He took Roy’s arm, and, like guilty creatures, they stole out of the room and tiptoed down the stairs. It was necessary for Osgood to caution Hooker about descending in the dim light of the hall lamp. At the outer door Ned made them wait while he took a look into the street. “Nobody in sight,” he announced in a low voice. “It’s a good time to get away, fellows. Good night.” With muttered good nights they left the house and descended the steps, Springer having taken Hooker’s arm. The air was damp and raw, and Piper’s teeth chattered a little. “Too bad our little pup-party busted up that way,” muttered Phil; “but we were lucky to gug-gug-get out without anybody getting wise. Osgood’s a fine chap, but if people knew about our playing in his rooms and this scrap to-night, they’d think him a regular pirate. Every old gossip in town would gug-gabble.” “What worries me most,” ventured Cooper, “is about Hooker. Don’t you feel all right now, Roy?” “Perhaps he doesn’t want to speak,” whispered Piper. “S’pose he can get home all right?” “Somebody had bub-better go with him,” said Springer. “It’s out of my way, but it’s on your road, Cooper. He’s all right, only he doesn’t talk. You see that he gets home, will you?” “Yes, you see that he gets home, Chipper,” urged Sleuth quickly. “I’ll be late now. If the folks are still up, I’ll have to make excuses. Good night, fellows.” Turning into a side street, he set off at a run. CHAPTER X THE LIE. All night long, when he slept at all, Billy Piper played poker in his dreams, tossing and muttering and clawing at the bedding with his hands. But there were several protracted periods in those dark hours when he lay awake, thinking wretchedly of the almost tragic end of that game in Osgood’s rooms. Never had he spent a worse night, and when the gray light of “the morning after” came stealing in at his bedroom window he prayed sincerely that he might never experience another like it. Dawn brought him some relief from those distressing dreams and haunting visions of Hooker’s prone, coatless figure and ghastly face; and, utterly worn out, he finally sank into a heavy doze. From this he was awakened by the sound of his mother’s voice calling that it was time for him to get up if he wished any breakfast. Her call had startled him and caused him to jerk himself partly upright in bed, where he remained propped upon his elbow as he answered that he would be down directly. This start had caused a throbbing in his temples, and after a bit he dropped back on the pillow, huskily muttering: “What a night—what a horrible night!”