“Go as far as you like, Sleuth,” smiled Nelson. “As far as I’m concerned you have free rein, but don’t drag me into it in any way.” CHAPTER VII YOUNG SPORTS. After shivering for more than half an hour beneath a tree across the street from Mrs. Chester’s home, Sleuth Piper finally decided to make a move. Since seeking the hiding shelter of that tree he had seen four boys ascend the widow’s steps, ring the bell and obtain admission. It was now some time since the last one had disappeared within the house, and Piper believed no more were to follow. There was a light in Osgood’s room on the second floor, but the shades were closely drawn at the windows. Sleuth would have given much had he been able to look through those windows, but being prevented from doing so, he had decided on a bold move. Swiftly crossing the road, he softly mounted the steps and hastily gave a single ring at the bell. After a few moments the summons was answered by a maid, and the boy boldly entered the moment the door swung open. “I’m to see Osgood,” he said in a low tone. “I’m a little late. I presume the other fellows are ahead of me?” “Mr. Osgood has several friends with him in his room,” said the girl. “He’s expecting you, isn’t he?” “Why, sure,” returned Piper, although even in his “professional capacity” his conscience was troubled by the falsehood, which surely was something quite surprising in a detective. By the muffled hall light the boy deliberately mounted the carpeted stairs. He heard the maid retire, and the sound of the door closing behind her was most gratifying to his ears. There was little trouble in finding the door of Osgood’s room, for from behind it came the subdued murmur of voices; and, listening, Piper heard at intervals a queer, soft, irregular clicking sound. But when he would have taken a peep through the keyhole, he was much disappointed to find it either plugged or covered on the inside by something that baffled him. “And that proves there’s something queer going on,” he whispered to himself. “They’re not talking loud, either; they’re keeping their voices down. A lot of fellows who get together and chat free and easy don’t bother to talk that way. Wish I could hear something more.” After a time, growing desperate through the intensity of his increasing curiosity, he placed his hand gently on the knob of the door with his ear close to the panel, and, when the talk seemed to be a bit more general inside, he softly and slowly turned the knob. The door was locked! “That settles it,” he mentally exclaimed. “There’s something off color taking place here.” Still with the utmost caution, he permitted the spring slowly to force the catch back into place and removed his hand from the knob. “There’s just one thing to do now,” he decided; “I’ve got to put on a bold front. It’s the only play for me to make.” Lifting his hand, he knocked softly upon the door.