the first place Merevale was taking prep. over in the Hall, and it was
strictly forbidden for anyone to quit the House after lock-up without
leave. And, besides, it was long odds that Thompson, the Sixth Form
master, would not have the notes, as he had dictated them partly out of
his head and partly from the works of various eminent scholars. The
second course was out of the question. The only other Sixth Form boy in
the House, Tony and Welch being away at Aldershot, was Charteris, and
Charteris, who never worked much except the night before an exam, but
worked then under forced draught, was appalled at the mere suggestion
of letting his note-book out of his hands. Jim had sounded him on the
subject and had met with the reply, 'Kill my father and burn my
ancestral home, and I will look on and smile. But touch these notes and
you rouse the British Lion.' After which he had given up the borrowing
idea.

There remained the third course, and there was an excitement and
sporting interest about it that took him immensely. But how was he to
get out to start with? He opened his study-window and calculated the
risks of a drop to the ground. No, it was too far. Not worth risking a
sprained ankle on the eve of the mile. Then he thought of the Matron's
sitting-room. This was on the ground-floor, and if its owner happened
to be out, exit would be easy. As luck would have it she was out, and
in another minute Jim had crossed the Rubicon and was standing on the
gravel drive which led to the front gate.

A sharp sprint took him to the Pavilion. Now the difficulty was not how
to get out, but how to get in. Theoretically, it should have been the
easiest of tasks, but in practice there were plenty of obstacles to
success. He tried the lower windows, but they were firmly fixed. There
had been a time when one of them would yield to a hard kick and fly
bodily out of its frame, but somebody had been caught playing that game
not long before, and Jim remembered with a pang that not only had the
window been securely fastened up, but the culprit had had a spell of
extra tuition and other punishments which had turned him for the time
into a hater of his species. His own fate, he knew, would be even
worse, for a prefect is supposed to have something better to do in his
spare time than breaking into pavilions. It would mean expulsion
perhaps, or, at the least, the loss of his prefect's cap, and Jim did
not want to lose that. Still the thing had to be done if he meant to
score any marks at all in the forthcoming exam. He wavered a while
between a choice of methods, and finally fixed on the crudest of all.
No one was likely to be within earshot, thought he, so he picked up the
largest stone he could find, took as careful aim as the dim light would
allow, and hove it. There was a sickening crash, loud enough, he
thought, to bring the whole School down on him, followed by a prolonged
rattle as the broken pieces of glass fell to the ground.

He held his breath and listened. For a moment all was still, uncannily
still. He could hear the tops of the trees groaning in the slight
breeze that had sprung up, and far away the distant roar of a train.
Then a queer thing happened. He heard a quiet thud, as if somebody had
jumped from a height on to grass, and then quick footsteps.

He waited breathless and rigid, expecting every moment to see a form
loom up beside him in the darkness. It was useless to run. His only
chance was to stay perfectly quiet.

Then it dawned upon him that the man was running away from him, not
towards him. His first impulse was to give chase, but prudence
restrained him. Catching burglars is an exhilarating sport, but it is
best to indulge in it when one is not on a burgling expedition oneself.

Besides he had come out to get his book, and business is business.

There was no time to be lost now, for someone might have heard one or
both of the noises and given the alarm.

Once the window was broken the rest was fairly easy, the only danger
being the pieces of glass. He took off his coat and flung it on to the
sill of the upper window. In a few seconds he was up himself without
injury. He found it a trifle hard to keep his balance, as there was
nothing to hold on to, but he managed it long enough to enable him to
thrust an arm through the gap and turn the handle. After this there was
a bolt to draw, which he managed without difficulty.

The window swung open. Jim jumped in, and groped his way round the room
till he found his book. The other window of the room was wide open. He
shut it for no definite reason, and noticed that a pane had been cut
out entire. The professional cracksman had done his work more neatly
than the amateur.

'Poor chap,' thought Jim, with a chuckle, as he effected a retreat, 'I
must have given him a bit of a start with my half-brick.' After bolting
the window behind him, he climbed down.

As he reached earth again the clock struck a quarter to nine. In
another quarter of an hour prep, would be over and the House door
unlocked, and he would be able to get in again. Nor would the fact of
his being out excite remark, for it was the custom of the
House-Prefects to take the air for the few minutes which elapsed
between the opening of the door and the final locking-up for the night.

The rest of his adventures ran too smoothly to require a detailed
description. Everything succeeded excellently. The only reminiscences
of his escapade were a few cuts in his coat, which went unnoticed, and
the precious book of notes, to which he applied himself with such
vigour in the watches of the night, with a surreptitious candle and a
hamper of apples as aids to study, that, though tired next day, he
managed to do quite well enough in the exam, to pass muster. And, as he
had never had the least prospect of coming out top, or even in the
first five, this satisfied him completely.

Tony listened with breathless interest to Jim's recital of his
adventures, and at the conclusion laughed.

'What a mad thing to go and do,' he said. 'Jolly sporting, though.'

Jim did not join in his laughter.

'Yes, but don't you see,' he said, ruefully, 'what a mess I'm in? If
they find out that I was in the Pav. at the time when the cups were
bagged, how on earth am I to prove I didn't take them myself?'

'By Jove, I never thought of that. But, hang it all, they'd never dream
of accusing a Coll. chap of stealing Sports prizes. This isn't a
reformatory for juvenile hooligans.'

'No, perhaps not.'

'Of course not.'

'Well, even if they didn't, the Old Man would be frightfully sick if he
got to know about it. I'd lose my prefect's cap for a cert.'

'You might, certainly.'

'I should. There wouldn't be any question about it. Why, don't you
remember that business last summer about Cairns? He used to stay out
after lock-up. That was absolutely all he did. Well, the Old 'Un
dropped on him like a hundredweight of bricks. Multiply that by about
ten and you get what he'll do to me if he books me over this job.'

Tony looked thoughtful. The case of Cairns _versus_ The Powers
that were, was too recent to have escaped his memory. Even now Cairns
was to be seen on the grounds with a common School House cap at the
back of his head in place of the prefect's cap which had once adorned
it.

'Yes,' he said, 'you'd lose your cap all right, I'm afraid.'

'Rather. And the sickening part of the business is that this real,
copper-bottomed burglary'll make them hunt about all over the shop for
clues and things, and the odds are they'll find me out, even if they
don't book the real man. Shouldn't wonder if they had a detective down
for a big thing of this sort.'

'They are having one, I heard.'

'There you are, then,' said Jim, dejectedly. 'I'm done, you see.'

'I don't know. I don't believe detectives are much class.'

'Anyhow, he'll probably have gumption enough to spot me.'

Jim's respect for the abilities of our national sleuth-hounds was
greater than Tony's, and a good deal greater than that of most people.


[5]

CONCERNING THE MUTUAL FRIEND


'I wonder where the dear Mutual gets to these afternoons,' said Dallas.

'The who?' asked MacArthur. MacArthur, commonly known as the Babe, was
a day boy. Dallas and Vaughan had invited him to tea in their study.

'Plunkett, you know.'

'Why the Mutual?'

'Mutual Friend, Vaughan's and mine. Shares this study with us. I call
him dear partly because he's head of the House, and therefore, of
course, we respect and admire him.'

'And partly,' put in Vaughan, beaming at the Babe over a frying-pan
full of sausages, 'partly because we love him so. Oh, he's a beauty.'

'No, but rotting apart,' said the Babe, 'what sort of a chap is he? I
hardly know him by sight, even.'

'Should describe him roughly,' said Dallas, 'as a hopeless, forsaken
unspeakable worm.'

'Understates it considerably,' remarked Vaughan. 'His manners are
patronizing, and his customs beastly.'

'He wears spectacles, and reads Herodotus in the original Greek for
pleasure.'

'He sneers at footer, and jeers at cricket. Croquet is his form, I
should say. Should doubt, though, if he even plays that.'

'But why on earth,' said the Babe, 'do you have him in your study?'

Vaughan looked wildly and speechlessly at Dallas, who looked helplessly
back at Vaughan.

'Don't, Babe, please!' said Dallas. 'You've no idea how a remark of
that sort infuriates us. You surely don't suppose we'd have the man in
the study if we could help it?'

'It's another instance of Ward at his worst,' said Vaughan. 'Have you
never heard the story of the Mutual Friend's arrival?'

'No.'

'It was like this. At the beginning of this term I came back expecting
to be head of this show. You see, Richards left at Christmas and I was
next man in. Dallas and I had made all sorts of arrangements for having
a good time. Well, I got back on the last evening of the holidays. When
I got into this study, there was the man Plunkett sitting in the best
chair, reading.'

'Probably reading Herodotus in the original Greek,' snorted Dallas.

'He didn't take the slightest notice of me. I stood in the doorway like
Patience on a monument for about a quarter of an hour. Then I coughed.
He took absolutely no notice. I coughed again, loud enough to crack the
windows. Then I got tired of it, and said "Hullo". He did look up at
that. "Hullo," he said, "you've got rather a nasty cough." I said
"Yes", and waited for him to throw himself on my bosom and explain
everything, you know.'

'Did he?' asked the Babe, deeply interested.

'Not a bit,' said Dallas, 'he - sorry, Vaughan, fire ahead.'

'He went on reading. After a bit I said I hoped he was fairly
comfortable. He said he was. Conversation languished again. I made
another shot. "Looking for anybody?" I said. "No," he said, "are you?"
"No." "Then why the dickens should I be?" he said. I didn't quite
follow his argument. In fact, I don't even now. "Look here," I said,
"tell me one thing. Have you or have you not bought this place? If you
have, all right. If you haven't, I'm going to sling you out, and jolly
soon, too." He looked at me in his superior sort of way, and observed
without blenching that he was head of the House.'

'Just another of Ward's jars,' said Dallas. 'Knowing that Vaughan was
keen on being head of the House he actually went to the Old Man and
persuaded him that it would be better to bring in some day boy who was
a School-prefect than let Vaughan boss the show. What do you think of
that?'

'Pretty low,' said the Babe.

'Said I was thoughtless and headstrong,' cut in Vaughan, spearing a
sausage as if it were Mr Ward's body. 'Muffins up, Dallas, old man.
When the sausages are done to a turn. "Thoughtless and headstrong."
Those were his very words.'

'Can't you imagine the old beast?' said Dallas, pathetically, 'Can't
you see him getting round the Old Man? A capital lad at heart, I am
sure, distinctly a capital lad, but thoughtless and headstrong, far too
thoughtless for a position so important as that of head of my House.
The abandoned old wreck!'

Tea put an end for the moment to conversation, but when the last
sausage had gone the way of all flesh, Vaughan returned to the sore
subject like a moth to a candle.

'It isn't only the not being head of the House that I bar. It's the man
himself. You say you haven't studied Plunkett much. When you get to
know him better, you'll appreciate his finer qualities more. There are
so few of them.'

'The only fine quality I've ever seen in him,' said Dallas, 'is his
habit of slinking off in the afternoons when he ought to be playing
games, and not coming back till lock-up.'

'Which brings us back to where we started,' put in the Babe. 'You were
wondering what he did with himself.'

'Yes, it can't be anything good so we'll put beetles and butterflies
out of the question right away. He might go and poach. There's heaps of
opportunity round here for a chap who wants to try his hand at that. I
remember, when I was a kid, Morton Smith, who used to be in this
House - remember him? - took me to old what's-his-name's place. Who's
that frantic blood who owns all that land along the Badgwick road? The
M.P. man.'

'Milord Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., of Badgwick Hall.'

'That's the man. Generally very much of Badgwick Hall. Came down last
summer on Prize Day. One would have thought from the side on him that
he was all sorts of dooks. Anyhow, Morton-Smith took me rabbiting
there. I didn't know it was against the rules or anything. Had a grand
time. A few days afterwards, Milord Sir Venner copped him on the hop
and he got sacked. There was an awful row. I thought my hair would have
turned white.'

'I shouldn't think the Mutual poaches,' said Vaughan. 'He hasn't got
the enterprise to poach an egg even. No, it can't be that.'

'Perhaps he bikes?' said the Babe.

'No, he's not got a bike. He's the sort of chap, though, to borrow
somebody else's without asking. Possibly he does bike.'

'If he does,' said Dallas, 'it's only so as to get well away from the
Coll., before starting on his career of crime. I'll swear he does break
rules like an ordinary human being when he thinks it's safe. Those
aggressively pious fellows generally do.'

'I didn't know he was that sort,' said the Babe. 'Don't you find it
rather a jar?'

'Just a bit. He jaws us sometimes till we turn and rend him.'

'Yes, he's an awful man,' said Vaughan.

'Don't stop,' said the Babe, encouragingly, after the silence had
lasted some time. 'It's a treat picking a fellow to pieces like this.'

'I don't know if that's your beastly sarcasm, Babe,' said Vaughan,
'but, speaking for self and partner, I don't know how we should get on
if we didn't blow off steam occasionally in this style.'

'We should probably last out for a week, and then there would be a
sharp shriek, a hollow groan, and all that would be left of the Mutual
Friend would be a slight discolouration on the study carpet.'

'Coupled with an aroma of fresh gore.'

'Perhaps that's why he goes off in the afternoons,' suggested the Babe.
'Doesn't want to run any risks.'

'Shouldn't wonder.'

'He's such a rotten head of the House, too,' said Vaughan. 'Ward may
gas about my being headstrong and thoughtless, but I'm dashed if I
would make a bally exhibition of myself like the Mutual.'

'What's he do?' enquired the Babe.

'It's not so much what he does. It's what he doesn't do that sickens
me,' said Dallas. 'I may be a bit of a crock in some ways - for further
details apply to Ward - but I can stop a couple of fags ragging if I
try.'

'Can't Plunkett?'

'Not for nuts. He's simply helpless when there's anything going on that
he ought to stop. Why, the other day there was a row in the fags' room
that you could almost have heard at your place, Babe. We were up here
working. The Mutual was jawing as usual on the subject of cramming tips
for the Aeschylus exam. Said it wasn't scholarship, or some rot. What
business is it of his how a chap works, I should like to know. Just as
he had got under way, the fags began kicking up more row than ever.'

'I said', cut in Vaughan, 'that instead of minding other people's
business, he'd better mind his own for a change, and go down and stop
the row.'

'He looked a bit green at that,' said Dallas. 'Said the row didn't
interfere with him. "Does with us," I said. "It's all very well for
you. You aren't doing a stroke of work. No amount of row matters to a
chap who's only delivering a rotten sermon on scholarship. Vaughan and
I happen to be trying to do some work." "All right," he said, "if you
want the row stopped, why don't you go and stop it? What's it got to do
with me?"'

'Rotter!' interpolated the Babe.

'Wasn't he? Well, of course we couldn't stand that.'

'We crushed him,' said Vaughan.

'I said: "In my young days the head of the House used to keep order for
himself." I asked him what he thought he was here for. Because he isn't
ornamental. So he went down after that.'

'Well?' said the Babe. Being a miserable day boy he had had no
experience of the inner life of a boarding House, which is the real
life of a public school. His experience of life at St Austin's was
limited to doing his work and playing centre-three-quarter for the
fifteen. Which, it may be remarked in passing, he did extremely well.

Dallas took up the narrative. 'Well, after he'd been gone about five
minutes, and the row seemed to be getting worse than ever, we thought
we'd better go down and investigate. So we did.'

'And when we got to the fags' room,' said Vaughan, pointing the
toasting-fork at the Babe by way of emphasis, 'there was the Mutual
standing in the middle of the room gassing away with an expression on
his face a cross between a village idiot and an unintelligent fried
egg. And all round him was a seething mass of fags, half of them
playing soccer with a top-hat and the other half cheering wildly
whenever the Mutual opened his mouth.'

'What did you do?'

'We made an aggressive movement in force. Collared the hat, brained
every fag within reach, and swore we'd report them to the beak and so
on. They quieted down in about three and a quarter seconds by
stopwatch, and we retired, taking the hat as a prize of war, and
followed by the Mutual Friend.'

'He looked worried, rather,' said Vaughan. 'And, thank goodness, he let
us alone for the rest of the evening.'

'That's only a sample, though,' explained Dallas. 'That sort of thing
has been going on the whole term. If the head of a House is an abject
lunatic, there's bound to be ructions. Fags simply live for the sake of
kicking up rows. It's meat and drink to them.'

'I wish the Mutual would leave,' said Vaughan. 'Only that sort of chap
always lingers on until he dies or gets sacked.'

'He's not the sort of fellow to get sacked, I should say,' said the
Babe.

''Fraid not. I wish I could shunt into some other House. Between Ward
and the Mutual life here isn't worth living.'

'There's Merevale's, now,' said Vaughan. 'I wish I was in there. In the
first place you've got Merevale. He gets as near perfection as a beak
ever does. Coaches the House footer and cricket, and takes an
intelligent interest in things generally. Then there are some decent
fellows in Merevale's. Charteris, Welch, Graham, Thomson, heaps of
them.'

'Pity you came to Ward's,' said the Babe. 'Why did you?'

'My pater knew Ward a bit. If he'd known him well, he'd have sent me
somewhere else.'

'My pater knew Vaughan's pater well, who knew Ward slightly and there
you are. _Voila comme des accidents arrivent_.'

'If Ward wanted to lug in a day boy to be head of the House,' said
Vaughan, harping once more on the old string, 'he might at least have
got somebody decent.'

'There's the great Babe himself. Babe, why don't you come in next
term?'

'Not much,' said the Babe, with a shudder.

'Well, even barring present company, there are lots of chaps who would
have jumped at the chance of being head of a House. But nothing would
satisfy Ward but lugging the Mutual from the bosom of his beastly
family.'

'We haven't decided that point about where he goes to,' said the Babe.

At this moment the door of the study opened, and the gentleman in
question appeared in person. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds,
gasping and throwing his arms about as if he found a difficulty in
making his way in.

'I wish you two wouldn't make such an awful froust in the study
_every_ afternoon,' he observed, pleasantly. 'Have you been having
a little tea-party? How nice!'

'We've been brewing, if that's what you mean,' said Vaughan, shortly.

'Oh,' said Plunkett, 'I hope you enjoyed yourselves. It's nearly
lock-up, MacArthur.'

'That's Plunkett's delicate way of telling you you're not wanted,
Babe.'

'Well, I suppose I ought to be going,' said the Babe. 'So long.'

And he went, feeling grateful to Providence for not having made his
father, like the fathers of Vaughan and Dallas, a casual acquaintance
of Mr Ward.

The Mutual Friend really was a trial to Vaughan and Dallas. Only those
whose fate it is or has been to share a study with an uncongenial
companion can appreciate their feelings to the full. Three in a study
is always something of a tight fit, and when the three are in a state
of perpetual warfare, or, at the best, of armed truce, things become
very bad indeed.

'Do you find it necessary to have tea-parties every evening?' enquired
Plunkett, after he had collected his books for the night's work. 'The
smell of burnt meat - '

'Fried sausages,' said Vaughan. 'Perfectly healthy smell. Do you good.'

'It's quite disgusting. Really, the air in here is hardly fit to
breathe.'

'You'll find an excellent brand of air down in the senior study,' said
Dallas, pointedly. 'Don't stay and poison yourself here on _our_
account,' he added. 'Think of your family.'

'I shall work where I choose,' said the Mutual Friend, with dignity.

'Of course, so long as you do work. You mustn't talk. Vaughan and I
have got some Livy to do.'

Plunkett snorted, and the passage of arms ended, as it usually did, in
his retiring with his books to the senior study, leaving Dallas and
Vaughan to discuss his character once more in case there might be any
points of it left upon which they had not touched in previous
conversations.

'This robbery of the pots is a rum thing,' said Vaughan, thoughtfully,
when the last shreds of Plunkett's character had been put through the
mincing-machine to the satisfaction of all concerned.

'Yes. It's the sort of thing one doesn't think possible till it
actually happens.'

'What the dickens made them put the things in the Pav. at all? They
must have known it wouldn't be safe.'

'Well, you see, they usually cart them into the Board Room, I believe,
only this time the governors were going to have a meeting there. They
couldn't very well meet in a room with the table all covered with
silver pots.'

'Don't see why.'

'Well, I suppose they could, really, but some of the governors are
fairly nuts on strict form. There's that crock who makes the two-hour
vote of thanks speeches on Prize Day. You can see him rising to a point
of order, and fixing the Old 'Un with a fishy eye.'

'Well, anyhow, I don't see that they can blame a burglar for taking the
pots if they simply chuck them in his way like that.'

'No. I say, we'd better weigh in with the Livy. The man Ward'll be
round directly. Where's the dic? _And_ our invaluable friend, Mr
Bohn? Right. Now, you reel it off, and I'll keep an eye on the notes.'
And they settled down to the business of the day.

After a while Vaughan looked up.

'Who's going to win the mile?' he asked.

'What's the matter with Thomson?'

'How about Drake then?'

'Thomson won the half.'

'I knew you'd say that. The half isn't a test of a chap's mile form.
Besides, did you happen to see Drake's sprint?'

'Jolly good one.'

'I know, but look how late he started for it. Thomson crammed on the
pace directly he got into the straight. Drake only began to put it on
when he got to the Pav. Even then he wasn't far behind at the tape.'

'No. Well, I'm not plunging either way. Ought to be a good race.'

'Rather. I say, I wonder Welch doesn't try his hand at the mile. I
believe he would do some rattling times if he'd only try.'

'Why, Welch is a sprinter.'

'I know. But I believe for all that that the mile's his distance. He's
always well up in the cross-country runs.'

'Anyhow, he's not in for it this year. Thomson's my man. It'll be a
near thing, though.'

'Jolly near thing. With Drake in front.'

'Thomson.'

'Drake.'

'All right, we'll see. Wonder why the beak doesn't come up. I can't sit
here doing Livy all the evening. And yet if we stop he's bound to look
in.'

'Oh Lord, is that what you've been worrying about? I thought you'd
developed the work habit or something. Ward's all right. He's out on
the tiles tonight. Gone to a dinner at Philpott's.'

'Good man, how do you know? Are you certain?'

'Heard him telling Prater this morning. Half the staff have gone. Good
opportunity for a chap to go for a stroll if he wanted to. Shall we, by
the way?'

'Not for me, thanks. I'm in the middle of a rather special book. Ever
read _Great Expectations_? Dickens, you know.'

'I know. Haven't read it, though. Always rather funk starting on a
classic, somehow. Good?'

'My dear chap! Good's not the word.'

'Well, after you. Exit Livy, then. And a good job, too. You might pass
us the great Sherlock. Thanks.'

He plunged with the great detective into the mystery of the speckled
band, while Vaughan opened _Great Expectations_ at the place where
he had left off the night before. And a silence fell upon the study.

Curiously enough, Dallas was not the only member of Ward's House to
whom it occurred that evening that the absence of the House-master
supplied a good opportunity for a stroll. The idea had also struck
Plunkett favourably. He was not feeling very comfortable down-stairs.
On entering the senior study he found Galloway, an Upper Fourth member
of the House, already in possession. Galloway had managed that evening
to insinuate himself with such success into the good graces of the
matron, that he had been allowed to stay in the House instead of
proceeding with the rest of the study to the Great Hall for
preparation. The palpable failure of his attempt to hide the book he
was reading under the table when he was disturbed led him to cast at
the Mutual Friend, the cause of his panic, so severe and forbidding a
look, that that gentleman retired, and made for the junior study.

The atmosphere in the junior study was close, and heavy with a blend of
several strange odours. Plunkett went to the window. Then he noticed
what he had never noticed before, that there were no bars to the
window. Only the glass stood between him and the outer world. He threw
up the sash as far as it would go. There was plenty of room to get out.
So he got out. He stood for a moment inhaling the fresh air. Then,
taking something from his coat-pocket, he dived into the shadows. An
hour passed. In the study above, Dallas, surfeited with mysteries and
villainy, put down his book and stretched himself.

'I say, Vaughan,' he said. 'Have you settled the House gym. team yet?
It's about time the list went up.'

'Eh? What?' said Vaughan, coming slowly out of his book.

Dallas repeated his question.

'Yes,' said Vaughan, 'got it somewhere on me. Haynes, Jarvis, and
myself are going in. Only, the Mutual has to stick up the list.'

It was the unwritten rule in Ward's, as in most of the other Houses at
the School, that none but the head of the House had the right of
placing notices on the House board.

'I know,' said Dallas. 'I'll go and buck him up now.'

'Don't trouble. After prayers'll do.'

'It's all right. No trouble. Whom did you say? Yourself, Haynes - '

'And Jarvis. Not that he's any good. But the third string never matters
much, and it'll do him good to represent the House.'

'Right. I'll go and unearth the Mutual.'

The result was that Galloway received another shock to his system.

'Don't glare, Galloway. It's rude,' said Dallas.

'Where's Plunkett got to?' he added.

'Junior study,' said Galloway.

Dallas went to the junior study. There were Plunkett's books on the
table, but of their owner no signs were to be seen. The Mutual Friend
had had the good sense to close the window after he had climbed through
it, and Dallas did not suspect what had actually happened. He returned
to Vaughan.

'The Mutual isn't in either of the studies,' he said. 'I didn't want to
spend the evening playing hide-and-seek with him, so I've come back.'

'It doesn't matter, thanks all the same. Later on'll do just as well.'

'Do you object to the window going up?' asked Dallas. 'There's a bit of
a froust on in here.'

'Rather not. Heave it up.'

Dallas hove it. He stood leaning out, looking towards the College
buildings, which stood out black and clear against the April sky. From
out of the darkness in the direction of Stapleton sounded the
monotonous note of a corn-crake.

'Jove,' he said, 'it's a grand night. If I was at home now I shouldn't
be cooped up indoors like this.'

'Holidays in another week,' said Vaughan, joining him. 'It is ripping,
isn't it? There's something not half bad in the Coll. buildings on a
night like this. I shall be jolly sorry to leave, in spite of Ward and
the Mutual.'

'Same here, by Jove. We've each got a couple more years, though, if it
comes to that. Hullo, prep.'s over.'

The sound of footsteps began to be heard from the direction of the
College. Nine had struck from the School clock, and the Great Hall was
emptying.

'Your turn to read at prayers, Vaughan. Hullo, there's the Mutual.
Didn't hear him unlock the door. Glad he has, though. Saves us
trouble.'

'I must be going down to look up a bit to read. Do you remember when
Harper read the same bit six days running? I shall never forget Ward's
pained expression. Harper explained that he thought the passage so
beautiful that he couldn't leave it.'

'Why don't you try that tip?'

'Hardly. My reputation hasn't quite the stamina for the test.'

Vaughan left the room. At the foot of the stairs he was met by the
matron.

'Will you unlock the door, please, Vaughan,' she said, handing him a
bunch of keys. 'The boys will be coming in in a minute.'

'Unlock the door?' repeated Vaughan. 'I thought it was unlocked. All
right.'

'By Jove,' he thought, 'the plot thickens. What is our only Plunkett
doing out of the House when the door is locked, I wonder.'

Plunkett strolled in with the last batch of the returning crowd,
wearing on his face the virtuous look of one who has been snatching a
whiff of fresh air after a hard evening's preparation.

'Oh, I say, Plunkett,' said Vaughan, when they met in the study after
prayers, 'I wanted to see you. Where have you been?'

'I have been in the junior study. Where did you think I had been?'

'Oh.'

'Do you doubt my word?'

'I've the most exaggerated respect for your word, but you weren't in
the junior study at five to nine.'

'No, I went up to my dormitory about that time. You seem remarkably
interested in my movements.'

'Only wanted to see you about the House gym. team. You might shove up
the list tonight. Haynes, Jarvis, and myself.'

'Very well.'

'I didn't say anything to him,' said Vaughan to Dallas as they were
going to their dormitories, 'but, you know, there's something jolly
fishy about the Mutual. That door wasn't unlocked when we saw him
outside. I unlocked it myself. Seems to me the Mutual's been having a
little private bust of his own on the quiet.'

'That's rum. He might have been out by the front way to see one of the
beaks, though.'

'Well, even then he would be breaking rules. You aren't allowed to go
out after lock-up without House beak's leave. No, I find him guilty.'

'If only he'd go and get booked!' said Vaughan. 'Then he might have to
leave. But he won't. No such luck.'

'No,' said Dallas. 'Good-night.'

'Good-night.'

Certainly there was something mysterious about the matter.


[6]

A LITERARY BANQUET


Charteris and Welch were conversing in the study of which they were the
joint proprietors. That is to say, Charteris was talking and playing
the banjo alternately, while Welch was deep in a book and refused to be
drawn out of it under any pretext. Charteris' banjo was the joy of his
fellows and the bane of his House-master. Being of a musical turn and
owning a good deal of pocket-money, he had, at the end of the summer
holidays, introduced the delights of a phonograph into the House. This
being vetoed by the House-master, he had returned at the beginning of
the following term with a penny whistle, which had suffered a similar
fate. Upon this he had invested in a banjo, and the dazed Merevale,
feeling that matters were getting beyond his grip, had effected a
compromise with him. Having ascertained that there was no specific rule
at St Austin's against the use of musical instruments, he had informed
Charteris that if he saw fit to play the banjo before prep, only, and
regarded the hours between seven and eleven as a close time, all should
be forgiven, and he might play, if so disposed, till the crack of doom.
To this reasonable request Charteris had promptly acceded, and peace
had been restored. Charteris and Welch were a curious pair. Welch spoke
very little. Charteris was seldom silent. They were both in the
Sixth - Welch high up, Charteris rather low down. In games, Welch was
one of those fortunate individuals who are good at everything. He was
captain of cricket, and not only captain, but also the best all-round
man in the team, which is often a very different matter. He was the
best wing three-quarter the School possessed; played fives and racquets
like a professor, and only the day before had shared Tony's glory by
winning the silver medal for fencing in the Aldershot competition.

The abilities of Charteris were more ordinary. He was a sound bat, and
went in first for the Eleven, and played half for the Fifteen. As
regards work, he might have been brilliant if he had chosen, but his
energies were mainly devoted to the compilation of a monthly magazine
(strictly unofficial) entitled _The Glow Worm_. This he edited,
and for the most part wrote himself. It was a clever periodical, and
rarely failed to bring him in at least ten shillings per number, after
deducting the expenses which the College bookseller, who acted as sole
agent, did his best to make as big as possible. Only a very few of the
elect knew the identity of the editor, and they were bound to strict
secrecy. On the day before the publication of each number, a notice was
placed in the desk of the captain of each form, notifying him of what
the morrow would bring forth, and asking him to pass it round the form.
That was all. The School did the rest. _The Glow Worm_ always sold
well, principally because of the personal nature of its contents. If
the average mortal is told that there is something about him in a
paper, he will buy that paper at your own price.

Today he was giving his monthly tea in honour of the new number. Only
contributors were invited, and the menu was always of the best. It was
a _Punch_ dinner, only more so, for these teas were celebrated
with musical honours, and Charteris on the banjo was worth hearing. His
rendering of extracts from the works of Messrs Gilbert and Sullivan was
an intellectual treat.

'When I take the chair at our harmonic club!' he chanted, fixing the
unconscious Welch with a fiery glance. 'Welch!'

'Yes.'

'If this is your idea of a harmonic club, it isn't mine. Put down that
book, and try and be sociable.'

'One second,' said Welch, burrowing still deeper.

'That's what you always say,' said Charteris. 'Look here - Come in.'

There had been a knock at the door as he was speaking. Tony entered,
accompanied by Jim. They were regular attendants at these banquets, for
between them they wrote most of what was left of the magazine when
Charteris had done with it. There was only one other contributor,
Jackson, of Dawson's House, and he came in a few minutes later. Welch
was the athletics expert of the paper, and did most of the match
reports.

'Now we're complete,' said Charteris, as Jackson presented himself.
'Gentlemen - your seats. There are only four chairs, and we, as
Wordsworth might have said, but didn't, are five. All right, I'll sit
on the table. Welch, you worm, away with melancholy. Take away his
book, somebody. That's right. Who says what? Tea already made. Coffee
published shortly. If anybody wants cocoa, I've got some, only you'll
have to boil more water. I regret the absence of menu-cards, but as the
entire feast is visible to the naked eye, our loss is immaterial. The
offertory will be for the Church expenses fund. Biscuits, please.'

'I wish you'd given this tea after next Saturday, Alderman,' said Jim.
Charteris was called the Alderman on account of his figure, which was
inclined to stoutness, and his general capacity for consuming food.

'Never put off till tomorrow - Why?'

'I simply must keep fit for the mile. How's Welch to run, too, if he
eats this sort of thing?' He pointed to the well-spread board.

'Yes, there's something in that,' said Tony. 'Thank goodness, my little
entertainment's over. I think I _will_ try one of those chocolate
things. Thanks.'

'Welch is all right,' said Jackson. 'He could win the hundred and the
quarter on sausage-rolls. But think of the times.'

'And there,' observed Charteris, 'there, my young friend, you have
touched upon a sore subject. Before you came in I was administering a
few wholesome words of censure to that miserable object on your right.
What is a fifth of a second more or less that it should make a man
insult his digestion as Welch does? You'll hardly credit it, but for
the last three weeks or more I have been forced to look on a
fellow-being refusing pastry and drinking beastly extracts of meat, all
for the sake of winning a couple of races. It quite put me off my feed.
Cake, please. Good robust slice. Thanks.'

'It's rather funny when you come to think of it,' said Tony. 'Welch
lives on Bovril for, a month, and then, just as he thinks he's going to
score, a burglar with a sense of humour strolls into the Pav.,
carefully selects the only two cups he had a chance of winning, and so
to bed.'

'Leaving Master J. G. Welch an awful example of what comes of
training,' said Jim. 'Welch, you're a rotter.'

'It isn't my fault,' observed Welch, plaintively. 'You chaps seem to
think I've committed some sort of crime, just because a man I didn't
know from Adam has bagged a cup or two.'

'It looks to me,' said Charteris, 'as if Welch, thinking his chances of
the quarter rather rocky, hired one of his low acquaintances to steal
the cup for him.'

'Shouldn't wonder. Welch knows some jolly low characters in Stapleton.'

'Welch is a jolly low character himself,' said Tony, judicially. 'I
wonder you associate with him, Alderman.'

'Stand _in loco parentis_. Aunt of his asked me to keep an eye on
him. "Dear George is so wild,"' she said.

Before Welch could find words to refute this hideous slander, Tony cut
in once more.

'The only reason he doesn't drink gin and play billiards at the "Blue

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