“Hm—yes,” replied the master at length. “And may I ask, do you propose to wallow for the rest of the afternoon in the dirt and snow?” “Not much else to do, sir,” answered Kit ruefully, “we’re gated.” “Ah!” murmured Mr. Roylston, not making the pretense of concealing his satisfaction, “to whom is the credit of having awarded you with your just deserts? I may ask?” “Certainly, sir,” responded Kit blithely, “the Head.” “Ah, indeed. Well, I will note your names.” And with that he passed quickly on. “Ain’t he the tender-hearted elder brother?” said Kit, with a not altogether pleasant glance in the direction of the master’s retreating figure. “Well, I vote we play fox and geese and keep the amiable Gumshoe chasin’ us through the houses. ‘Twill be our only means of getting exercise.” And fox and geese it was, and Mr. Roylston and they had plenty of exercise, and that night Deering and Lawrence and Wilson had a good long rest as they stood outside of Mr. Roylston’s study-door in Howard House until the clock struck twelve. The gating, however, did not last many weeks, and before long our friends were back at their old haunts again. Sandy Maclaren meanwhile was pursuing his investigation with both ardor and discretion. He felt certain of his victims, if he only had patience to watch their doings carefully. Chapin and Marsh were in his house, so that he could note their absences up to lights without deliberately spying. After lights Sandy was at a loss, for he did not believe in going into a boy’s bedroom to see if he were there. Nor on the other hand was it possible often to visit the shanty. However he gained an unexpected ally in his house master, Mr. Roylston. The doings at the shanty in Lovel’s Woods had come to that gentleman’s ears; he also had his suspicions; and he did not share Sandy’s scruples about quietly making sure half-an-hour after lights that none of his boys were out of their rooms. He came one evening toward the end of the term to Maclaren’s study about half-past ten. Sandy was almost ready for bed. “Chapin and Marsh are not in their rooms, Maclaren,” he said. “What, sir?” exclaimed Sandy, starting to his feet, “how do you know, sir?” “That is of no consequence. Chapin and Marsh are out of their rooms.” “Do you know where they are, sir?” “I have some reason to suspect that they are playing poker in that wretched shanty in the Woods.” “Oh, but we raided that, you know; took all their stuff,—if it was they.”