"That's right," came from Sid. "What do you mean by chasing out at this hour?"
"What do you mean, I guess it is!" exclaimed Tom. "I've been chasing you, Sid."
"Chasing me? What rot is that?"
"It's all right. I woke up when I heard you moving about in here, followed you out to the corridor. You were going to write a poem, you know."
"Say, am I crazy or is he?" demanded Sid, appealing to the others. "Writing poetry?"
"Yes; weren't you?" asked Tom, beginning to think he had more of a mystery on his hands than he had at first suspected.
"Worse and more of it," murmured Frank.
"Do you mean to tell me?" demanded Tom, "that you didn't sneak out of here a while ago, and go to one of the rooms on the next floor?" and he looked defiantly at Sid.
"I certainly won't tell, or admit, anything of the kind, because it isn't so," replied Sid. "Admitting that I had, will you kindly explain how I could be here when you came in; in that case?"
"That's so," admitted Tom, scratching his head in perplexity. "Unless," he added as an afterthought, "unless you came down the back stairs, when I was chinning with Simond."
"Chinning with Simond?" demanded Phil. "Do you mean to say you were caught by him?"
