window. We can stand the clock, though I'll be hanged if I like that striking arrangement."
"Me, either," agreed Sid. "But maybe we can get some clew from this clock. Let's have a look."
He turned the clock around on the shelf, thereby disturbing its mechanism and stopping the ticking, but he little minded that. He was looking for the maker's name.
"Say, was our door locked when you fellows got here?" asked Tom, who had been a little in the rear of his companions, due to his injured ankle.
"Sure it was locked," asserted Phil. "I opened it with my key. Whoever sneaked in here and left the new clock while we were at football practice must have had a duplicate key. How are you making out, Sid?"
"The clock, according to a card pasted on back, was made or sold by Amos Harding, of Chicago."
"Chicago!" cried Tom, in some excitement. "That's where Langridge came from! Is it possible that he could have come over from Boxer Hall, and played this joke?"
"It's possible, but not probable," declared Sid. "But we could write to Chicago, and see if Mr. Harding could give us any clew."
"Oh, what's the use?" asked Phil. "Chicago is a big place, and it's hardly likely that a dealer
