"We sure have," agreed Phil. "Why, the room looks bare without it; doesn't it?"
"Almost like a funeral," came mournfully from Sid, as he sank into the depths of the sofa. And then a silence fell upon the inseparable chums, a silence that seemed to fill the room, and which was broken only by the ticking of a fussy little alarm clock.
"Oh, hang it!" burst out Tom, as he loosened his tie and made the knot over. "I can't understand it! I'm going to see Wallops, the messenger. Maybe he saw some one sneaking around our rooms.'
"If we once get on the trail" said Phil, significantly.
"It sure is rotten luck," spoke Sid, from the depths of the sofa. "I don't have to do any boning to-night, and I was counting on sitting in that easy chair, and reading a swell detective yarn Holly Cross loaned me. Now—well, it's rotten luck—that's all."
"It certainly is!" agreed a voice at the door, as the portal opened to give admittance to Dan Woodhouse otherwise Kindlings. "Rotten luck isn't the name for it. It's beastly! But how did you fellows hear the news?"
"How did we hear it?" demanded Tom. "Couldn't we see that it wasn't here as soon as we got in our room, a few minutes ago? But
