"Maybe it's one of the new janitors," suggested Tom. "There's one that has a bad eye."
"Well, as long as they stay off this floor, we'll be all right," asserted Sid. "Only we'd better keep our valuables locked up."
"Anyhow, they can't take the old chairs and sofa," remarked Frank with a chuckle. "They're too heavy."
It seemed to be Tom's fate to see the end of the little happening, as it had been his to note the beginning. Late that night he was awakened by a noise in the main apartment. At first he paid no attention to it, and then, as he heard the rustle of papers, he thought of the time he had followed, as he thought, Sid, in the dark, cold corridors.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed to himself, as he sat up without making the bed creak. "He's at it again! And this time I'm going to find out who it is!"
"Softly he crept to the door of his room. He saw the same white-clad figure as before, standing near the window. This time he knew it was not Sid, although the two looked much alike. The only sound was the ticking of the alarm clock.
Then, as Tom watched, the figure approached the table once more. The change in the tone of the ticking of the clock told Tom what had happened.
