"Whene'er thou hear'st thy chieftain's call,Rest not, pause not, hither crawl,Or to the realms of Creepy-crawly,Shivery-shaky, we will haul thee."
"Whene'er thou hear'st thy chieftain's call,Rest not, pause not, hither crawl,Or to the realms of Creepy-crawly,Shivery-shaky, we will haul thee."
Plunger groaned again. Harry again echoed it.
"What are you making that row for, you little ass?" cried Plunger testily.
"Thought I'd cheer you up a bit. You look just awful, Plunger!"
"You look worse than that! Ever seen a petrified mummy? No? Well, just look at yourself in the glass, then! What's your letter about?"
They exchanged letters, and found that they were in precisely the same terms—that both were summonses for them to appear before "the Mystic Order" at the same date and hour.
The two boys looked at each other blankly. How were they to act? What was to be done? If they refused to obey the summons from the "Mystic Brethren," they knew not what would be the penalty. The more they looked at the letters, with their grotesque design, the more imposing they seemed.
"What's to be done, Freddy?" asked Harry, when they were outside the shop.
"We shall have to go, I suppose!" answered Plunger despondently. "We've given ourselves away, you see. We're one of them—one of the wretched Beetles. We've taken the vow of allegiance. They've got us in a tight corner."
"What's the 'realms of Creepy-crawly, Shivery-shaky' I wonder?" asked Harry, in an equally dejected tone.
"Some ditch with plenty of toads and slime about it, I expect. You needn't be anxious. We'll know soon enough!" groaned Plunger. "I wish to goodness you'd been anywhere before you let me in for this mess! Why did they ever let you loose from Gaffer Quelch's?"
"Oh, shut up, Plunger! You're tiring! After all, you wouldn't make such a bad Beetle. You can crawl a lot better than you can punt, and——Oh, oh!"
Plunger had caught him by the ear and given it a vigorous pull. Harry returned it by kicking Plunger on the shins. Having thus equalised matters, they became once more on friendly terms.
"Look here, Harry, we're both in the same boat. Supposing we don't go?"
"Then what'll happen?"
"I don't know. We shall have to chance that. They can't eat us."
"Oh, but I'm not afraid! It's not that; but—but I don't somehow like breaking my word."
"Neither do I. It's jolly awkward; yet, come to think of it, I don't see why we shouldn't."
"We promised to be true to the cause."
"Yes; but the promise was got from us by force, and that isn't binding. I've heard my pater say so."
"Oh, he's in the glue line, and ought to know what's binding! Stop it, Plunger!"—as Plunger seized him once more by the ear. "That's the worst of you. You don't know a compliment when you hear one. Don't I wish my pater was in the glue line! It's fine stuff. Made out of horses' hoofs, isn't it? Well, go on. Not binding, you said. How do you make that out?"
"Haven't I said, stupid—because it was got from us by force? But don't take my word for it. Let's ask your cousin. Will that satisfy you?"
Harry at once consented. He still had the highest admiration for his cousin, notwithstanding the fact that he had been defeated by a Beetle. They returned to the school, where they were not long in finding Stanley, who had just been joined by Newall.
"We want to talk with you alone, if—if you wouldn't mind, Stan," said Harry.
"You don't think that I'm going to clear out for any of you Lower Form cubs, do you?" sneered Newall.
"Oh, you can speak before Newall as you would before me, Harry! Come, fire away!"
Harry still hesitated. He could not forget how Newall had served him when he first came there, but while he was hesitating Plunger began:
"This is what we want to know. Supposing any fellows in this school—we won't mention names—happened to be captured by the enemy, and supposing the enemy forced them into a—a——"
"Secret society," put in Harry, as Plunger came to a standstill.
"Yes, secret society. A kind of brotherhood—vendetta, with masks and knives and forks—daggers, I mean—and that sort of thing——"
"Now, look here, Master Plunger, stop plunging! Drop it, and come to the point!" said Stanley firmly. "What do you want to know? Come, Harry; you're not so gassy. Perhaps we can get some sense out of you."
Harry explained as well as he was able what they wanted to know. Stanley at once decided that a promise given under such circumstances was not binding, and his opinion was, of course, backed up by Newall, who was eager to know what this mystery could mean. Thus assured, Plunger and Harry told them all that had happened on the afternoon they had been captured by the "Mystic Brethren." As may be imagined, Stanley and Newall were greatly excited by the story—especially that portion of it referring to Paul.
"Now are you satisfied?" cried Newall triumphantly. "Didn't I always say what Percival was? He's not only a cur, but a traitor!"
And Stanley, who in days gone by would have fiercely resented the slightest reflection on Paul, allowed the words to go unchallenged.
"You're quite certain that it was Percival you saw?" he at length asked.
"Am I certain that I see you?" answered Plunger. "Besides, Harry saw him, too. Both of us couldn't be mistaken."
"There wasn't much mistake, Stan. I wish there had been. That makes the second time I've seen them together."
"If you don't believe us, you'd better put to him the question straight. Send for him now, and put him face to face with us. See if he'll deny it then!"
"I think you're right, Plunger. We'll send for Percival, and see what he has to say. You go and fetch him, Harry. You'll find him somewhere about the grounds.
"One moment. Don't be in a hurry. We've got an artful young gentleman to deal with, and if we want to find things out, and pay back the Bedes in their own coin, we shall have to be artful as well. We mustn't show our hand too soon."
"I don't quite understand."
"No; but I'll make all clear in a word or two. If we call in Percival, we shall not get much from him. It isn't likely he'll give himself away. He'll say that Plunger was mistaken; that it wasn't him, but somebody else who was talking to the fellow up at Bedes. What we've got to do is to meet craft with craft, and go one better than Percival at his own game."
"Hear, hear!" cried Plunger. "But how are you going to do it? Strikes me you'll have to get up very early in the morning to score off Percival."
"We sha'n't score if you keep that noisy tongue of yours wagging, Mr. Plunger. All you've got to do is to keep quiet till to-morrow evening, and then you can let it wag again as much as you please. My scheme is this: We've first got to make good your word about the flag. If we can get it from that shed in which you say it is, we can prove that you haven't been dreaming. With the flag in our possession, we'll call a meeting of the principal fellows from each Form down to the Third. You and Moncrief minor can tell the story. Percival can then say what he pleases. We can produce the flag to prove our case—and—there you are! Percival will be kicked out of Garside!"
Stanley did not speak. The chasm between him and Percival had gone on widening instead of narrowing, but it was no pleasure to him to hear those words. Percival kicked from Garside! Then Garside would no longer be Garside to him. Harry, too, was silent. He did not know why, but he began to think they were not doing the right thing by Percival. They were trying to trap him, and the one setting that trap was the one who hated him.
"A jolly good idea, Newall!" exclaimed Plunger enthusiastically. "Smart—real smart! But how are you going to work it? How are you going to get the flag?"
"To-morrow's Wednesday; so we've got the whole of the afternoon before us. You're supposed to meet the Beetles at half-past three, aren't you?"
"Yes; half-past three sharp."
"Well, we'll be beforehand—half an hour, say. That will give us plenty of time to get possession of the flag, and away with it before your brethren of the Mystic Circle put in an appearance."
"You—you won't want me?" asked Plunger anxiously. He had a keen recollection of what had happened at the shed the last time he was there.
"Of course we shall. You'll have to take us to the shed and show us what's inside it."
Plunger did not like this suggestion. Why couldn't Newall have selected Moncrief minor? But he could not very well raise any objection. So, making a virtue of necessity, he raised his eyebrows to their fullest extent, and said he should be "delighted."
Then came the question as to who should go with Plunger. It was not advisable to take too many, for fear of the risk of discovery. So Newall decided that only three should accompany Plunger—Stanley, Parfitt, and himself. Stanley would gladly have given way to anybody else, but Newall insisted that he should be one of the party. He seemed determined to leave no stone unturned to blacken Paul in the eyes of his one-time friend.
Stanley crept away as soon as he could to the solitude of his dormitory.
He was very wretched. He felt as though he were acting a mean part. It might be true that Paul was not the friend to him that he had at one time been—that he had gone over to the Bedes, and acted a mean part; but that was no reason why he should act a mean part, too. Two blacks did not make a white. "Percival will be kicked out of Garside!" Newall's words kept repeating themselves in his brain. He could not forget them. Percival would be kicked out of Garside, and he would be one of those who had helped to kick him out.
No, no; whatever wrong Paul had done him, he could not do that. But how could he prevent it? How could he put him on his guard? He thought for a long time; then he got a half-sheet of notepaper, and wrote on it in a disguised hand:
"Beware! Steer clear of Bedes. Plot on foot to turn you from Garside."
The next difficulty to get over was—how to get that note to Paul without rousing suspicion. It must be read by him, and him alone. He was a long time before he could think of any means of accomplishing this purpose; then he remembered that Paul was in the habit of reading a few verses every night before going to rest from a Bible given to him by his mother. He went to Paul's dormitory—the dormitory in which he had once slept, and to which he had often longed to get back.
Glancing cautiously in, he found that it was empty. He crept softly to Paul's locker, and drew out his Bible. There was a bookmark in it. He opened it at the bookmark. The first words that met his eyes were:
"Judge not, and ye shall not ye judged; condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned; forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.... With the same measure that ye mete, withal it shall be measured to you again."
Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven! The words seemed in a mist before Stanley's eyes. Pshaw! What had he to do with forgiveness?
His eyes went again to the Bible:
"With the same measure that ye mete, withal it shall be measured to you again."
He read the words thrice, then placed the note inside the Bible and closed it.
"He's sure to see it, I should think, and won't suspect who put it there," he told himself, as he stepped softly to the corridor.
Scarcely had he reached it when he heard a footstep coming along it.
Looking in the direction whence it came, he saw that it was he of whom he had been thinking—Paul Percival!
Stanley did not wish to meet Paul. He might suspect his purpose in being there. There was no possibility of turning away, however, so he kept straight on, keeping as close to the wall as possible. Paul's head was bent to the ground. He seemed absorbed in thought, and passed by Stanley as though he had not seen him.
"I don't think he saw me," Stanley told himself. "He looked a bit worried, and I don't wonder at it. He can't have a very pleasant time of it."
For an instant Stanley felt inclined to turn back. "Forgive and ye shall be forgiven." Still the words he had just read were repeating themselves. Paul and he had not spoken for so long. A few words might clear up everything. Clear up everything? No. How was it possible to clear up that scene in the sand-pits? So Stanley's heart hardened again, and he went on.
Meanwhile Paul entered the dormitory, and drew from his pocket a note he had just found awaiting him at the porter's lodge. He had read it twice before, but he could not help reading it again.
"Meet me to-morrow (Wednesday), half-past two, at old elm, near sand-pits. Be sure and come. Very important."
This note was scribbled in pencil, and unsigned, but Paul knew the writing well enough. It was Wyndham's. What was it Wyndham wanted with him? What was it that was so important? Had he gained any information as to the missing flag? He was thinking over this note when he passed by Stanley, and it was this which had given to him that "worried" appearance that Stanley had noticed in his face.
He sat for some time musing over this letter, and then, to get away from it, drew from the locker his Bible. It opened, of course, at the place in which Stanley had placed his note. Paul unfolded and read it, with no small astonishment: "Beware! Steer clear of Bedes. Plot on foot to turn you from Garside."
Plot on foot to turn him from Garside! What could the plot be? This note was more puzzling than the other. Like that, too, it was unsigned; but this time Paul was beaten. The writing was unknown to him. He could not guess the writer, but he could see plainly enough that it was in a disguised hand.
Then he suddenly realized that the two notes clashed. The one was an invitation to meet a Bede; the other warned him to steer clear of Bedes. If he obeyed the one, he would have to disregard the other. What was he to do? He did not hesitate long. Wyndham he knew. His friendship had been proved. He knew nothing of this anonymous writer—the writer who professed to warn him of a hidden danger, but did so in a disguised hand, and had not the courage to put to it his name. He would keep the appointment with Wyndham, whatever happened.
So the next day, as soon as the clock had struck two, and he was free, Paul started off for the old elm, near the sand-pits. Punctual though he was, Wyndham was awaiting him.
"I'm so glad you've come, Percival," he said, as he came towards him and shook him warmly by the hand. "I've splendid news to tell you."
"The flag?" exclaimed Paul, speaking the thought that was uppermost in his mind.
"You've made a very good guess. Yes, the flag. I've got some very good news about it—very good news indeed. In fact, I rather fancy I know where it is."
"Where—where? Can we make for it?" exclaimed Paul, excited at the news.
"Wait a bit. Don't be in such a steaming hurry!" smiled Wyndham. "Before I say a word more, I must ask you not to make use of the information I'm going to give you against any of our fellows at Bede's."
Paul readily consented. To get possession of the flag was the chief thing he cared for. That accomplished, he could afford to be magnanimous.
"From the first I suspected that one of our fellows had a hand in it," went on Wyndham. "You remember that day when you were set upon by a dozen or so of the sweet cherubs from Bede's?"
"Only too well."
"Sorry to stir up painful memories. There was one amongst the number said to belong to the amphibia. Do you recollect that, too?"
"Of course I do!" laughed Paul. "Mellor, you mean—once a Gargoyle, now a distinguished Beetle? Recollect it? Who could forget it? It labelled him to a T. You don't mean to say——"
"Yes, I do," smiled Wyndham. "He and another Beetle, whose name I needn't mention, captured the flag between them. It was a plucky thing to do, and when I found out what had happened, I don't think I should have troubled any more about it, only I remembered that there was a fellow at Garside who was standing alone, fighting against the wall."
"Wyndham!"
"Don't interrupt. This fellow was rather anxious to get hold of the missing flag; and so, out of respect for him, and not for any of the mean cads who hail from the same place, I persuaded Mellor & Co. to hand it over. It was not easy work, I can tell you. They felt that I was robbing them of their rightful prey. But at last they came round, and——"
"You got possession of the flag!" cried Paul. "How splendid of you, Wyndham! Instead of getting out of debt, I get deeper and deeper into it. But where is the flag?"
"Can't you guess?" smiled Wyndham.
"Guess?" repeated Paul, puzzled.
"Yes. I've done my part; that's your part," answered Wyndham, enjoying his mystification. "S'posing we go for the old game—'Hot boiled beans and very good butter'? Hallo!" The smile died from his face as his glance went to the roadway. "Here are some of your lot! They haven't got wind of our meeting, have they?"
Paul glanced in the direction of the roadway. Sure enough, there were four Garsiders coming along the road—Newall, Parfitt, Plunger, and Stanley. As his glance went to the road Parfitt caught sight of him; then all four stopped and glanced in the direction where Paul and Wyndham were standing. An animated conversation took place for a minute. It seemed as though they were undecided how to act. Then they came to a decision, and walked quickly on.
"I'm not sorry they didn't come, though I should have been pleased enough to meet them at any other time," said Wyndham contemptuously. "Let's get on with our game. Now, then, are you ready? 'Hot boiled beans, very good butter; ladies and gentlemen, come to supper.' At present you're frightfully cold, freezing, perfect icicle."
He rubbed his hands together, and flung them across his chest, and blew upon his fingers as though he were suffering from the same complaint; and then he laughed again at Paul's mystified expression as he gazed round. There was no sign of the flag. At length Paul's glance rested upon the decayed old elm-tree, near which they were standing.
"You're getting warmer," smiled Wyndham. Then, as Paul walked towards the tree: "In fact, quite hot."
Paul put his hand into the hollow of the tree, and drew out the missing flag, wrapped in a covering of American leather-cloth, just as it had been when Mellor and Crick had taken it to St. Bede's.
"What can I say, Wyndham?" he asked, in a thick voice as he stood there, with the prize in his hand. For the moment there seemed to be a mist before his eyes.
"Say? Nothing, of course! All you've got to do is to get back to Garside as soon as you can, for I shouldn't be surprised if those fellows we saw just now mean mischief."
The anonymous letter flashed into Paul's mind as Wyndham spoke—"Beware! Steer clear of Bedes. Plot on foot to turn you from Garside."
Could it be that the four he had seen were concerned in that plot? It was quite possible to believe it of Newall and Parfitt—they had always been his enemies—but Stanley—No, he could not believe it of him. However, he scarcely cared what happened to him now he had gained possession of the flag. He would be able to redeem his promise. The main thing was to get it back to its old place on the turret.
So he took Wyndham's advice, and started back to the college without further delay.
Meanwhile the three who had started from Garside, under the guidance of Plunger, for the purpose of capturing the flag on their own account, had passed Wyndham and Paul, as we have seen, on the way. They little suspected the purpose of that meeting. They never imagined that it had anything to do with the flag.
Parfitt, the first to catch sight of the two, gloated over the discovery. Stanley's heart fell. He now saw with his own eyes that Paul was really on friendly terms with Wyndham. He had taken no heed of his note of warning. He had treated it with scorn.
"He's playing a deep game," said Parfitt. "I believe he means turning over Garside for Bede's, like Mellor did."
"I believe so, too; but he can't do it before next term, and we must get our blow in before then. It all depends on getting hold of that flag. Now, then, Plunger, buck up!"
Plunger increased his pace, and it was not long before he reached the shed in which he and Moncrief minor had been initiated into the "Noble Order of Beetles." They reached it, as arranged, fully half an hour before the time appointed for Plunger to meet "the mystic brethren." So, as they hoped and expected, they found it empty.
"Now, Plunger, where do you say the flag is? Quick! We've got no time to lose!" said Newall.
Plunger did not answer. He stood dumfounded. There was the place where he had been initiated into the "mystic brotherhood." There was the place where he had stood and looked up at the "mystic emblem," and had discovered to his amazement that it was the missing school flag. He rubbed his eyes then; he rubbed them now. The flag had gone! Gone! Had it ever been there? Was that scene, after all, as it had more than once seemed, only a dream?
"Wake up, sleepy!" cried Newall, kicking him on the shins to rouse him. "Where's the flag?"
"It was there, just over my head," answered Plunger, pointing to the roof above him; "but it isn't there now."
They searched the shed, but could find no trace of the missing flag. There was a large box in which it might be hidden, but that was locked, and there was no time to force it.
"You're not making fun of us, Plunger, are you?" demanded Newall, clutching him fiercely by the arm.
"Really, I'm not."
"Well, look here, you'll have to meet these fellows again, just as though you'd turned up in answer to their note, and see if you can worm out anything about the flag. If we're seen here it'll spoil the game. But we won't be far off. If you want any help, yell out, and we'll see what we can do for you. Do you understand?"
Plunger understood perfectly, but, all the same, he did not like the prospect of meeting the brethren of the mystic order again. However, there was nothing for it but to give in, so he gave in with as good grace as possible.
Paul got safely back to Garside with his prize. He mounted with it to his dormitory and undid the covering in which it was encased. Yes, there was the old flag, none the worse for its temporary absence from the school. Paul's heart beat the quicker. He was as proud of the flag as any boy at Garside, and as he looked at it he realized in some degree the feelings of a soldier when he has recaptured the colours from the enemy.
Folding it up again, he hid it under one of the cubicles, and went in search of the boys who had been with him in the dormitory when the loss of the flag was first discovered.
He was not long in finding Moncrief minor, who was wandering about the ground like a lost spirit. He was unhappy at the absence of his companion in mischief, the redoubtable Plunger. He began to think that he had been left out in the cold. What a hero Plunger would be if, through him, the flag were brought back again to the school!
As he was thus thinking he saw Paul coming towards him. He quickly turned his head and walked off as though he had not seen him, but Paul came up with him in a stride or two, and, clutching him by the arm, twisted him round till he was in front of him.
"You needn't run away, Harry. I want you to do me a favour."
"What is it?" asked Harry, reluctantly.
"You remember that afternoon when the flag was lost?"
Harry looked up quickly. What was coming out about the flag now? Ha, ha, he guessed what it was! Percival had begun to smell a rat. He meant trying to pump him, so he answered cautiously.
"Of course I do, and so do most of the fellows here, I'm thinking. I wonder if we shall ever get it back again?"
"I wonder. It was Viner who brought us the news, I remember, and besides yourself there were several other fellows in the dormitory at the time—Baldry, Plunger, Sedgefield, Bember. I want you to get together again the same fellows if you can, and bring them to my dorm. Would you mind doing that for me?"
"What for?" was the curious answer.
"Oh, I'll explain what for when you're there. Will you do it?"
Harry thought for a moment before answering. What was Percival's game? He was curious to know; but there couldn't be any harm in doing as he asked.
"I can't bring Plunger—he's got something special in hand, but I'll hunt up some of the others, and bring them along with me, if I can."
So he ran off, and Paul returned to the dormitory. Half an hour elapsed before he heard the welcome sound of footsteps on the stairs. Harry had succeeded in capturing three out of the five, Sedgefield, Baldry, Viner. They were just as curious as Harry was to know what Paul could want with them.
"I'm much obliged to you for coming along," said Paul, "it's really very good of you, considering the dead-set against me. But I wanted to get together the fellows who were here when Viner brought up the bad news about the flag. I wish all six were here, but I must be satisfied with four out of them. At any rate, there's enough of you to remember what I said. I said, you'll remember, that through me the school had eaten dirt."
"Oh, yes, we remember that well enough," said Viner bitterly, "because it was so true."
"So true; yes, Viner. As your memory's so good on that point, perhaps you can remember what else was said?"
"Of course I do. We all do, for one or two of us have laughed over it since. You talked some nonsense about the school suffering through you, and through you being lifted up again."
"And that you meant getting the flag back again, and putting it in its old place on the turret," added Sedgefield.
"You're right, Viner, and so are you, Sedgefield. I'm glad you remember things so well. I made that promise, uncertain whether or not I should be able to carry it out, but determined to do my best. Well, by God's help, I'm able to keep my word."
To the profound amazement of the boys, he drew out the flag.
"Where did you find it? Where did you get it from?" cried Viner.
Harry did not speak. He could only stare at the flag. Was it really the old flag? There could be little doubt about that. How, then, had Percival come by it? Had he stolen a march upon Plunger and the others?
"Where did I get it from? Well, that's my secret for the present. I've got the flag, and kept my promise. Now I want you to mount with me to the turret, so that we can put it back again in its old resting-place."
He waved the flag over his head, and Baldry and Sedgefield gave a cheer. Harry echoed the cheer in a dazed, bewildered fashion. He had not yet recovered from his surprise. Viner remained silent. They followed Paul to the turret, where once again the flag was placed on the summit with another cheer.
Meanwhile Plunger was inside the shed, awaiting with no small trepidation the arrival of the "Mystic Brethren." He had not long to wait before six of the masked brethren entered. The foremost of these was Mellor, followed by five of his companions. They had put on their masks outside the door, so that Plunger was just as much in the dark as to who they were as ever.
"Gargoyle with the eyebrows, greeting!" exclaimed Mellor.
"Greeting," repeated the other masks, bowing.
"Now, then, greet," came a peremptory cry, as Plunger received the point of two or three knees in different parts of his body, which sent him staggering round the circle. It revived painful memories of a similar performance on his part on a previous occasion, and he hastily stammered out, "Gr-gr-greeting," and jerked his head in imitation of the brethren.
"We are glad thou hast obeyed the call; but where is thy brother novice—Henry Moncrief?"
"He—he's otherwise—engaged," stammered Plunger, not knowing what to say.
"Otherwise engaged! Know this, Gargoyle with the wiry thatch, no engagement should keep him from answering the call of the Mystic Brethren. It shall be inquired into."
As he spoke, Plunger saw, with fear and trembling, that one of the number had drawn from the box the weapons he so well remembered—the sticks with bladders attached to the ends. He guessed what was coming, and it came.
"Describe the Mystic Circle!" cried Mellor.
It was useless resisting. Down flopped Plunger on his knees and hands, and crawled round the ring as quickly as possible three times, while the bladders showered upon his head with amazing rapidity. Then the brethren joined hands, and galloping wildly round him, repeated as before:
"Beetles of the Mystic BandWind we round thee, hand in hand;Whene'er thou hear'st thy chieftain's call,Rest not, pause not, hither crawl,Or to the realms of Creepy-crawly,Shivery-shaky we will haul thee."
"Beetles of the Mystic BandWind we round thee, hand in hand;Whene'er thou hear'st thy chieftain's call,Rest not, pause not, hither crawl,Or to the realms of Creepy-crawly,Shivery-shaky we will haul thee."
And once again, to the strains of this extraordinary incantation, Plunger was sent whirling about the ring from side to side, as though he were an indiarubber ball. The last time two of them—Harry and himself—divided honours; but this time Plunger had it all to himself. Owing to this fact the brethren were able to give him their sole and undivided attention, and they did it with such effect that Plunger began to wonder whether he was himself or someone else.
"Dost thou like the Mystic Circle?" inquired Mellor, when they paused.
"Oh, y-y-yes," stammered Plunger, with a painful attempt to laugh, "very much." And then he added quickly, as he saw the uplifted bladders ready to descend: "But—but if you've got any more of it, you might keep it for my brother novice."
"It shall be as thou askest, Gargoyle with the eyebrows," said Mellor. "And now to business."
"To business? Do they call what I've just gone through pleasure?" thought Plunger, as he waited in fear and trembling what was to come next.
"Thou belongest to the Third Form?"
Plunger nodded.
"A wonderful scholar art thou, Gargoyle with the wiry thatch," was the cutting comment.
"Oh, I could be much higher in the school," exclaimed Plunger, blushing to the roots of the "wiry thatch"; "but I don't like the boys in the upper Forms, you know. They put too much side on for me."
"You look a modest, retiring kind of fellow. That's the reason the Mystic Brethren have taken such a fancy to thee."
Down came the bladders on Plunger's back as tokens of brotherly affection. Plunger felt flattered at this testimony of the brethren to his virtues, but he wished at the same time they had expressed it in some other way.
"It's very kind of you," he gasped.
"Though thou dost despise the bounders of the Upper Form, peradventure thou wouldst not mind taking a small present from the Mystic Brethren of the Fifth?"
"A present?" repeated Plunger, pricking up his ears. "Not at all. Shall be delighted to make myself useful."
"Let me see. The head boy of the Fifth is one named Hasluck, is he not, wearer of goggles?"
"Yes."
"Is there not also in that same Form one named Leveson, famous timekeeper, owner of a stop-watch?"
Plunger nodded, marvelling at the accuracy of the brethren's information. At a sign from Mellor, one of the masks, who was no other than Crick, left the circle, and brought from the corner of the shed a long parcel, wrapped in American leather-cloth—a facsimile, in fact, of the parcel which Paul had received from Wyndham a little earlier.
"Give this to Hasluck, in the presence of the timekeeper Leveson and as many other menials of the Fifth as thou canst find. It is a souvenir from thy brethren to celebrate thy initiation to the Mystic Order. Dost thou understand?"
Fluttering with excitement, Plunger clutched the parcel, and declared that he understood perfectly.
He had not got far on the homeward road before he was rejoined by his companions, who had been lying in wait for him behind the friendly shelter of a hedge.
"I've got it!" he gasped.
"Got what?" demanded Newall.
"The flag!" he cried, flourishing the precious parcel.
"Bravo, Plunger!" exclaimed Newall.
"Hurrah!" shouted Parfitt. "How did you get it?"
"Presented to me in honour of my initiation to the Mystic Order."
"Let's have a look at it."
"It mustn't be opened till we get to the school. Hasluck's got to open it, in the presence of Leveson."
As Plunger had faithfully followed out their instructions, they could not very well object to this condition, so they ran by his side, questioning him by the way as to what had happened to him in his absence. Plunger answered to the best of his ability, colouring considerably the part he had played in the ceremony, and the esteem in which he was held by the brethren.
"Why—why, what's that?" exclaimed Stanley, coming to a dead stop. The others did the same. Their eyes followed his to the turret. There was the old flag flying from the top!
Plunger turned pale; then a sickly hue went over his face as he looked from the flag to the parcel in his hand.
Plunger's bewilderment was shared by his companions as they saw the old flag fluttering on the turret. What had happened? How on earth had it got there? Newall's hand went out to Plunger's ear.
"Thought you said you'd got the flag, ass?"
"Oh, oh, oh! Le' go my ear!" roared Plunger, as he gazed first on the turret, then on the mysterious parcel in his hand. He firmly believed that the Mystic Brethren had given the flag into his care, that it was inside the parcel when he had set out from the shed, but that by some magical influence it had managed to transfer itself from the parcel to the turret. Yet there was something still inside the parcel without a doubt. What was that something?
"Yes, bounder!" exclaimed Parfitt, helping himself to the other ear. "Got the flag—that's what you told us! Presented to you in honour of your initiation! What's your game, blockhead?"
"Oh, oh, oh! Le' go my ear! That flag up there must be a beastly fraud, or there must be two of 'em! Le' go my ear, will you!"
Plunger began to think that the sympathetic attention he had received at the hands of the enemy was only to be equalled by the polite attention of his friends.
"Didn't you say you'd got the flag in that parcel, Plunger?" asked Stanley, in a quieter tone, because he detested bullying himself, and did not like it practised on others.
"Yes, I did, Moncrief!" persisted Plunger. "That's a twin up there, or an imitation, or something of the sort. Get Hasluck and Leveson, and I'll prove it to you."
"We're not going to wait for Hasluck or Leveson! You've gammoned us enough! Give it up!"
Newall snatched the parcel from Plunger's hand. It was carefully bound round with cord. Too impatient to untie it, Newall severed the cord with his knife. As he did so a small bundle of "swishers"—long sticks, such as were used by the boys of St. Bede's for "beating the bounds"—fell from the cloth. They were bound round in turn with a sheet of white paper, and on this paper was written in a bold hand:
"Your dull ass will only go with beating. You've provided the ass. We've provided the swishers. We deliver both safely into your hands. Times to be called by the Gargoyle—Leveson—with the stop-watch."
Disappointed though they were, the boys standing around Plunger burst into laughter. Plunger had been skilfully hoaxed. Under the impression that he was carrying the flag, he had delivered into their hands the formidable-looking swishers, with precise directions as to the method in which they were to be employed. Plunger's self-assurance for once gave way. Where was he standing? He scarcely knew. The ground was crumbling under his feet.
"Well, Plunger, if you don't take the cake, and the bun, and the biscuit!" came the cutting voice of Newall. "My word, how the Beetles must be sniggering at you! The flag, didn't you say?"—holding up the swishers. "Oh, oh, it's too funny! Given in honour of your initiation to the Mystic Order! Oh, oh! Help yourself, Parfitt; help yourself, Moncrief!"
He tossed them a swisher each, and selected one for himself, the quality of which he tested by flipping it in the air, much too near the crestfallen Plunger to be pleasant.
"Thanks, Newall!" said Parfitt, putting the swisher he had received to a similar test on the other side of Plunger. "Wasn't to be opened till you got to the school, was it, Plunger, in the presence of Leveson—eh?"
"Yes, in the presence of Leveson!" repeated Newall grimly. "Cut and find him, Plunger, and tell him to be sure and bring his stop-watch."
Down came the swishers—twice, thrice. Plunger did not require any second bidding. He did "cut." His speed would have astonished himself had he had time to think about it, but he hadn't. His one great desire was to put as great a distance as possible between himself and Newall and Parfitt. Moncrief major had been more considerate of his feelings, and had not made use of his swisher.
"Where can I hide myself," panted Plunger—"where?"
He was not only sore and wounded in spirit, but in body as well.
And here perhaps it is necessary to add a brief word of explanation as to how it was Plunger came in possession of the extraordinary parcel which had drawn upon him so much ridicule. When, with much reluctance, Mellor and his friends had given up the flag to Wyndham, they decided, by way of compensation, to prepare a parcel that closely resembled it. If the flag had been taken from them, they did not wish to be defrauded of their due share of sport at the hands of the enemy. So the note had been sent from the "Mystic Brethren," which, by a roundabout method, had drawn Plunger to the shed. What followed has been seen.
To return to the scene outside Garside. So soon as Newall and Parfitt had ceased chasing Plunger they turned to Stanley.
"You don't seem to be enjoying the fun, Moncrief?" said Parfitt.
"No; can't quite see where the fun lies," answered Stanley gravely. "Seems to me that Plunger's not the only ass that wants beating. We might use those sticks very well on ourselves. We've been just as much sold as he has. We've been on a fool's errand. We were going to bring the flag back, and the flag's come back without us."
"Yes; the flag's come back, sure enough," answered Newall. "And how the dickens did it come back?—that's the puzzle. Hallo! There's your young cousin. He ought to know something about it. Moncrief—Moncrief minor!" he shouted.
Harry, who was crossing the grounds at the time, turned in answer to the shouts and came towards the three boys.
"Got the flag?" he asked innocently.
"No cheek, kid, else we'll trounce you like we've just trounced your friend Plunger!" retorted Newall sharply.
"Who brought the flag back? How did it get there?"—glancing to the turret.
"Oh, it got there by a friend of yours—Paul Percival," answered Harry, hitting back. "He's beaten you, just like you've beaten my friend Plunger."
Newall scowled, and would have treated him to a taste of the swisher, only he recollected that he was Stanley's cousin.
"Be serious, Harry," said Stanley. "Percival, did you say? Do you really mean that the flag was brought back by him?"
"I am serious, Stan—never more so in my life. The flag was brought back by Percival, and put in its old place on the turret by Percival."
He then told them precisely what had happened. The three boys listened in silence. Percival had stolen a march upon them, that was quite clear. Stanley wondered whether his note of warning had put him on his guard. The thought that it had been of some service might have pleased Stanley, but the memory of Percival talking to Wyndham hardened his heart against him once more. He smothered the old feeling of friendship that would keep trying to assert itself, in spite of himself.
"I told you that we should have to meet craft with craft!" cried Newall, breaking the silence. "But so far Percival has beaten us. Plunger's an ass, but he was quite right for once when he said that we'd have to get up very early in the morning to score off Percival. What's our next move?"
As neither Moncrief major nor Parfitt responded, Newall went on:
"We saw Percival talking to a particular friend of yours, Moncrief." Stanley winced at the cold, cutting words. "That was a couple of hours ago. At that time the flag was not on the turret. We can all answer as to that, I think?"
Stanley and Parfitt nodded assent.
"What happens? In the interval Percival returns to Garside with the flag. Where did the flag come from? I think the answer's simple enough—it must have come into Percival's possession by the help of your particular friend, the Beetle who was so kind to you at the sand-pits, Moncrief."
Every word had its venom, and distilled its poison in the breast of Stanley.
"Well, well, what of it?" he demanded hoarsely.
"What of it?" repeated Newall, raising his eyebrows and regarding him with feigned astonishment. "It's all clear enough, I should think. The whole business is an artfully-concocted plot between Percival and Wyndham. The flag disappears. How it disappears is a mystery. No one knows—least of all Percival. But he makes use of some high-sounding words in the presence of a few of the fellows—flag gone, by Heaven's help he'll bring it back again! The fellows cheer him to the echo. A short time elapses, during which the mystery deepens; then Percival turns up with the flag. He has kept his word. More cheers. Oh, yes, it's all clear—clear as day! Don't you think so, Moncrief?"
"One moment," answered Stanley, passing his hand over his forehead. "I'm a bit dazed somehow. Let me understand. You believe that—that——"
"That the hand which brought back the flag is the same hand that took it away."
"Of course!" assented Parfitt. "As you say, Newall, it's as clear as day. Nothing could be clearer."
"Nothing could be clearer," echoed Stanley, as his head fell to his breast.
Harry was silent. Like his cousin, there had always been deep down in his heart a real affection and sympathy for Paul. He had always hoped that he would be able to reinstate himself in the good opinion of the school; so it was he had cheered with the rest when Paul returned with the flag. It was all very mysterious, it was true; but Harry had shut his eyes on the mystery. The flag had come back to the school. Paul had brought it. He had made good his word. That was enough. He would be again the Paul he had once known—the Paul Stanley had known and loved.
"What's to be done?" demanded Stanley.
"Well, we can't do anything to-day. Let's wait developments to-morrow. Mr. Weevil's bound to take some sort of action."
"Oh, there you go again!" cried Stanley impatiently. "Putting things on. Yesterday it was the same."
"How do you mean?"
"I wanted to make straight for Percival. 'No,' said you; 'don't be in a hurry. We mustn't show our hands too soon.' And so on, and so on. Oh, I'm sick of it all—sick of everything—sick of waiting!"
Harry looked up at his cousin. There was a note of passionate revolt in his voice, a fierce light in his eyes; both hands were clenched, and he seemed to sway to and fro, as though no longer master of himself.
"For that matter, so am I," said Newall softly. "Perhaps I was wrong, Moncrief, in putting things off. I dare say I was. You gave in to me yesterday, I give in to you to-day; that's only fair. What do you want, old fellow?"
Newall placed a hand quite lovingly on Stanley's shoulder.
"Want? No more of this wretched waiting game! Let's go to Percival straight—straight! Do you hear?" came hoarsely from Stanley's lips.
"Yes, I hear; and I am with you."
And Newall exchanged a swift smile of triumph with Parfitt.
As soon as Paul had accomplished his purpose, and seen the flag waving in its old place on the turret, he went to the room of Mr. Weevil. He knew well enough that inquiries would be made respecting the return of the flag, and therefore he took the straightforward course of going at once to headquarters.
"Come in!" came the voice of the master in response to the knock on his door.
He was pacing to and fro the room—the same room in which Paul had seen him on that never-to-be-forgotten night with Zuker. He stopped as Paul entered, and regarded him in his usual manner—through half-closed eyes.
"You, Percival! What is it you want with me?" came the sharp answer.
"I only came to tell you that the flag is back in its old place, sir."
"I know—I know! And you brought it back, I understand? I meant inquiring into the matter. I'm glad you've forestalled me. You want to explain—eh? That's what you've come for—eh?"
"That's what I've come for, sir," answered Paul, astonished that he should have gained such speedy information as to what had happened. Sometimes, indeed, it seemed as though those half-closed eyes not only saw further than other eyes, but that they had the faculty of double sight as well.
"And yet I don't know whether I can call it an explanation, for there are things which cannot be explained."
"Not explained? How do you mean, sir?" came the sharp answer.
"I received the flag back from a friend of mine—a proved friend—on the solemn promise that I would not make use of the information he had given me to get any of the fellows who had taken it into a scrape."
"Why did you make that promise?"
"Because it was the only way of getting the flag back."
"And that is all the information you can give me?"
"That is all, sir."
"And you call it an explanation? Really, sir, it is one of the most extraordinary I have ever heard! And you expect me to accept it?" demanded the master, facing Paul, and looking him fully in the eyes.
"I trust so, sir, because I can give no other—have no other to give."
Mr. Weevil did not at once answer, but took two or three more turns across the room.
"I believe you to be a lad of honour, Percival," he said, stopping once more, "and a lad of sense. Let me put it to you, then, as a lad of honour and of sense. Supposing I am perfectly ready to accept your statement, do you really believe that the school will be as ready to accept it?"
"The school might be curious to know more, sir, but if you accept my explanation as sufficient, I don't see why anybody should question it."
"Yes, yes; that might be well enough. But there have been one or two rather mysterious things that have happened within the last month or two which have never been cleared up. There was the breaking open of my desk, for instance, and the torn pages in the Black Book."
"I could mention a still greater mystery that wants clearing up," thought Paul, as his mind went back to the afternoon when he had seen the master enter the strange hiding-place of Zuker.
"The culprit in that case has never been found out. It still remains a mystery," continued Mr. Weevil. "Then came the mysterious disappearance of the flag, and its equally mysterious return. The school will be getting suspicious—uneasy. If no better explanation is forthcoming than that you have given me, suspicion will grow—I am certain of it."
Paul saw that the master was right. Still, he had no intention of giving up his secret.
"I have given my word, sir," he answered firmly. "You would not have me break it?"
"You said that you have received the flag from a friend, if my memory serves me—a proved friend?"
"Yes, sir."
"May I ask in what way his friendship has been proved?"
How could Paul answer him? How could he tell the man before him in what way Wyndham had proved his friendship to him? Suddenly, it flashed into Paul's mind that the bold course was the best.
"When I was home last vacation, sir, a gentleman had an accident with his horse. He asked me to take a packet for him to Mr. Moncrief, the father of Moncrief minor. I took the packet. On the way I was set on by two ruffians. I got away from them, but they followed me, and would have got the packet from me had it not been for the friend I speak of."
Mr. Weevil's eyes began closing as Paul was speaking. When he finished they opened again.
"What did this friend do?"
"Hid me till the ruffians had gone."
"Good! And that enabled you to get the packet to Mr. Moncrief?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent! But, do you know, Percival, this really seems a stranger story than the other."
"Perhaps so, sir; but I can prove every word of it, if you like. By your permission, I will send for Mr. Moncrief——"
"No, no; that is altogether unnecessary!" said the master quickly. "Strange though the story is, I accept every word of it—every word. The friend you speak of was indeed a friend in need. You must keep your word to him—it would be an act of baseness to break it. I did not know the facts, you see. You may leave the rest to me."
Paul's heart bounded joyfully. The bold course had been the right one. It had succeeded where a weaker course might have utterly failed.
"Thank you, sir. It is very kind of you."
Paul was about to withdraw, when the master called him back.
"Let me see, there was a letter came for you while you were out. There it is in the rack."
Paul took the letter from the rack as Mr. Weevil turned to his books. Again his heart gave a great bound. One glance at it told him who it was from. It was the letter he had been so anxiously awaiting from Mr. Walter Moncrief.
"Itisfor you, isn't it?" Mr. Weevil asked, glancing into the boy's eager face.
"Yes, sir," answered Paul, wondering whether the master suspected who it was from or had any knowledge of its contents. He inspected the envelope as he hastened to his dormitory. No; it did not seem to have been tampered with. Mr. Weevil could not have seen its contents. On reaching his room, he tore open the envelope, and read: