"Ha, ha!" he chuckled. "This will puzzle some of them! This will make some of them screw up their foreheads! The stiffest paper I ever set. Eh? What's that?"

He started up, looking round, for there had been a sound like a soft thump; but he could see nothing on account of intervening desks. But, all the same, Wrench's tom-cat had leaped gently down to the floor, and from there he bounded on to one of the lines of desks, along which he stole very carefully, pausing to sniff at each keyhole as he leaned over, fully aware as he was that several of these desks were used as menageries, in addition to a very favourite one where he had paused more than once on account of the delicious black-beetly odour stealing up through the cracks, and which denoted white mice.

In one desk silkworms began as eggs upon a sheet of paper, ate, and grew themselves into fine, fat, transparent straw-coloured larvae which afterwards spun cocoons. In another there were a couple of beautiful little green lizards; while one boy had his desk divided into two portions by means of a piece of board cut to a cardboard-plan by the Plymborough carpenter at a price. In one portion of the desk there were books and sundry tops and balls; the other was the home of a baby hedgehog, which lived upon bread and milk, and had a bad habit of sitting in its saucer.

In the next row of desks there was rather an odorous creature which puzzled Tom a good deal; so much so that when the theatre was empty he made that desk a special spot for study in a very uncomfortable position, crouching as he did upon the slope with his head hanging over the edge and his nose close to the keyhole.

That desk required much thought, for he was convinced by gliding sounds that there was a live occupant therein, and his impression was that it was good to eat; but he had never seen inside, and was not aware that it contained an ordinary grass-snake.

Tom was convinced too, though he had never seen it, and was not aware of the differences in tails, that the inhabitant of another desk— enlightened as he was by sundry scratchings and gnawings—was a rat, though it was only Fatty Brown's young squirrel, which was destroying the imprisoning wood in a way that was alarming to the owner of the desk.

There were several other desks in the big theatre which gave forth sounds and excited Tom's curiosity, for Dr Bewley's young gentlemen affected zoology even as far as young birds, though not to any very great extent, as, not being nightingales, they did not nourish in the dark.

But enough has been said to account for the cat's love of study when the theatre was vacated by the pupils, and upon this particular occasion, taking little heed of Mr Morris, Tom went on investigating with his nose till he had reached the end of one series of desks, and, bounding across the intervening space, he came down with a thump upon the next, making Mr Morris look up sharply, snatch up a pocket lexicon, and send it flying, in company with the words, "Tsh! Cat!"

The next moment he was alone; and, in perfect satisfaction with the stiffness of his papers, he descended from his place and proceeded to lay neatly along the rows before him a carefully doubled set of half-a-dozen sheets of white blotting-paper, till one stood out clear and clean upon every pupil's desk.

This done, he proceeded to work his way back by placing a blue printed sheet of foolscap upon each improvised blotting-pad. It was all carefully and neatly done, for Mr Morris's mathematical brain led him to square the paper parallelograms, as he would have termed them, with the greatest exactitude, before going away to his own desk to gaze back over the blue and white patchwork before him, and give utterance once more to his thoughts regarding the puzzledom which would exist the next morning when the boys took their places.

"A magnificent mental exercise," he said proudly, before marching slowly down the big room like a mathematical general surveying the field where he was to do battle next day with the enemy in the shape of sloth and ignorance.

So wrapped up was he in self that he passed out without noticing that he was watched by one who waited till he was out of sight, and then, though the door was open, preferred to enter by the window, leap on to a desk, and then slowly proceed from one to the other; not in a bold open way, but in a slinking, snaky, crawling fashion, as if about to spring upon some object of prey.

The peculiarity of this was that it necessitated great extension of person; and as, after the fashion of all cats save those that belong to the Isle of Man, Tom carried his tail behind him, he went on in ignorance of the fact that more than once the furry end touched lightly in a more than usually well-filled ink-well, the result being an inky trail, which, however, dried rapidly in the warm theatre, and was not likely to excite notice upon unpainted desk-lids which were dotted with the blots and smudges made by hundreds of boys.

But sometimes great discoveries come from very small things, and Wrench's Tom played his part in one of the little comedies of life, those of Terence and Plautus not being intended here.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

SOMETHING UNPLEASANT.

The examination-days were not looked forward to with joy by Dr Bewley's pupils; and, sad to say, Morris's days were liked least. In fact, his was the only joyous countenance upon the morning after he had prepared the theatre, when he glanced round at the heavy expressions that pervaded the breakfast-tables. But possibly the most severe face in the room that morning was the Doctor's, as he paid his customary visit, and he took it with him afterwards into the theatre, which he entered punctually at ten o'clock, when the boys were all assembled in their places, while the masters were all at their desks, ready under Morris's leadership to sit out the examination, using their eyes, and making perfectly certain that no pupil whispered a question, furtively passed a piece of paper to another, or dipped down into his desk in search of a so-called helping "crib."

To use the schoolboy phrase popular at Plymborough—"What was up?"

The Doctor rose deliberately upon his throne-like place at the end of the theatre, coughed sonorously, settled his plump chin in his very stiff white cravat, and then gazed frowningly through his spectacles at the assembled pupils.

There was silence for quite a couple of minutes, and every boy present felt that the Doctor was singling him out and was about to speak to him about the committal of some fault, while internally he asked himself what it could be.

At last the great brain-ruler put an end to the suspense by addressing his pupils collectively; and every individual but one drew a breath of relief.

"Young gentlemen," he said, "in my long career of tuition of the boys who have been entrusted to my charge it has been my great desire to inculcate honour."

The three masters glanced at each other, making suggestive grimaces as if questioning what was to come, and at the same time expressing ignorance.

"Now, I regret very much to have to tell you that this morning I have been made aware of a most dishonourable act committed by one of my pupils. I have received by post what I can only term a very degrading letter, which I am sorry to say I fully believe to have been written by some one present. Who that is I do not know, and I tell you all that I would rather not know until the culprit allows his better feelings to obtain the mastery, and comes to me privately and says, 'Dr Bewley, I was guilty of that act of folly; but now I bitterly repent, and am here humbly to ask your forgiveness and at the same time that of my fellow-pupil whom I have maligned.' Now, young gentlemen, it gives me pain to address you all for one boy's sin, and I have only this to say, that you whose consciences are clear can let it pass away like a cloud; to him who has this black speck upon his conscience I only say I am waiting; come to me when the examination is done.—Mr Morris, it is ten minutes past ten. At one o'clock your examination is over, and the studies are at an end for the day.—Now, my dear boys, I wish you all success, and I trust that you will show Mr Morris that his mathematical efforts on your behalf have not been in vain."

There was an end to the painful silence half a minute later, as the Doctor closed the door after him, not loudly, but it seemed to echo among the great beams of the building, while it was long before his slow, heavy step died away upon the gravel path outside.

"Now, young gentlemen," said Morris sharply, "our Principal's address is not to interfere with my examination. You have your papers. Pro—"

There was a pause.

"—Ceed!" shouted Mr Morris.

There was the scratching of pens upon papers, but upon very few; most of the boys taking their pens and putting them down again, to rest their elbows on the desks and their chins upon their thumbs, as they fixed their eyes upon the column-like pile of questions printed quite close to the left side of the sheets of foolscap, while the three masters at the two ends and in the middle of the theatre seated themselves, book in hand, ready to hold up high before their faces so that they could conveniently peer over the top and make certain that there were not any more culprits than one within reach of their piercing eyes.

Mr Morris, to pass his three hours gently and pleasantly, opened a very old copy, by Blankborough, upon logarithms; Monsieur Brohanne had armed himself with a heavy tome of La Grande Encyclopedie, with a bookmark therein at the page dealing with the ancient langue d'oc; while Mr Rampson, also linguistical, opened a sickly-looking vellum volume, horribly mildewy and stained, and made as if to read a very brown page of Greek whose characters looked like so many tiny creases and shrinkings in a piece of dry skin.

Only one boy spoke, and that was Glyn Severn, and he to himself; but at the same time he had caught Singh's eye as he sat some distance from him, and, placing his sheet of foolscap by his side, he raised his blotting-pad so that his companion could see a great blotch of ink thereon which seemed as if it had been roughly made by a brush that had been dipped in ink.

This done, he laid the pad back in its place, twisted the fold towards him, and taking a bright, new two-bladed knife that had been purchased with the proceeds of the Colonel's cheque, he opened the large blade and carefully passed it along the fold, setting free one half-sheet of the absorbent paper. This he folded and put in his pocket; but the ink had gone through to the next half-sheet, and this he also separated, treating it as he did the first. This left two half-sheets, with the possibility of their slipping about and away from the rest. So, after pocketing his knife, he opened the remainder where they were folded, and refolded the pad inside out, so as to leave the two cut half-sheets in the middle.

"That nasty nuisance of a cat!" he muttered to himself. "It must have come along smelling after poor little Burton's white mice, and smudged my paper like this. Ah," he continued, to himself, "I have promised the poor little chap that I'll lick Master Slegge, and—Hullo! What's this? What does old Morris mean by giving me half-used paper, and the other fellows new?"

His hands had been busy redoubling and smoothing the fold over the now prisoned half-sheets, and he was about to hold up his hand as a sign to the nearest master that he wanted to speak; but he let it fall again upon the desk, and sat gazing down at some indistinctly seen lines upon the blotting-paper, which looked as if a letter had been inserted wet within the pad and hastily blotted.

He could barely read a word, but somehow his curiosity was aroused, and he turned the leaf over, to find that the newly written letter had been placed in contact with the other side, the lines looking far blacker there, but seen like a page of printing type the reverse way on, so that he could not read a word.

Glyn closed the leaf again and tried to read once more, but with very little success; but for some reason or another his interest was more deeply excited, and he doubled two more leaves over so as to hide the writing, drew forward the foolscap paper to place it once more on the blotting-pad, and then began to read hard at the first section, trying the while to forget all about the freshly blotted letter, but in vain.

For two questions very different from Mr Morris's kept on appealing to him, neither of them algebraic or dealing with Euclid. One was, "How came that letter to be blotted on my pad?" and, "Who was it that wrote it?"

There was no answer; but the boy felt that he knew enough about one of Mr Morris's questions to begin to write the answer, and over this he had been busy for about ten minutes when another question flashed across his brain: "Was this the letter of which the Doctor spoke?"



CHAPTER THIRTY.

BROUGHT TO BOOK.

Not until late that same evening did Glyn have an opportunity of investigating the mystery, for he had purposely refrained from making a confidant of Singh; so that it was after the latter was asleep that Glyn, rising softly, went over to the dressing-table and there lighted the chamber candle, which stood at the side of the looking-glass.

"Will it be too blurred?" he thought, and he held up in front of the mirror a piece of blotting-paper, and then started, for the occupant of the other bed stirred slightly, causing Glyn to step cautiously to the side of the sleeper.

"He won't wake," muttered Glyn, and he went back to the table and recommenced his task, to find that with the aid of reflection the written words on the spongy surface of the blotting-paper stood out fairly plain, though there was a break here and there. And this is what he read:

"it was g——ern oo thev the princes—"

Then there was a blurred line where the ink had run, with only a letter or two distinct at intervals. Then half a blank line, and then, very much blurred and obscure, more resembling a row of blots than so much writing:

"e as idden—sum whare—for sertane."

Another line all blotted and indistinct; then:

"umble Suvvent,—Wun oo nose."

Then a line in which so obscure and run were the letters that minutes had elapsed before the reader could make out what they meant:

"toe the doktor."

Glyn drew back from the glass as if stung, and then the question which came to him was who had written this abominable, ill-spelt accusation, evidently pointed at himself?

"That was the letter, then, that the Doctor mentioned," he said to himself, and he tried to read the words again, instinctively filling up some of the blanks so as to make the letter fit himself; and it seemed to him that there could only have been one person who was capable of writing such a thing.

He examined the lettering once again—a back-slanting hand, disguised.

"And I have only one enemy—Slegge," he thought to himself, as he softly blew out the candle and crept back into bed; but it was long ere sleep came, for the writing, run by the blotting-paper but still vivid, seemed to dance before his eyes, and as he now mentally read it: "It was Glyn Severn who stole the Prince's belt."

And it was with this to form the subject of his dreams that he fell fast asleep.

On the following morning Glyn entered the class-room early and proceeded to Slegge's desk.

"Just as I thought," he said, and he took up one of the writing folio books which lay with other volumes on the desk-cover.

There was no one else in the theatre at that early hour, and Glyn had time to compare as he wished certain of the letters and capitals in Slegge's handwriting with the wording on the blotting-paper.

"It was he; there can be no doubt," he exclaimed, and he went out of the room, making for the playground, intending to find his detractor; but he was not to be seen.

Fortune, however, favoured him as he was making his way back to the schoolhouse, for near the boys' gardens he suddenly caught sight of the object of his search.

"I say, Slegge," he said, approaching the lad, "I want to talk to you."

It did not seem to be quite the same self-confident bully of the day previous who responded, "Eh? You do, Severn? What's up?"

"Come into the class-room," said Severn. "I want you."

"What!" began Slegge. "What do you mean? Why are you trying to order me about?"

"Because I have something to tell you."

"Ha, ha, Cocky Severn! It's time you had that thrashing."

"Is it?" said Glyn. "Well, I don't think I should care to fight with a fellow who writes anonymous letters."

"What do you mean by that?" cried the other.

"I will show you what I mean if you come with me. I don't suppose you want the other fellows to hear it."

"I don't care," said Slegge. "Some cock-and-bull story you are hatching, Severn."

"You wrote that letter," said Glyn abruptly, and his voice sounded husky with the emotion and rage that were gathering in his breast.

"Letter? Letter? What do you mean? Has one come for me by the post?"

"You know what letter I mean," burst out Severn.

"Here, I say," cried Slegge, with a most perfect assumption of innocence; and he looked round as if speaking to a whole gathering of their schoolfellows, "what's he talking about? I don't know. Isn't going off his head, is he?"

"That letter the Doctor was talking about yesterday morning," cried Glyn, with the passion within beginning to master him.

"Here, I don't know what you mean," cried Slegge. "You seem to have got out of bed upside down, or else you haven't woke up yet. What do you mean by your letters?"

"You miserable shuffler!" cried Glyn, in a voice almost inaudible from rage. "The Doctor only talked about a letter; but I've found you out."

"No, you haven't," cried Slegge truculently; "you have found me in—in here by the gardens, and if you have come down here to have it out once more before breakfast, come along down to the elms. I am your man."

"That's just what I should like to do," panted Severn, whose hands kept opening and shutting as they hung by his sides; and there was something in the boy's looks that made Slegge change colour slightly, and he glanced quickly to right and left as if in search of the support of his fellows; but there was no one within sight.

"But," continued Glyn, "if you think I am going to lower myself by fighting a dirty, cowardly hound who has struck at me behind the back like the dishonourable cur that the Doctor said he was waiting to see come and confess what he had done, you are mistaken."

"There, I knew it!" cried Slegge. "You are afraid. Put up your hands, or I will give you the coward's blow."

To the bully's utter astonishment, one of Glyn's hands only rose quick as lightning and had him by the throat.

"You dare!" he cried. "Strike me if you dare! Yes, it would be a coward's blow. But if you do I won't answer for what will happen, for I shall forget what you have done, and—and—"

"Here, Severn! Severn! What's the matter with you?" gasped Slegge excitedly. "I haven't done anything. Are you going mad?"

"You have, you blackguard!" cried Glyn, forcing the fellow back till he had him up against the garden-fence. "You have always hated me ever since I licked you, and like the coward you are you stooped to write that dirty, ill-spelt, abominable letter to make the Doctor think I had stolen Singh's belt."

"Oh, I don't know what you mean," whined Slegge. "Let go, will you?"

"No!" cried Glyn, raising his other hand to catch Slegge by the wrist. "Not till I've made you do what the Doctor asked for—taken you to his room and made you confess."

"Confess? I haven't got anything to confess. You are mad, and I don't know what you mean," cried Slegge, whose face was now white. "Let go, or I'll call for help."

"Do," cried Glyn, "and I'll expose you before everybody. You coward! Why, a baby could have seen through your miserable sham, ill-spelt letter, with the words all slanting the wrong way."

"I don't know what letter you mean. Has the Doctor been showing you the letter he was talking about?"

"No," said Glyn mockingly, as he read in the troubled face before him that he was quite right. "But I have read it all the same, on the piece of blotting-paper that you used to dry what you had written—the sheet of blotting-paper that was put ready on my desk so that if it were found it might seem that I was the writer."

"That I wrote?" said Slegge, with a forced laugh. "That you wrote, you mean, before you sent it. I don't know what for, unless you wanted people to think that it was done by some one who didn't like you. What do you mean by accusing me?"

"Because you are not so clever as you thought. Come on here to the class-room. I have been there this morning, and laid the blotting-paper by the side of one of your exercises on your desk; and, clever as you thought yourself, the Doctor will see at a glance that some of the letters, in spite of the way you wrote them, could only have been written by you." And here he took a piece of paper out—a piece that he had torn from Slegge's exercise-book—and laid beside it the unfolded blotting-paper.

Slegge made a dash at them, but Glyn was too quick. Throwing one hand behind his back, he pressed Slegge with the other fiercely against the fence.

"There!" he cried triumphantly. "That's like confessing it. Come on to the Doctor. There's Mr Morris yonder.—Mr—"

"No, no, don't! Pray don't call!"

"Hah!" cried Glyn triumphantly. "Then you did write it?"

"I—I—"

"Speak! You did write it, you coward! Now confess!"

"Well, I—I was in a passion, and I only thought it would be a lark."

"You were in a passion, and you thought it would be a lark!" cried Glyn scornfully. "You muddle-headed idiot, you did it to injure me, for you must have had some idea in your stupid thick brain that it would do me harm. But come on. You have confessed it, and you shan't go alone to the Doctor to say that you repent and that you are sorry for it all, for you shall come with me. Quick! Now, at once, before the breakfast-bell rings; and we will see what the Doctor says. Perhaps he will understand it better than I do, for I hardly know what you meant."

"No, no, don't! Pray don't, Severn! Haven't I owned up? What more do you want?" And the big lad spoke with his lips quivering and a curious twitching appearing about the corners of his mouth; but Glyn seemed as hard as iron.

"What more do I want? I want the Doctor to know what a miserable coward and bully he has in the school."

"No, no," gasped Slegge, in a low, husky voice, and with his face now all of a quiver. "I can't—I won't! I tell you I can't come!"

"And I tell you you shall come," cried Glyn, dragging him along a step or two.

"Don't, I tell you! You will have Morris see," gasped Slegge.

"I want him to see, and all the fellows to see what a coward we have got amongst us. So come along."

Slegge caught him by the lapel of his jacket, and with his voice changing into a piteous whisper, "Pray, pray don't, Severn!" he panted. "Do you know what it means?"

"I know what it ought to mean," cried Glyn mockingly; "a good flogging; but the Doctor won't give you that."

"No," whispered the lad piteously. "I'd bear that; but he'd send me back home in disgrace. There was a fellow here once, and the Doctor called it expelled. Severn, old chap, I am going to leave at the end of this half. It will be like ruin to me, for everything will be known. There, I confess. I was a fool, and what you called me."

"Then come like a man and say that to the Doctor."

"I can't! I can't! I—oh, Severn! Severn!"

The poor wretch could get out no more articulately, but sank down upon his knees, fighting hard for a few moments to master himself, but only to burst forth into a fit of hysterical sobbing.

The pitiful, appealing face turned up to him mastered Glyn on the instant, and he loosened his hold, to glance round directly in the direction of Morris, and then back.

"Get up," he said, "and don't do that. Come along here."

"No, no; I can't go before the Doctor. Severn, you always were a good fellow—a better chap than I am. Pray, pray, forgive me this once!"

"And you will never do so any more?" cried Glyn half-mockingly.

"Never! never! I swear I won't!"

"Well," said Glyn, whose rage seemed to have entirely evaporated, "I suppose that it would pretty well ruin you, at all events for this school. I don't want to be hard on you; but I can't help half-hating you, Slegge, for the way you have behaved to that poor little beggar Burton. Look here, Slegge, if you say honestly that you beg pardon—"

"Yes," cried the lad. "I do beg your pardon, Severn!"

"No; I don't want you to beg my pardon," cried Glyn. "I can take care of myself. I want you to tell that poor little chap that you are sorry you ill-used him, and promise that you will never behave badly to him again."

"Yes, yes. I will, I will. But you are going to tell the Doctor?"

"No, I shall not. I am not a sneak," said Glyn, "nor a coward neither. I have shown you that, and I am not going to jump on a fellow when he's down. But come along here."

"To the Doctor's? Oh no, no!"

"Be quiet, I tell you, and wipe your eyes and blow your nose. You don't want everybody to see?"

"No, no.—Thank you!—No," cried the big fellow hurriedly. "I couldn't help it. I am not well. I must go to my room and have a wash before the breakfast-bell rings. May I go now?"

"No; you will be all right. The fellows won't see. I only want you to come over here to where Burton is. No, there he goes! I'll call him here. There, don't show that we have been quarrelling.—Hi! Burton!" cried Glyn, stepping to the garden-hedge and shouting loudly, with the effect that as soon as the little fellow realised who called he came bounding towards him, but every now and then with a slight limp.

"Just a quiet word or two that you are sorry you hurt him; and I want you to show it afterwards—not in words."

"You want me, Severn?" cried the little fellow, looking from one to the other wonderingly as soon as he realised that his friend was not alone.

"Yes. Slegge and I have been talking about you. He wants to say a word or two to you about hurting you the other day."

The little fellow glanced more wonderingly than ever at his big enemy.

"Does he?" he said dubiously, and he turned his eyes from one to the other again.

"Oh yes," said Slegge, with rather a pitiful attempt to speak in a jocular tone, which he could not continue to the end. "I am precious sorry I kicked you so hard. But you'll forgive me and shake hands— won't you, Burton?"

"Ye-es, if you really are sorry," said the little fellow, slowly raising his hand, which was snatched at and forcibly wrung, just as the breakfast-bell rang out, and Slegge turned and dashed off towards the schoolhouse as hard as he could run.

"I say, Severn," said little Burton, turning his eyes wonderingly up at his companion, who had playfully caught him by the ear and begun leading him towards where the bell was clanging out loudly as Sam Grigg tugged at the rope, "do you think Slegge means that?"

"Oh yes. I have been talking to him about it, and I am sure he's very sorry now."

"Oh, I say, Severn," cried the little fellow joyously, and with his eyes full of the admiration he felt, "what a chap you are!"

Some one who sat near took an observation that morning over the breakfast that Slegge did not seem to enjoy his bread and butter, and set it down to the butter being too salt; and though the Doctor waited for days in the anticipation that the sender of the anonymous letter would come to him to confess, he expressed himself to the masters as disappointed, for the culprit did not come, and the affair died out in the greater interest that was taken later on in the matter of the belt.

Still, somebody did go to see the Doctor, and he looked at him wonderingly, for it was not the boy he expected to see, but the very last whom he would have ventured to suspect.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

GLYN'S WORRIED BRAIN.

"Is any one with the Doctor, Wrench?"

"No, sir," replied the man distantly, and he looked curiously at Glyn. "Aren't you well this morning, sir?"

"Yes—no. Don't ask questions," cried the boy petulantly.

"All right, sir," said the man. "I don't want to ask no questions. There's been too much of it lately. Suspicions and ugly looks, and the rest of it. I'd have given warning the other day, only if I had, the next thing would have been more suspicion and the police perhaps had in to ask me why I wanted to go. Shall I ask the Doctor, sir, if he will see you?"

"No," cried Glyn, and walking past the man he tapped at the study-door, and in response to the Doctor's deep, "Come in," entered.

"What does this mean?" muttered Wrench. "I don't like listening; but if I went there and put my ear to the keyhole I could catch every word; and so sure as I did somebody would come into the hall and find me at it. So I won't go. But what does it mean? Young Severn's found out all about it, as sure as I stand here. Then it's one of the boys after all. Well, I don't care about it as long as it ain't me or Sam, so I'll go on with my work."

Meanwhile Glyn had entered, closed the door after him, and stood gazing at the Doctor with a curious sensation in his breast that seemed to stop all power of speaking connectedly, as he had meant to do when he had obeyed the impulse to make a clean breast to his old preceptor.

"Well, Severn," said the Doctor gravely, as he laid down his pen, thrust up his glasses till they were stopped by the stiff grey hair, and allowed himself to sink back in his writing-chair, "you wish to speak to me?"

"Yes, sir, please; I—" Glyn stopped short.

That was all that would come, so the Doctor waited for a few moments to give him time to collect himself, and then with an encouraging smile: "Are you unwell, my boy? Do you wish to see our physician?"

Glyn uttered a kind of gasp, and then, making a tremendous effort, the power to speak returned, and he cried, "Oh no, sir; I am quite well, only—only I am in great trouble, and I want to speak to you."

"Indeed!" said the Doctor gravely, as he placed his elbows upon the table, joined his finger-tips, and looked over them rather sadly at his visitor. "I am glad you have come, my boy," he continued gently, "for I like my pupils to look up to me as if for the time being I stood in the place of their parents. Now then, speak out. What is it? Some fresh quarrel between you and Mr Slegge?"

"No, sir," cried Glyn. "It's about that dreadful business of Singh's belt."

"Ah!" said the Doctor, rather more sharply. "You know something about it?"

"Yes, sir. It's about that I have come. About people being wrongfully suspected, and all the unpleasantry."

"Indeed!" said the Doctor, and he now spoke rather coldly. "You know, Severn, where it is?"

"I—I think so, sir. Yes, sir," continued the boy, speaking more firmly, "and I want to tell you all I do know."

The Doctor fixed his eyes rather sternly now, for a strange suspicion was entering his mind, due to the boy's agitated manner and his hesitating, half-reticent speech.

"Well," he said, "go on; and I beg, my boy, that you tell me everything without reservation, though I am sorry, deeply grieved, that you should have to come and speak to me like this."

Glyn seemed to breathe far more freely now, and as if the nervous oppression at his breast had passed away.

"You see, sir," he began, "I have known all along that Singh had that very valuable belt. It was his father's, and the Maharajah used to wear it; and when he died my father took charge of it and all the Maharajah's valuable jewels as well."

"Yes," said the Doctor slowly. "He was the late Prince's executor and Singh's guardian."

"Yes, sir; and Singh was very eager to have it—oh, months and months before we came over here to school, and my father used to smile at him and tell him that he had far better not have it until he had grown older, and asked him why he who was such a boy yet should want such a rich ornament, and told him it was vanity. But Singh said it wasn't that; it was because the people had been used to see his father wear it, and that now he was dead and he had become Maharajah they would think more of him and look up to him if he wore the belt himself. You see, sir, Singh told me it was like being crowned."

"I see," said the Doctor gravely, and he kept his eyes fixed upon the young speaker. "Go on."

"Well, sir, father always put him off, and Singh didn't like it, and asked for it again and again; but my father would never let him have it till we were coming slowly over here to England. We stopped for a month in Ceylon, and when we sailed again to come here, one day Singh asked father again to let him have it, so that he could wear the belt as soon as we reached England. And then father said he should have it if he would make a promise not to wear it unless he had to appear before the Queen. Then he was to put it away again, and not make a parade of himself in a country where the greatest people in the land were always dressed in the plainest way."

"Your father spoke wisely and well, my boy," said the Doctor gravely. "Great men do not depend upon show, but upon the jewels of worth and wisdom with which they have adorned themselves in their careers. Well, I repeat I am very glad you have come. Go on."

"Yes, sir," said Glyn, clearing his throat. "Singh promised father that he would do exactly as he was told, and the next day my father told me to try and keep Singh to his word. He said it would be very absurd now that we were going among strangers and a lot of boys of our own ages if Singh were tempted to make a show of the royal belt. 'You be watchful,' he said, 'and help him when he seems weak, for he has naturally a good deal of Eastern vanity and pride in him.'"

"Quite true," said the Doctor softly; "but he has improved wonderfully since he has been here."

"Yes, sir; but every now and then he has bad fits, and has wanted to show off; but I was always able to stop him. Then, you see, sir—"

Glyn broke down, and as he met the Doctor's steady gaze he seemed to make effort after effort to proceed, but in vain.

"I told you, my boy," said the Doctor encouragingly, "to speak to me as if I were your father."

"Yes, sir, I know," cried Glyn passionately, "and I want to speak out plainly and clearly, but it won't come."

"Yes," said the Doctor gravely; "it will, my boy. Go on to the end."

"Yes, sir," cried Glyn. "Well, sir, there has been all this trouble about the belt when it was missed out of Singh's box."

The Doctor bowed his head.

"I seem to have been able to think of nothing else, and I couldn't do my lessons—I could hardly eat my meals—and at night I couldn't sleep for thinking about the belt and what my father would say about it being lost."

The Doctor bowed his head again very slowly and solemnly, and fixed his eyes once more upon Glyn's flushed face.

"You see, sir, my father said so much to me about Singh being as it were in my charge, and told me how he trusted in my example, and in me being ready to give Singh a sensible word whenever he was disposed to do anything not becoming to an English lad."

"Exactly, my boy," said the Doctor. "Your father is a worthy trustee of this young ward, and it will be a terrible shock to him when he hears of this—er—er—accident and the loss."

"Yes, sir, for you see, as he is the old Maharajah's executor, the royal belt was in his care till Singh is old enough to be his own master; and father will feel that he is to blame for giving way and letting Singh have it so soon."

"Exactly," said the Doctor; "but, my boy, it seems to me that you are rather wandering away from your purpose, and are not telling me everything exactly as I should wish."

"It's because, sir, it won't come; something seems to stop me. But I am trying, sir."

"Well, I believe you, my boy," said the Doctor. "Go on."

"Yes, sir. Well, I told you that I could hardly eat or sleep for thinking about it."

The Doctor sighed.

"And it seemed so horrid, sir, that so many people should be suspected for what one person alone must have done."

"Yes," said the Doctor, fixing him with his eyes again; and then as he met the boy's frank, unblenching eyes his brow began to wear a curious look of perplexity, and he disjoined the tips of his fingers, picked up his quill-pen, and began slowly to litter the table-top by stripping off the plume.

"Well, sir," continued Glyn, speaking very hurriedly now, "I have always been dreaming about it, and waking up with starts, sir, fancying I heard some one creeping into the room to get to Singh's box; and one night it was so real that I seemed to hear some one go to Singh's bedside, take out the keys from his pocket, crawl to his box, unlock it, and lift the lid, and then shut it and lock it again. And I lay there, sir, with my hands and face wet with perspiration, wanting to call out to Singh; but I couldn't stir. But when all was silent again I crept out of bed and went to his box to find the keys in it; and I opened it quickly and felt inside, feeling sure that it was one of the boys who had stolen the belt and who had repented and come and put it back again."

"And had he?" cried the Doctor, startled out of his grave calmness.

"No, sir; I think it was only my fancy. But I have been something like that over and over again."

"Ah!" said the Doctor gravely once more. "The workings, my boy, of an uneasy mind."

"Yes, sir, and that's what held me back from coming to you to speak out."

"Go on," said the Doctor; "and speak plainly and to the point, my boy. What more have you to say?"

"Only this, sir," cried Glyn huskily, "that the night before last I lay awake for a long time, thinking and thinking about the belt and about Singh lying there sleeping so easily and not troubling himself in the least about the loss of the emeralds; and then all at once, when my head was so hot with the worry that I felt as if I must get out and drink some cold water.—I don't know how it was, but I began going over the big cricket-match in the field, and it was as if it was the day before, and I was fidgeting and fidgeting about the crowd there'd be, and a lot of strangers walking about the grounds and perhaps finding their way into the empty dormitories; and it all worried me so, sir, that it made me think that somebody dishonest might go to Singh's box and carry off the emeralds, and they would never be found again."

The Doctor leaned forward a little to gaze more fixedly in his pupil's eyes. Then rising slowly, he reached over and placed his cool white hand upon Glyn's forehead.

"Yes, sir," said the boy quickly, "it's hot—it's hot; but it comes like that sometimes. I believe it's from thinking too much."

"Ah!" said the Doctor, subsiding again into his chair.

"Well, sir, I was so worried about the belt that I thought I wouldn't say anything to Singh, but that I would take his keys, get out the case, and bring it to you in the morning."

"Ah!" cried the Doctor excitedly now. "It would not have been right, my boy. But you did not do that."

"No, sir," said the boy, with a bitter laugh; "for the next minute I thought you would put it in your table-drawer, and that it wouldn't be safe there, for strangers might come into this room, so I—" Glyn stopped, and the Doctor waited patiently. "It seemed so weak and foolish, sir," continued Glyn at last, after moistening his parched lips with his tongue, "but I must tell you. I seemed to be obliged to do it. I took out the case and went downstairs past all the boys' rooms, and got out through the lecture-hall window to go across the playground to the cricket-shed where the boys' lockers are, and there I opened our locker and took out a ball of kite-string."

"Yes," said the Doctor. "Go on, go on."

"Then, sir, I came back across the playground and turned into the yard to go into the well-house, where I tied the end of the kite-string round the case very tightly and safely, and then leaned over and lifted one of the flaps of the well lid—"

"And lowered the case down into the well?" cried the Doctor excitedly.

"Yes, sir," said Glyn; "and I could smell the cool, damp sides of the place, and hear a faint dripping of the water as I let the string run through my fingers, till at last the case splashed and it ran down more slowly, seeming to jerk a little to and fro as a flat thing does when it sinks, till I felt it touch the bottom. And then I leaned over to feel for a place where I could tie the string to one of the loose bricks at the side."

"But there are no loose bricks at the side, my boy," said the Doctor.

"No, sir," said the boy. "I couldn't feel one; and then all at once, as I was feeling about, the ball slipped out of my fingers and fell below with a splash."

"So that you could not pull the case up again?" cried the Doctor.

"Yes, sir," said Glyn very slowly, and looking at him in a peculiar manner.

"And then," said the Doctor, "what did you do?"

"Nothing, sir," replied Glyn, "for just then the first bell rang."

"What?" exclaimed the Doctor.

"And I started up in bed, sir. It was all a dream."

"A dream!" cried the Doctor angrily. "Why, my good lad—"

"But it was all so real, sir, and I was thinking about it all day yesterday, and that perhaps it's possible that I really did do it walking in my sleep."

"Oh, impossible!" cried the Doctor.

"I don't know, sir," said the boy; "but you see, I might have done so."

"Well—yes, you might," said the Doctor slowly. "I did have a pupil once who was troubled with somnambulism. He used to walk into the next dormitory and scare the other boys.—Oh, but this is impossible!"

"I thought you'd say so, sir."

"Yes," said the Doctor, "impossible. Why, if it were true the belt must have been lying at the bottom of the well ever since the cricket-match weeks ago."

"Yes, sir, and I must have done it then in my sleep; and the night before last I dreamed again what I dreamed before."

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated the Doctor, rising now from his chair and beginning to walk to and fro excitedly. "Strange—most strange, and I feel sceptical in the extreme. It must all be imagination. An empty dream, brought about by the worry and anxiety of this unfortunate loss. Well, I am glad you have come, my boy, and—er— er—I must be frank with you. Your manner and the strangeness of your words half made me think that you had come, urged by your conscience, to make a confession of a very different kind."

Glyn started; his lips parted, and he looked wildly in the Doctor's eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, my lad. Your manner suggested it, and I cannot tell you how relieved I feel."

As the Doctor spoke he leaned over his writing-table and caught the boy's hand in his, to press it warmly.

"But," he said, as he subsided once more into his chair, "this must be a hallucination, an offspring of an overworked brain; and yet there are strange things in connection with the mental organisation, and I feel as if I ought to take some steps. What a relief it would be, my boy, to us all, the clearing away of a load of ungenerous suspicion. But one word: whom have you told of this?"

"No one, sir," said Glyn.

"Not even Mr Singh?"

"No, sir. I have been ever since yesterday thinking about what I ought to do, and I came to the conclusion at last that I ought to come to you, sir."

"Quite right, my boy; quite right."

"But it was very hard work, sir—very hard indeed."

"Yes, yes; so I suppose," said the Doctor thoughtfully; "and you have placed a problem before me, my boy, that I feel is as difficult to resolve. I am very, very glad that you have kept it in your own breast, Severn; and the more I think of it the more I feel that it is only an intangible vapour of the brain. But, all the same, the matter is so mysterious and so important that I should not be doing my duty if I did not have the well examined."

"You will, sir?" cried the boy eagerly.

"Yes, Severn, I will," said the Doctor firmly, "and at once. But this must be a private matter between us two. Let those who like consider the act eccentric; I shall have it done, and I look to you to take no one else into your confidence over the matter."

"No, sir; I'll not say a word," cried Glyn. "But,"—he hesitated—"but—"

"Well, Severn; speak out."

"If it all turns out fancy, all imagination, sir, you will not be angry?"

"No, Severn, not in the least," said the Doctor, smiling. "Now go and send Wrench to me."

As he spoke the Doctor turned and rang, with the consequence that Glyn met the footman in the passage coming to answer the bell, and half an hour later, when the boy made it his business to casually stroll towards the well-house, he heard voices, and on looking in found Wrench, who had changed his livery for an old pair of trousers and vest, talking to the gardener and making plans for the emptying of the well.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

THE DOCTOR'S DICTUM.

"It'd take a month," said the gardener, as Glyn was coming up. "Don't tell me! Should think I know more about wells than you do. Fast as you take a bucketful out another one runs in. You go and tell him that if he means to have the old well emptied we shall want half-a-dozen men, for we could never do it by oursens."

"Yah!" cried Wrench; "such fellows as you gardeners are. It's always the same old tune: more help, more help.—Hear him, Mr Severn, sir? I expect the water isn't so clear as it has been, and the Doctor says he will have the well emptied and cleaned out.—Look here, Taters, you can go and tell the Doctor that if you like; I am going to work."

"Oh, I shan't tell him," growled the gardener. "I aren't afraid of a bit of wuck; only, mark my words, as I says again, it'd take a month."

The unusual task did not take a month; but after a hard day's toil so little progress had been made, and Wrench's indoor work had come to such a standstill, that the Doctor gave orders for the gardener to get the assistance of a couple of labouring men, when the water was so much lowered at the end of the next day that unless a great deal filtered in during the coming night there was a fair prospect of the bottom being reached before long.

By a tacit understanding with the Doctor, Glyn was excused from lessons during the clearing out of the well, and spent his time watching the emptying of every bucketful as it was wound slowly up; and it was put about by Slegge that Glyn had been planted there by the Doctor to keep the juniors off for fear any of them should tumble down.

It was an anxious task for the boy, who had to resist appeal after appeal made by Singh to come and join him in some sport or go for a walk. But Glyn kept fast to his post, watching in vain, and without much hope, for if the case was there it would probably be sunk in the mud. One hour he found himself full of faith in the belief that there was something in his dream, and the next he thought that it was all nonsense.

And so the days passed on, with Glyn paying constant visits to the well-house, where Wrench went on toiling away; while, in spite of the sloppiness of the place, his big tom-cat came regularly to perch himself upon a shelf, and with his big eyes looking fierce and glowing in the semi-darkness of the building, he seemed to look upon it as his duty to see that all went on steadily and well.

The sixth day had come round, and the gardener reiterated with a grin, as he stared grimly at Glyn, "Ah, we shan't be done yet. It's my opinion that it will take a month; and that's what the ganger thinks too."

"The ganger?" said Glyn. "Who's he?"

"Him," said Wrench, with a sidewise nod in the direction of his feline favourite, who was crouched together in the spot he had selected for looking on.

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Glyn.

"Ah, you may call it nonsense; but you know, Mr Severn, I shouldn't be at all surprised if that cat thinks. It's my opinion that he knows there's holes somewhere down below, just above where the water used to be, and that sooner or later if he waits patiently he will see some of them as lives there come up in the empty bucket for him to hunt."

"And what are they that live down there?" said Glyn.

"Rats, sir—rats."

There was some colour given to Slegge's assertion that Glyn was there to keep the juniors from tumbling down; for the slow, steady lowering and drawing up of the big buckets had a peculiar fascination for some of the youngest boys, notably the little set whose playtime was nearly all monopolised by hard work—to wit, the bowling and fielding for Slegge. Their anxiety was wonderful. If Glyn was not constantly on the watch, one or other would be getting in the men's way, to peer down into the darkness or rush to where the full buckets were emptied into a drain.

On commencing work upon the sixth morning the water was found to be so lowered that the big buckets had to be removed from rope and chains, for they would not descend far enough to fill. So they were replaced by small ordinary pails; and, the work becoming much lighter, they were wound up and down at a much more rapid rate.

"We shan't be long now, Mr Severn, sir," said Wrench, for each pail as it came up had for its contents half-water and half-mud, the sediment of many, many years. And at last Glyn's heart began to throb, for hanging out over the side of the last-raised bucket was a long length of muddy string.

"Then I am right," he said to himself. "How strange!" And as he followed to the mouth of the drain into which the contents of the pail were to be poured he caught hold of the string.

"Here, don't do that, sir," cried Wrench. "You'll cover yourself with mud. Let me," and before the boy could stop him the man had snatched the string from his hand and drawn it out.

"Broken away," said Glyn to himself, as the end was drawn from the bucket, and he now peered anxiously into the pail, expecting to see one end of the long morocco case standing up out of the thick contents.

But as the half-fluid mud was poured away the empty bucket went down and its fellow rose similarly filled.

Glyn expected to see the rest of the string, for nothing like half of that which he believed he had lost had come up.

Again he was disappointed, for there was neither string nor case, and for some time bucket after bucket rose, at first full of mud, but by slow degrees containing half, a quarter, and then only a small portion of mud and water at a time, while each time the empty ones reached the bottom a hollow scraping sound arose, as by clever manipulation of the rope by Wrench they were dragged along the bottom.

"I say, Mr Severn, sir," he cried, "who'd ever have thought that there was all that mud under the beautiful clear water? Ah, it must be a mort of years since it was cleared out, and now we are at it we will do it well—let the water come in a little and give it a good wash out two or three times over. I won't let it fill up at all till we have scraped this all clear. That's the way to do it," he continued, giving the rope a swing so as to turn the bucket on its side and scrape it along the bottom. "Hear that, sir? All hard stone at the bottom down there, and mud and mud. Now, I half-expected to find a lot of things that had fallen down, and the hoops of some old bucket that had been lost."

Glyn started at the man's words, and saw in his mind's eye the long red morocco case, blackened now and saturated with water, while he wondered what effect the moisture would have had on the beautiful gold-embroidered leather of the belt.

"Yes," continued Wrench, giving Glyn as he stood close beside the mouth of the well what seemed to the boy a malicious grin, "I did expect to find something curious down there; but the buckets run easily over the bottom, and there don't seem to be—yes, there is," he shouted excitedly. "Nothing like patience in fishing. I have got a bite."

Glyn's heart seemed to stand still as the man gave a snatch at the rope.

"That's the way to strike," he cried excitedly. "I've caught him, and a heavy one too."

Glyn's heart sank with disappointment, for there was no heaviness about the belt, and he stood waiting now as the winch was steadily turned and the bucket began to rise.

They had not been observed before, but a little party of about a dozen of the younger boys had been hovering for some time about the well-house-door, and first one and then another made a dash in from time to time when Wrench was too busy with the buckets to take any notice of them.

Burton had come inside now, to range up close to Glyn, and in an affectionate way passed his arm round that of the lad who had been his defender more than once.

Glyn responded by withdrawing his arm, placing both hands on the little fellow's shoulders, and thrusting him in front so that the boy could have a good view of all that there was to see.

"I say, Severn," he cried, turning his head to look up, "no larks—no shoving me down the well!"

"Why not?" said Severn merrily, as he gripped the little fellow tighter.

"Because old Slegge will want me to bowl for him, and he likes kicking me."

"Likes kicking you? Why?" said Glyn, speaking almost mechanically, for he was anxiously watching the dark hole for the ascent of the next bucket.

"Because I'm so soft and don't hurt his feet."

"Don't let it drop out, mates," cried the gardener, who was on the other side of the well, turning one winch. "Hold tight now you have got him. Do you know what it is?"

"No," replied Wrench; "but I think by the feel of it when I got it slithered into the bucket that it must be an old brick out of the side somewhere."

"Yah! Not it!" said the gardener. "I'll tell you what it is: it's that big old tom-cat of the Doctor's that used to be about the garden and was always scratching up my young plants. He was missing four or five years ago, and I dare say he got into the top bucket to curl up for a nap one night, and went down in it and was drowned."

"If it is," said Wrench, "he's got to be pretty heavy with soaking up so much water down below. Maybe you know better than that how it was he did get drowned and left off scratching up your plants."

As the man said these words little Burton gave quite a jump, and made a peculiar sound.

"Here," said Glyn quietly, "what are you starting at? Did you think I was going to pretend to push you in?"

"N-n-no," said the little fellow in a peculiar tone.

"What are you laughing at?" said Glyn, tightening his hold on the boy's shoulders.

The little fellow squirmed.

"It—it—it—it—it,"—he stuttered—"it does tickle me so!"

"There, there! Steady, steady!" said Glyn. "No nonsense, or I shall send you out of the well-house."

"No, no; please don't, Severn," whispered the boy excitedly. "Let me stay, please. I do so want to see."

"Very well, then, only no games now," and in rather a hopeless way, feeling as he did that there would be no morocco case and belt brought up this time, Glyn patiently waited till from out of the darkness the bucket came into sight, was wound up till it was well within reach, a thump and a scraping noise coming echoing up from the bottom to announce that its fellow had reached the end of its journey, and Wrench cried out "Wo—ho!" for the gardener to hold on tightly by the handle and prevent the heavy bucket running down again.

"Why, Crumpets!" cried Wrench, "what in the world have we got here?" while Burton reached both hands back behind him so as to get a good grip at the lapels of Severn's jacket, and began to dance with delight.

"Why, it's a cricket-bat!" cried Wrench. "Hanging over the side of the bucket by a string tied round the handle!"

At this Burton began to make uncouth sounds as if he were being choked in his efforts to suppress a hearty burst of laughter.

"Well, this 'ere's a pretty game," continued Wrench, as he took hold of the bat by the handle and ran his hand along the muddy string till at the bottom of the bucket his hand came in contact with a heavy brick. "Why, any one would think it was a tom-cat with a string round its neck and a brick at the other end of the string so as to keep him down. Four or five years ago! Why, that would be time enough for all the flesh and skin to have gone; but I never knowed that cats' skillingtons was shaped like a cricket-bat.—Here, steady, youngster!" he continued to the little fellow, "if you laugh like that you will have a fit."

"Oh, I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" panted the little chap, and wrenching himself free from Glyn's grasp he rushed out at the well-house door, ten or a dozen of his comrades bounding up to him as he shouted, "Oh, come and look! come and look! Here it is! They've pulled it up, drowned and quite dead."

There was a yell of delight from the little crowd, and all rushed up to the well-house-door, to begin performing something like a triumphant war-dance about the blackened and muddy bat.

"Here, I say, some one," cried Burton, "run and tell old Slegge that they have found his cricket-bat drowned in the well like a dead dog in a pond."

"Hush! Hush! Oh no. Hold your tongue!" whispered another of the boys excitedly. "Let him find it out for himself. Don't let the cat out of the bag."

"Bat out of the bag, you mean," said Glyn, who knew of the disappearance of the bat and began to see through what had been done. "Which of you did this?"

There was no reply.

"Do you hear?" cried Glyn, catching Burton by the collar of his jacket.

"I shan't tell," replied the little fellow. "Serve him right for loading the old bat with lead.—Chuck it down again, somebody."

"Nay," cried Wrench; "I am not going to have any more things drowned in my well. Now then, stand aside, some of you! Clear out, and take that bat away."

"Here," cried Burton. "Come on, boys! Bring it along."

"Stop a moment," said Glyn. "Here's a painted wooden label here. What's this on it?"

"B—e—a—s—t," said Wrench, "only it's turned nearly black with being in the water, and very badly done; but that's it, sure enough, sir—beast."

"Yes, that's it—beast," said another of the boys, snatching the bat from Glyn's hand, while another boy got hold of the brick.

"Come on, boys," cried Burton. "Let's get a spade from the potting-shed and bury the beast before old Slegge knows." And away they galloped, followed by a shout from the gardener:

"Here, I say, you mind you put that there spade away again!—They're nice uns, Mr Severn, sir, and knew about it all the time."

"Yes," said Wrench; "that young Burton was chuckling and laughing so that he could hardly bear himself while he was waiting to see it come up.—Now, then, twist t'other bucket over, mate, and give it a drag round the bottom. What are we going to catch next?"

Glyn started once more, his heart beginning to beat fast with expectation; but it gradually calmed down as the time went on, bucket after bucket after a careful scraping along the bottom bringing up nothing but a very little mud, and he began to feel convinced that if there had been a morocco case down at the bottom of the well it must have been felt in the careful dredging the live rock received, even if it had not been brought up.

"There," said Wrench, "that'll do for to-day. It's only scraping for nothing to get a little mud like that. I dare say there'll be six inches of water in the bottom by to-morrow morning, and we will give the whole place a good scraping round in getting that out; then another the next day, and it ought to do."

"But do you feel sure there's nothing down there now?" said Glyn.

"Certain, sir. What do you say to going down yourself to see? You could stand in the bucket, and we'd let you down. You wouldn't mind turning round as you went down?"

"No," cried Glyn eagerly; "and there's no water there now."

"Not much more than enough to fill a teacup, sir. What do you say?"

"I'll go," cried Glyn excitedly. "I could take a lantern with me so as to make sure there was nothing left."

"Well, yes, sir, it would be wise to take a candle," said Wrench.—"Wouldn't it, gardener?"

"Nay, my lad; you ought to send the light down first. Then, if it didn't go out, him as went down wouldn't go out."

"What do you mean?" said Glyn.

"Foul air, sir. Like enough there's some down at the bottom of that well."

"Oh, there couldn't be any to hurt," cried Glyn eagerly. "I'll go, Wrench. Get a candle."

"Not I, sir," said the man sturdily. "If any one was to go down that well it would be me; but there ain't no need for it. I could swear there's nothing down there, and I shan't go."

"Nobody wants you to go," cried Glyn. "I'll go myself."

"That you don't, sir, if I know it," said Wrench sturdily. "Pst! Here's the Doctor."

For at that moment the entrance was darkened and the Doctor came in, picking his way very carefully lest he should step into one of the puddles of the muddy floor.

"Well, my men," he said in his slow, pompous way, "have you nearly emptied the well?"

"Quite, sir," said Wrench.

"Was there any mud?"

"Yes, sir; we got out about two cart-loads, and scraped out all we could. To-morrow, when there's a little more water come back, we're going to try again."

"Yes," said the Doctor; "clean it out thoroughly while you are about it; and mind and carefully secure the door when you come away. You had better lock it, so that nobody can get in.—Well, Mr Severn, you must be tired of watching here. Come and walk down the garden with me."

Glyn followed the Doctor, who made room for him to walk abreast till they were half-way down the main path, when the latter said quietly, "Well, Severn, what have you found?"

"Nothing, sir," replied Severn, who did not consider it necessary to allude to the bat.

"No," said the Doctor; "I did not expect you would. Of course, you see, my boy, that it was only a dream."



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

BETWEEN BOYS.

"Oh, I say, what a lovely morning!"

Glyn, who had lain awake half the night, woke up with a start, to see Singh standing barefooted by the window, which he had just thrown wide open to let in the joyous sunshine and the soft sweet air. "Yes, jolly," he cried, inhaling a deep breath. "No! Most miserable morning I ever saw," and he sank back sitting on the edge of his bed, to utter a deep groan.

Singh sprang to his side in an instant. "Glyn, old chap, what's the matter? Are you ill?"

"Yes, horribly. In my head. Oh, I say! I couldn't sleep for ever so long last night for thinking about it."

"Then why didn't you wake me, old fellow? I'd have dressed directly and gone and told the Doctor."

"What about?"

"You being so ill."

"Bah!" cried Glyn angrily. "It isn't salts and senna. What a fellow you are! You don't mean to say that you'd forgotten that the dad's coming down to-day?"

Singh plumped himself down on the carpet like a native of Dour, untroubled by clothes, with his knees nearly to his ears and his crossed hands before him resting on the floor, while his face lost its sympathetic expression and puckered up into one of misery and despair.

"Yes, I had," he said, with a groan; "all about it. Here," he cried passionately, "I won't be treated like a schoolboy! I am a prince and a chief, and the belt was mine. It's gone, and I won't be bullied about it by any one."

"Not even by your guardian, eh?"

"Not even by my guardian," cried the boy haughtily. "If Colonel Severn says anything to me about it I shall tell him I won't hear another word, and that he is to go to the best jeweller in London and order another exactly like the one that has been stolen."

"Of course," said Glyn solemnly. "It'll be as easy as kissing your hand, and they'll know at once how to engrave the emeralds with the old Sanskrit inscription, and make the belt of the same kind of leather, so beautifully soft, dull, and yellow; and there are plenty of people in London who can do that Indian embroidery."

Singh nodded his head shortly.

"Bah! You jolly old Tom Noodle!" continued Glyn; "why, even if they could get as big emeralds and manage somehow to have the exact words of the inscription cut, would it be the same old belt and stones as came down from the past, and that your father used to wear?"

Singh's eyes dilated and his lips parted.

"No," he said with a groan. "Oh, Glynny, what a beast you are! And you call yourself my friend!"

"Never," cried Glyn. "It was you said I was."

"Yes, and instead of helping me in my trouble, and saying a few words to comfort me, you call me names."

"Yes, but I didn't call you a beast. Is it being a friend to hide the truth from you and let you snuggle yourself up with a lot of sham? Answer me this: would a fresh belt be anything more than an imitation?"

"No, I suppose not," groaned Singh. "I am a prince, and going to be very rich some day, and rule over my people, with a little army of my own, and elephants, and everything any one could wish for; but I am not a bit clever, except at wicket-keeping. I haven't got half such a head as you have, Glyn, and such a head as I have got is now all muddled and full of what you may call it."

"Brains," said Glyn cynically.

"No, no; I don't mean that," said Singh piteously. "Don't tease me, old chap; I am so miserable. I mean, my head's full of that stuff, I don't remember what you call it—I mean what you have when you are very sorry for something you have done."

"Misery?"

"No, no. Here, I remember—remorse. I know well enough now, though I don't like owning it, that if I had done as you told me, and taken care always to lock it up, that belt wouldn't be gone."

"Well, it's too late to talk about that," said Glyn, "and it's no use to cry over spilt milk. You have got to face it all out with the dad when he comes, and take your blowing-up like a man."

"I can't. I shall do just as I said, and even if it isn't going to be the same belt," cried the boy passionately, "I shall give your father orders. Yes, I can see you sneering. Orders, orders," he repeated, with increased emphasis, "to have a new one made."

Glyn threw himself back on his bed, and gave his heels a kick in the air. "Ho, ho! ha, ha!" he roared with laughter. "What a game! Mind and do it when I am there. I should like to see you jump on a fence and cry 'Cock-a-doodle-doo' at my father. Fancy you playing the haughty prince to him! Why, he'd stare at you. You know his way. And he'd take a grab of his moustache in each hand and pull it out straight before he began; and then he'd get up out of his chair, take hold of you by one of your ears, lead you back, and put you between his knees as he seated himself again. And then he'd talk, and at the first word he said, he'd blow all the haughty wind out of you, and you'd curl up like a—oh, I don't know what. It's nonsense to try and think of similes, for you'd never say what you pretend."

"Well, then, I shall bolt, as you call it," cried Singh. "I won't face him. I can't face him."

"Why?"

"Because I am too proud I suppose, and the Colonel isn't my master."

"I say, Singhy, get off the stilts, old chap, and be a man over it. You know what the dad always used to say to both of us: 'A fellow who has done wrong and owns up like a man is half-forgiven at once.'"

"Oh yes, I recollect. But do help me now, I am in such trouble."

"You are in no worse trouble than I am."

"Oh yes, I am. You are not to blame, for you did tell me to be careful; and though I didn't like it at the time, I can see now how right you were."

"Yes; but I wasn't half right enough. I ought to have made you tell the Doctor what you'd got in the box, and then he'd have insisted upon its being kept in a safer place."

"But I wouldn't have given it up," cried Singh angrily.

"Oh yes, you would," continued Glyn; "and I feel now that I ought to have gone straight to the Doctor and told about your going to see Professor Barclay."

"No, you oughtn't, and you wouldn't have been such a sneak. Besides, it would have been getting poor Mr Morris into trouble, too, for taking me there. Did you want him to lose his place?"

"Well, no," said Glyn thoughtfully.

"And as to my going to see Professor Barclay and lending him a little money now and then—I mean, giving it—it was my own money, and what's the good of having money if you don't do good with it?"

"Well," said Glyn thoughtfully, "there is something in that," and the boy seemed yielding to his companion's attack.

Singh realised this, and pressed it home.

"I am sure it was doing more good with my allowance than you do with yours, always stuffing yourself with fruit and sweets and things."

"That I am not!" cried Glyn indignantly.

"Yes, you are. Why, you have got quite half of that big three-shilling cake in your box now."

"Oh, but that was to eat of a night when we came to bed and felt as if we ought to have a little more supper."

"Oh, bother!" cried Singh angrily. "What shall I do. Here, I know. I shall go."

"What, run away?"

"Yes," cried Singh, "and stop away till my guardian writes to me and begs of me to come back; and then I shall make terms, and not give way till he promises that he won't say another word about the belt."

Glyn chuckled to himself softly. "How are you going to make terms?" he said.

"I shall write to him," cried Singh importantly.

"Without giving any address?" said Glyn, with a mirthful look dancing in his eye.

"What rubbish! Why, of course I shall put my address, so that he can write to me again—"

"And then he won't write to you," said Glyn. "He'll come to you and fetch you back with a flea in your ear."

"Oh, you are a brute!" cried Singh viciously. "And I feel as if I could—No, I won't. I shall treat you with contempt."

"That's right; do. I say, you are comforting me nicely, aren't you? Pig! disagreeable old jungle-pig! That's what you are."

"Well, why don't you help me then? What am I to do?"

"Get dressed, I think," said Glyn. "Don't be what old Brohanne calls a bete—big fool. Do as I do. Go and have it out with the dad, and get out of one's misery. He won't be very hard."

"Oh, if it was only a good—good—good—What's that you say?"

"Bullying?"

"No, no. It was a bit of slang, and I like to use bits of English slang when I can; they'll be so useful to know by-and-by when I am scolding my people. Not bullying, but—"

"Oh, you mean tongue-thrashing?" said Glyn.

"Yes, that's it, tongue-thrashing. I wouldn't mind then. I feel so ashamed of myself."

"All right. So do I, I suppose, for making a mess of it when I wanted the dad to think that I had managed you so well that I was making myself fit to be your friend and companion when we both grew up to be men."

The next minute the lads were busy making their preparations to descend for a little study before the breakfast-bell should ring; and as he washed and dressed, Glyn's brow looked wrinkled and cloudy, for he was thinking very seriously all the while.

On the other hand, Singh dressed himself as if he had a quarrel with everything. He chipped the edge of the basin as he handled the ewer, dropped the lid of the soap-dish with a clatter, and as he washed himself he burst out with an angry ejaculation, for the wet soap was gripped so tightly and viciously that it flew out of his hand as if in fear, and dived right under the bed to the farthest end, where it had to be hunted out and retrieved, covered with the flue that had been forgotten by one of the maids; while the way in which he finished off with his towel was harsh enough to produce a smarting sensation upon his skin.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

A WITNESS CALLED.

Neither of the boys enjoyed his breakfast that morning, and their studies afterwards fared very badly, for their attention was principally directed from their books to the door, which opened again and again for some reason or another, but not for the delivery of the message they expected.

Knowing the military precision of the Colonel, both boys began to wonder at a quarter-past eleven why they had not been summoned, for the Colonel had said in his curt epistle to Glyn—which "looked cross," so the boy said—that he would be at the Doctor's at eleven.

Half-past was marked by the hands of the big dial, quarter to twelve, and then five minutes to mid-day, and in a few minutes the masters would rise; but there was no summons, and, what was more, the Doctor had not been in the class-room that morning.

It was exactly one minute to twelve, and just as Singh's spirits were rising fast from the effect of having fully settled in his own mind that the Colonel would not come down that day, that his heart sank with a rush, for Wrench entered with the familiar announcement that the Doctor wished to see Mr Severn and Mr Singh in his study.

The boys followed the footman, and as soon as they were outside Glyn began to question him.

"Has my father come, Wrench?"

"Yes, sir," said the man coldly, for since the beginning of the trouble and the sharp examinations that had taken place, the behaviour of the servants had been distant in the extreme, and such friendly intercourse as had existed between the pupils and masters had received a decided check. In fact, as the days glided away, the Doctor's establishment had become more and more haunted by the evil spirit, suspicion.

"How long has my father been here?" asked Glyn.

"About an hour, sir," replied the man shortly. "I didn't look at the clock. This way, please, sir. I am busy."

It was so different from the Wrench of the past that it sent a chill through the boys, as they followed on and began whispering so that the man should not hear.

"Go on first, Glynny," whispered Singh.

"Get out! I haven't lost my belt," was the reply.

"But the Colonel's your father."

"Well, I can't help that, can I? It's about your business. You go on first."

"I shan't. I have got something wrong with my legs," said Singh. "They feel quite weak."

"Come on together," cried Glyn, and he thrust his arm through Singh's, as the door was opened and the boys uttered a sigh of relief in concert, for the Doctor was not present, and at first they had to see the Colonel alone.

It was a strange sensation that ran through both, a mingling of dread, despair, and misery, as they gazed in imagination into the stern, threatening countenance of the fierce-looking old soldier, and wished themselves a thousand miles away. For Glyn felt more uncomfortable than ever before in his life, and as he darted a quick sideways glance at his companion it was to see no haughty indignant prince ready to stand defiantly upon his rights, but a fellow-pupil appearing as mild and troubled as could be.

All this was little more than momentary, and the fierce threatening face they had come to encounter was all fancy made; for the Colonel's looks as he held out his hand was very much the same as when they had dined with him the last time at his hotel, and his salute was just a hearty English:

"Well, boys, how are you? But you two fellows have been making a pretty mess of it over that belt!" And before either of them could reply, he continued, in his short, giving-order style, "Great nuisance and bother to me. I have had quite two months taken up with your affairs, Singh— Dour business, you know—and I shall be very glad when you are old enough to take the reins in your hand and drive yourself."

"But, guardian—" began Singh, who was breathing more freely, the warm pressure of the Colonel's hand having thrilled him through and through.

"Oh yes, I know, my boy; I didn't mean that. I am not going to be pensioned off. I am going to be a sort of House of Lords to you two commoners, and you will come and refer all big matters to me. Let's see, what was I saying? Oh, I've been busy two months over the Dour affairs. Got them pretty straight, and I was going up into Scotland for a month's rest. I meant to write from there if you had been doing your sums a little better, Glyn, and if you, Singh, had improved a bit in your spelling, for the way in which you break your shins over the big words in your letters is rather startling."

"Oh, guardian, aren't you rather too hard?" said the boy appealingly. "But you weren't only going to write to the Doctor about that?"

"Humph! No. I had some idea about salmon-fishing when the season comes on."

"Oh, fishing!" cried the boys in a breath.

"Yes," said the Colonel. "It won't be like getting up in the hills amongst the mahseer. Bah! Here am I running away about fishing! I caught a forty-pounder last time I tried, and a big fight too. But the Doctor wanted me to come out here about this wretched belt business, and I have had to leave my club and put off my journey to come down and see about this.—It's a bad business, Glyn. I am afraid you have not been so sharp as you should have been."

"I have tried my best, father."

"I suppose so; but the best's bad."

"Don't be hard on him, guardian," said Singh, laying his hand affectionately on the Colonel's shoulder. "It was all my fault, and I know better now."

"Know better? What do you mean by that, sir?"

"Well, sir," said Singh hesitatingly, "I know it was weak and foolish of me to want to have a showy thing like that to wear; but I was not so English then as I am now."

"Showy thing like that, eh?" said the Colonel. "Ahem! Well, I don't know that you need excuse yourself about that. It's rather natural. A soldier likes showy regimentals. I was always proud of my uniform, boys. No, I am not going to fall foul of you about that, Singh, so long as you didn't make a goose of yourself with it. But when you had such a showy thing, you ought to have had gumption enough to know how to take care of it. Well, it will be a lesson to you to know how to behave by-and-by when you come out among your own people as a prince. You won't go pitching your jewels about then as if you were asking people to come and help themselves."

"But it was like this, father—" began Glyn.

"Halt!" cried the Colonel sharply. "Wait till the Doctor comes. He is going through it all quietly with you, and he has asked me to sit like a judge till it has all been put before me, and then I am to give my verdict. He asks me to say whether the matter shall be placed in the hands of the police. Well, one of you had better ring, and—"

As he was speaking, there was a tap at the door, which was gently opened, and the Doctor said, "May I come in?"

"Yes, sir. Come in, come in. I have had my say to the boys, and told them what I think about their carelessness, and to a certain extent our young friend here, Singh, agrees, I believe, that it was rather a mistake for him to have that piece of vanity at school."

"I am glad, Colonel," said the Doctor, seating himself, "that they are ready to confess a fault; but as one who seeks to hold the scales of justice evenly, I hope you will excuse me for saying that I think my pupils are not entirely to blame; for—I beg you will not be offended—I venture to think it was rather indiscreet on your part to give way to my young friend Singh, however much he may have pressed you, and placed in his hands so valuable an heirloom."

"Humph! You think so, do you?" grunted the Colonel. "However, it is not of so much consequence. He has got plenty more valuable jewels— enough to make himself look as gay as a peacock by-and-by."

"Excuse me, Colonel Severn," said the Doctor stiffly; "I think the matter is of very great consequence. Not only is it a serious loss—"

The Colonel grunted again.

"But I feel as if the honour and reputation of my school are at stake, and it was for that reason that I wrote and asked you to come down to consult with me as to what steps should be taken now towards the recovery of the belt. This, before placing the matter in the hands of the police."

"Oh, hang the police!" said the Colonel shortly. "We can settle this little matter, I am sure, without calling in the help of policeman A or Z."

"I am very glad to hear you say so, Colonel; for it would be most repugnant to me, and painful to my staff of assistants, and for my pupils, I may add. There are the servants too, and the publicity in the town, where I am afraid the matter is too much talked about already. You think, then, that we may dispense with the police?"

"Certainly," said the Colonel; "unless," he added drily, "Singh here wants the business carried to the bitter end."

"I, sir? Oh no!" cried Singh. "If I could do as I liked I wouldn't have another word said about it. I hate the old belt. Can't even think of it without seeming to have a nasty taste in my mouth."

"Oh," said the Colonel; "but we can't stop like that. I think, for every one's sake, the shoe should be put on the right foot.—What do you say, Dr Bewley?"

"I quite agree with you, sir. We have talked the matter pretty well over this morning, and I have told you what I have done. I was bound to question the servants, though all of them have been with me for years, and I have perfect confidence in their honesty. As to my pupils, I could not examine and cross-examine every boy. It would have been like expressing a doubt of every little fellow's truth. It has been a most painful thing for me, sir; and if you can help me or advise me in the wearisome business, I should be most grateful."

"Very well, sir. I suppose I have had a little experience acting the part of magistrate in India, where petty thefts are very common; and I have attended trials in England, and have been vain enough to think to myself that I could examine a witness or cross-examine more to the point than I have heard it done in some of our courts."

"Then," said the Doctor, "you were good enough to suggest two or three little things this morning. What should you do first?"

"Well," said the Colonel thoughtfully, "I think, first of all, it is due to those gentlemen who act as your ushers that they should be asked to join in our consultation."

"Certainly. Quite right," said the Doctor, and, ringing the bell, he sent a message by Wrench to the class-room, and if the masters were not there, bade the man find them in the grounds.

There was a pause in the proceedings here, during which the Doctor and his visitor chatted about political matters, and the boys sat whispering together about the last match.

But they had not long to wait. Morris came bustling in to bow to the Colonel and take the seat to which the Doctor pointed, while Rampson and Monsieur Brohanne came in together from a walk round the grounds.

Then, after a very few preliminaries, forming a sort of introduction to the masters of the boys' father and guardian, the Colonel spoke about the great unpleasantness of the matter and the Doctor's desire to have what seemed like a cloud hanging over his establishment swept away.

He addressed a few words then to Rampson, who had nothing more to say after declaring his perfect certainty that not one of the boys he had the honour of instructing would have been guilty of such a crime.

Monsieur Brohanne, too, declared himself as lost in astonishment at the trouble which had come upon them like a sudden tempest. No, by his faith, he said, he could not think how such an outrage could have taken place.

Morris was disposed to be more voluble, and the Colonel more ready to examine him, while the master was prompt and eager in his replies, sighing as if with relief as the Colonel at length stopped short and sat patting the carpet with his right toe. "Well, sir," said the Doctor at last, "seeing that, as I told you, I carefully examined the servants, I had plunged as far as this in the mystery before."

"Humph!" grunted the Colonel, with his eyes closed, and Glyn and Singh exchanged glances.

"The servants," said the Colonel softly; "the servants. Doctor, I should like you to ring for that man of yours."

Morris glanced at the Doctor, who bowed his head, and the usher stepped to the bell.

"Oh, father!" cried Glyn excitedly, "pray don't suspect Wrench!"

"Hold your tongue, sir," said the Colonel sternly. "Wait and hear what is said, and don't jump at conclusions."



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

UNDER EXAMINATION.

Then there was a tap and Wrench appeared. "Come in, my man," said the Colonel, "and close the door."

Wrench started, turned pale and then red, as he looked sharply at his master, who sat perfectly still and avoided his gaze.

"Come a step nearer, my man," said the Colonel. Wrench gazed at him defiantly, shook himself, jerked up his head, looked hard at the two boys, who were watching him, tightening his lips the while, and then, after taking two steps instead of one, stood facing the Colonel, as much as to say: "Now, ask me as many questions as you like."

"Your master has deputed me, my man, to carry on this investigation, and I should be obliged by your replying in a straightforward, manly way. You are not before a magistrate, and hence are not sworn. Doctor Bewley gives you an admirable character for honesty and straightforward conduct, and if I ask you questions that sound unpleasant in your ears, don't run away with the idea that it is because you are suspected."

Wrench's manner changed a little, for the references to his uprightness and rectitude sounded pleasant in his ears.

"I give you credit," continued the Colonel, "for being as desirous as these gentlemen here and I am to find out the culprit."

"Yes, sir; certainly, sir, and Mr Singh and Mr Severn, sir, will tell you that I have been as much cut up about it as if the blessed—I beg your pardon, gentlemen—as if the belt had been my own."

"Exactly," said the Colonel. "Now then, it seems that the time when the belt was lost cannot be exactly pointed out, since it may have been taken at one of the times when Mr Singh's travelling-case was left unlocked."

"Oh, sir, but nobody ever goes up into his room except the maids and Mrs Hamton and me; and, bless your heart, sir, the Doctor will tell you that he wouldn't doubt any of us to save his life."

"Hah!" said the Colonel. "A good character, my man, is a fine thing. Now, what about strangers—people from the town—peddlers, or hawkers, or people with books to be subscribed for? You have such people come, I suppose, to the house?"

"Lots of them, sir; but they never come any farther than the door," cried Wrench, laughing. "You see, sir, Mr Singh's dormitory is on the first floor of the new building, over the little lecture-hall. Nobody ever went there."

"Could any strangers come up through the grounds and get into the passage or corridor after dusk?"

"No, sir; not without coming through the house. I have laid awake lots of times, sir, trying to put that and that together; but it's all been like a maze, sir—a sort of maze, sir, made like with no way in and no way out."

"Humph!" said the Colonel, looking at the man searchingly. "I have heard of cases where people have come to a house and asked the servants if somebody was at home when the speaker knew that he was out, and then made an excuse to be shown into a room to write a letter to the gentleman, say the Doctor, whom he wanted to see; Did such a thing happen in your recollection? No, no; don't hurry. Tax your memory.— Ah!—What is it?"

"I've got it, sir!" cried Wrench excitedly.

"Oh!" said the Colonel quietly. "Well, what did happen?"

"To be sure, somebody did come just as you said, sir, as you asked me that question, once. But it hasn't got anything to do with the stealing of that belt."

"Perhaps not," said the Colonel; "but let us hear. You say somebody did once come and ask for the Doctor when he was out?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, no, sir. It wasn't to see the Doctor, sir. It was on the day when everybody was out, gone to the Strongley cricket-match, and there was nobody at home but the maids and me, for Mrs Hamton our housekeeper, sir, had leave from the Doctor to go and see a friend who was ill."

"Well," said the Colonel sharply, "what is it, Glyn?" For the boy had jumped up excitedly.

"That was the day, father, when Singh left the keys in the lock of his box."

"Exactly," said the Colonel. "Sit down, my boy.—Well, my man, whom did this stranger ask to see?"

"Please, sir, it wasn't a stranger; it was a gentleman the Doctor knew, and who came here to dinner once, and he asked for Mr Morris."

"Oh!" cried Morris, springing up. "Impossible!"

"Mr Morris, I must ask you to be silent," said the Colonel sternly.

"But—"

"I will hear anything you have to say, sir, when I have finished with this witness," said the Colonel firmly.—"Go on, my man. Who was this gentleman?"

"Pro—Professor Barlow, sir. No, sir; Professor Barclay, sir. And he said he was very much disappointed, as he had come down expressly from London to see Mr Morris. He said he couldn't stop, but he would write a letter if I would give him pens, ink, and paper."

"Go on," said the Colonel, as the hearers bent forward with eager interest. "Did you supply him with pens, ink, and paper?"

"Yes, sir. You see, he wasn't a stranger, but a friend of master's."

"And you took him to my study?" said the Doctor almost fiercely.

"I beg your pardon, Doctor," said the Colonel stiffly.

"I beg yours, Colonel Severn, for the interruption."

"Now then, my man," continued the Colonel; "you took this visitor, this Professor Barclay—"

There was a low, indignant murmur here, and the Colonel looked round sharply.

"You took this Professor Barclay into your master's study, I understand, and gave him pens, ink, and paper, and left him to write the letter?"

"No, sir, that I didn't," said Wrench, grinning with triumph. "I have been a servant too many years, sir, to go and do a thing like that. What, take him into master's room, where he keeps his cash-box and cheque-book in the little iron safe in the closet! And there's the presentation clock on the chimney-piece, and his old gold watch that he never wears in the table-drawer! No, sir. That gentleman was master's friend to some extent; but he was a stranger to me, and if he'd been a royal duke I shouldn't have done it."

"Then, what did you do?" said the Colonel.

"Took him into the theaytre lecture-room, sir, where there's little tables, and the young gentlemen writes out their exercises. That's what I did, sir," said Wrench triumphantly; and he looked hard at his master, who sat shaking his head at him solemnly.—"What! Wasn't that right, sir?" cried Wrench.

"Oh Wrench, Wrench, Wrench!" said the Doctor. "And you left him there, with the staircase close at hand leading right up to the corridor and the young gentlemen's dormitories?"

Wrench's jaw dropped, and one hand went slowly up to the back of his head and began to scratch.

"Well," continued the Colonel; "and how long did this gentleman stay?"

"I don't know, sir. Not half an hour—I'd swear to that. I gave him long enough to write a letter, and then I come back to see if he was ready to go."

"Let me protest," cried Morris indignantly. "No such letter was written for or delivered to me; that I declare."

"Pray be calm, sir," said the Colonel judicially. "You can ask this man any questions when I have done with him.—Now, my man, go on. Did you find this gentleman where you left him?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he gave you a letter to deliver to Mr Morris?"

"No, sir," cried Wrench sharply. "I'd forgotten all about it till you began arxing me questions like this. When I come in he got up in a disappointed sort of way and began tearing up the letter he had written quite small, and throwing it into the waste-paper basket. 'It's no use, my lad,' he said. 'I can't say in a letter one-hundredth part'—I ain't sure, sir, he didn't say a thousandth-part—'of what I want to tell Mr Morris. I'll stay in the town to-night, and come and see Mr Morris in the morning.'"

"And did he come and see Mr Morris in the morning?"

Morris half-rose in his chair, but sat down again.

"No, sir; and I haven't seen him from that day to this, though I had often seen them together before."

"That will do, my man," said the Colonel quietly.—"Now, Mr Morris; you wish to ask this man some questions?"

"Yes, sir," cried Morris springing up.—"Now, Wrench, did you ever tell me that Professor Barclay called when I was absent?"