“Guess they have gone to bed,” muttered Clif.
The thought gave him confidence, and he proceeded with less caution. The cadet had no desire to be discovered prowling about the Windom grounds. Explanations would be awkward, especially if the robber up the tree proved to be some marauding cat or restless fowl.
Clif was not so positive in his belief now. The simple fact that the limb had been snapped from the tree was no longer a convincing evidence that something underhand was in progress, and he proceeded in a half-hearted manner, almost decided to turn back.
Presently his feet touched gravel, and he knew that he had gained the path leading to the gate.
He paused and glanced about, at the same time listening intently. The only sounds came from Nature’s voice in the chirping of night insects and the distant murmuring of the city.
“Everything seems all right here,” muttered Clif. “I guess I was mistaken after all. I think I will----”
He ceased speaking and glanced upward, attracted by a rustling among the leaves of a tree under which he was standing.
Before he could move or cry out, a heavy object dropped swiftly upon him, and he sprawled headlong upon the path unconscious!
Out in the street Joy paced up and down impatiently in the shadows of the trees.
As the minutes passed without sign or sound of Clif, the lanky plebe became uneasy, and he reproached himself for permitting his friend to make the venture alone.
“There was no sense in it, anyway,” he muttered. “I could have gone along just as well as not. If he don’t come out in three seconds, I’ll follow.”
Joy’s “three seconds” soon elapsed, and the plebe made good his word by boldly scaling the wall. This he did by propping a piece of wood against the brick barrier, thus gaining the ironwork at the top.
Dropping lightly upon the soft earth on the other side, he started across the grounds.
He had barely taken a dozen steps when there came through the night air a crash of splintering glass, then a scream of terror.
A moment of breathless silence, then a hoarse murmuring of excited voices, interspersed by occasional shouts. By that time Joy, armed with a stout stick, was bounding in the direction of the uproar.
The intense blackness of the night had given way to a subdued light from the rising moon, whose silvery rim was even then showing above the city.