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 *ling at intervals, Billy got his books and closed the door behind himself and Clif.

"That's the best we can do," he said, as they made their way down the stairs. "It may fool him and it may not. The rest, Clif, is in the lap of the gods!"

It was about half-past eight when Mr. McKnight finished Chopin's Waltz in G Flat Major, and arose from the piano. Study hour was the one hour of the twenty-four in which he felt at liberty to use the piano to his heart's content, and he was loth to lose the time entailed by a visit to Number 34. Even after he was on his feet another sheet of music caught his eye, and he opened it on the rack and tentatively fingered the first bars before finally and resolutely tearing himself away. The corridors were pleasantly silent as he made his way upstairs and tapped lightly at the closed portal of Number 34. There was no reply, and he turned the knob and thrust the door inward. The room was in darkness and no sound came to him. Evidently his advice had been acted on, for Kemble was not only in bed but sleeping extraordinarily peacefully. Mr. McKnight's gaze took in the shoes beneath the chair, and the garments above. The sleeper remained undisturbed, oblivious of the intrusion. The instructor smiled as he closed the door softly again and walked noiselessly away.

"Nothing much wrong with him, I guess, if he can sleep like that," he told himself as he sought the stairway. "Probably be all right when he wakes up." Then