There was a rustle inside the room, much as though someone was getting out of bed. "Tomorrow we'll dispose of that cup by melting it in the furnace," said the elder Gates. "Wait until I get a bathrobe on and we'll go up and interview that young man in the billiard room."
Don waited to hear no more. Arthur Gates had given him the clue he needed and like a shot he darted off down the hall to the room at the end. This was the room which tallied with the brief description the man had given, but Don poked his head carefully in the door before entering, as he did not wish to walk into anyone's bedroom.
But it was a small study which lay before him. In the dim light which flooded in from the hall he could see the outline of a table, an easy chair and a pile of books on the table. On the other side of the room he made out a door. He entered the room and made his way to it, finding it slightly open. At that moment he heard the two Gates leave the room of the older man and begin to mount the stairs to the third floor.
Don's groping hands encountered a wooden box on the floor of the closet. It seemed to be the same size as the one which had been in the garden that night, and as there was no other object on the floor or on the single shelf he was sure that he had at last come across the 1933 class trophy.
"I've got the cup at last," he reflected. "Now, the big job is to get out of this house!"
Terry and Jim ran with all the speed they could muster across the fields, believing that Don was close behind them.
But Jim finally realized that no one was close to them and he came to a halt, calling to Terry in a low tone. The red-headed boy stopped and joined him.
"Did we lose our pursuers?" Terry panted.
"Yes," gasped Jim, gulping in the fresh air. "And I'm afraid that we have lost Don!"
"No. I don't know what has happened to him. I heard him pounding along after us and then I lost the sound. Maybe he just branched off in another direction."
"Let's give him the old signal," urged Terry, puckering up his lips. He whistled in a low, penetrating note, the signal which had always been known to the three friends and which had been agreed upon before they had left on their night's quest. The sound went across the fields but there was no answer, though they strained their ears to listen.