After a moment he arose resolutely and crossed the corridor to Number 23. Stillwell was at home, and, although he had his books spread before him on the table, he was concerned with a quite different task than studying. He had three hockey sticks across his knees and was binding electric tape around the blade of one of them. He looked mildly surprised at Toby’s entrance, but was cordial enough. “I’m patching up some old sticks,” he explained. “They do well enough for practice. Sit down, Tucker. What’s on your mind?” “I can’t stay, thanks,” answered the visitor. “I want to ask you a question, Stillwell. You may think it’s funny, and you needn’t answer it if you don’t want to. Anyway, I’d rather you didn’t tell any one I’d asked it.” “Hello! What’s the mystery? Fire away, Tucker. I’ll be as silent as the grave. Only, if it’s anything incriminating――” “Did Frank Lamson visit you last night?” “Huh? Frank Lamson?” Stillwell looked at Toby in a puzzled way and shook his head slowly. “Not last night, Tucker. Lamson hasn’t been here this term as far as I know. Unless, of course, he came when I was out. But he couldn’t have done that last night because I was here all the evening.” “You’re――you’re sure?” “Don’t be an idiot, Tucker! Of course I’m sure. What’s the row, anyway?” “It’s nothing of any importance,” said Toby. “Much obliged.” “You’re welcome,” laughed the other, “but I’ll be lying awake half the night trying to solve the mystery. You really oughtn’t to spring anything like that, Tucker, unless you can come across with the answer!” “I’m sorry,” replied Toby apologetically. “I’d explain it if I could, but I really can’t, Stillwell.” “All right, my boy. Don’t let it bother you. If Lamson committed the foul deed, I hope the hounds of Justice get him.” “W-what foul deed?” stammered Toby in surprise. Stillwell laughed again. “Don’t ask me! I’m only guessing.” “Oh!” Toby’s ejaculation expressed relief. He smiled. “You’ve been reading dime novels, I guess. Good-night, and thanks.”