Maybe he was here some time ago, and
when he went out, he forgot his key. Let's look and see if he took
anything."
"The sofa's here, at any rate," spoke Tom, with a sigh of relief. "But
maybe something else is gone."
"There are too many 'may-bees' for this time of the year," declared
Phil. "The fellow might have run away as we came up; he might have
taken his time ransacking our rooms, for we were long enough in the
gym; he may be here now; he may have brought back our chair and alarm
clock--only he hasn't," he added, after a quick glance about the room.
"But, as I said, what's the use of speculating on what _might_ be. We've
got to get busy and solve this puzzle. We've got some sort of a clew in
this key."
"Not much, though," from Tom.
"I think a lot," asserted Phil. "In the first place, it shows that it's
been made by an amateur, and by someone who knows a little about making
keys. Therefore, as we say in geometry, we must look for a fellow who
knows how to use a file and a hack saw, and who understands locks."
"Are there any such in college?" demanded Sid.
"There may be."
"Let's put it up to Zane," suggested Tom. "He's friendly with us now, on
account of the fire."
"No!" exclaimed Phil, quickly. "Let's work it out ourselves. I believe
we can do it."
"How?" Sid wanted to know.
"By keeping our eyes open."
"We've been doing that a long time, and haven't gotten any nearer to the
mystery than we were at first."
"That's because we didn't look in the right direction," spoke Phil. "It
has narrowed down now--the inquiry has, I mean. Before, we had to
suspect every fellow in college. Now we need only look for one who has a
mechanical turn of mind."
"Frank Simpson has!" spoke Sid, quickly. "I saw him making a new kind of
cleat for his football shoes the other day."
"You're a hot detective!" exclaimed Phil, with a laugh. "Our clock and
chair were taken before Simpson came here."
"That's right," agreed Sid, ruefully. "I wonder if the unknown visitor
did anything to our new clock?" he went on, as he walked over to examine
the timepiece. "Perhaps he left a note of explanation in it."
But there was nothing, and the clock chimed out the time as cheerfully
as ever, as though urging the new owners to never mind the mystery,
since they had a better recorder of the hours than before. But the boys
wanted their first love.
Our heroes were up early the next morning, to indulge in a practice run
with the football squad--a little jaunt along the river, proposed by the
exacting coach, with the idea of improving the wind of his men.
"Jove! but it's getting cold!" remarked Tom, as rosy and glowing with
health, he and his mates turned into the gymnasium for a shower, and
vigorous rub before breakfast.
"Regular football weather," agreed Sid. "Well, I feel as if I could
tackle Boxer Hall and Fairview together now."
"Keep on feeling that way," urged the coach, grimly, as he passed by.
"We all need it."
An unexpected storm blew up that night, putting a stop to practice on
the gridiron, and the squad had to be content with indoor work. The
weather grew worse, and by night there was a gale blowing.
"Old King Winter isn't far off, by the sound of that," remarked Tom,
who, with his chums, was in the room, studying or making a pretense of
so doing. He arose, and, going to the window, where Sid was, looked out.
There came a sharp dash of rain against the glass.
"It's a peach of a night!" exclaimed Sid, as he turned back with a
shiver to his comfortable nook on the old sofa.
"Yes, but we're snug and cozy here," murmured Phil. "This is one of the
best rooms in the college."
"If we only had our old chair," remarked Sid, rather sadly. He seemed to
miss it more than the others, for it was his favorite place for study.
"Well, it won't come back to-night, at any rate," observed Tom. "Whew!
Hear that wind!"
There came a sudden burst of fury on the part of the storm, that seemed
to rock the very college. In the midst of its rage, borne on the wings
of the wind and darkness, there came to the ears of the three lads a
mighty crash.
It seemed to vibrate through the air, and then the echoes of it were
swallowed up in the louder roar of the wind.
"What was that?" whispered Tom, in an awesome voice.
"Some building collapsed!" gasped Phil. "Come on, fellows, we must see
what it was!" and he reached for his raincoat, the others following his
example.