Betty’s eyes grew round. “Peaches!” she whispered. “Do you think――” Peaches shrugged. “Might be some risk in it, of course, but if it was done right we ought to get away with it. The main difficulty is that we don’t know where to look for him, Betty.” Betty sighed despondently. “That’s so. His last letter said he was leaving town and didn’t say where he was going. And letters take so long, too!” “Yes, it couldn’t be done that way,” reflected Peaches. “Some one would have to go and fetch him. What’s to-day? Wednesday, eh? To-morrow I have English Lit. at ten-thirty and math, at two.” Peaches looked at his watch. “Three-forty-six. There’s a train north at four-twenty. That gives me thirty-five minutes to get permission from the office and reach the station.” “Peaches, you’re not going to――to――” “Watch me!” said Peaches. CHAPTER XVII CLYDE APOLOGIZES Practice was long and hard, that Wednesday afternoon, and Barry got back to the house somewhat tuckered and discouraged. Things hadn’t gone any too well with him during scrimmage. He had had an off day and no mistake, he reflected. Reviewing events, he shook his head and groaned. Having that kick blocked wasn’t so bad; that had been far less his fault than it might have appeared, for center’s pass had been poor and he had had to step to the left to reach it, delaying his kick by an appreciable fraction of time; but when he had mixed his signals and gone sky-hooting off around left end――Barry shook his head again as he visualized Ike Boardman’s reproachful look. He wanted comfort, and hoped Peaches was in his room. But Peaches wasn’t, and not until he had entered his own room and found a hastily scrawled note on the desk was the mystery explained. Peaches had written in his perfectly abominable fist: Off until to-morrow noon, Betty will explain. Keep mum. Wondering, Barry set forth to look for Betty, but she was not in sight below and he returned upstairs and knocked softly at Toby’s portal. From beyond it came the tap-tap of a small typewriter, a recent acquisition purchased, as Toby had gravely explained, to write labels for his collection. From the sounds Barry gathered that Toby used the two-finger method, and that to muffle the clatter he had taken the instrument on his knees. A second knock was necessary to gain permission to enter, and, as usual, when Barry opened the door he was met with an impatient frown from the occupant. “What’s it now?” demanded Toby, a finger poised above the keyboard. “Gosh! can’t a fellow make a social call on you,” asked Barry, “without becoming a――an object of suspicion? What’s the awful smell in here?” Toby sniffed right, left, and ahead. “I don’t smell anything,” he replied offendedly. “Maybe, though, it’s chloroform; I was using some a while ago. But chloroform isn’t awful.” “Been committing murder again? Say, do you know――I mean have you seen Peaches?”