The two had been stealthily creeping forward all this while, and were, therefore, gradually diminishing the distance separating them from the bearer of the electric hand-torch.  Thad had evidently been consulting his memory concerning something, for presently he again whispered in his chum’s ear: 

“Then mebbe it might be Leon Disney, Hugh.  Seems to me that sneak would be just the one to try some mean trick like this.  And, besides, I happen to know he bought one of those little vest-pocket lights down at Paul Kramer’s store only three nights ago, because I saw him testing them and heard him say he’d take it.”

“Yes, that looks significant, I must say, Thad.  But I’m trying to make out what he’s done with his head.  Don’t you notice he’s got it bundled up with a sort of woollen comforter or something like that?”

“Why, so he has,” replied the other; “I tell you what, Hugh, he’s hoping to hide his face, so if he’s discovered prowling around in here no one can say positively that they recognized him.  Leon is up to all those sly tricks.  He gets ideas like that out of the stories he’s so fond of soaking in.”

“Keep still now, Thad, and we’ll creep closer,” warned the other.

They really had their hands full endeavoring to advance upon the prowler without making any sort of sound that would arouse his suspicions.  Hugh realized that if anything of this sort occurred the other would instantly throw the full glow of his little electric torch in their direction, and, of course, immediately discover their presence.  If such a thing happened it might interfere with their suddenly arranged plan of campaign, and prevent the capture they contemplated, which would be a grievous disappointment to both boys.

The unknown party had come to a standstill.  He stood there in front of the long row of new lockers in which the boys who meant to take part in the principal events of the great athletic tournament kept their possessions, without which they would be more or less handicapped in their practice work.

Thad had made another important discovery; indeed, it struck him as so significant that he could not forbear dragging Hugh down so that he could place his lips against the other’s ear and whisper: 

“It’s your locker he’s trying to open, Hugh, don’t you see?”

Hugh, of course, had already noted this circumstance, and felt duly thrilled, for really it struck him as something more than an accident, and along the lines of a deep design.  Doubtless, his active brain started to wrestle with the problem as to why any one should wish to open his locker, since the only things he kept there consisted of his running jersey and trunks and shoes.

Could it be possible that this was only some small piece of spite-work engineered by his old and inveterate enemy, Nick Lang, and ordered carried out by one of the bully’s cronies; while Nick himself made certain to be in good company, so he could easily prove an alibi if accused of the mean trick.