Note on text: This is a copy of the original text that appeared in chums magazine
between Sept. 1908 to Jan. 1909. We have only added chapter numbers from chapter 21 
onwards as after chapter 21 no numbers were given on the original document. Basil
Windham is a pseudonym for P.G. Wodehouse.



The Luck Stone
A Story of Fun and Adventure at School

by
Basil Windham



Chapter 1

The Mumps and a Tragedy



It is not always pleasant to have the mumps. There are several drawbacks to the 
malady. It can be painful, and it does not tend to improve one's personal 
appearance. But it has this great advantage, that, if it attacks you towards the 
end of the holidays, you are pretty certain to be enjoying yourself at home when 
the rest of the world has gone back to school.

This was the case with Jimmy Stewart. After six weeks of the best time 
imaginable, he had been informed by the doctor, just when the prospect of school 
was beginning to lose the vagueness which had surrounded it during August and 
the early part of September, that he had got the mumps, and would be unable to 
return to Marleigh for another three weeks. Jimmy had danced a cake-walk as a 
feeble attempt to do justice to his feelings.

It was not that he disliked Marleigh. As a school he was very fond of it. Still, 
there was no getting out of the fact that it was a school; and, with the weather 
as glorious as it was, Jimmy did not want any school.

So he went into quarantine with a light heart. The chief drawback to mumps -- 
the fact that one is cut off from the society of one's fellows -- did not worry 
Jimmy. He was a sociable youth in term-time, and had as many friends as anybody 
else in the school; but in the holidays he found his own company good enough for 
him. He liked to loaf about by himself by the river, reading and ratting and 
fishing, and mumps made no difference to this programme. His father, Colonel 
Stewart, of the Indian Army, had been big-game shooting in Africa for the last 
nine months, and when his father was away he never saw anybody to speak of 
during the holidays, except the servants.

So Jimmy with the mumps carried on much as he had done before he got the mumps. 
The weather kept fine, and he spent most of his time down by the river.

It was now the last evening of his extra holidays. The doctor, to his disgust, 
had been up that morning, and pronounced him free from infection.

"You can go back to your school to-morrow", he said.

"Wouldn't it be better if I took another day or two?" suggested Jimmy. "It would 
be rather sickening for the chaps at Marleigh if I spread mumps there."

"You're too unselfish, my lad", said Doctor Willis. "We mustn't have you 
depriving yourself of school for their sake. Back you go tomorrow by the first 
train!"

"Oh, dash", said Jimmy.

"Just so", said Doctor Willis.

Jimmy had spent his last evening in one long, last bathe in the pool below the 
mill. It was getting on for October, but the water was still warm; and Jimmy had 
splashed about for an hour. He was now lying on the bank, reading.

A shadow fell across his book. He looked up. A sturdy, brown-faced man was 
standing beside him. It was his brownness which struck Jimmy most in his 
appearance. He was more sunburnt than anyone he had seen, with the exception of 
his father. The Indian sun had tanned Colonel Stewart to the colour of walnut, 
and this man had the same dried-up look.

"Well, matey", said the man.

"Hullo", said Jimmy.

"Taking a spell off?"

"Yes."

"Love us, it does a man good to see all this green. There's nothing to beat the 
good old English country. When you've been in India for half a dozen years —-"

"I thought you came from India", said Jimmy.

"The sun there ain't what you'd call a patent complexion cream, love us if it 
is. Do you live in these parts?"

"In the holidays I do."

"Then perhaps you could tell me where a house by the name of Gorton Hall is. G-
o-r-t-o-n. That's the place."

Gorton Hall was Colonel Stewart's house. Jimmy wondered for a moment what the 
man might want there, but he supposed he must be a friend of one of the 
servants. In Colonel Stewart's absence the servants had developed a habit of 
entertaining to a certain extent. Friends from the village were always dropping 
in.

"It's straight on down the road at the end of this field. You could get to it by 
a short cut, but you'd probably miss your way. Better stick to the road. You go 
by the church, pass a public-house —-"

"Do I!" said the other. "Not if I know it. Not with a thirst like what I've got. 
Five minutes one way or the other won't make much difference to me now. So long, 
matey. Be good."

"So long", said Jimmy, returning to his book.

He read on for another hour and more, till the sun disappeared behind the mill, 
and a chilly mist from the river reminded him that it was not midsummer, when 
you could sit out of doors half the night. There was very little fun in sitting 
there, shivering; so Jimmy got up, and began to walk back to the house across 
the fields.

It was dusk by the time he got into the drive. Everything looked dim and 
mysterious. The book Jimmy had been reading had been of a sensational type, and 
he could not keep down that vague feeling that someone was looking at him from 
behind his back, and following him, which most people have experienced at one 
time or another. He stopped now and then to listen, but he could hear nothing. 
He walked on quickly up the drive towards the house, where the lighted windows 
gleamed cheerfully.

Suddenly his heart leaped. A few feet in front of him a man's figure seemed to 
have appeared from nowhere. Jimmy stood still. Then he saw that the man was 
walking away from him, and a moment later he had recognised his friend of the 
riverside, the man from India.

"Rummy I didn't see him before", thought Jimmy. "I suppose the mist must have 
thinned."

He hurried on to overtake the man. He was feeling that it would not be 
unpleasant to have company for what remained of the walk to the house. He broke 
into a trot.

The behaviour of the man in front was singular. He whipped round at the sound of 
footsteps, and when Jimmy arrived he found himself looking into the muzzle of a 
small black revolver.

The next moment the man had recognised him.

"Hullo, matey", he said. "It's you, is it? Thought it might be someone else. 
Excuse the gun, sonny. You get jumpy out where I've been, and you find it's best 
to get into the habit of being ready to shoot first, and challenge afterwards. 
But we're chums, we are. And what might you be after? What do you want at 
Colonel Stewart's house?"

"I live there", said Jimmy, with a laugh. "I'm his son, you know."

The man looked at him with interest.

"His nipper, are you?" he said. "Well, I expect you'll do him credit. He's a 
fine officer, the colonel. Served under him in the North Surreys up on the 
frontier before I exchanged. He'll be in one of those rooms, I reckon", he 
added, pointing to the lighted windows, "dressing for mess."

"Oh, no", said Jimmy. "Didn't you know? Father's not in England."

"Not in England!"

The man looked dazed, almost as if he had received a blow.

"No. He's been out in Africa, shooting big game, for months. No one knows when 
he'll be back. I haven't had a letter from him for ages. He's not very good at 
writing. For all I know, he may be on his way back now."

The man continued to stand staring blankly at him. It began to dawn on Jimmy at 
last that Colonel Stewart's absence was something that mattered more than a 
little.

"I'm awfully sorry", he said. "Had you to see him about something important?"

The man had opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly something hummed past 
Jimmy's ear like an angry wasp. The man from India reeled, staggered back, 
groping blindly with his hands, and fell in a heap.




Chapter 2

The Man from India -- A Face in the Night



The suddenness of the thing paralysed Jimmy for the moment. It was all like a 
nightmare. He could not realise it. He had heard no report; he had seen no one. 
Yet there was the man on the ground, while a thin, dark stream trickled slowly 
over the gravel of the drive.

Then he found his voice and regained the use of his limbs simultaneously. He 
ran, shouting, towards the house.

As he reached it, the front door opened, throwing a flood of light out into the 
mist.

"Who's that? What's the matter? Lord, Master Jimmy, is that you?"

It was Perks, the colonel's butler.

"Perks, there's a man been shot in the drive."

Perks's was one of those minds which work slowly.

"Who shot him?" he inquired.

"I don't know. It all happened in a second. I was standing talking to him, when 
he went down in a heap. I heard the bullet. It whizzed close to my ear. But I 
didn't hear any shot. Come and help carry him in."

"Is he dead, Master Jimmy?"

"I don't know. He looks jolly beastly."

"I'll fetch George to help."

Perks was beginning to feel uneasy about the affair. His had been a placid life 
up till now, and, if he had to roam about while assassins were in the offing, he 
felt that it would be just as well to have George, the groom, a man of muscle, 
by his side.

"Someone ought to fetch the doctor, Master Jimmy."

Jimmy had a struggle with himself. He would have liked, above all things, to 
have stayed in the house, where everything was bright and lit-up and safe, 
instead of venturing out again into the darkness; but he told himself that it 
must be done, and he was the one who could do it quickest.

"I'll go", he said. "You bring the man in."

He found his bicycle, and lifted it down the steps on to the drive. As he did 
so, George the groom appeared with Perks, carrying the board which was to act as 
a stretcher. They proceeded down the drive to where the man was lying, a vague 
shape in the darkness. Jimmy lit his lamp, and mounted. He slowed down as he 
reached the wounded man.

"How is he?" he asked.

George the groom touched his forelock.

"He ain't dead, Master Jimmy, but he's next door to it. If I was you I'd fetch 
the doctor quick."

Jimmy rode on, looking neither to right nor left. He was conscious of a feeling 
as if a cold hand had been laid on the pit of his stomach, and his scalp was 
tingling. He had felt the same sensations before, in a slighter degree, on going 
in to bat for the school in an important match. If he had had to describe his 
feelings, he would have said that he was in a blue funk.

Once out of the drive and in the road, he felt better. It was not a long ride to 
the doctor's house. He propped his bicycle against the wall, and rang the bell. 
The doctor was in. Jimmy was shown into the consulting-room, and presently 
Doctor Willis entered, in cricket flannels, a Norfolk jacket, and carpet 
slippers, smoking a pipe.

"Well, young man", he said, "what do you mean by coming breaking in on an 
overworked medical man's hard-earned leisure? Have you come to tell me you've 
developed some other fatal malady which will keep you away from school?"

"I say, can you come up to the house at once? A man's been shot."

"Been shot!"

"Yes. In our drive."

"How did it happen?"

"I don't know. I was standing, talking to him, when the bullet came from 
nowhere, and hit him."

"How do you mean —- from nowhere? Didn't you hear a report?"

"No. That's the rummy part of it."

"Where is he shot?"

"I don't know. I didn't stop to look. I rushed to the house to get help, and 
then came straight to you. Can you see him now?"

"I'll get my bicycle. Wait a moment."

The moment seemed hours, but he reappeared at last, wheeling a bicycle and 
carrying a small bag.

"Now then", he said.

They rode off together.

Perks was waiting at the door with the information that the wounded man had been 
placed on the sofa in the colonel's sitting-room.

"You wait here, young man", said Doctor Willis.

Jimmy sat down, and tried to interest himself in a book, but his brain was in a 
whirl, and he could not fix his attention on the print.

Presently he heard the sound of returning footsteps. Dr Willis came in, looking 
grave.

"It's been a nasty job", he said. "I've got it out, though."

He held up a small piece of lead.

"Where was he hit?"

"In the left shoulder. An inch or two lower, and it would have been through his 
heart. Your friend has had a narrow escape. Who is he?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know? He seems to know you. He's asking to see you."

"I told him who I was. He'd come to see father. He'd served under him in India. 
I believe it was something important he wanted to see him about. At any rate, he 
looked jolly sick when I said father was away, and nobody knew when he'd be 
back."

"Well, he wants to see you about something, and pretty badly too. He wouldn't 
tell me what it was. Said he must see you. 'Send the colonel's nipper here', he 
kept saying."

"I'd better go at once, hadn't I?"

Doctor Willis looked thoughtful.

"Strictly speaking", he said, "he isn't in a condition to see anyone. But he 
seems set on it, and it'll be worse for him if he worries. I've told him you'll 
be with him in a few minutes. This is a confoundedly mysterious affair, young 
man. I can't make it out. He seems to take it quite as a matter of course that 
he should have been shot through the shoulder with an air-gun in the drive of an 
English house. Yes, an air-gun. Not the sort you use. Something a great deal 
bigger and more dangerous. I should like to find the owner of that gun, and ask 
him one or two questions. There's too much mystery about this business to please 
me. Well, you'd better go and see him. You must not let him keep you long. He's 
very weak indeed. I shall give you a quarter of an hour; then out you'll have to 
come, whether he's told you what he wants to or not. Run along."

Jimmy made his way to the sitting-room. The man was lying on the sofa, with his 
coat off and half his shirt cut away. His left shoulder was a mass of bandages. 
A shaded lamp burned on the table.

"Hullo", said Jimmy awkwardly. The atmosphere of a sick-room always made him 
feel awkward.

"Well, sonny", whispered the man. His voice was painfully weak, and the brown of 
his face had changed to a light yellow. "Here! Pull that blind down."

Jimmy looked at the window.

"There isn't one", he said. A dislike of blinds was one of Colonel Stewart's 
fads. He detested anything that gave him a shut-in feeling.

"Never mind. I expect they'd be afraid to risk it."

"Was there anything you wanted to tell me?" said Jimmy. "The doctor says he'll 
only give us a quarter of an hour."

"I won't waste time. I tell you, it gave me a bad shock when you told me the 
colonel wasn't at home. Worse shock than that bloomin' bullet did, 'cos I was 
expecting that, and I wasn't expecting the other."

"You were expecting it!"

"Yes, or something of the same sort. Do you know how many miles I've come to see 
the colonel, sonny?"

"No."

"No more do I. Thousands. And to find he wasn't on the spot when I got here. I 
tell you, it didn't want a bullet to knock me over then. A feather would have 
done it easy."

"But how do you mean you were expecting it?"

"Because it's happened before. I've heard the whistle of those bullets half a 
dozen times, I have, since I left the Dāk Bungalow. Heard 'em zipping past my 
ears for all the world like blanked mosquitoes in the 'ot weather. The day I 
left India one of 'em lifted the 'at off my head as if it was a breath of wind. 
It's like my luck that they should get me when I was thinking I was safe home. 
Pipped on the post, I call it."

"Who are they?" whispered Jimmy.

"Never you mind, sonny. No one you'd know. I'm not sure I know myself, though I 
can make a pretty fair guess. They're modest, retiring coves, they are. Don't 
shove themselves forward. Would rather you didn't make a fuss over them, if it's 
all the same to you. Oh, they're beauties. I wish I could get within arm's reach 
of them. They'd get one of those unsolicited testimonials the papers are always 
writing about."

His voice died away.

"Got a sip of water about, sonny?" he whispered.

There was a jug and a glass on the table. Jimmy poured out a glassful. He drank 
it greedily.

"Ah!" he grinned; "there's a deal to be said for water, after all, though I was 
never one to take it at the canteen. Now, sonny, time's getting on. The 
doctor'll be coming in presently. I'll tell you what it is I wanted to say to 
you. Just fetch that coat there, will you? Got it? That's right. Now feel along 
the right sleeve. Inside. Ah! Feel anything?"

"There's a sort of hard lump."

"Right you are, matey. There is a sort of hard lump. Now just you turn that 
sleeve inside out. Got a knife? Right. Cut the lining, and let's see what we've 
got."

Jimmy did as he was directed. Something small and round dropped out into his 
hand. He looked at it curiously in the lamplight. It was a dull, dirty blue 
stone. One side of it was half covered with a piece of brown paper, the other 
with some curious scratches, arranged with a certain order that suggested that 
they might be letters of some alphabet which was unknown to him. The stone was 
about the size of a shilling, perhaps a little larger; and it looked like 
nothing more than a piece of blue sealing-wax which had half-melted, and, while 
in that condition, had got things stuck on to it.

Jimmy dropped the coat, and looked up. As he did so, something in the window 
caught the corner of his eye. He wheeled round.

A man's face was looking through into the room.

For a second Jimmy met his eyes. Then the face disappeared. He rushed to the 
window. There was nothing to be seen. The whole thing might have been a trick of 
the imagination, so suddenly had it vanished. But Jimmy knew that his 
imagination had played him no trick. He had seen a man's face, a striking face, 
with piercing, cruel eyes. The lower half had been covered by a beard. He paused 
irresolutely.

"What's the matter, sonny?" asked the man on the sofa.




Chapter 3

The Blue Stone



Jimmy pulled himself together. He remembered what Dr Willis had said about his 
patient's weak state. It was no good exciting him by telling him what he had 
seen. In his present state it might be dangerous.

"It's nothing", he said; "I only thought I heard something."

The man sank back again on the sofa.

"They wouldn't risk coming so close to the house, not after what's happened", he 
said. "I expect it was nothing. Got the stone, matey?"

"Here you are", said Jimmy, dropping it into his hand. The man looked at it in 
silence.

"Well", he said at last, "it ain't much of a thing, not to look at, is it? But 
it's a deal more important than it looks, that dirty little bit of blue glass 
is. It's cost a good few poor chaps their lives in its time, not forgetting a 
few narrow squeaks to Corporal Sam Burrows, which is me, matey. And too bloomin' 
nearly the late Corporal Sam Burrows for my taste. It's cruel hard luck, strike 
me if it ain't, not finding the colonel here to take this bit of blue misery off 
my hands. See here, sonny. Listen to me. You're a good plucked one. I can see 
that. You're the colonel's nipper, and you do him credit. Are you game to tackle 
what may turn out a nasty job?"

"What is it?"

"It's like this. There's certain parties what is most uncommonly anxious, as you 
see, to lay their hands on this stone. And there's certain other parties, what 
may be the Government of India or may not -- I'm not telling you anything, mind 
-- what's equally bloomin' anxious to keep it out of their hands till they can 
slip it over to the colonel, who'll know what to do with it. See? Well, it's 
like this. It's no good me keeping the thing. They know where I am, and they'd 
have it in a couple o' days. But if you was to take it off to school with you, 
'ow are they to know? They sees you going back to school, same as any other 
young gentleman. 'Ow are they to know you've got the blue ruin in your trousers' 
pocket? Though, mind you, there's always the risk. You've got to think of that. 
If these parties I'm talking about once got to know as how you'd got it, they'd 
be down on you like a swarm of bees. And bees with bloomin' A1 stings, too."

Jimmy was silent. Things seemed to be happening to him so rapidly that 
everything had become unreal. Nothing sensational had ever occurred to him 
before in his whole life. His mind could only grasp one thing clearly, and that 
was that it was of the utmost importance that this small blue stone should be 
kept hidden till the return of Colonel Stewart. As for the risk -- he could not 
forget the face that had looked into the room. Whoever had been at the window 
had seen him with the stone in his hands.

"Well, sonny?" said Sam Burrows.

The Stewarts, father and son, did not belong to the type which weighs every risk 
and chance of an adventure before embarking on it. They were accustomed to act 
first, and reckon up the danger afterwards. Colonel Stewart had won the DSO for 
capturing a position which, according to all the rules of warfare, could not 
have been captured with the force at his disposal; and Jimmy took after his 
father.

"All right", he said. "Give us it."

"You are the colonel's nipper", said Sam, with conviction. "Here's the stone, 
sonny. Don't let it out of your hands for a minute. And keep your eyes skinned. 
Maybe there won't be any trouble at all, but if they do find out as you've got 
it -- I wish I could tell you who to watch out for, but I bloomin' well don't 
know myself. I only 'eard their blanked bullets. I can tell you one thing, 
though. If you should see a brown man with a twisted leg hanging about, keep 
your eyes open, and don't go for walks without 'avin' a chum or two with you. 
He's the only one of the lot as I could swear to, and I don't know if he's in 
England. I 'ad dealings with him in India frequent, but whether he stopped there 
or not I couldn't tell you. I know I haven't set eyes on him this side. Hullo, 
here's the doctor come to tell you it's time for us to part."

"You're perfectly right", said Doctor Willis, taking Jimmy by the shoulder, and 
pushing him towards the door. "There are your marching orders, young man; and if 
I catch you in here again, I'll give you the stiffest black draught you ever 
had."




Chapter 4 

The Thief in the Night and a Journey by Train



Jimmy did not sleep much that night. The excitement by itself would have kept 
him awake. Added to the responsibility of having the blue stone in his 
possession, it effectually put an end to any hopes he might have had of dropping 
off. After lying in the dark for an hour or so, he lit the gas, and began to 
read. It was a slow business, and after a while he found it a hungry one. At 
about three o'clock he was feeling that, if he did not get something to eat at 
once, exhausted Nature would be able to hold out no longer. He slipped on a coat 
and a pair of shoes, and stole out.

He had been on these nocturnal expeditions before, both at home and at school, 
where he and his friend, Tommy Armstrong, made rather a habit of wandering by 
night. He knew that the silence was the chief thing that made for success, even 
at home, for Perks had a rooted objection to having his stores raided, and 
Perks, when offended, could make himself thoroughly objectionable.

So Jimmy crept quietly along till he reached the larder door. It was only 
secured by a bolt outside. He went in, and was rummaging about with the aid of a 
match when he heard a sound.

He blew out the match and listened intently. He had not been mistaken. Somebody 
was trying to force open the pantry window. He could hear the soft grating of a 
file against the catch. Whoever it was must have been busy for some time; for, 
as Jimmy waited, listening, the file completed its work, and the window was 
raised noiselessly inch by inch. Jimmy could see nothing distinctly, till a 
gleam of light cut through the darkness, as the unseen visitor opened his 
lantern.

The sight of the light brought Jimmy to himself.

What followed seemed funny to him when he recalled it later; but at the moment 
the humorous side of the thing did not appeal to him. His heart was beating 
wildly, as he groped out for something to throw. His fingers closed on a loaf of 
bread. He could just see the dim outline of a man's figure against the open 
window; and, aiming at a venture, he flung his loaf of bread with all the force 
at his disposal. There was a dull bump, followed by a yell and a clatter, as the 
lantern fell to the ground. He had evidently made a good shot.

The burglar, on receipt of the bread, had not waited for more. It was plain that 
he looked on houses where quartern loaves flew at him from nowhere as unsuitable 
for his purposes. Jimmy heard his footsteps retreating across the lawn. He went 
to the pantry window, and looked out. There was too much mist for him to see 
anything distinctly. But he was certain the man was gone.

He wondered what he had better do. If he gave the alarm, it would only lead to a 
great deal of confusion, and spoil the rest of a number of people who disliked 
having their sleep disturbed. It would do no good. The man was not likely to 
return, knowing that he had once been seen. So Jimmy, having closed the shutters 
-- which should have been done before by Perks -- lit another match, collected a 
plateful of biscuits and some apples, and went back to bed, where, at about 
half-past four, he managed to get some sleep.



The train which was to take him back to Marleigh started at eleven o'clock. 
George, the groom, took him down in the dogcart, and Perks gave him a farewell 
benediction and a lunch-basket on the front steps.

Jimmy always rather liked the journey back to school. Perks seldom failed to 
come out strong with the food; and on the present occasion everything was in the 
best taste, notably a couple of bottles of home-brewed ginger beer, of a 
strength which beat anything he had come across previously.

Whether it was the lack of rest he had had during the night or the potency of 
the ginger beer, he did not know; but after half an hour an overwhelming feeling 
of drowsiness came over Jimmy. He could not keep his eyes open.

The next thing he was aware of was a dream-like sensation of seeing the well-
known face of Tommy Armstrong at the open window.

It was so absolutely impossible that Tommy should be there that Jimmy could not 
realise that he was awake. To start with, Tommy was at Marleigh. And, even if he 
had not been, how could he possibly be outside the carriage?

At this moment the dream-figure spoke.

"Hullo, Jimmy", it said. "Lend a hand, will you, and lug me in."

Jimmy shook off the last remnants of sleep and jumped up. Seizing Tommy by the 
hand, he hauled him into the carriage. As he did so, he was aware that the train 
was slowing down. It stopped just as Tommy, having rolled off the seat on to the 
floor, sat up and began to dust himself.

Tommy Armstrong was a freckled, red-haired youth with one of the widest grins 
ever seen on human face. He was about the same age as Jimmy. They shared a room 
at Marleigh. Tommy had the reputation of being the most reckless boy who had 
ever been to Marleigh School. He had absolutely no respect of persons, and why 
it was that the authorities had not dropped heavily on him before now nobody 
could understand. Probably it was because, in addition to his recklessness, he 
possessed also, and could, when he pleased, exhibit, a wonderful charm of 
manner. The German master, Herr Steingruber, whose life must have been a burden 
to him through Tommy, was never proof against it. He would set him colossal 
impositions during school hours, but, as often as he did so, he would cancel 
them as the result of a few minutes' conversation with the erring one after 
school was over. Tommy had a way of asking Herr Steingruber to play the 'cello, 
to which instrument the German master was devotedly attached, which was always 
good for a reprieve, whatever the offence may have been.

"What on earth's up?" asked Jimmy, as the train, with a jarring of brakes, came 
to a standstill. "What the dickens were you doing outside there?"

"I wasn't outside there", replied Tommy calmly. "Get that idea right out of your 
head. Whatever else you may forget, remember that I have been in here with you 
the whole time. See? Don't forget, a financial ruin stares me in the eyeball. I 
shall have to sell my yacht and aeroplane."

"What are we stopping for, I wonder!"

"Me. Don't give it away. They'll probably be round here in a jiffy."

"Who?"

"The guard and his crew."

"But why? What's happened?"

"I pulled the communication-cord."

"What! What on earth for?"

Tommy sighed.

"I'm blowed", he said, "if I can tell you. It was like this. I was alone in the 
carriage, and that rotten advertisement of theirs about pulling the 
communication-cord kept catching my eye. I have always wondered what would 
happen if you did pull it, and after a bit I simply couldn't stand it any 
longer, so I just got up and gave the thing a tug. Well, then it struck me that 
I hadn't got five pounds to pass over to them when they came round, so I just 
nipped out of the window and shuffled along, trying to find an empty carriage. 
Hullo, here they are! I say, guard, what on earth are we stopping for?"

"Someone's bin and pulled the communication-cord."

"What's up? A murder?"

"Someone's bin 'avin' a lark with the company, that's what's happened. It's a 
lark wot'll cost them five pounds, if I found 'oo it was did it."

"Well, what's the matter with asking the people in the carriage where the cord 
is?"

"There ain't nobody there."

"Are we going to stop here all night while you're hunting for the ghost?"

"I don't want none of your lip. I shouldn't be 'arf surprised if it wasn't you 
wot did it."

"Don't be silly, my good man. Pull yourself together. How could I do it from 
here? Do you think I've got an indiarubber arm?"

"I don't know about that. You've got cheek enough for 'arf a dozen."

"Go away", said Tommy coldly. "I don't like your face. I never did."

By this time passengers' heads, protruding from windows, were demanding angrily 
the cause of the delay. The guard, grumbling, returned to his carriage, and soon 
afterwards the train started again.

"What on earth are you doing here?" asked Jimmy. "Why aren't you at school?"

"Got a day off to go and see an uncle of mine, who lives down the line. Good old 
sort. Gave me a quid. It'll come in useful this term for paying off tick and 
other things. Well, what's been the matter with you? What have you been slacking 
at home for all this while?"

"Mumps."

"You look all right now."

"I am. What's been happening at Marleigh?"

"Nothing much. Old Steingruber's been in pretty good form. He's taken up golf. 
He's a bit rottener at it than he is at anything else, which is saying a good 
deal. You remember him at cricket last term. Well, his golf's worse than that. 
He plays with Spinder. Oh, you don't know Spinder. He's a new master, and the 
most awful blighter you ever struck. Specs, hooked nose, getting bald on the 
top. Frightfully strict. Gives you beans if you do a thing. My life's been a 
perfect curse since he arrived. I'm dashed if I know what to do about it. I've 
only just worked off five hundred lines he gave me simply for letting a rabbit 
loose in form. It was one of Simpson's rabbits. He's got a couple. We take 'em 
up to the dormitory at night, and race them in the corridor. Awful sport. 
They're called Blib and Blob. Blib was the one I let loose in the form-room. 
Spinder collared it, only he gave it to the boot-boy, and I got it back for one-
and-six. What have you got in that basket? Great Scott! Cake! Why didn't you 
tell me?"

Tommy suspended conversation for the moment, while he finished Jimmy's lunch.

Jimmy was thinking. Sam Burrows had told him not to let anyone know about the 
blue stone; but surely, he thought, he need not include Tommy. He was beginning 
to find the possession of the secret something of a strain. It would be a relief 
to confide in Tommy.

"I say", he said.

"Hullo!" said Tommy, his mouth full of cake. "I say, where do you get this cake? 
It's the best I ever bit. Keep me well supplied with it. You ought to study my 
tastes more. If only I had plenty of this sort of stuff I should be happy and 
contented all the time, instead of gloomy and a nuisance to everyone."

"I say, Tommy, look at this."

He fished the stone up from his pocket. Tommy examined it without much 
enthusiasm.

"I don't think much of it. What is it?"

"A precious stone of some sort, I think."

"Let's have it for a second." Tommy took possession of the stone, and tried to 
write his initials on the carriage window.

"It's a fraud", he said, with conviction. "If it was a precious stone, it would 
scratch glass. You've been had, my lad. Where did you get the rotten thing? How 
much did you give for it? It looks like a bit of sealing-wax."

"I didn't give anything for it. It was given me to keep by a chap. He had come 
all the way from India to hand it over to my father, who's away. So he gave it 
to me instead, and I'm to let father have it directly he comes back. And, I say, 
Tommy, swear you won't say anything about it to a soul."

"Why should I? And why not, if it comes to that?"

"Because it'll be frightfully dangerous for me if anybody gets to know I've got 
it. There's a gang of chaps after it, and they'll stick at nothing."

"Pile it on."

"I'm not rotting. It's a fact. I'm blowed if I know what there is about the 
stone that should make it so valuable -- as you say, it looks pretty rotten, but 
I know it is valuable. The chap who gave it me was shot by the other chaps I was 
telling you about."

"Shot! What, killed?"

"No. Shot through the shoulder. We were talking in our drive at the time. He 
told me that he'd been shot at heaps of times since he first got the stone. He's 
a chap called Burrows, a soldier. He'd served under my pater in India."

Tommy looked searchingly at him.

"Look here, Jimmy, are you trying to pull my leg? Because if you are, I'll roll 
you under the seat and chuck you out of the window."

"I swear I'm not. It's all absolutely true."

"Well, it's jolly rum. I don't see anything in the stone which would make 
anybody want it. Unless he was a lunatic. Perhaps that's it. Perhaps a lot of 
loonies from an asylum are after it. Anyhow, you can have it back. I've no use 
for it."

Jimmy replaced the stone in his pocket. He had hardly done so when the train 
slowed down and halted at a small station. The door of the carriage opened, and 
a man in a brown suit got in, and settled himself in the corner opposite to 
Jimmy.

But for the fact that the man had a black eye, or rather a bruised eye, Jimmy 
might not have given him a second look. But a black eye is always picturesque, 
and demands a closer inspection. So Jimmy looked at him again, and a curious 
feeling of having seen him before somewhere came upon him.

Their eyes met, and then Jimmy's heart gave a leap. He had remembered. The face 
was the same face which had gazed at him through the window when he had seen the 
blue stone for the first time.

What did it mean? Could the man know? If not, why should he be shadowing him? 
Perhaps it was all a mistake. This might not be the same man. And yet Jimmy was 
convinced that it was. He had worn a beard then, and now he was clean-shaven. 
But the eyes were the same.

As these thoughts raced through Jimmy's mind, Tommy Armstrong broke the silence.

"I say, Jimmy", he said, "let's have another look at that stone."

Jimmy saw the man in the corner give a slight start, and for a moment he felt 
physically sick.

"What are you talking about?" he faltered.

But Tommy, all unconscious, went on.

"Don't be an ass", he said. "You know what I mean. That rummy blue stone, that 
what's-his-name -- Burrows gave you. I want to have another look at it."




Chapter 5

The Man in the Train



There was nothing to be done. If he refused to produce the stone, it would do no 
good. Tommy's remark had shown the man opposite the one thing which he had 
wanted to know, namely, that what he was seeking had left Sam Burrows's 
possession, and was now with Jimmy. He was not likely to risk an actual attempt 
to take it by force in a carriage of a train which was due to stop at another 
station in a few minutes. He would be content to have got on the trail of the 
thing, and to wait for a favourable opportunity before attempting to recover it.

Jimmy saw him flash a covert glance at the stone, as he passed it to Tommy; but, 
after that one glance had satisfied him that what Jimmy had got was what he was 
seeking, he closed his eyes and apparently went to sleep.

Tommy turned the stone over in his hand for a few minutes, then gave it back 
with a repetition of his former verdict.

"I call it pretty rotten", he said. "I'm blowed if I see what all the fuss is 
about. I wouldn't give twopence for the thing. Hullo, here we are."

Not many people, as a rule, got out at Marleigh Station. It was a small station, 
used mostly by the boys of the school.

Jimmy more than half expected to see the man in the corner get out, but to his 
surprise he did hot. The train rolled on, with him inside it, to all appearances 
still wrapped in sleep. Jimmy heaved a sigh of relief, then turned on Tommy.

"You are an idiot, you know", he said. "I particularly told you not to say a 
word about that stone to anybody."

"Well, I didn't."

"You made me bring it out in front of that man."

"Oh, he didn't notice. He was asleep."

"He pretended to be afterwards, but he was jolly wide awake when I was showing 
the stone. And I believe it was the man himself."

"What man?"

"The man whose face I saw at the window, and who tried to break into the house."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Why, didn't I tell you? When I was looking at the stone for the first time —- 
it was in my pater's den, where Sam Burrows had been put on a sofa -- I happened 
to glance up, and saw a man's face glaring at me through the window. And I could 
almost swear it was this chap."

"What happened?"

"He dashed away. When I got to the window there was no one there."

"You probably imagined the whole thing."

"Did I? Well, I'll tell you a thing I didn't imagine, and that was going down to 
the larder in the middle of the night to get something to eat, and finding 
someone breaking into the house."

"Great Scott, what did you do?"

"I picked up a loaf of bread, and shied it at him. It was pitch dark, but it got 
him all right. He dropped his lantern, and legged it. Did you notice that that 
man in the carriage had a black eye?"

"Yes. But he might have got that in a dozen different ways. It doesn't prove 
anything."

"No. But it makes it beastly suspicious."

"Oh, rot. And I'll tell you a thing which absolutely dishes your theory. If that 
man was your man, and he wanted to get the stone, and knew that you'd got it, 
why didn't he get out at Marleigh instead of going on?"

"Yes, there's something in that", said Jimmy

"Something in it? Of course, there is. It absolutely knocks the bottom out of 
your idea. If he'd really been after that stone, do you think he wouldn't have 
stuck to you like glue, and never let you out of his sight? You're all right. 
All you've got to do is to sit tight and not worry, until your pater comes back 
again."

Jimmy agreed, feeling easy in his mind for the first time since he had set eyes 
on the man in the corner.

"I'll tell you what you can do, if you like", Tommy went on. "If you think 
there's any danger of your being suspected of having the stone, let me freeze on 
to it. They can't possibly think that I've got it, so that if you get waylaid 
and sandbagged by assassins, and all that sort of rot, they'll get jolly well 
left, because they won't be able to find the stone. They'll probably give it you 
jolly hot by way of getting a bit of their own back, but you'll have to lump 
that. You'll have the consolation of knowing your precious bit of blue sealing-
wax is all right; and what's a whack over the head with a bludgeon if your 
mind's at rest? Sling the thing across."

Tommy was looking on the whole business as an elaborate attempt on Jimmy's part 
to enliven the monotony of school life with a little added excitement and 
romance. He treated the matter as an amusing game. He had a matter-of-fact mind, 
and he did not believe in the existence of mysterious assassins outside the 
pages of sensational fiction. Whether Jimmy himself believed all he said, he did 
not know. To him it seemed that everything that had happened could be explained 
away simply and easily on common-sense lines. The shot that had struck down Sam 
Burrows -- an accident. A spent bullet, perhaps, from some gun fired at a great 
distance. That would account for the absence of a report. The face at the window 
-- imagination. The nocturnal visitor -- simply an ordinary, conventional 
burglar, on the hunt for silver spoons like any other member of his profession.

The game, however, was very exciting, and he was prepared to do anything that 
lay in his power to help it on. It would be something to think about in school, 
when lessons became a bore.

His offer startled Jimmy. It offered an ingenious escape from the difficulties 
of the position. Jimmy had all his father's contempt for actual physical danger. 
All he desired was to fulfil the trust which had been placed in him by Sam 
Burrows, and keep the stone safe until his father's return to England. It seemed 
to him that for Tommy to become temporary guardian of the stone was to ensure 
its safety in the event of any attempt on the part of its pursuers to take it. 
By giving it to Tommy he would confuse the trail. The only misgiving he had was 
lest Tommy, who appeared to be treating the business a great deal too much in 
the spirit of a whimsical man joining in a round game to amuse the children, 
might prove an unsafe custodian.

"Buck up", said Tommy. "Let's have it."

Jimmy fingered the stone undecidedly.

"You'll go showing it round to everybody."

"I won't show it to a soul."

"And gassing about it all over the place."

"I won't say a word. Tombs shall be talkative compared with me. Deaf mutes shall 
be chatty."

"I don't believe you half understand how important it is."

"Of course I do. What rot you talk. I'll guard the bally thing with my life-
blood. I'll shed my last drop of gore for it. If people come looking at me 
through windows, I'll heave sponge-cakes at them and give them black eyes. Bless 
you, I know all the things one's supposed to do in a case like this. You've come 
to the right man. You're jolly lucky, young Jimmy Stewart, to have a chap like 
me about. Lots of fellows in your place would be offering me big sums to do what 
I'm going to do for you for nothing. So are you going to pass over that dingy 
pebble, or aren't you? Please yourself."

"All right", said Jimmy slowly. "Here you are. But, I say, do be careful, won't 
you?"

"Rather. Now, observe. There's no deception. I place the object in my left 
trousers pocket. It is now as safe as if it were in a bank. Ask me for it back 
any time you like, and I'll produce it."

"Well, mind you do", said Jimmy.



Tommy Armstrong might have undertaken his charge less light-heartedly if he 
could have overheard a conversation which was going on at about the same time in 
a private room of a small hotel at Burlingford, a large town some twenty miles 
from Marleigh.

One of the speakers was the man who had sat opposite to Jimmy in the train.

The other was an Indian, a small, spare man, with dark, gleaming eyes. One of 
his legs was curiously twisted.

As he moved restlessly to and fro in the small room, he helped himself by means 
of a stick. The white man was tall and muscular, causing the other to look like 
a pigmy by his side; but it was noticeable that he seemed to stand in 
considerable awe of him.

His manner was deferential, even cringing.

"Bah!" the lame man was saying, speaking perfect English with the polished 
accent of the cultured Indian. "Bah! You have made a mess of it, Marshall",

"I assure you, sir —-"

"You had it within your grasp. One small effort, and it would have been ours. In 
Mahomet's name, why, when this man Burrows was stricken down and helpless, did 
you not take it from him? You knew that a short search must have found it."

"The alarm had been raised", said the man who had been addressed as Marshall, 
with a touch of sullenness. "The boy had run for help. Several servants were 
coming from the house."

"You should have risked it. Heavens, man, is this a business where we can 
calculate risks? If it gets into Colonel Stewart's hands, we are lost. Have you 
any idea as to where Burrows has hidden it?"

"He has not hidden it."

The brown man stopped short in his movements, and shot a keen glance at him.

"You know something?"

"I know a great deal."

"Speak."

"You call me a bungler —-"

The brown man stamped his sound foot impatiently.

"Speak!" he repeated.

Marshall was apparently well acquainted with the tone in which he spoke the 
word, for he discarded without delay the somewhat aggressive manner he had 
assumed, and continued with the deferential air he had worn at the beginning of 
the interview.

"The boy, the colonel's son, has the stone", he said. "I have seen it with my 
own eyes. I suspected that this might happen. I looked in through the window of 
the room where they had placed Burrows, and I saw the boy with the stone in his 
hand. He was returning to school to-day. I got into the train, and later into 
the same carriage. He was showing the stone to another boy. They got out at 
Marleigh, twenty miles down the line. They are at a school there. I saw them get 
out, then I came on to you."

The brown man's eyes flashed. His body quivered with excitement.

"The task grows easier." He muttered a few words below his breath in some 
strange language. "This Burrows was a man. To deal with boys is boys' play. 
Marshall, you go to this Marleigh tonight."




Chapter 6

Back at School



The first quarter of an hour after getting back to school is always a curious 
experience. One's friends seem strangers at first, strangers with remarkably 
familiar manners. The voice is the voice of Jones, and the smack on the back is 
the smack of Smith, but somehow we feel at first that they are not the Jones and 
Smith we knew last term. Then the unreal feeling passes off, and we find it hard 
to believe that we have not been back at school for a month instead of a quarter 
of an hour.

Jimmy felt particularly bewildered at first, for he plunged straight into the 
middle of what seemed to be a sort of indignation meeting. Everyone in the big 
common-room of the house -- there were two houses at Marleigh, the headmaster's 
and Haviland's: Jimmy was in Haviland's -- was talking at the same time. Nobody 
seemed to be doing any listening at all.

So occupied was everyone in the business of the moment that Jimmy's arrival 
passed unnoticed. He turned to Tommy in bewilderment.

"What's it all about?"

Tommy, putting his mouth close to Jimmy's ear, explained in a shout.

"Forgot to tell you -- indignation meeting. About the food Spinder gives us."

"What's Spinder got to do with it?"

"New housemaster. Instead of Haviland, who's ill. Don't know what's the matter 
with him. Scarlet fever or something. Won't be back for a good time."

He jumped on a table.

"Chuck it, you chaps", he yelled. "Give us a chance. Here's Jimmy Stewart come 
back."

After about five minutes, having become slightly purple in the face, he managed 
to make himself heard. Jimmy was observed, and effusively welcomed. The 
interruption served to divert the meeting's attention. There was a gradual 
slackening of the noise, and finally comparative quiet reigned.

Then a curious-looking youth got on to the table to address the meeting. He was 
small, and round, and dark-skinned. He wore gold-rimmed spectacles, and a mild, 
benevolent expression. Cries of "Good old Ram!" greeted him. He was evidently a 
popular person.

"Who's that?" asked Jimmy.

"New chap", said Tommy. "Comes from Calcutta. He's no end of a lark. Always 
trying to reform everything. He's on to this food business like a ton of bricks. 
Jaws nineteen to the dozen. Nobody knows his full name. It's about a mile long. 
It ends in Ram, so that's what he's always called. He's going to be a lawyer 
some day, he says. Look out. He's off!"

"Misters and fellow-sufferers", said Ram, including all his audience in a bland 
wave of the hand, "permit me to offer a few obiter dicta on unhappy situation in 
re lamentable foodstuffs supplied to poor schoolboy by Hon'ble Spinder."

(Cheers; and a voice, "Good old Ram!")

"I have not long been inmate in your delightful Alma Mater, and perhaps you will 
say that I am a presumptuous for addressing this meeting ("No, no"). Permit me 
to say, misters, that we groan beneath iron-shod boots of Hon'ble Spinder. We 
are mere toads beneath deplorable harrow of his malignancy. (Groans). How long 
is this to last, misters? Are we the slaves that we should be so treated? Is 
Hon'ble Spinder autocratic despot that he should be allowed to oppress us? Is --
"

Here he broke off on making the discovery that he had lost the attention of his 
audience. In default of answering the conundrums he had asked, the meeting had 
begun to talk again on other subjects. In one corner of the room the twins, Bob 
and Dick Tooth, "the Teeth", as they were known in the school, had started their 
usual fight. It was seldom that a day passed without some sort of a scuffle 
between them. A ring had gathered round, shouting advice and encouragement. In 
another corner, Binns and Sloper, the inseparables, had begun to sing a duet. It 
was their firm conviction that they were designed by nature for operatic stars. 
They sang often and loudly, and the members of their dormitory had spent hours 
of their valuable time in endeavouring to kick them into silence. After lights-
out, when conversation had stopped and the dormitory was trying to get to sleep, 
one would hear a hoarse murmur from Binns's bed, "Oi'll-er-sing thee saw-ongs of 
Arabee"; to which a hoarser murmur from Sloper's bed at the other end of the 
room would reply, to be a bird answering its mate, "Ahnd ta-ales of far 
Cashmeerer." Upon which the outraged occupants of the other beds would arise in 
their wrath, and the night would be made hideous by the thudding of pillows upon 
the songsters' heads.

A babel of other noises blended with these. Bellamy, the most silent boy in the 
school, who was reputed to be able to eat his weight, which was considerable, in 
any kind of food you liked to name, had retired to his locker, bored by the 
discussion, in which he took no interest, for food was food to Bellamy, simply 
that and nothing more, whatever its quality. He could have eaten cake with 
relish, and consequently saw nothing to complain of in the meals served to the 
house by Mr Spinder. He was now engaged on a particularly nerve-breaking piece 
of fret-sawing, which set everyone's teeth on edge. Catford and Browning were 
arguing hotly about a pot of jam, which Catford was alleged to have borrowed 
during the previous term. Catford maintained that the jam had been full and just 
payment for a French exercise which he had written for Browning, and that anyhow 
he had lent Browning a bag of biscuits during the last term but one, Browning 
denying both statements, and giving it as his opinion that Catford was a 
bloodsucker. Messrs Barr, Roberts, Halliday, and Chutwell had enlisted 
themselves on Browning's side, and were all talking at the same time; while 
Messrs Jameson, Ricketts, Coates, Harrison, and Pridbury had espoused the cause 
of Catford. They too, were giving their opinion of the affair all together.

Ram looked round the room pathetically, plaintively clapping his hands every now 
and then for silence. He » might just as well have saved himself the trouble. 
The noise continued, unabated.

"Go it, Bob!"

"Use your left, Dick!"

"Buck up, Bob! Why don't you guard, you silly ass?"

"Dick!"

"Bob!"

"Com in-to the gar-den, Maud!"

"For the black bat-ter nah-ett hath-er-florn!"

"Com in-to the gar-den, Maud!"

"I am he-ar at ther gate alorn!"

"Well, look here, I'll take a bob for the beastly jam, if you like."

"I've told you a dozen times —-"

"Give the man his jam, Catford, you cad."

"Don't you do it, Catford."

"Misters, misters -_!"

Jimmy looked about him, with his head buzzing. After a week of life at Marleigh 
he would have considered this merely ordinary, and so looked on anybody who 
complained of there being a good deal of noise as affected. But after the peace 
of holidays the strain of Marleigh conversation was a little overwhelming. He 
grabbed Tommy by the arm, and steered him to the door.

"What's up?" asked Tommy, in surprise, when they were outside.

"I couldn't stand that beastly row any longer."

"Row? I didn't notice anything special. A sort of gentle murmur, perhaps."

"Anyhow, let's go for a stroll for a bit. I say, is the food so bad?"

"It's muck", said Tommy emphatically.

"It was all right last term."

"I know. But then Haviland was a decent sort. Spinder's a rotter. He's sacked 
old Jane, and got another cook. Said Jane was not economical enough. It's a bit 
thick. This new woman is a perfect idiot. Can't cook for nuts. Sends everything 
in half raw."

"Spinder seems to be a beast."

"He is."

"What sort of a looking chap is he?"

Tommy picked up a small flint from the road.

"You'd better see yourself. That", he said, pointing to a lighted window on the 
ground floor, "is his room."

He flung the stone at the window. There was a crash of glass.

"Great Scott, man", gasped Jimmy. "Look out! What on earth are you playing at?"

"And that", added Tommy calmly, as the broken window was flung up, and a head 
popped out, "is Mr Spinder."




Chapter 7

A Row in the Classroom



"Who threw that stone?" shouted an angry voice.

"It's all right", said Tommy under his breath. "He can't possibly see us. It's 
much too dark. Let's be edging back to the common-room, shall we? If Spinder 
takes it into his head to rush out we might be caught. And then there would only 
be a lot of fuss. I can't stand fuss. All I ask is to be allowed to live quietly 
and peaceably. Come on."

When they got back to the room, order had been restored to a certain extent. The 
Teeth, Robert and Richard, were cooking chestnuts together in perfect good-
fellowship, reconciliation having followed war with its usual rapidity. Catford 
and Browning had either settled their little difference or postponed the 
discussion of it, and their respective gangs of followers and supporters had 
dispersed through the room. Somebody had taken Bellamy's fretwork away from him; 
and that injured youth was now sitting alone on a bench, gazing stolidly in 
front of him with unseeing eyes, thinking, doubtless, of the next meal. From the 
fact that Binns was trying to straighten his collar and smooth down his mop of 
ruffled hair, while Sloper's body was acting as a settee for three determined-
looking boys, it seemed that the duettists had been suppressed in the usual 
manner.

Ram had resumed his speech, and was now well on in it.

"Masters", he was saying, as Jimmy and Tommy entered, "I ask you —-"

"Half a second, Ram", said Tommy. "Sorry to interrupt, but this is important. 
You shall pitch in again in a minute. I say, you chaps, do you mind each of you 
going out into the road for a jiffy. Come back as soon as you like. All I want 
you to do is to be able to say you went out."

"What's the game, Tommy?" inquired Morrison.

From anybody but Tommy such a suggestion might have been ill received; but the 
red-haired one was by way of being a leader among the turbulent spirits of the 
house; so Morrison asked for explanation, where with anybody else he might 
merely have thrown a book and requested the speaker to come off it.

"It's all right. It's only that I have a sort of idea that Spinder may be in 
here in a minute to ask if any of us have been out in the road during the last 
five minutes. I don't mind telling you that I have. But in my modest, retiring 
way I don't want Spinder to know that I was the only one. See the idea?"

"Right O", said Morrison.

There was a general movement to the door. In a few minutes everyone, with the 
exception of Bellamy, who still sat gazing fixedly in front of him, had gone out 
and come back again. The door had hardly been shut when it flew open again, to 
admit Mr Spinder.

The new master of the house was a small, wiry man, with a sharp face that 
somehow suggested some bird of prey. His nose was thin and slightly hooked, and 
when he was annoyed, as now, his lips closed so tightly that a thin, straight 
line was all that could be seen of his mouth. A pair of steely grey eyes glared 
from behind gold-rimmed spectacles. It was the face of a very determined man, as 
anybody could have seen. A student of character might have added that it was 
also an unscrupulous face.

Conversation died away as the master entered. Ram, who had mounted the table 
again with a view to resuming his speech, stood with his mouth open, looking as 
if he wished that he were in a less prominent position. As, indeed, he did. It 
was to him that Mr Spinder turned first.

"What are you doing up there?" he snapped.

"Honoured sir", began the unfortunate orator.

"Come down at once, you buffoon."

Ram was preparing to descend, when it occurred to him that, if he did so, the 
tyrant and oppressor Spinder would be left with an entirely wrong view of the 
case. At present it was plain that he looked upon him, Ram, not as an agitator 
in favour of improved food, but merely as a clown who climbed on to tables to 
amuse people -- in fact, to do a comic turn. Ram's blood boiled at the thought. 
He was not, as he would have said, "constitutionally courageous", but now he 
felt that he must speak up or for ever hold his peace.

"Honoured sir", he began again.

"Did you hear me tell you to come down from that table?"

Ram conceded this point. After all, it did not matter, so that he spoke, whether 
he spoke from table or floor. He climbed cautiously down with the aid of a 
chair.

"I came here —-" said Mr Spinder.

"Honoured sir", began Ram for the third time.

Mr Spinder fixed him with a cold stare, but the dusky orator was not to be 
stopped. He plunged volubly into his wrongs.

"Hon'ble Spinder", he said, "you are paid by parents to provide poor boys with 
good, wholesome food, but hoity-toity, what a falling-off is there! Our stomachs 
groan with beastly pangs. Listen, honourable sir, to the voice of Reason! How 
can brain work if body is not fed? How can poor boy floor intricacies of Latin 
grammar without stodgy feed? We are as if to sink with hunger. Do not think me, 
hon'ble Spinder, a presumptuous for addressing you. I cannot remain hermetically 
sealed. The mutton", proceeded Ram, descending to details, "is not roasted with 
sufficiency. Hoity-toity and alackaday, it is of a red colour -- not pleasing to 
look upon, and nauseous to masticate. The porridge is not an appetising. The 
fowl-eggs are, alackaday, frequently advancing into the sere and yellow of 
honourable old age. Smile indulgently, Hon'ble Spinder, on our petition. You are 
our father and mother and protector of the poor."

It must not be supposed that Hon'ble Spinder had listened to this harangue with 
silent attention. On the contrary, he had seemed particularly restive 
throughout, and had made several attempts to check the orator's eloquence. Once 
started, however, Ram was hard to stop; and it was only when, having reached 
this telling appeal, he stopped to take in a little breath, that Mr Spinder 
found an opportunity of putting in a word. And so far from smiling indulgently, 
as Ram had recommended, he seemed very irritated.

"Be quiet", he snapped. "What is all this nonsense?"

"It's about the food, sir", said Tommy.

"Indeed, yes, honourable sir", put in Ram.

Mr Spinder turned on Tommy.

"What do you mean? What is wrong with the food?"

"It's beastly", said a voice.

Mr Spinder wheeled round.

"Who said that?"

No reply.

"The boy who made that remark step forward."

There was no response to this invitation. Mr Spinder stood for a moment, 
frowning, then turned to Tommy again.

"What is wrong with the food, Armstrong?"

"It's so badly cooked, sir", said Tommy.

"What!"

"It's hardly cooked at all sometimes. Couldn't we have old Jane back again 
instead of this new cook, sir?"

"When I require advice from you, Armstrong", said Mr Spinder, "on the subject of 
the management of this house, I will ask for it."

"Yes, sir."

"The cooking is perfectly satisfactory. Boys nowadays expect to be pampered."

"No, sir."

"What do you mean, Armstrong?"

"They don't expect to be pampered, sir. They only expect to get something except 
raw meat."

Mr Spinder's mouth tightened.

"You will do me a hundred lines, Armstrong, for impertinence."

"Yes, sir."

"Hoity-toity, honourable sir", began Ram excitedly.

"Be quiet", snapped the master, turning on him like a flash. Ram subsided as if 
he had been suddenly punctured. Mr Spinder took advantage of the silence to drop 
the food subject, and turn to the matter which had originally brought him to the 
room.

"I came here", he said, "to ask if any of you boys had been out in the road 
during the last quarter of an hour?"

"Yes, sir", said Jimmy, speaking for the first time.

"Ah! Who are you?"

"Stewart, sir. I only came back today."

"Oh, yes. The boy who had mumps. Were you out in the road just now?"

"Yes, sir. We all were."

"You all were? Why?"

"We thought we heard a crash of glass, sir."

Tommy looked admiringly at Jimmy. This was genius.

Mr Spinder was surprised. He had taken it for granted that his window had been 
broken by one of the boys in his house; but this seemed to suggest that some 
outside person had done the thing.

"Did you all go out together?" he asked.

"Yes, sir", said half a dozen voices.

"H'm." Mr Spinder walked to the door.

Arriving there, he turned.

"From what I have heard to-night", he said, "I gather that there is a lot of 
foolish agitation going on. Some of you, I know, can only be looked on and 
treated as children" -- here he motioned towards the unhappy Ram, who blinked 
pathetically at him through his glasses —- "but you others, I should imagine, 
are sufficiently sensible to understand what is said to you. I say, once and for 
all, that I will not have any more of this nonsense about the food. The food is 
perfectly good. The cooking is quite satisfactory. I will not have any of this 
hole-in-the-corner business of grumbling among yourselves in corners. Do you all 
understand me? I hope I shall not have to speak of this again."

He turned on his heel, and left the room.

There was a silence for a moment after he had gone. It was broken by Ram.

"Misters and fellow students", he cried, "is this to be borne? Are we the 
slaves? We must act, sirs, we must act."

"You needn't act the goat, anyhow", said Morrison unkindly. "What's to be done, 
Tommy?"

"My hundred lines, as a start, dash it", said Tommy. "After that I'll devote my 
powerful brain to the matter. We must think of something."

"Pretty quick, too", said Morrison, "or we shall all be poisoned."




Chapter 8

A Lesson in German



Tommy Armstrong's was one of those great minds which become restless unless 
fully employed. It was a source of much inconvenience to him that the ordinary 
affairs of school life did not employ it fully, which led to his being 
frequently compelled to spend hours, when he might have been doing something 
more pleasant, in working off commissions in the shape of lines and other 
impositions. This term it looked as if life out of school might be a little more 
interesting than usual. Tommy had a good deal of Irish blood in his veins, and 
he loved a row. The feeling in the house about the food, and Mr Spinder's 
truculent attitude, made it seem likely that there would be several rows that 
term. Altogether, as far as out-of-school hours were concerned, he was very 
fairly satisfied with things. But his active mind still needed employment in the 
class-room. And this was especially the case during the German lesson, presided 
over by Herr Steingruber.

The German master was a man of wide learning -- he had taken degrees at 
Heidelberg University, and was the author of more than one book on the grammar 
and construction of his native language -- but he did not infuse excitement into 
a lesson. It was Tommy's habit, therefore, to do this for him.

On the present occasion, the first half of the lesson was allowed to pass 
quietly, as far as he was concerned. The hundred lines which Mr Spinder had 
given him on the previous evening had to be worked off; and Tommy spent half an 
hour writing them behind the cover of a
pile of books. Herr Steingruber's studies at Heidelberg University, where he had 
burnt the midnight oil with great regularity and perseverance, had improved his 
brain but weakened his sight. He was now extremely short-sighted, and even with 
the aid of a huge pair of glasses, could not see any great distance.

Tommy, who sat at one side of the room, out of the direct range of vision, was 
therefore quite safe. He wrote on, while the Herr lectured ponderously on German 
verbs, until the hundred lines were completed. Then, with the satisfying feeling 
that his duty had been done, he blotted the last page, and began to look about 
him in search of some employment to amuse him during the remaining half-hour of 
the lesson.

An idea occurred to him almost at once. Herr Steingruber, in his lecture on 
German verbs, had now reached the stage where it was necessary for him to 
perform with chalk on the blackboard. A rather tricky relationship between two 
families of verbs had to be illustrated and explained. His method of procedure 
was to draw a sort of chart on the blackboard, and then to turn his back and go 
further into the matter verbally.

This struck Tommy as a chance which it would be rash to miss. He took a golf-
ball from his pocket. There were some links near the school, where the masters 
were in the habit of playing. Tommy had found the ball in some gorse bushes 
during a Sunday ramble on the links.

"If", said Herr Steingruber, "we would of idiomatig Sherman masters begom, we 
must remember" —- he turned to the blackboard, drew a few strokes with the 
chalk, wrote in a couple of words, and turned away again -- "zo!"

As he turned Tommy flung his golf-ball at the board, caught it as it rebounded, 
and, by the time the Herr had turned round, had replaced it in his pocket. The 
noise made by the ball striking the board was like the crack of a rifle. Herr 
Steingruber leaped quite a foot into the air.

"Ach Himmel", he cried, "vhat vos dot?"

Explanations came from all corners of the room.

"Thunder, I think, sir", said Binns.

"Somebody shooting with a rifle outside, sir", said Sloper.

Catford thought it might have been somebody's braces bursting.

Browning stated that he would not be surprised if it wasn't the start-off of an 
earthquake.

"I believe it was the blackboard, sir" said Tommy respectfully. "It might be a 
flaw in the wood, sir, which made it go crack like that."

"Ach, vell", said Herr Steingruber, philosophically, "more dings in heaven and 
earth dere are, as your boet Shakesbeare says. De condemblation of de Sherman 
verbs resume let us, my liddle students. I vill a zendence write in idiomatig 
Sherman, which of these two verbs the peguliarities illusdrates. Zo."

He wrote the idiomatic sentence, and turned away from the board.

"Of dot zendence der meaning vos, 'Gretchen, der frau -- der wife of der miller 
—-"

Crack!

The German master's remarks on Gretchen, the wife of the miller, were cut short. 
He stared, deeply perplexed, at the blackboard.

"I'm certain it's thunder, sir", said Binns. "There's going to be an awful 
storm."

"It's a rifle, sir, I'm sure", said Sloper.

"It must be something in the wood the blackboard's made of, sir", said Tommy. 
"It's probably got too dry or something. I believe wood often cracks like that 
when it gets dry."

"Zilence, zilence", said Herr Steingruber. "Too moch chadder und exblanation-
talk there is. Led us now the verbs und their so interesding peculiarities for a 
moment leave, und to our dranslation durn. Oben, my liddle men, at bage vorty-
seven your dranslation books. Zloper, begin. I vill der English virst read, und 
den you vill into idiomatig Sherman id dranslate. Zilence, blease, all, vhile I 
virst der English glearly read. 'In der garden of my ungle's vriend zere are 
roses, gabbages, bees, und abbles. Der liddle dog, Hans, vrisks in der bushes. 
My ungle's vriend's zister is on the lawn zeated.' Zo. Now Zloper."

Sloper's translation of this passage was so faulty that the calm of the lesson 
was little by little disturbed till Herr Steingruber, in spite of his 
philosophy, was plucking at his moustache, and passing his fingers in an 
agitated manner through his hair.

"Ach, Himmel, my liddle Zloper", he cried, in a sort of agony. "Bad, wrong id 
is. Nod idiomatig id is. Again der last bassage dranslate."

'My liddle Zloper', with an injured air, as if he preferred his own version, but 
gave in to oblige Herr Steingruber, was proceeding to take the passage again, 
when he paused, and gazed at the German master, surprised at the latter's 
singular behaviour. The Herr was bending down, and apparently peering at an 
object on the floor. Those nearest could see that it was a sixpence. The Herr 
saw this. What he did not see was that it had a hole in it, and was attached to 
a very thin thread of silk, the other end of which was firmly grasped in Tommy 
Armstrong's hand.

Bending down, the German master made a grab at the coin. To his surprise, he 
found that he had misjudged the distance. His hand struck the floor quite a foot 
away from the coin.

He rose, and polished his glasses. The excitement in the room was now great. 
Everyone was bending forward from his seat, to watch better the movements of the 
treasure-hunter. Every face expressed sympathetic interest.

The German master stooped down, and made another grab. Again he found that he 
had miscalculated the distance. The coin remained on the floor.

Again he rose and polished his glasses. Then, this operation concluded, he 
prepared to make a third assault, determined that this time there should be no 
mistake. When he looked at the floor the sixpence was gone.

He peered round suspiciously through his glasses.

"Who has der zixpence daken? Binns, haf you der zixpence daken?"

"Sixpence, sir? What sixpence?"

"Der zixpence dat on der floor vas."

"Sixpence on the floor, sir? Where, sir?"

"It is gon. But on der floor id vos."

"Was that what you were trying to get hold of, sir? I thought you were catching 
butterflies."

"Voolish boy, der vos no butterflies in der winter. It vos a zixpence dat on der 
floor vos."

"I haven't taken --"

Crack!

Herr Steingruber spun round. There was the blackboard, looking just the same as 
usual. He went up to it and examined it closely. Nothing seemed to be wrong with 
it.

"It's bad wood, sir", said Tommy. "That's what it is. You ought to get rid of it 
at once, sir."

"Zilence! Of dis exblanation-chadder dere always doo moch is. Zloper, broceed 
with der idiomatig Sherman dranslation."

The German master returned to his seat, thoroughly disturbed. The episode of the 
vanishing sixpence had worried him. He was perfectly certain that there had been 
a sixpence there. But how could a sixpence have moved of its own accord? Herr 
Steingruber felt suspicious. There was more in this than met the eye. He was on 
the alert. As Sloper blundered through the passage about the little dog, Hans, 
and the uncle's friend's sister, the German master's senses were unusually 
active.

It was this that enabled him to see that Tommy Armstrong was not attending to 
the lesson, but examining something under the desk.

He crouched like a tiger. Tommy's attention was fixed on what he held in his 
hand.

Herr Steingruber sprang. He was at Tommy's side before the latter knew what was 
happening.

"Give me dat, Armstrong. Zo! You der hours of lesson waste in with foolish doys 
blaying? Zo! I vill id convisgate."

"Id" was Jimmy's precious blue stone. Tommy had taken it out to look at it.

Herr Steingruber placed it in his pocket, and walked back to his seat.




Chapter 9

The Golf Mascot



Tommy was not one of those over-sensitive people who shrink from any situation 
which is likely to be at all unpleasant. Rather the reverse, in fact. Situations 
which might have seemed unpleasant to the ordinary person did not disturb Tommy 
at all. When in the previous term, shooting with a catapult, he had put a 
bullet, purely by accident, through a stout gentleman's top-hat, Tommy had 
apologised with an easy grace which suggested that the thing struck him merely 
as an amusing joke against himself. When he had been caught in the very act of 
lighting a Chinese cracker during a French lesson, he had not turned a hair.

But now he did shrink, to a certain extent, from the task of explaining to Jimmy 
that the stone entrusted to his care was at that moment lying in Herr 
Steingruber's capacious waistcoat-pocket. Jimmy had seemed to set such store on 
that dingy pebble. Tommy was conscious of feeling a little uncertain as to how 
he would take the story of its loss.

He broke the bad news to him after school.

By way of breaking it gently he led off with a repetition of his favourite 
remark, that he didn't think much of the stone. "It's a rotten sort of thing", 
he said. "No good to anybody, really. You aren't really awfully keen on it, are 
you?"

"Great Scott", cried Jimmy. "You haven't lost it?"

"Lost it! Good heavens, no. Do you think I can't look after a thing?"

"Sorry. I thought from what you said —-"

"Oh, no. I haven't lost it. The fact is —-"

"Well?"

"Well, it was like this. I had got frightfully nervous about it, wanting to see 
that it was safe and all that, and I just took it out of my pocket, to look at, 
just to see that it was all right, you know, and -— well, it somehow happened 
that old Steingruber was hanging about, and —- well, he collared it. It's 
nothing to look so cut up about", he added, catching sight of Jimmy's face. 
"I'll get it back all right. I tried to after school. I went up to him, and 
asked him to play the 'cello to me this afternoon, but he wasn't taking any. The 
fact is, we were ragging a good bit in form to-day, and he was a bit fed up."

"It's my fault", said Jimmy resignedly. "I ought never to have let the thing out 
of my hands. It can't be helped now, though."

"That's right. Keep looking on the bright side."

"I'll go and see old Steingruber about it after school. He'll probably be 
feeling better then. Anyhow, when I tell him the thing's really mine, he'll let 
me have it back, I should think."

"Certain to. He's a good old sort."

Jimmy found it difficult to keep his mind on his work that afternoon. The loss 
of the blue stone worried him. It was not quite so bad as if it had actually 
been lost, of course. Herr Steingruber might be relied upon to keep it safe; 
and, if approached properly when in his usual good temper, would almost 
certainly give it back. The German master was fond of the boys, and his wrath 
never lasted long. But, nevertheless, Jimmy was worried. One result of which was 
that he received one hundred lines from Mr Spinder for inattention.

He resolved to approach Herr Steingruber at once.

When he came to the latter's room, however, he found that he was not there. Herr 
Steingruber, he was informed, had gone out to the links to play golf with Mr 
Spinder. Jimmy decided to postpone his appeal till his return.

The Herr, meanwhile, with his bag of clubs under his arm, was trudging round the 
links with Mr Spinder. The latter was a good golfer, but the Herr, at present, 
was a novice. He was vigorous and enthusiastic, but he lacked skill.

They were now at the fourth tee. Mr Spinder drove off, a hard, skimming drive 
which took him on to the green. Then Herr Steingruber stepped forward.

It was a pleasant sight to see the German master at work on the links. He had a 
way of addressing the ball that was all his own. He stood with legs widely 
stretched, a fixed and serious expression on his face. Swaying slightly, he 
waggled his club to and fro for a few moments, then very slowly raised it above 
his shoulder. Then, drawing a deep breath, he swiped. The ball remained where it 
was. Breathing a guttural exclamation, he proceeded, still with the same fixed 
look, to get into position again. This time about a foot of turf came away, 
gashed up by his club. Herr Steingruber looked at it owlishly.

"How happen did dot?" he asked.

"You did not keep your eye on the ball", said Mr Spinder.

"Ach, Himmel, my eye on der ball from der very beginning vos. Vhot shall I now 
do?"

"Better replace England first of all", suggested his opponent. The Herr picked 
up the slab of turf, and patted it down into its place. After which he got into 
position again.

This time he was more fortunate. By a singular accident he happened to strike 
the ball full and fair. There was always plenty of power in his strokes, so that 
when, as now, he managed to hit the ball, it always travelled. On this occasion, 
aided by a puff of wind, it hummed through the air, and landed on the green, 
only a yard behind his opponent's.

"Zo!" he grunted triumphantly.

With the luck of the beginner at golf he continued his success. His first putt 
sent the ball into the hole.

"Zo! I imbrove!" he said.

Mr Spinder, muttering something under his breath about flukes, turned to his own 
ball. Putting was his weak point, and it took him two more strokes to hole out. 
As he was giving his opponent two strokes a hole, this meant that he had not 
managed even to halve the hole with him. The German master was puffed up with 
honest pride as they made their way to the next tee.

The fifth hole also fell to Herr Steingruber. He plodded along, and did it in 
eight. Mr Spinder, getting entangled in a bunker, which the Herr had 
miraculously contrived to avoid, could only hole out in seven.

By this time, the Herr was jubilant. His opponent, who never liked being beaten, 
even when he was giving away strokes, was silent and gloomy. The Herr, beaming, 
began to enlarge on the situation.

"Almost I begin to dthink", he said, "dot it vos my liddle masgot dot makes me 
to-day so well blay. Yah, dot vos der liddle shap."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Steingruber; but I am waiting for you 
to drive off."

"Drive off will I, but virst my liddle masgot most I douch."

He thrust a finger into his waistcoat-pocket.

"I should like to see this mascot", said Mr Spinder. "It must be a remarkably 
powerful charm if it gives you the sort of luck you have been having during this 
round. A remarkably powerful charm."

"Dis vos him."

Herr Steingruber extended the blue stone towards his opponent between a gigantic 
thumb and forefinger. Mr Spinder took it.

As he looked at it, a close observer might have noticed him start. He gazed at 
the small object on the palm of his hand with as keen an interest as if it had 
been the Koh-i-noor. Herr Steingruber prattled on.

"It vos during der lesson do-day. I see der boy Armsdrong with zomeding under 
der desk blaying. I do myself 'Zo!' zay. 'What is id dot der liddle Armsdrong do 
zo with inderest und addention examine?' Der boy gontinue do examine what he do 
examine. But me I do wait my obbordunity. I grouch. I sbring. 'What is id, boy', 
I say, 'that you instead of addending do your Sherman dranslation loog ad?' Id 
vos dis liddle masgot. I id confisgate. Und id bring me der goot lug ad der 
golf-game. Zo."

Mr Spinder continued to behave, as, according to the Herr, Tommy Armstrong had 
done. His whole attention seemed wrapped up in the blue stone.

"How did you get it?" he said, in a voice which, though the German master did 
not notice it, was tremulous with excitement.

"I vos telling you, my Sbinder. From der boy Armsdrong in der glass-room. He vos 
with id blaying, when I grouch, I sbring, und I id gonfisgate."

"But how did it come into his possession?"

"Zot I do not know."

Mr Spinder, with a deep breath, handed back the stone, which the German master 
replaced in his waistcoat-pocket.

"Do my heart next", he explained humorously.

"Shall we go on with the game?" said Mr Spinder.

The Herr prepared once more to address the ball. This time the mascot seemed to 
have lost its power temporarily. A sandy bunker lay between the tee and the 
hole. Into this his ball flew. His face clouded, but cleared again almost 
immediately, for his opponent's ball performed exactly the same manoeuvre.

"We are in misfortune gombanions, my Sbinder", he remarked.

At the bunker he drew out the stone again. Then, replacing it, he succeeded, 
after three attempts, in getting his ball to the other side.

"Let me have another look at that stone, Steingruber", said Mr Spinder. "It 
interests me." He took it in his hand, but hardly had he done so when he let it 
fall into the sand. Stooping quickly, he had picked it up and transferred it to 
his own pocket before the short-sighted German master could see what was 
happening.

"I am extremely sorry, Steingruber", he said. "I have dropped your mascot into 
the sand. Don't you bother. I will look for it." But, after a prolonged search, 
he rose to his feet empty-handed.

"I fear it is lost", he said. "This sand makes it impossible to find a small 
object like that. I am extremely sorry. It was inexcusably careless of me."

"My masgot", moaned the German master.

"Never mind", said Mr Spinder. "When a golfer loses his opponent's mascot, he is 
far more likely to bring bad luck to himself than to his opponent. Let us play 
on, shall we?"

And it seemed as if he were right in his supposition, for, though Herr 
Steingruber played badly, Mr Spinder played worse; and at the conclusion of the 
round, the German master had won a substantial victory, and was thoroughly 
pleased with life once more.




Chapter 10

Mr Spinder and the Stone



Directly he heard that the golfers had been seen on the school premises, Jimmy 
hurried to Herr Steingruber's room, to open negotiations regarding the blue 
stone. He found the Herr standing in the middle of the floor, addressing an 
imaginary ball with a brassy. The table was pushed back against the wall, the 
chairs were stacked in a heap in one corner of the room, and there were some 
pieces of broken china on the carpet, for Herr Steingruber, in his efforts to 
improve his game, had broken a gas-globe.

The German master opened conversation directly Jimmy entered.

"All der gread masders of der game", he said, "der indoor for imbroving der 
swing bractice regommend. Der feet well abart und virmly vixed do der ground, 
der zlow zwing up mit der eyes vixed always on der ball; und der quick zwing 
down —-"

Here he suited the action to the words, and the "quick zwing down" nearly took 
Jimmy on the shin. He jumped back. Herr Steingruber was full of apologies.

"Ach, zo! Vorgetting was I dot der sbace in dis room gonfined vos. Almost I give 
you der nasty sore blace, my liddle Zdewart. Dot vos voolishness of me, zo?"

"It's all right, sir", said Jimmy. "No harm done. Shall I pick up this broken 
china?"

The German master looked blankly at the ruins on the floor.

"Ach Himmel, how I dot done? Dot der Braid lofding-shot must have been. I vos 
der gareless shap, hein? Jah, my liddle vellow, der bieces pick up. I must my 
indoor-bractice do der bood-room gonfine. Zo."

Jimmy picked up the broken globe, put the pieces in the fireplace, and turned to 
business.

"Please, sir, do you remember taking a queer little blue stone from Armstrong 
this morning?"

"Jah! Dot my masgot vos. Der liddle Armsdrong with id in der Sherman lesson 
play, und I grouch, I sbring, und I id gonfisgate. Zo."

"I was wondering if you would let me have it back, sir. It was mine, really. I 
only lent it to Armstrong. I should be awfully obliged if you would give it me, 
sir. I promised the man who gave it me that I would take great care of it. He'd 
be sick --"

"Zick? How dot vos?"

"Annoyed, sir. He'd be very much annoyed if I hadn't got it when he asked me for 
it."

The soft-hearted German master was touched.

"Ach, my liddle Zdewart, vot you gall kettle of fish dis vos. As your boet says, 
of all zad vorts of dongue or ben, der zaddest vos dese, it mide haf been. 
Willingly would I der ztone redurn, had I id; but alas! on der lingks dis 
afternoon Mr Sbinder he says, 'Let me at dot liddle sdone loog', und I id to him 
give, und he id in der sand of der bunker garelessly drops. Id is lost, my 
liddle vellow, dis blaything of yours."

"Lost, sir!"

Jimmy's voice showed his dismay. The good-natured German master was sorry for 
him.

"Ach, do not zorrowful be, my liddle Zdewart. Zis zo disdressing agcident you 
vill in dime vorget. See! Here is a shillung. Zpend id on zweets, und vorget der 
lost blaything."

Jimmy declined the proffered coin.

"It's all right, sir", he said. 'It really doesn't matter. If it's lost, it 
can't be helped."

Herr Steingruber beamed approvingly, "Dot vos der vilosophigal sbirit, Zdewart, 
vich I vos glad do zee. In Shennany we are all vilosophers. We do not shed der 
tear. We zay, as you have zaid, 'All right!' Dot vos der broper sdate of mind, 
Zdewart. Jah, zo."

Jimmy retired, feeling in anything but that philosophical frame of mind which 
Herr Steingruber had praised so highly. What he was to say to Sam Burrows when 
he came and asked for the stone he did not like to think. Nor could he imagine 
what the consequences of the loss might be. Sam had hinted vaguely at tremendous 
issues that hung on the blue stone. He felt more than ever that he had been a 
fool to entrust so valuable a piece of property to a reckless fellow like Tommy. 
He was enough of a philosopher not to feel too sore against the latter. He 
realised that it was really all his own fault. It was not as if he had not known 
what sort of a fellow Tommy was. Knowing him to be careless and casual, he ought 
never to have let him have the stone at all.

He was feeling very sorry for himself as he went back to the common-room to 
write the hundred lines which Mr Spinder had set him to do.

Mr Spinder, meanwhile, was also busily occupied. Seated in his room at a table, 
lit by a green-shaded lamp, he was poring over a ponderous volume of Indian 
history. The boys at Marleigh knew nothing of it, but Mr Spinder had almost a 
European reputation as an authority on the more obscure by-ways of Indian life 
and thought. He had taken the study up at Oxford more as a hobby than anything 
else, and it had fascinated him. There were probably not three men in the 
country who knew more than Mr Spinder about the curious thoughts and 
superstitions of the Indian.

His whole body was quivering with excitement as he read. He passed his fingers 
nervously through his thin hair.

"It is", he murmured. "It must be. The description tallies exactly. 'Now this 
stone is called the Tear of Heaven, for it is blue as the skies and misty as a 
tear. And on it are the words written, Allah is God.' The Tear of Heaven! The 
Sacred Stone itself! What miracle brought it here? What does it all mean?"

He took out the blue stone, and gazed at it fixedly in the lamp-light.

"'Blue as the skies and misty as a tear.' It is. It must be. What stupendous 
good fortune. 'Allah is God.'"

He rose from his seat and strode to and fro nervously. His hands trembled as he 
walked. The pupils of his eyes had narrowed to pin-points.

As he stood by the table, looking down at the blue stone, there was a knock at 
the door. He was too engrossed to hear it. The knock was repeated. Still he paid 
no attention.

The door opened, and Jimmy walked in, bearing some sheets of foolscap.

Jimmy had managed to finish his hundred lines in record time. Tommy Armstrong, 
always full of ingenious schemes, had hit upon a labour-saving device, not 
unconnected with the tying together of three penholders. This had enabled Jimmy 
to get through his imposition with unparalleled speed.

Not getting any answer to his knocks, he had walked into the room, to find Mr 
Spinder apparently absorbed in contemplation of some object on the table. Jimmy 
went towards him, his footsteps making little noise on the soft carpet. And as 
he got to the table, he saw what it was that was occupying the master's 
attention. There on the table, in the full glare of the lamp, was the lost 
stone.

Jimmy was unable to repress a slight cry of astonishment. Mr Spinder turned like 
a trapped animal, his face blazing with anger. "Who are you? What do you want?" 
With a swift movement of his hand he seized the stone, and put it in his pocket. 
"Why did you come in without knocking?"

"I did knock, sir", said Jimmy. "But you didn't hear me. I knocked twice. I came 
to show up my lines."

"Put them down, put them down. Thank you, that will do; you may go."

"May I have that stone, sir?" said Jimmy. "It was really mine, only I lent it to 
Armstrong, and Herr Steingruber confiscated it. Can I have it back?"

Mr Spinder was calm again now, icily calm.

He looked at Jimmy through his spectacles.

"Let me see, your name is Stewart, isn't it? Ah, yes. What were you saying, 
Stewart?"

"I asked if I might have back that blue stone, sir."

"You seem to be labouring under some curious delusion, Stewart. What stone is 
this you are speaking of?"

"The stone you put in your pocket just now, sir."

Mr Spinder's eyebrows went up.

"I still fail to understand what you are talking about, Stewart. I put no stone 
in my pocket."

"I saw you, sir."

"Really, Stewart! It is a little unusual, is it not, for a boy to disbelieve a 
master's word? I am afraid you will be getting yourself into trouble if you do 
not break yourself of that habit. I assure you I know nothing of this stone you 
mention. Why should I? From your own account it seems that Herr Steingruber 
should know more about it than I. You may go, Stewart. I take it that you do not 
propose to search me? That will do, then. Close the door behind you."




Chapter 11

The Great Food Question



Jimmy was helpless. He realised that. He was as certain as he had ever been of 
anything that he had seen Mr Spinder place the blue stone in his pocket; but he 
knew that he had no means of proving it. Mr Spinder could bring Herr Steingruber 
to witness that the stone had been lost on the golf-links. Jimmy saw that, at 
any rate, for the time, he was beaten. He left the room without another word.

The mystery of the thing began to bewilder him more and more. What was this blue 
stone that Mr Spinder should deliberately steal it, and then lie to hide the 
fact that he had stolen it? The stone had evidently a value which the ordinary 
person did not recognise. Witness the attitude of Tommy Armstrong and Herr 
Steingruber towards it. Why should Mr Spinder of all people recognise this 
value? Jimmy worried over these problems till he went to bed, and far into the 
night.

Next day there were distractions. During breakfast Tommy Armstrong, by way of 
drawing attention to the inferior state of the food supplied to the house, had 
taken the step of letting loose a live chicken, which he had bought for the 
purpose on the previous afternoon, and preserved during the night in a cardboard 
box with holes bored in the lid. The bird, surprised and relieved to find itself 
once more at liberty, had sprinted joyfully down the table in Mr Spinder's 
direction, finally tripping over his plate, and falling on to his waistcoat as 
if Mr Spinder were his long-lost brother. Mr Spinder rose, white with rage. "Who 
brought that bird into the room?" he cried.

There was a moment's silence. After which Tommy said that he thought it must 
have come out of one of the eggs. A raucous laugh, in unison, from the Teeth 
brothers, had brought Mr Spinder's wrath to the boiling-point. He stammered in 
his fury. Just as it seemed that he might proceed to attack Tommy, and engage 
him in a hand to hand struggle, his attention was diverted by the chicken, 
which, after lying on the floor for a while in an apparently fainting condition, 
now revived, and made a dash for the door. Everybody rose from his place, and 
charged after it, with the exception of Bellamy, who continued to pound away 
steadily at bread-and-butter. In the confusion Mr Spinder forgot Tommy; and when 
things were comparatively quiet again, he informed the whole house that it would 
write him out the first ten pages of the Latin grammar. He then swept out of the 
room, followed by the chicken, which had once more got loose. The first 
skirmish, it was felt, had ended rather in his favour. The general opinion of 
the house was that further steps would have to be taken. The thing was discussed 
in the common-room after school.

"It's no good doing things on a small scale like this", said Tommy. "He's bound 
to score. He just sets us imposts, and there we are. What we want is to 
organise. We must have a regular strike. For goodness' sake, somebody, kill 
those two farmyard-imitators."

This remark was caused by the thoughtless behaviour of Binns and Sloper, who, 
not finding the debate greatly to their interest, had begun to sing an extract 
from the music-hall songs of the day. Sloper had just requested some person 
unknown to put him amongst the girls, to which Binns had added explanatorily, 
anxious apparently that there should be no mistake, "those with the curly 
curls", when the meeting descended upon the warblers in the usual manner, and 
the duet came to an end in a cloud of dust.

"Forge ahead, Tommy", said Catford, from his seat on Binns's chest. "You were 
saying something about striking."

"Yes. I've got an idea. Suppose we all absolutely refused to touch the food. He 
couldn't do anything then. There's no rule forcing one to eat. We would be quite 
quiet and respectful about it, only we would simply not touch the stuff. He'd 
have to do something then. What do you think about it?"

It seemed that the meeting thought a good deal about it, one way and another. A 
perfect babel of sound arose, everybody giving his opinion as loud as he was 
able. The plump form of Ram was seen placidly climbing on to his favourite 
table. Ram was the popular orator, and his appearance was nearly always the 
signal for silence.

"Hon'ble Armstrong", said Ram, "must forgive me if I meet his suggestion with a 
nolo episcopari and miss-in-baulk. For why, misters? Hon'ble Armstrong has asked 
us to abstain from food and to let no mutton, no beef, no fowl egg pass the 
locked door of our firmly-clenched teeth. But, lackaday, this is surely as if to 
milk the ram. For how without food, even if that food be the unappetising and a 
bit off, shall we support life and not pop off mortal coil, as Hon'ble 
Shakespeare says? 'Tis better, misters, as Hon'ble Shakespeare also says, to 
bear with the ship-snaps we know of than fly to others which may prove but a 
jumping from frying-pan into fire. Half a loaf is better than an entire nullity 
of the staff of life. Hoity-toity, without food we shall has if to swoon away on 
class-room floor."

These eminently sound opinions were greeted with applause. Tommy, however, did 
not seem to think much of them.

"You silly goat", he said, complainingly, "I never meant that we should do the 
fasting man act. If you thought more and jawed less, Ram, you'd get on better."

"What is the idea?" asked Browning.

"Why, simply to lay in a stock of grub on our own. Chaps in the army often do 
it. If they get fed up with the grub that's served out to them, they just sit 
tight and wait till afterwards, when they have a chance of buying what they 
want. See the idea? Let's lay in supplies, and then we can begin to get moving."

"It's not a bad idea", said Morrison. "But where's the money to come from?"

"Rem acu tetigisti", said Ram. "You have touched the spot, Hon'ble Morrison. 
Where are we to find the sinews of war?"

"We'd better have a whip round", said Tommy. "I'll lead off with a quid. My 
uncle gave me one when I went to see him."

The magnificence of this offer impressed the meeting. Here was something 
practical. Now he was talking. Unfortunately, the other donations fell a good 
deal short of this lofty standard. The Teeth happened to have had a postal order 
for five shillings by that morning's post from an indulgent grandmother; and 
Catford disgorged half a crown, but the sum total of the collection only panned 
out at two pounds. A penny less, to be exact.

"The question is", said Tommy, having counted the money, "how long can we keep 
going on two quid? There are thirty of us here. That only works out at a bit 
over a bob each. You can't go on long on a bob and twopence, or whatever it is."

A blank gloom settled on the meeting. Two pounds had seemed an enormous sum up 
till then, but, looked at in that way, as having to be divided up amongst thirty 
boys, there did not appear to be so much of it as one thought.

Tommy was the first to recover from the shock.

"I tell you what it is", he said. "We must raise some more. For the strike to be 
worth anything we must be ready to go on with it for nearly a week. It's no good 
doing it for one day. He'd simply think we'd got the pip or something. Everyone 
had better write home for money. If that fails, we shall have to try something 
else."

A muffled voice spoke from the floor. It was recognised as that of Sloper.

"If one or two of you men of wrath would kindly get off my chest", said the 
voice, "I should like to make a suggestion. Don't mind me, though: I don't want 
to spoil your simple pleasures."

"Let him up", said Tommy. "But if you only want to break into one of your 
beastly songs again, you'll jolly well be knocked down and jumped on by the 
whole strength of the company."

"You wrong me", said Sloper. "You pain me deeply. All I wanted was to do you a 
good turn. It's like this. Why not give a concert in aid of the strike fund, and 
charge sixpence or a bob for admission? Binns and I", added the speaker, 
modestly, "wouldn't mind giving you the benefit of our trained skill. We'll sing 
as many songs as you like."

"I bet you will", said Tommy. "It's not a bad idea, though, I must say. The 
fellows would roll up like anything, especially if we told them what it was 
for."

"We could hold it in the gym", suggested Binns. "Sloper and I would do a duet we 
heard in the pantomime last year. It goes like this."

But the audience were on the watch, and headed him off.

"Chuck it", said Tommy. "Plenty of time for that. No need to hear your beastly 
voice before the night. What do you chaps say to this concert idea?"

Everybody seemed in favour of it. There was more talent in Spinder's house 
common-room, it appeared, than the casual observer would have imagined. The 
place simply reeked with it. Ram offered to recite Shakespeare. The only 
difficulty with Binns and Sloper was to prevent them monopolising the entire 
bill. Catford thought he could remember some conjuring tricks, if given time. 
The Teeth volunteered to box a few rounds. And nearly everybody else had 
something to offer.

"Good", said Tommy. "It's going to be a strong programme. Hullo, Morrison, what 
are you going to do? Play any instrument? Or is a song more in your line?"

"I don't know what you're jawing about", said Morrison, who had just entered. 
"Is Jimmy Stewart anywhere about? Oh, there you are, Jimmy. I say, I met a man 
out in the road who says he wants to see you. Wouldn't tell me what it was 
about. So I said I'd nip in and fetch you. He looks like an old soldier. Says 
his name's Burrows. Got one arm in a sling."

"Where is he?" asked Jimmy, dismally. Sam Burrows was the last man in the world 
he wanted to see just then.




Chapter 12

A Visit from Burrows



A dim figure loomed up in the darkness as Jimmy went out into the road.

"That you, matey?" said a voice.

"Hullo", said Jimmy.

The figure drew a deep breath, and came a step nearer. It was Sam Burrows, sure 
enough. Jimmy saw that, as Morrison had said, his arm was in a sling. His first 
question concerned itself with Sam's wound.

"How's your shoulder?" he asked. "Surely it can't be all right again yet?"

"Rightly speaking, sir, it isn't. I expect the doctor is sayin' things about me 
at this very moment. 'Don't you dream of stirring for a week', he says. 'Right, 
sir', says I. But, love us, I couldn't keep lying on my back, wondering all the 
while if that brawsted blackie with the twisted leg had got hold of the stone, 
and if you'd been shot at same as me. I couldn't do it, matey. Thinking of it 
over, as I lay there, I says to myself, 'Sam, you've been and played that young 
gentleman a dirty trick. What d'you mean by shifting all the responserbility off 
of your own shoulders on to his?' And I says, 'You just go off quietly, without 
saying a word to the doctor, and get that stone back from him, and see the thing 
through off yer own. It ain't fair to a nipper to put such a thing on to him.' 
So last night I slips out of the house, treks quietly to the station, and waits 
for the first train. And here I am, so now let's have that bit of blue ruin 
back, matey, and you can go and sleep quietly in your little bed, which I lay 
you haven't done up to now. Let's have it, matey."

Jimmy did not attempt to break the thing gently.

"I can't", he said, miserably. "It's gone."

Sam stood stock still for a second before speaking.

"Gawd!" he said at last. "What!"

"It's gone."

"Gone! 'Ow? They ain't bin and got it? Not that blackie and his gang?"

"No, it's not him. It's not been stolen at all, really."

"You ain't lost it?"

Jimmy explained. Sam listened attentively. When Jimmy had come to the end of his 
story, he whistled.

"It's a rum start", he said. "This 'ere what's-his-name now —-"

"Spinder."

"This 'ere Spinder. What's his game?"

"I can't make out. That's what's puzzling me. I'm as certain as anything that I 
saw him take the stone off the table and shove it into his pocket. I know he was 
lying when he said he hadn't. I couldn't do anything, of course. But he's got 
it, I know."

"What sort of a man might he be?"

"I don't know. He's a new master. He only came this term. Nobody seems to like 
him much. But I don't know why he should take the stone."

"But he has?"

"I'm absolutely certain of it."

"And you ain't seen anything of the blackie and his lot?"

"Not since I got here. But -- I didn't tell you at the time —-"

"What's that, matey?"

Jimmy related briefly all that had taken place on the night of Sam's injury, and 
the day after -- the face at the window, the burglar, the man in the train, and 
the unfortunate request of Tommy Armstrong to be shown the blue stone. Sam 
sucked in his breath. He was plainly deeply interested.

"This 'ere chum of yours, Tommy What's-'is-name, seems to be one of the cloth-
heads, he does. Pity he ain't got more sense in him."

"He's rather mucked things up, hasn't he? But, of course, he didn't realise how 
awfully important the stone was."

"He's put the lid on it, he has", said Sam. "'E's brought the whole gang of them 
on your track, and now he's let this 'ere Spinder get 'old of the stone. The 
only thing to be done now is to try and get it back from Spinder. That's what we 
must do."

"But how?"

"Ah, that's it. How? Where does he live, now?"

"That's his window over there on the ground floor."

"On the ground floor", repeated Sam thoughtfully. "That window with the red 
blind, I take it?"

"That's the one."

"I see. Well, the only thing now is to sit and think things over a bit. Let's 
only 'ope as how it's only this Mr Spinder of yours as we have to tackle. That 
blooming blackie may make things worse by coming down on us at any moment. He's 
watching and waiting his time, you may depend on it, if he's this side of the 
water at all. Maybe he's still in India. Which'll be a mercy for us if he is. 
Good-bye, matey, for the present. Keep your mouth shut about having seen me."

Sam disappeared into the darkness. Jimmy went back to the common-room again, 
where he found the strikers still busily engaged in discussing the proposed 
concert. Ram was still on the table, but no one was listening to him. The Teeth 
seemed to be rehearsing for the boxing exhibition which they had promised to 
give. Binns and Sloper were warbling unchecked. Tommy, crimson in the face, was 
endeavouring to obtain a hearing on the next table to Ram's. Jimmy surveyed the 
scene, and went out again. It was no good trying to get Tommy to himself now. If 
he wanted to talk things over with him he must wait till later. It may seem 
surprising that, after the way in which Tommy had allowed the stone to become 
lost, he should wish to consult him at all. But Jimmy, though he had not much 
opinion of Tommy's discretion, had a solid respect for his ingenuity. And it 
struck him that the present was an occasion where ingenuity and daring were 
required. There was the stone securely held by Mr Spinder. How it was to be 
recovered Jimmy did not know. That was where Tommy would come in. The problem 
was one which ought just to suit him.

It was not till they were in their room that night that he found an opportunity 
of tackling him on the subject. And even then he could not approach it at once, 
for Tommy was too full of the concert to listen.

"It's going to be the biggest thing ever done at Marleigh", he said, as he began 
to undress. "I'd no idea the place was so chock-full of talent. To look at 
Pilbury, for instance, you wouldn't think he was a very brainy chap, would you? 
Nothing out of the common, I mean. My dear chap, that fellow can imitate a pig 
being killed till you'd almost swear it was the real thing. Catford, too —-"

"I say, Tommy."

"Catford can do things with a top-hat which would surprise you. And, of course, 
Binns and Sloper are ready to go on murdering comic songs till we go on to the 
stage and drag them off. By the way, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Look here, Tommy."

"Don't know? What rot. You must think of something. I know. You've been to 
India, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, you shall give a ten minutes lecture on India, accompanied by magic 
lantern-slides. I've got a set of slides. They're Egypt, really, but no one'll 
know the difference. That'll be top hole. I'll put your name down on the 
programme as a lightning lecturer. You'll knock 'em."

"I say, Tommy —-"

"What's up now?"

"Chuck all this concert rot for a second. I'm in an awful mess. That stone —-"

"Oh, lord, you're not worrying about that still, are you? I'll get it from old 
Steingruber to-morrow first thing. What a chap you are for pegging away at one 
idea. Old Steingruber'll give it up like a shot. I'll ask him to play his 
'cello. By gad!" Tommy leaped excitedly on his bed. "I've got the idea of the 
century. I'll get him to play the 'cello as a turn at the concert. It'll —-"

"But he hasn't got it. Do listen for a second. This is frightfully important."

"Hasn't got it? What's he done with it? Popped it?"

"He lost it on the links."

"Well, it wasn't much of a thing, after all. I always said so. Now it's really 
gone for good you can drop all this mysterious assassin rot, and turn your mind 
to the serious things of life, such as this concert. If only old Steingruber 
will play the 'cello —-"

"But you haven't heard everything. He was playing with Spinder when he lost it."

"Rum tastes some men have. Fancy choosing Spinder to play with."

"And now Spinder's got it."

"But you said it was lost."

"That's the queer part of it. Spinder must have picked it up and pocketed it. I 
went into his room to show up some lines, and there he was, gloating over it. 
When he saw me, he snatched it up, shoved it in his pocket, and absolutely 
denied that he had got it. I knew he had, and he knew I knew, but all the same 
he simply swore he hadn't. So I had to go away. What I want to know is, how 
shall I get it back? I must somehow. I'm dashed if I see how, though."

Tommy felt pleased. He looked at Jimmy approvingly. This was playing the game of 
make-believe as it should be played. So many people would have chucked the whole 
thing on finding that the German master had lost the stone on the links. But 
Jimmy, he reflected, always had been a queer, imaginative sort of fellow, always 
reading books, and that sort of thing. Tommy still clung to his belief that the 
whole affair was nothing more than an elaborate game of Jimmy's. Not so much a 
practical joke exactly as a means of manufacturing artificial excitement. The 
winter term was dull as a rule, and Jimmy was evidently determined that this one 
should be an exception. It was a curious sort of game, but it certainly had 
possibilities in the way of excitement; and that was all that Tommy required.

"I'll tell you what you must do", he said gravely.

"What's that?"

"Search Spinder's room", said Tommy with tremendous earnestness. "Search it 
through and through. He's certain to have the stone hidden somewhere in it. This 
is going to be a regular Sherlock Holmes business. You've come to the right man. 
I'll see you through. We'll do it to-night."

Jimmy's heart leaped. It was risky, of course, but this was no time for counting 
risks.

"But why should you come and risk getting caught?" he said.

Tommy dismissed the objection with a wave of the hand.

"My dear sir", he said, "this business is now in my hands. I'm in charge of it."




Chapter 13

The Sleuth-hounds



It had evidently occurred to the person or persons who had built Marleigh School 
that boys might take it into their heads to break out of their rooms at night, 
for the arrangements for preventing this were elaborate. The boys slept in large 
and small dormitories at the top of the house. The only way of approach to the 
dormitories was by means of a long corridor at the further end of which was a 
blank wall. Where the corridor joined the stairs was a sort of railing, 
consisting of iron bars set close together. This was always locked at night by 
the school porter, and opened by him first thing in the morning. He slept on the 
same floor, to be at hand in case of fire.

To all appearances the boys, once safely behind the railings, were there for the 
rest of the night. Tommy Armstrong, however, had set about discovering a way 
through at a very early date. Unknown even to Jimmy, he had frequently broken 
through the barrier after lights out, and roamed about the house in the small 
hours.

When, therefore, Jimmy, recollecting this iron railing, objected to the proposed 
raiding of Mr Spinder's study on the ground that they would not be able to get 
at it, Tommy was full of confidence.

"Leave it to me", he said. "That's all I ask. Simply leave it to your uncle. 
He'll see you through. Now let's just think this thing over. What shall we want? 
In the first place, light. There's the gas, of course, but we daren't light 
that. It would be too risky. What we really want, what Denman Cross and all 
these sleuth-hound Johnnies would have had, is a dark lantern. But, as we 
haven't one, we must get the next best thing. By gad, I know. Bellamy's got one 
of those electric flashlight things you buy at Gamage's. I saw him with it the 
other day. It'll be in his locker down in the common room. Our first move must 
be to get hold of that. Then we can start."

"How are we going to get down to Bellamy's locker at all?"

"You'll see. By Jove, old Denman Cross would have sat on you, my lad. He'd have 
given you beans. Don't you know by this time that we detectives simply can't 
stand being questioned about our methods. All you've got to do is to stand 
around with your mouth open, and say, 'My dear Armstrong, how --' When I said 
that the first thing we've got to do is to bag Bellamy's flash-jigger, I was 
wrong. The first thing we've got to do is to jolly well wait. It's only half-
past ten, and I'll bet old Spinder is a late bird. He won't turn in till one, 
probably. In fact, I think we'd better give him till two, to make certain."

"What on earth are we to do till then?" asked Jimmy, rather blankly. It seemed 
such an age to wait. Jimmy was one of those impetuous persons who like to go at 
a thing without delay, and get it done at once.

"You can go to sleep", said Tommy. "If you chuck off all your blankets, the cold 
will wake you at the proper time."

"I shan't be able to get to sleep."

"Well, have a shot -- I'm going to. Keep awake if you like; but don't jaw. Sleep 
is what the detective wants before taking on a job like this. It clears the 
brain."

Jimmy lay awake for about a quarter of an hour, listening to Tommy's regular 
breathing, with a fixed conviction that sleep would never come to him. The next 
thing he remembered was being violently shaken. He sat up.

"Come on", whispered Tommy, releasing his grip on his shoulder, "it's past two. 
You've been snoring like blazes. I've got the whole business clearly mapped out 
in my mind. You've got some matches, haven't you? Good. Here's a stump of 
candle. Now, then."

They went out softly into the passage. They crept along on tip-toe till they 
came to the railing. Then Jimmy saw that Tommy was carrying his sheet.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"You'll see. Hold the light, and stand to one side. Now, then. Life in the Wild 
West. Scene one: Cowboy using the lasso."

As he spoke he whirled the sheet, which he had twisted into a sort of rope with 
a slip-knot at the end, up towards the ceiling. Two attempts failed, but at the 
third the knot caught the projecting top of one of the iron railings, and 
tightened.

"There you are", said Tommy complacently. "Scene two: Siberian convicts escaping 
from prison."

He swarmed up the sheet, and, when at the top, squeezed through between the 
railings and the ceiling, and slid down to the floor on the other side. Jimmy, 
raising the light, saw that the railings stopped about two feet from the 
ceiling.

"Quite simple", said Tommy through the bars. "Only be careful when you get to 
the top, or you'll go scalping yourself."

Jimmy climbed up the sheet, and joined the detective on the other side, having 
previously handed the candle through the railings.

"What are we to do with the sheet?" he asked.

"Pull it through the bars -- like this." Tommy suited the action to the word. 
"Then leave it. Nobody's likely to be coming round here at this time of night. 
Now let's get going. 'Once aboard the lugger, and the gyurl is mine.' Don't make 
a row on the stairs. Look out for the fifth step. It squeaks."

With this warning, Tommy led the way down to the common-room.

The familiar haunts seemed strange, seen at dead of night by the light of a 
candle. The stillness overawed Jimmy. Usually the home and centre of noise, the 
room was now like a tomb. The candle flung great black shadows on the wall. Even 
Tommy was impressed. When he spoke, it was in a whisper.

"Bit creepy, isn't it?"

Jimmy agreed. He was not nervous as a general rule, but the happenings of the 
last few days had shown him that life was not the quiet, uneventful thing he had 
always imagined it to be, but full of sinister possibilities. The knowledge that 
one is being watched and stalked is calculated to disturb the stoutest nerves; 
and Jimmy, though he had seen nothing more of the man in the train, felt 
convinced that he was still in the neighbourhood, waiting.

Tommy, who had nothing on his mind, was busy rummaging in Bellamy's locker, 
tossing about that stout youth's property in a way which would have drawn 
excited protests from the stolid one, had he been present. At length he rose, 
holding the flashlight stick.

"We are getting on", he said, as he pressed the button and sent a thin stream of 
bright light shooting out. "Now for the hidden treasure."

He blew out the candle, and led the way to Mr Spinder's room.

"If he's still there", he said, "we are absolutely in the cart. I can think of 
an excuse for most things, but I'm blowed if I can fake up any reason why'we 
should be wandering about the house with an electric torch at this time of 
night. This will mean the boot, if we are caught. So don't let's be."

They were at the door by this time. Tommy sank noiselessly to the floor, and 
peered at the crack beneath the door.

"I can't see any light", he said, rising. "He must be in bed by now. Anyhow, 
here goes."

He seized the handle, and opened the door. All was in darkness. They both 
breathed a sigh of relief.

"All well so far", said Tommy. "Let's have a bit of light on the scene once 
more."

The torch came into action again. They crept silently into the room.




Chapter 14

What Happened in the Study



Mr Spinder's sitting-room was large and comfortably furnished. The light of the 
torch showed up deep armchairs, and their stockinged feet made no sound on the 
thick carpet.

"Not a bad little place by any means", said Tommy, holding up the torch. "Knows 
how to make himself comfortable, doesn't he. In old Haviland's time this room 
wasn't half such a blooming palace. However, we didn't come here to admire the 
scenery. Let's see about this stone of yours. Now, where would he keep it? Let 
me think. As a start we might look in each drawer of the desk."

"They'll be locked."

Tommy stopped.

"So they will. I never thought of that. Just shows you how easy it is for a 
detective to get let in. You've got to think of everything."

"That does us", says Jimmy. "It's no good going on, as far as I can see. The 
stone's bound to be in some safe place, locked up. We'd better go back to bed."

But Tommy was enjoying himself far too much to agree to such a tame proposition 
as this. He did not much care whether he found the stone or not. In fact, he did 
not believe that the stone was there at all. What he did care for was the 
opportunity of rummaging among Mr Spinder's belongings. He felt like an 
explorer, and did not intend to turn back now for such a thin reason as the 
impossibility of finding what they had set out to find.

He held the torch up, and began to prowl round the room. He stopped opposite the 
bookshelves.

"He's got a decent lot of books", he said. "Wonder if there's anything I could 
borrow. What's his taste in literature? What I want's a good detective story. 
Let's see. 'Forty Years in India'. 'Notes on the Vedas'. 'Indian Mythology and 
Superstitions'. Dash it all, the man seems to be mad on India."

"What!" said Jimmy. "By Jove, then that's why he's sticking to that stone. He 
knows all about India, and he understands what it is and why it's so valuable."

"Not a bad theory for an amateur", said the detective, patronisingly. "Of 
course, I shall prove it absolutely wrong when once I get going on the case. 
Still, it's not bad."

He walked on, and knelt before a cupboard.

"It won't be in there", said Jimmy. "He wouldn't keep it in a place like that."

"I daresay he wouldn't. But he might keep biscuits. And I could do with a 
biscuit or two now. There, what did I tell you? A tin of the best. This is 
something like. Keep trusting to the trained powers of the detective, and you 
can't go wrong. Do you know, something seemed to tell me there were biscuits in 
that cupboard. What's this? Whisky? I don't take it. But the biscuits'll do to 
go on with. Have one?"

"No, thanks. I wonder where he can have put that stone."

"Never mind about the beastly stone. Sit down and -- Great Scott! Listen!"

Tommy sprang to his feet, and stood listening. They looked at one another in 
consternation. They had both heard the sound. Soft footsteps were coming down 
the corridor.

There was only a moment in which to act. Whoever was coming was making his way 
to the study. From the stealthy way in which he was treading, it was plain that 
he did not wish to be heard. The same thought flashed across Jimmy and Tommy 
simultaneously. Mr Spinder, by some incredible bit of bad luck, had seen the 
sheet hanging to the railings, and was searching the house.

"There's just a chance", whispered Tommy. "Get behind the door. It opens 
inwards. Wait till he's in, then make a bolt for it before he lights the gas."

As luck would have it, there was a settee against the wall at the side of the 
door. There was no time to drag it out, even if such an action would not have 
made too much noise.

"The piano", whispered Jimmy.

Tommy nodded. The piano -- the favourite possession of Mr Haviland, who had been 
an enthusiastic musician -- stood in the corner of the room beyond the settee. 
It was so placed that each side of it touched one wall, thus leaving a small 
triangular space between the instrument and the corner. There would be just room 
for them to squeeze behind it. And, once there, they might be safe. It was a 
poor chance, if the man who was coming down the passage was Mr Spinder searching 
the house. But still, it was a chance, and the only one they could take.

They dashed towards it. The next moment they were behind it, and Tommy had 
switched off the light.

Hardly had he done so when the footsteps paused at the door. Then, though there 
was no sound, they knew that the man, whoever he was, had entered the room.

There was a slight click, and a circle of light appeared on the ceiling, darting 
off again at once. At the same time the smell of hot tin came to them. Tommy 
gave Jimmy a nudge. They knew what had happened. The man had uncovered a dark 
lantern.

This disposed of the idea that the man was Mr Spinder. A master who is searching 
his house with the object of finding boys who may be wandering in it during the 
night does not do it with the aid of a dark lantern. Nor does he walk on tiptoe. 
The fact that the visitor was doing both these things put an entirely new 
complexion on the affair. It showed that he had as little business to be in Mr 
Spinder's study at that hour as had the two boys crouching behind the piano.

Tommy, squeezing Jimmy's shoulder as a sign to him to keep still, rose 
cautiously to his feet till he could see above the top of the piano. The light 
had disappeared from their limited range of vision.

Very warily Tommy looked out from his hiding-place. Then he saw that there was 
no need for excessive caution. The man had his back towards him. He was kneeling 
in front of Mr Spinder's desk. The lantern was on the floor beside him.

The position of the lantern made it hard for Tommy to see exactly what was 
happening. The man seemed to be doing something to the desk, and he seemed to be 
doing it under difficulties. Then another click told him what was going on. The 
man was breaking open the drawers with a skeleton key.

As Tommy watched, he pulled the top drawer from its place, and, laying it on the 
floor beside the lantern, began to rummage among its contents. He used one hand 
only for this, and, as the light fell on him, Tommy saw the reason. His left arm 
was in a sling.

Tommy gazed, spellbound. Here was an adventure of the type he had always longed 
for. Standing there, peering over the piano, was like watching a very exciting 
play on the stage.

Whatever the man was looking for, it was evidently not in the top drawer. After 
an exhaustive examination of its contents, he put it carefully back in its 
place, and re-locked it. Then he took out the second drawer, and began his 
search once more. All the while he made no sound that could be heard outside the 
room. An occasional deep breath escaped him, and the papers in the drawer 
rustled faintly; but beyond that the silence was unbroken. His patience seemed 
inexhaustible. He was plainly bent on finding the object of his search, for, 
when the second drawer yielded nothing, he replaced it and turned to the next in 
order without a sign of discouragement.

For nearly half an hour Tommy reckoned that he stood there watching, with a hand 
always on Jimmy's shoulder to check any attempt the latter might think of making 
to rise and join him in his vigil. There was no room behind the piano for two 
people to move about.

Still with the same patience, the man went through each of the drawers in turn, 
till he came to the last. That, too, was searched from end to end. He replaced 
it, locked it, and rose to his feet. As he did so Tommy dropped silently back on 
to the floor.

The light moved about the room. It was still moving, when the two boys, 
listening intently, heard another sound, faint but distinct. This time it came 
from the direction of the window.

The man with the lantern had evidently heard it, too. There was a click, and the 
light disappeared.

Tommy and Jimmy hardly breathed as they listened. The sound continued. It was a 
very faint scratching noise, as if somebody were cutting at the window-pane. 
Then the sound ceased, to be followed almost at once by the rasp of the catch as 
it was forced back.

They understood now what had happened. Somebody had cut out a pane of glass with 
a diamond, and having thrust a hand through the opening, had pushed back the 
catch. That this surmise was correct was proved by the noise of the window being 
pushed very slowly up. A cold breath of air came into the room. They could hear 
sounds which suggested that someone was climbing cautiously in over the sill.

Then suddenly there was a slither of feet on the carpet, the thud of a blow, a 
cry of mingled pain and surprise, and then the bumping of two heavy bodies on 
the floor.

"I've got you now", gasped a voice. "I'll pay you for those bullets of yours."

"It's Sam!" cried Jimmy, unable to check himself in his excitement.

Tommy pinched his arm hard; but neither of the two men fighting out in the room 
beyond the piano appeared to have heard the words. They were struggling silently 
now, as far as speaking was concerned; but as they rolled on the floor they 
crashed now into a chair, now into a table, till the air seemed full of the 
noise of their struggles.

"Great Scott", whispered Tommy, as a small bookstand fell with a crash into the 
fender, waking the echoes, "somebody's bound to hear this row pretty soon."

Jimmy half rose.

"We must go and help", he said excitedly. "Let me go. It's Sam. He won't stand a 
chance with that shoulder of his."

But Tommy continued to hold him down.

"Don't be an idiot", he whispered. "Don't you stir, or we're done for. Spinder 
or someone will be down in a second. They're making row enough to wake the dead. 
Listen to that! That must have been the chair with the biscuit tin on it! 
They'll have the roof off in a minute."

"But Sam will be killed."

"No, he won't. Not much sign of it yet, at any rate", he added, as a deep curse 
from the other man showed that Sam's strength had by no means failed as yet. We 
mustn't risk being caught here. There would be a frightful row. We should get 
the boot to-morrow. We must simply sit tight here till it's all over. Hullo! Do 
you hear that?"

From down the corridor came the sound of voices.

"This way, Bartlett, this way."

The voice was Mr Spinder's. Bartlett was the school porter, a muscular ex-
soldier, who, as stated above, slept in a room at the top of the house close to 
the iron railings.

"Right, sir", came Bartlett's gruff voice.

"This way", cried Mr Spinder again. "In my study."

The sound of running footsteps came nearer and nearer.

"Sit tight", whispered Tommy, clutching Jimmy by the arm. "Don't breathe. We're 
in a tight place."




Chapter 15

Where is the Blue Stone?



The fight on the floor ceased abruptly. As if by mutual consent the two men 
loosed their hold of each other, and sprang to their feet. The next moment Sam's 
antagonist, leaping through the window, had vanished into the night; and Sam 
followed his example just as the others dashed into the room. Mr Spinder, 
entering first, was just in time to see Sam's back as he dropped over the sill. 
Bartlett, the porter, was for following him, but Mr Spinder held him back.

"It is useless, Bartlett", he said. "They have gone."

"I might 'ave caught one of 'em, sir", said Bartlett.

"No, no. There is no need to run risks of that kind. Close the window, Bartlett, 
will you? Thank you. Have you a match? Thank you. I will just light the gas, and 
have a look round to see if the scoundrels have taken anything."

There was the splutter of a match, and the light of the gas flooded the room, 
making the two boys behind the piano blink as the glare struck their eyes.

"Lord, sir", came Bartlett's voice. "They 'aven't 'arf played old Harry with the 
furniture!"

Tommy and Jimmy could hear him moving about the room, picking up the various 
tables and chairs which Sam and the other man had upset in their struggles. When 
he had completed this task, Mr Spinder spoke:

"That will do excellently, Bartlett. Thank you. I don't think those fellows have 
taken anything. I don't think there is any need to keep you any longer from your 
bed. Perhaps you would like a little —-"

"Thank you, sir", said Bartlett's voice, in what seemed to the two boys rather 
relieved accents.

There followed the splashing of liquid into a glass, and a murmured "Best of 
'ealth, sir", from Bartlett.

"Good-night, Bartlett", said Mr Spinder.

"Good-night, sir."

"Oh -- and, Bartlett."

"Yes, sir."

"I think there will be no need of gossip, you understand, about this affair. I 
would prefer that you said nothing to anybody on the subject."

"Said nothing to nobody, sir!" Bartlett seemed taken aback by the idea. He had 
plainly been counting on the episode to furnish him with interesting 
conversation for weeks to come in the servants' hall.

"Not a word. There is no need to do so, and it would only make a great deal of 
fuss and trouble. Nothing has been taken. No harm has been done. So let us allow 
the matter to drop."

"Yes, sir", said Bartlett gloomily.

"Very well. Then good-night, Bartlett."

"Good-night, sir."

They heard the porter's steps retreating down the passage.

When he had gone, Mr Spinder stayed so still for a while that, if Tommy and 
Jimmy had not known that he was there, they might well have thought that the 
room was empty.

At the end, however, of what seemed an age, they heard him move towards the 
door. He closed it, and walked slowly back to the centre of the room. Here he 
paused again; finally moving to the big bookshelf that stood against the wall.

He was completely hidden from Jimmy; but Tommy, who was crouching against the 
same wall as that at which the bookshelf was placed, could follow his movements, 
which were curious. After standing for some time apparently buried in thought, 
the master took from the shelf a large book in the second row.

Tommy, who was following his every movement intently, saw that it was either the 
fifth or sixth book from the end of the shelf. That he had not taken it out with 
any idea of reading it was soon apparent, for he laid it on a chair at his side, 
and thrust his hand into the gap between the books. He felt about for a moment, 
and then withdrew his hand. He looked at some small object in it with 
satisfaction, and replaced it. Then, having put back the book, he turned out the 
gas, and left the room.

"Phew!" said Tommy, as the door closed. "I like excitement, but one can have too 
much of a good thing. This business has been altogether too hot for your uncle. 
After all, one's handicapped at school when one tries to work the detective act. 
Sherlock Holmes wasn't wondering the whole time that he was hunting for clues 
whether he would get expelled. That's what does one in. It hampers one."

"Is it safe to get up?" asked Jimmy. "Anyhow, I'm going to. I've got cramp."

"Get up as much as you like. Only don't make too much row about it. Spinder's 
just the snaky sort of brute who might be hanging about outside the door. By 
Jove, what a turn-up those two chaps had! I wish we could have seen it."

"I wonder that brute didn't kill Sam, considering that Sam had only one arm to 
fight with."

"Are you certain it was Sam?"

"Positive. I knew his voice in a second."

"Rum thing. One second."

Tommy wriggled out of his hiding-place, turned on the electric-torch, and went 
to the bookshelf. He took out the sixth book from the end of the second row, and 
thrust his hand into the opening, as Mr Spinder had done. But, beyond getting 
his fingers very dusty, he accomplished nothing.

"Rum thing", he said. "I could have sworn I saw him put it back."

"What's up?" asked Jimmy.

"Nothing. Look here, we'd better be getting back to bed. I don't suppose that 
sheet of ours will be spotted, but it might be, and then the whole game would be 
up. Come on."

They opened the door cautiously, and crept down the passage.

"Better put this torch-thing back", said Tommy. "If Bellamy missed it to-morrow 
there might be a row."

They went to the common-room, and restored the electric torch to its locker. 
Then they crept upstairs.

The sheet was still in its place. Tommy pulled it through the bars, and climbed 
over the railing. Jimmy followed his example, unhooking the improvised rope when 
he had reached the top.

"Well", said Tommy thankfully, as they got into bed, "we're well out of that. If 
that's a sample of a night in this house now that Spinder's in command, I shall 
jolly well chuck going about after lights-out. It isn't good enough. Now I'm 
going to try and get a bit of sleep. Goodness knows what the time is. It's not 
worth while striking a light and looking. It must be about three. I'm aching all 
over from squatting behind that beastly piano. Good-night."

"Good-night", said Jimmy. But he did not go to sleep. Tommy's breathing soon 
became heavy and regular. Tommy was the sort of person who could get to sleep in 
five minutes whenever he wanted to; but Jimmy's mind was in a whirl. The events 
of the night had left him utterly perplexed. Who was the man with whom Sam had 
grappled? Was it the man who had travelled down with Tommy and himself in the 
train? If so, what had brought him to Mr Spinder's room? How did he know that 
the stone was in the master's possession?

Sam's movements were more easily to be accounted for. Jimmy had shown him which 
was Mr Spinder's room; and it was not to be wondered at that Sam had conceived 
the idea of making an attempt to recover the blue stone for himself.

But what of his antagonist? That problem kept Jimmy perplexed. The fact that Sam 
had attacked him, added to his words as he grappled with him, showed that Sam 
had taken him for one of the gang who had been tracking him. But why was he in 
Mr Spinder's room?

A possible solution of the mystery occurred to him after much thought. Mr 
Spinder's was the only window on the ground floor of the building which was not 
heavily barred. It was, in fact, the only way in for a burglar. Probably the man 
had intended to use it simply as a means of entrance, before proceeding to 
search the house. His, Jimmy's, room must have been his ultimate goal.

Mr Spinder's part in the affair had now become doubly sinister. It was now 
evident that he not only realised the value of the blue stone, but was prepared 
to keep it in his possession at any cost. His manner had almost suggested that 
he had expected some such attempt. His instructions, also, to Bartlett to say 
nothing of the matter showed this plainly. It was clear that it was now war to 
the knife, a triangular contest with the blue stone as the prize. The atmosphere 
was charged with veiled hints of danger.

Having arrived at these conclusions, Jimmy fell asleep, and did not wake till 
Bartlett, as was his custom, opened the iron railing and walked up and down the 
corridor ringing the getting-up bell.




Chapter 16

When the Black Cat Jumped



The majority of people, having gone through what Tommy Armstrong had endured in 
the way of adventure over-night, would probably have chosen to lie low on the 
following day, thinking that they had had enough excitement for the time being. 
Tommy's appetite, however, was accustomed to grow by what it fed on. A little 
episode like crouching for an hour or so behind a piano, while two burglars 
entered the housemaster's study, fought on the floor, and were eventually 
surprised and routed by the housemaster in person, simply gave Tommy the 
pleasing feeling that he was living his life as it should be lived. So far from 
being tired of excitement, he looked about him for the means of manufacturing a 
further supply.

The instrument was ready to his hand, in the shape of Simpson's rabbit, Blib. 
The success of his previous experiment in letting this animal loose in the 
class-room encouraged him to try the experiment again. Not with Mr Spinder, who 
had been present during Blib's previous visit to the class-room -- for Tommy 
never liked to overdo a thing -- but with Herr Steingruber. Piquancy would be 
added to the situation by the fact that the Herr hated rabbits.

The scheme was, however, wrecked by the unsympathetic attitude of Simpson. Tommy 
approached him after breakfast.

"I say, Simpson", he said. "You know, those rabbits of yours don't get nearly 
enough exercise."

"You've raced them in the passage pretty well every night since the beginning of 
term. I don't know what more you want."

"Yes, that's all right as far as it goes, but it doesn't go nearly far enough. A 
few sprints up and down a passage aren't half enough for a healthy rabbit. What 
they want is a run in the daytime."

"If you mean —-" began Simpson suspiciously.

"I was thinking", said Tommy airily, "that if you could lend me Blib for the 
German lesson —-"

"I'm blowed if I do. You got the poor brute confiscated last time, and it was 
only by a fluke that I got him back at all. I'm not going to risk it again."

"Oh, I say, Simpson, don't be a cad."

"I'm hanged if you shall have my rabbit. If you want to bring anything into the 
class-room, why don't you borrow Blackie?"

Tommy paused. It was not a bad suggestion. Blackie, the house cat, was a stately 
animal, whose mission in life was supposed to be the catching of mice. He spent 
most of his time, however, asleep in the kitchen. Whether he worked while others 
slept, and made a great slaughter of mice in the small hours of the night, 
nobody knew. But he could be counted on to have no engagements during the day.

"I will", said Tommy.

By good luck he chanced to meet Blackie patrolling the passage near the dining-
room directly after breakfast. He proceeded to commandeer him.

When Herr Steingruber entered the class-room, Blackie, soothed by a saucer of 
milk, was asleep in Tommy's desk.

The German master was in his most jovial mood.

"Ach, my liddle vriendts", he said, "zo we are again for der ztudying of der 
Sherman language med dogedder. Led us now broceed our acguaindance with der 
verbs and deir gurious irregularities do resume. Jutwell, my vriendt, will you 
der —-"

He stopped abruptly, and "pointed" like a dog.

"Ach", he said, "dell me, is dere in der room a gat?"

It so happened that Herr Steingruber, like Lord Roberts and other famous men, 
had a constitutional loathing for cats. This curious weakness which attacks some 
people has never been properly explained, but it undoubtedly exists. Something 
tells these men when there is a cat in the room, even though they cannot see it.

"A gat, sir?" asked Chutwell.

"Jah. A mitz. A -- you know -- a gat. I am zure by der gurious veeling in my 
inzides dot dere was a gat in der room."

The German master's moustache was bristling. His eyes gleamed in an agitated way 
behind his spectacles. Suddenly a well-known sound came from the interior of 
Tommy's desk. The Herr started like a war-horse that has heard the trumpet.

"Dere! Did you nod id hear?"

"Hear, sir? What, sir?"

"Der gat-like mewing zound."

"It might have been a desk squeaking, sir", suggested Tommy. "Sometimes the nuts 
get loose, and —-"

"No, no, it vos not der desg, it vos der gat-like mewing, dot id vos do mistake 
imbossible. Ach! Again! Did you nod thad dime id hear?"

This time it was out of the question to deny it. Blackie, having finished his 
sleep, and finding to his consternation that he was in a sort of wooden box, far 
too small to give him room to move with any comfort, was now expressing his 
disgust and disapproval in no
uncertain voice. Though muffled by the lid of the desk, the yowls were more than 
plainly audible.

The class decided on a compromise.

"It does sound like a cat, sir", agreed Browning. "It's probably outside in the 
road."

"I'm not sure it's not a sort of bird, sir", said Tommy, unwilling to concede 
even as much as Browning. "There are birds which make a noise just like that."

"No, no, you are nod right, neither of you, my liddle vellows", said the German 
master excitedly. "Id vos der gat, nod der bird; und id vos in der room, nod in 
der road outside. Ach!" He turned towards Tommy. "Armstrong, der gat-like mewing 
from der direction of you zeems do gome."

"Me, sir!" said Tommy.

The Herr dashed towards him like a hound that has struck the trail, and stopped 
in a listening attitude. Tommy leaned heavily on his desk.

"Armstrong", said the Herr, "berhabs der gat behind der gupboard door is 
goncealed. Go und loog, my Armsdrong."

There was a small cupboard against the wall, in which exercise-books, chalk, and 
other things were kept.

"I don't think it can be in there, sir."

"But berhabs id is. Examine der gupboard, my boy."

Tommy rose from his seat, and by so doing gave Blackie his chance. The lid, 
released from the pressure of his arm, rose slowly. The cries increased in 
volume. For a moment Herr Steingruber did not notice what was happening to the 
desk. Then it caught his eye, and, as he would have put it himself, he crouched 
and sprang. He seized the lid of the desk, and flung it open.

"Ach!" he cried. "Zo! As I zusbegded!"

Then he uttered a howl compared with which those of the imprisoned cat were as 
nothing; for Blackie, rising slowly from his place, gave a sudden spring on to 
Herr Steingruber's head, and stood there spitting.

The Herr sprang back, and began to rush around the room like a madman.

"Dake id off! Dake id my head off!"

The class rose from its place as one man. A dozen willing hands removed the 
indignant Blackie from his perch, and hustled him out of the door. The German 
master sank into his seat, gasping.

"How it managed to get in there, sir —-" began Tommy.

His voice roused the Herr from his stupor.

"Ach, vile Armsdrong", he roared. "Sgoundrel! Villain! You will for me von 
tausand lines write. Ach! Dot vill you deach anudder dime nod to in der desg 
with gunning and wickedness der gat blace. Sgoundrel boy!"

Tommy knew better than to protest at the time. He had seen the Herr like this 
before, and he knew how to deal with the situation. He resumed his seat quietly, 
and for the rest of the lesson could have given a lamb points in meekness and 
docility.

When the lesson was over, and the room empty, he crept to the German master's 
desk.

"Please, sir."

"Vell, Armsdrong."

The Herr's voice was stiff with righteous indignation.

"I came to say how sorry I was for —-"

"Ach! Doo lade id is for der zorrow und rebendance. You should of dot have 
before thought. Von tausand lines you will write."

"Oh, yes, sir", said Tommy eagerly. "I didn't want you to let me off the lines. 
All I wanted was to tell you how sorry I was."

"Dot vos der right sbirit, Armsdrong", said the Herr, slightly softened.

"I don't know how I came to do it, sir. I found the cat in the passage, and 
brought him in without thinking.

"Always should you dthink, my boy", said Herr Steingruber ponderously. "As your 
boet says, Moch evil has been wrought by want of dhought. Jah, zo."

"Yes, sir."

"There was just one other thing, sir", added Tommy.

Just then the door opened. Mr Spinder appeared.

"Ah, the class is over? I thought I should find Stewart here. Armstrong, kindly 
tell Stewart that a visitor is waiting for him in the drawing-room."

"Yes, sir."

Mr Spinder disappeared. Tommy returned to his subject.

"There was just one thing, sir."

"Vhot vos dot?"

"It's like this, sir. We are getting up a concert for -- for a charitable 
object. We are all of us going to do something. Some of us will sing, and some 
recite, and some conjure, and so on."

"Jah, zo", said Herr Steingruber, nodding. "I zee. Der zocial goncert for der 
goot object. Zo."

"We've got a very strong programme, but we all agreed that it would be simply 
topping —-"

"Dopping?"

"You know, sir -- great, splendid."

"Jah, zo."

"If you would only come and play us something on your 'cello."

The Herr's face lit up. He loved his 'cello, which, it may be mentioned, he 
played really well. His demeanour relaxed at once. All the righteous indignation 
vanished. He patted Tommy on the head.

"Ach! Zo you vish me on der violoncello do blay, is id? Ach, but shall I nod -- 
you know -- what you would zay zboil der fun? You will be der merry lads zinging 
and choking. Should I nod be in der way, my liddle man?"

For the first time in his life Tommy became aware that he possessed a 
conscience. He had intended originally to get the Herr to play at the concert 
with a view to a tremendous rag. The German master's words made him alter his 
mind swiftly and completely.

"Of course you won't, sir", he said with sincerity. "We shall all be awfully 
glad if you would play. And", he added to himself, "if any of those fools try to 
rag you, I'll knock their heads off."

"I shall with bleasure blay", said Herr Steingruber.

"Thank you, sir. That's all I wanted to ask you."

"Ach, but sdob, Armsdrong, sdob. Berhaps a liddle doo severe I was on der boyish 
biece of fon. Der tausand lines I do gancel. But anodder dime, my boy, do nod 
der gat indo der glass-room bring."

"No, sir. Thank you very much, sir."

Tommy departed to find Jimmy, whom he discovered in the common-room, and 
despatched in quest of his visitor.

Jimmy wondered, as he went to the drawing-room, who this visitor could be. There 
was nobody he knew who was likely to come and see him at school. He arrived at 
the drawing-room, and opened the door. A man was standing, looking out of the 
window. As Jimmy came in, he turned round, and advanced with a smile.

Jimmy stood still, staring. It was the man who had travelled down with Tommy and 
himself in the train.




Chapter 17

Jimmy Asks a Question



That the visitor did not imagine that there would be any danger of Jimmy 
recognising him was evident from his manner. And there was certainly some excuse 
for this confidence, for he was as cunningly "made up" as an actor on the stage. 
When Jimmy had seen him in the train, his hair had been jet-black, and he had 
been clean-shaven. The man who stood before Jimmy now was grey-haired, and his 
mouth was covered by a heavy grey moustache. He carried himself like a soldier, 
and looked exactly like any one of a score of retired officers you might meet at 
a service club.

But Jimmy had a wonderful memory for faces, inherited from his father. However 
the man in the train might have altered his appearance, one feature remained the 
same —- the eyes. Jimmy had never forgotten the keen, sinister eyes which had 
looked at him through the window on the night Sam had been shot down. They had 
burned themselves into his memory. And this man had those eyes.

"Well, my boy", said the man in a bluff, good-humoured way, holding out his 
hand, "so you're young Jimmy, are you? Bless my soul, how you've grown. Why, 
when last I saw you, you were in your ayah's arms, squealing like a steam 
engine. You don't remember me, of course."

"No", said Jimmy. Which was strictly untrue.

"Of course not, of course not. How should you? We had very little conversation 
on that occasion, if I remember rightly. I showed you my watch, and you kicked 
me in the stomach, and then you were taken upstairs. And we never met again. But 
I saw a good deal of your father. We were in the same regiment, you know. 
Brother officers, and always the greatest of chums. You have probably heard him 
speak of me? Marshall. Major Marshall. Dear old Stewart! We used to call him 
Babe. I'm sure I don't know why, for he was anything but one. Have you seen your 
father lately? Saw him in the holidays, I suppose, eh?"

Jimmy had an uncomfortable feeling that this man was beginning to pump him for 
information, and he wondered uneasily how far he would go. He was bristling with 
suspicion. However, there seemed no harm in answering his questions so far.

"No", he said. "Father is away."

"Away? Dear me, that's a nuisance. I was hoping to see him, and have a chat 
about the old days. Where is he?"

"In Africa."

"Africa! Well, I can hardly go over there, can I? I'd no idea. Are you expecting 
him back soon?"

Jimmy swiftly examined this question with a view to seeing how his answer would 
affect Major Marshall in his designs on the blue stone. If he said his father 
was returning to England soon, it would cause Marshall to redouble his efforts 
to obtain the stone before Colonel Stewart's arrival. If, on the other hand, 
Marshall thought that he had plenty of time, he might go about his work in a 
more leisurely manner.

It seemed to Jimmy that, with the stone still in Mr Spinder's possession, the 
great thing was to gain time. The fact that Sam Burrows had broken into the 
house and searched the master's room showed that the former was prepared to go 
to any length to recover the lost
stone, and, if given time, would probably hit on some scheme for regaining 
possession of it. So Jimmy replied that he had not heard from his father for 
some time, and that he did not expect him back for another month —- possibly 
more.

The answer seemed to satisfy Marshall. His voice, when he spoke, was more good-
humoured than ever.

"He was always fond of sport", he said. "When we were in India together, he was 
always getting leave, and plunging off into the jungle after tigers. First-rate 
shot, he was. I expect he's enjoying himself far too much in Africa to dream of 
coming back. Well, well, all we can do, my boy, is to console ourselves in the 
meantime with each other's company. Suppose you put on your hat, and come to the 
tuck-shop with me, eh?"

Jimmy, keenly on his guard, scented danger.

This man knew nothing of Mr Spinder, and imagined that he, Jimmy, still held the 
stone in his keeping. Jimmy was not going to give him the opportunity of getting 
him alone. Here, on the school premises, he was safe. Nothing could touch him. 
But, if once he left his ground, anything might have happened. He excused 
himself, politely but resolutely.

"Thanks awfully", he said, "but I'm afraid I shouldn't be allowed to go out now. 
It isn't a half-holiday. I shall have to be going into school again soon."

"Oh, nonsense, my boy, nonsense. I'll soon get permission for you. I'll see your 
master. What's his name? Spinder? I'll see Mr Spinder, and ask if you can't come 
out for half an hour."

"It's no good. He wouldn't let me."

"Ah, well, discipline, discipline! A fine thing! We must all obey orders, 
mustn't we. It would never do if we were allowed to go and come just as we 
pleased, would it?"

Jimmy said nothing. Major Marshall picked up his hat and stick.

"Ah, by the way", said the Major. "I knew there was something else. Of course, 
yes. Who should I come across the other day but Corporal Burrows, of your 
father's and my old regiment. Hadn't seen him for an age. A fine soldier, 
Burrows. I have had him at my side in some tight corners."

This, thought Jimmy, thinking of the happenings of the previous night, was quite 
true.

"He was very glad to see me, was Burrows. It seems that he left India with a 
commission to hand over a certain stone either to your father or myself; and it 
upset the poor fellow when he found that your father was not in England."

"Did Burrows tell you my father was not in England?"

"Yes. Poor fellow. I think he had been worrying himself about it."

"Then why did you ask me where he was?" said Jimmy.

Major Marshall's face changed; but he recovered himself quickly, and laughed.

"You're a sharp youngster", he said, smiling. "Uncommonly sharp. The fact is, 
I'd forgotten all about Burrows for the moment. He only came into my mind as I 
was leaving."

"Then it isn't very important about the stone?"

"Oh, no. Burrows upset himself quite unnecessarily."

"I'm glad of that", said Jimmy.

"It's of very little importance, really. But those men like Burrows, when they 
are entrusted with any commission, magnify it till in their eyes it becomes 
quite an international business."

"I see", said Jimmy.

"Burrows tells me he handed the stone over to you, to keep till you saw your 
father. Fortunately, now that I've met him, it isn't necessary to wait any 
longer. You can give it to me, and then poor Burrows's mind will be set at 
rest."

"Do you think that's really what Sam Burrows would want me to do?"

"Of course, my boy, of course. What else? It would be the greatest relief to 
him."

"Then what were you and he fighting about in the study last night?"

The words had left Jimmy's lips before he had time to think. When the thing was 
done, he would have given much to be able to recall them. He blamed himself 
bitterly for being such a fool as to yield to the temptation to score off 
Marshall; but the other's bluff, plausible manner had been too much for him. He 
could see now what a mistake he had made. Marshall, on his guard and knowing 
that Jimmy was on his guard, was a far more formidable foe than a Marshall who 
imagined that his motives were unsuspected.

There was a long silence. The pupils of Marshall's eyes contracted like those of 
a snake. Jimmy backed slowly against the wall. Marshall was between him and the 
door, or he would have run for it.

At length Marshall spoke. His voice had lost all its bluff cheeriness. Instead, 
it had taken on a deadly coldness. Jimmy, plucky as he was, trembled when he 
heard it.

"Enough of this nonsense", said Marshall. "I see you know more than I thought. 
Give me that stone."

Jimmy said nothing. He was against the wall now.

He licked his lips, which were feeling curiously dry.

"Be quick", said Marshall. "If you know as much as you seem to, you'll know that 
I mean business. Where's that stone?"

Jimmy, rigid against the wall, was aware of something hard pressing into the 
small of his back. His heart gave a bound as it flashed across him what this 
thing was. It was the electric-bell button, which stood out from the wall in its 
wooden case.

He slid a hand silently up the wall till he found it. Then he pressed with all 
the force he could muster.

Marshall had not seen the movement; or if he had, had not understood its 
meaning.

"I'll give you ten seconds to produce that stone. If I've not got it by then —-" 
He snarled out an oath.

Still Jimmy made no reply. His ear had caught the sound of footsteps in the 
passage. Marshall had heard them, too. He stopped as he was advancing, and 
looked over his shoulder.

The door opened, and a servant appeared. She seemed astonished, as well she 
might, for Jimmy's ringing had been urgent enough to wake the Seven Sleepers.

"Did you ring, sir?" she asked.

Marshall resumed his bluff manner like a garment.

"My young friend here did", he said genially. "No need to have rung the house 
down, Jimmy, my boy. I merely wished you to tell Mr Spinder that I have had to 
hurry off to catch a train. Will you do this? Thank you. Well, Jimmy, my boy, I 
must say good-bye. Very glad to have been able to see you."

Their eyes met as they shook hands. Jimmy could see that Marshall's were still 
cold and furious. There was something particularly horrible in the combination 
of those vicious eyes and the genial, soldierly manner.

"I hope we shall meet again very soon", said Marshall. "In fact", he added, 
turning as he reached the door, "I am sure we shall. Quite sure."

Jimmy waited till he had left the room. Then he tottered to a chair and sat 
down. He was feeling sick.




Chapter 18


A Fight is Arranged



"I say", said Tommy Armstrong, coming into the common-room on the following 
morning. "Heard the latest? Those college chaps want us to play them at 
football!"

"Play the college!"

"Their second eleven. I've just heard from a cousin of mine who's there. He's 
captain of their second eleven this year, and a most awful ass. Sticks on side 
enough for a dozen, too. I can't stand the man."

"What does he say?"

"I'll read it. 'I wonder if your fellows could manage to scratch up an eleven --
'"

"Scratch up an eleven!" cried the common-room indignantly.

"That's what he says."

"Dash it all, does he think we've never heard of footer?"

"Does he think we play marbles here, or what?"

"Doesn't he know we beat Burlingford Wednesday Reserves last year by a goal to 
nil?"

"Your cousin wants kicking, Tommy."

"So I always tell him when I see him", said Tommy with composure. "This is how 
he goes on. Let me see, where was I? Ah, 'Scratch up an eleven to play our 
second on the sixteenth. We were to have played the Emeriti on that day, but 
they have disappointed us. Can you get together eleven fellows from your place 
who know a football from a croquet ball --?'"

Here the audience interposed again.

"I never heard such cheek in my life."

"Beastly side!"

"These college fools seem to think that just because —-"

"By the side of the Zuyder Zee, Zuy —-"

"Oh, sit on that ass Binns, for goodness' sake."

"Don't trouble", said the songster. "I desist. I was merely rehearsing for the 
concert. Sloper, my lad."

"What ho?"

"What sort of voice are you in?"

"Poor, I fear. A trifle ropy. And you?"

"A little weak in the upper register. But we shall be all right on the night."

"Rather. Buck along, Tommy. We're all listening."

"Oh, you've finished, have you?" said Tommy. "Struck one of your brilliant 
flashes of silence? That's good. I'll go on, then. 'Football from a croquet 
ball? If so, bring them along. We shan't expect anything great. The idea is 
simply to give our chaps a bit of practice, and prevent them getting out of 
form.'"

"Oh, is it?"

"Jolly good of them to play with beginners like us, I don't think."

"We shall pick up the rules as we go along."

"'Getting out of form'", resumed Tommy. "'Tou can play masters if you like.'"

"Can we? By Jove! That's kind of them."

"Awfully kind."

"We'll bring old Steingruber."

"He'd be pretty hot in goal. Couldn't get much past him. There'd be no room."

"Or Spinder."

Roars of laughter greeted this suggestion.

"'Yours sincerely, J de V Patterne'", concluded Tommy. "'PS. You might send one 
of your fellows over to-day to let us know. If I don't hear from you today, I 
shall conclude that you can't raise a team, and shall make other arrangements.'"

"So that's your cousin, is it, Tommy?"

"It is", replied Tommy sadly. "But we hush it up in our family as much as 
possible. It's a very sad business. Well, there you are. What do you think about 
it? Are you on? Shall we play them?"

"Rather!"

"What do you think?"

"If we don't, they'll think we funk them."

"We'll give them beans."

"Right ho", said Tommy. "I'll put up the list of our team to-night." Tommy 
captained the Marleigh School football eleven. He and Jimmy played back 
together, and formed a pair whose defence took a lot of breaking. "We shall have 
to go into strict training for it. We simply must win. Jimmy, will you bike over 
this afternoon, and see my cousin about it, and arrange things?"

"All right", said Jimmy.

"Anybody else care to go?" asked Tommy.

Everybody wanted to go, and said so simultaneously.

"Take old Ram", said Tommy. "He'll astonish their weak intellects."

Ram beamed with pleasure at the compliment.

"I shall be proud and puffed-up as a peacock", he said, "to be your spokesman 
and amicus curiae."

Alderton College was a large public school which lay about five miles from 
Marleigh School. The boys of the two schools did not come into contact with one 
another very frequently, but when they did there was generally trouble. The 
Marleigh boys looked on the Alderton brigade, not without some reason, as giving 
themselves airs. Sometimes, when a Marleigh paper-chase met an Alderton cross-
country run on neutral territory, there would be something in the nature of a 
free fight. It was on one of these occasions that Jimmy had engaged in a contest 
of words with a red-headed Aldertonian, and had scored off him with such 
completeness that the latter was proceeding to turn the thing from a verbal to a 
physical battle, when one of the college masters arrived, and separated them.

This, indeed, was the chief reason why Jimmy had consented to go to the college 
to arrange about the match. He did not wish it to be thought -- not that it was 
likely to be thought, for nobody at Marleigh had ever questioned Jimmy's courage 
-- that he was avoiding Alderton for fear of meeting the red-headed one. But for 
this he might have backed out of going, for, plucky as he was, the scene with 
Major Marshall in the drawing-room had shaken him, and he would have preferred 
to have stayed within the safe bounds of the school. There was a strong 
likelihood that he would be watched; and if it came to a pinch, Ram would not be 
much of a help.

But, taking everything into consideration, he determined to risk it; and, 
directly after school was over, he and Ram, mounted on bicycles, made their way 
to the college.

A small boy in the cap of one of the houses of the college was lounging in the 
road outside the big gates when they arrived.

"I say", said Jimmy, "can you tell me where to find Patterne?"

The small boy did not answer the question; but, having eyed Jimmy's school cap 
in a lofty manner, pro-
ceeded to gaze spellbound at Ram, who stood beaming at him through his gold 
spectacles.

At this moment a second small boy in a similar cap came through the gates. The 
first small boy drew his attention to Ram, and the two of them fixed him with an 
unblinking stare.

"Misters", said Ram, "I —-"

The two small boys started violently.

"Golly! You made me jump!" said one.

"You might have told us it could talk", said the other complainingly, to Jimmy.

"We don't want any of your cheek", said Jimmy crisply.

The two small boys transferred their attention to him.

"Who are you?" said one.

"When you're at home", added the other.

"Where can I find Patterne?" asked Jimmy again.

"Young sirs", broke in Ram, "are you the ninnies or the beetle-headed chaps that 
you remain sotto-voce and hermetically sealed? Why do you fob us off with the 
disrespectful superciliousness of the cold shoulder? Hoity-toity, young chaps, 
is this your boasted British courtesy? Tell us where can we find Hon'ble 
Patterne?"

"How does it work?" asked the first small boy, turning to Jimmy. "Do you shove a 
penny in the slot?"

"Oh, come on, Ram", said Jimmy. "We're wasting time. They oughtn't to allow 
these kids out without their nurses."

They wheeled their bicycles in through the big gates and across the quadrangle. 
Groups of boys were strolling about, some in football clothes, on their way to 
the field, others in the blue coats and grey flannel trousers, which was the 
customary wear at the college.

At first Jimmy and his companion attracted no attention. Then somebody caught 
sight of Ram, and presently they were in the centre of a large group.

"Why are you two chaps strolling about in here as if you'd bought the place?"

"Where's the rest of the circus?"

"It's the Shah! Somebody ought to tell the Old Man; we may get a half on the 
strength of it. Royal visit to Alderton."

"We've come from Marleigh", began Jimmy.

"You look it."

Jimmy was beginning to lose his temper, but he showed no sign of it. He went on 
patiently.

"Patterne wrote to our skipper, asking if we would play your second eleven. 
We've come over to arrange about the match. Can you tell me where I can find 
Patterne?"

"Here he is", said one of the group. "Hi, Pat!"

"What's up?"

A long, languid youth, dressed with rather more care than the average run of 
Aldertonians, strolled up, arm-in-arm with a sturdy, thickset boy in a blue and 
brown cap. Jimmy recognised him at once. It was his friend of the red hair.

The latter did not recognise him in turn for some little time. It was not till 
Patterne had been discussing with Jimmy details of the forthcoming match in a 
tired drawl for some moments that he made the great discovery. When he did he 
stepped forward.

"Well, look heah", Patterne was saying, when the other interrupted him.

"One second, Pat. I say", to Jimmy, "you've seen me before."

"We all have our troubles", said Jimmy.

"You're the lout who cheeked me."

"And you're the silly ass who couldn't think of anything to say back."

The red-haired one drew a step nearer. He and Jimmy were quite close to each 
other now.

The rest of the group looked on, interested. The situation seemed to promise 
sport.

"I owe you a licking", said the red-headed boy.

"I don't suppose you ever pay your debts, do you?" said Jimmy.

"Sometimes. How's that for a bit on account?"

Before Jimmy could get his guard up, the other's left fist had shot out. It took 
Jimmy on the mouth. He was off his balance at the moment. Taken by surprise, he 
staggered and fell.

"Do you want any more?" said the red-haired youth, truculently.

Jimmy got up.

"If you don't mind", he said quietly, "I should like a little."

"Look here", said one of the group, "you can't fight here. You'd be stopped in a 
second. Come behind the gym."

"Yes, behind the gym. That's the place." They all started off in that direction.




Chapter 19

The Fight behind the Gym



"Half a second", said one of the group, who had not spoken before, a smallish, 
wiry boy with a pleasant, cheerful face, which Jimmy liked at sight.

"What's up now, Freddy?"

"Only this. It strikes me that it's playing it a bit low down on this chap to 
hound him into a fight when he comes as an ambassador from another school."

"My deah chap", protested Patterne, "you surely don't call that beastly hole a 
school?"

Jimmy glared, but, having one fight already on his hands, he refrained from 
anything in the shape of an active protest. Tommy's cousin's sneer was, however, 
too much for Ram, whose devotion to Marleigh was almost a religion.

"That", he said warmly, "is the crying injustice and beastly shame. For why, 
Hon'ble Patterne, is our Alma Mater the hole and no school? Do we not sit at the 
feet of learned masters and drink in jolly stiff lessons? Do not our fathers pay 
heavily, and through the nose, for us to imbibe the Pierian stream of knowledge? 
I bite my thumb at you, young sir." Here Ram suited the action to the word, to 
the uproarious delight of the bystanders. "I am not constitutionally a 
bellicose, or I would give you the slap in the ear, or the nose-punch. You are 
an insignificant chap not worth notice."

"Oh, I am, am I! Well, look heah —-"

The boy called Freddy -- Frederick Bowdon, to give him his full name -- 
interposed.

"Chuck it, Pat", he said. "He's perfectly right. It was a scuggish thing to say, 
and you ought to apologise. I don't know what you fellows think, but I call it a 
beastly shame setting on a man from another school like this. He's under a flag 
of truce. I say", he added, turning to Jimmy, "you needn't fight unless you want 
to, you know. If O'Connell is spoiling for a row, I'll take him on."

Jimmy could not help laughing at this bright suggestion.

"It's awfully good of you", he said, "but don't worry about me. I'm all right."

"If he funks it —-" began O'Connell.

"I don't", said Jimmy, shortly. "Shall we be going on?"

There was a general movement towards the gymnasium, a grey stone building which 
lay at the far end of the school grounds. Bowdon came to Jimmy, and walked with 
him. Other groups of boys whom they met, having inquired what was happening, and 
learning that it was a fight, joined themselves to the throng, until it became 
quite a crowd. As they neared the gymnasium, there must have been almost a 
hundred intending spectators.

"I'm awfully sorry this has happened", said Bowdon to Jimmy, as they walked 
along. "I call it a bally disgrace to the school. An ambassador ought to be safe 
from this sort of thing. The fact is, the school's in a beastly rotten state 
just now. O'Connell and his gang seem to think they can do just what they like. 
I'm about the only fellow, as a matter of fact, who can take on O'Connell, and 
he keeps clear of me. I'm not saying it from side, you know. I beat him in the 
light-weight boxing last term. He's a jolly tough nut to crack."

Jimmy thought he might as well get a few hints as to what sort of fighter this 
was whom he was going to meet.

"What's he like? I mean as a fighter. He looks strong."

"He is", said Bowdon, with conviction. "He's as strong as a horse, and as hard 
as a block of wood. He hasn't got very much science, luckily. I beat him on 
points in the boxing. If it had been to a finish, I don't know what might have 
happened. He was pretty nearly as fresh when we left off, as when we started. If 
I were you, I should keep away from him as much as possible, and especially 
dodge his right. He's got a tremendous right. I sha'n't forget one smash in the 
ribs he got me in the second round, in a hurry. I thought I was out."

This was not very comforting; but Jimmy had formed much the same opinion of his 
opponent from the mere sight of him. The red-haired one was evidently 
plentifully endowed with muscle. A clean hit from him was not likely to be a 
pleasant experience. Jimmy hoped that his own quickness, which was remarkable, 
would be sufficient to prevent this. If it did not, it could not be helped. He 
would fight his best, and he would fight as long as he could stand. If he could 
not win, he must be content with losing gamely.

"I wish you'd let me second you", said Bowdon. "I might be able to give you some 
tips about him during the fight."

"I should be awfully glad if you would", said Jimmy gratefully. "It's jolly good 
of you."

"Not a bit. I hope you'll knock him out. A jolly good licking would do him all 
the good in the world. Chaps here have begun to look on him as a little tin 
god."

"But if you licked him —-"

"Oh, they've forgotten that. You see, he bucks about, and behaves as if the 
place belonged to him, while I lie fairly low. I never interfere with anybody, 
if they leave me alone. He sides about like a bally swashbuckler. Here we are. 
Hullo, here's Williamson, that's good. We'll get him to referee. Then we can be 
sure of having fair play. He's captain of football here, and was runner-up in 
the heavy-weights at Aldershot last year. He won't stand any rot from the 
O'Connell gang."

A tall, powerful-looking boy had joined the group. He was in football clothes 
and a blazer. He had been playing fives in one of the courts near the gymnasium.

"Hullo", he said, "what's all this?"

A dozen voices started to explain.

"One at a time", he said. "What's on, Freddy?"

"It's a fight, Williamson", said Bowdon, "between a Marleigh chap -- by the way, 
what's your name? -- a Marleigh chap named Stewart —-"

"What's a Marleigh chap doing here?"

"He came to see Patterne about the second eleven match."

"Oh, yes. The second are playing Marleigh instead of the Emeriti. But, look 
here, this won't do. If fellows from other schools come here, they mustn't be 
lugged into fights."

"That's just what I said. But Stewart wants to fight."

"Who's it with?"

"O'Connell."

"Oh."

From his voice it seemed that O'Connell's reputation as a swashbuckler was not 
unknown to the football captain. He looked with interest at Jimmy.

"Do you really want to fight?"

"Yes", said Jimmy. "He hit me. I should like to try and hit him for a change."

"Oh, all right, then."

"I say, Williamson", said Bowdon, "will you referee?"

"All right, if you want me to. Give us a watch, someone. Thanks. Two minute 
rounds, of course, and a half a minute in between. Till one of you has had 
enough. Who's seconding you, Stewart?"

"I am", said Bowdon.

"That's all right, then. He's lucky as far as that goes. Are you ready?"

Two basins of water and a couple of towels had appeared mysteriously from 
nowhere. Jimmy and his opponent got ready. A large ring had been formed. 
O'Connell stepped into it. Jimmy followed him. Two chairs had been brought. 
Jimmy and O'Connell sat in them, waiting for the call of time