“If Flapp is drinking he is evidently in this place,” remarked Dick.  “But I don’t see anything of him,” he added, after peering through the swinging doors.

“They tell me this Sherry has a room upstairs, also for drinking purposes,” returned Powell.  “Maybe Flapp and his friends are up there.  They wouldn’t want to be seen in public, you must remember.”

“That is true.  But how do they get upstairs—­through the saloon?”

“There may be a back way.  Let us look.”

They walked around to the rear of the building and here found a door leading into a back hall.  But the door was locked.

“This is the way up, I feel sure,” said Dick.  “Somebody has locked the door as a safeguard.”

“Then, I’m afraid, we’ll have to give it up.”

“Not yet, Songbird.”  Dick had been looking over toward the rear of the butcher shop.  “See, the painters are at work here and have left one of their ladders.  Wonder if we can’t move it over and put it up under one of those windows?”

The matter was talked over for a minute, and then the two boys took hold of the long ladder and did as Dick desired.

“This may be a wild goose chase,” was Powell’s comment.  “And if it is, and Mike Sherry discovers us, he’ll want us to explain.  Maybe he’ll take us for burglars.”

“You can keep shady if you want to, Songbird.  I’m going up,” and so speaking Dick began to mount the ladder.

The window under which the ladder had been placed was open from the top only, and a half curtain over the lower portion hid what was beyond from view.  So, in order to look over the curtain, Dick had to climb to the very top of the ladder and then brace his feet on the window sill.

He could now hear voices quite plainly, and presently heard Lew Flapp speak.

“I’m on the right track,” he called softly to Powell.  “They are in the room next to this one, but the door between is wide open.”

“Shall.  I come up?”

“Suit yourself.  I’m going inside.”

As good as his word, Dick slipped over the top of the lowered window sash, and an instant later stood in the room, which was but dimly lit.  Then he tiptoed his way behind a door and peeped into the room beyond.

Seven cadets were present, including Lew Flapp, Ben Hurdy, and their particular cronies Jackson, Pender, and Rockley.  The others were two young cadets named Joe Davis and Harry Moss.

On the table in the center of the room stood a platter of chicken sandwiches and also several bottles containing beer and wine, and a box of cigars.  Evidently all of the crowd had been eating and drinking, and now several were filling the apartment with tobacco smoke.

“Come, smoke up, Moss,” cried Lew Flapp, shoving the box of cigars toward one of the younger cadets.  “Don’t be afraid.  It won’t kill you.”

“Thank you, Flapp, but I—­I guess I won’t to-night,” pleaded Harry Moss, whose face was strangely flushed.