Chapter 20

The End of the Fight -- and After



Jimmy sat in his corner looking at O'Connell on the opposite side of the ring, 
while Bowdon spoke to Williamson.

He knew he had taken on a big thing, but he had to go through with it; even if 
he had desired it, there could be no backing out now. It was not that he was 
afraid, but he felt his heart thumping against his ribs, and wondered if he 
looked pale or nervous -- he hoped not -- before that excited crowd, a crowd 
that was increasing every second. They were not his friends, that was the 
thought at the back of everything; though they were not actively hostile, they 
were not his friends, but O'Connell's. To them it was Alderton against Marleigh, 
and it was their man who must win. Jimmy knew this, and the knowledge did not 
make him feel any better.

Then he saw Ram standing beside him, and smiled. Ram, looking very woe-begone 
and miserable, gazed vaguely round the ring through his big spectacles as if 
searching for some friendly face.

Then Bowdon crossed over, and Williamson turned to the crowd.

"You fellows must keep back, understand; and no shouting during the rounds. See. 
Now, all ready? Wait a bit", and he looked at his watch. "Time."

Jimmy's heart gave an extra big thump, a cold shiver ran down his back, and he 
drew in a long breath, swallowing with difficulty; but as he advanced to meet 
O'Connell the nervousness, the dread of the unexpected, left him, and he felt 
strangely calm, ready for anything.

It was action; action now. No waiting any longer: here was something solid, 
flesh and blood against him, and, even if he was beaten, he was going to fight 
for it.

He held out his hand, but O'Connell took no notice, and led at his head quickly. 
Jimmy sidestepped almost mechanically, and as he did so, found himself saying in 
his own mind, "This chap is no gentleman; this is not playing the game", then he 
ducked as O'Connell swung his right again.

The Alderton boy meant to finish things quickly, a long fight was not to his 
taste; his game was to rush, to hit hard and often, and to trust to his strength 
to pull him through. This Marleigh fellow must be shown that he could not hope 
to stand up against his betters, and he went at Jimmy, hitting viciously with 
both hands.

Jimmy gave back a couple of steps and stopped a hard smash at his body, then he 
countered. He had not realised he had done so, until he felt a sudden unlooked-
for jar on the knuckles, and saw a trickle of blood on the other's chin; but he 
had to give way again, and then his foot slipped on the grass and he went over.

The spectators, forgetting all instructions, yelled, and "Get back, O'Connell", 
shouted Williamson, "get back", and to the crowd, "shut it; that's only a slip."

Jimmy was up again at once, smash -- smash -- O'Connell grunted as he bored him 
to the side, and then, "Time."

Ah! that delicious half-minute's rest, lying back in his chair, breathing 
deeply; while Bowdon flapped him with a towel, and another boy, with a serious 
brown face and grey eyes, sponged him with refreshing water. Ram, silent till 
now, turned to the crowd surrounding him.

"This is the strenuous, Misters. This is no mere casus belli, but hot stuff."

"Well done", said Bowdon all in a breath, not waiting for an answer, "keep away 
from him, right away, out-fighting you know, make him sweat, did that tumble 
shake you up? You ought to be at school here, oughtn't he, David? Mind his 
right, and -- hullo!"

"Time", and Jimmy stood up once more.

O'Connell had tried to rush things the first round, he tried even harder in the 
second, and was on Jimmy like lightning, hitting at him savagely, hustling him 
all round the ring.

Jimmy, on his side, knew that if once that terrible right got fairly home he was 
done for; so he kept away, with his left well up, dodging the other's leads as 
best he could, waiting for the opening he prayed would come. But it was 
beginning to tell, this fierce sledgehammer work; O'Connell was far stronger 
than he was, and was showing it more and more every moment. Then O'Connell 
dropped his guard slightly, ever so slightly, but it was enough. Jimmy dived in 
and shook him up with a punch on the body, then in return he went over, rushed 
off his feet, and time was called.

But Jimmy went to his corner knowing that his man was no boxer, just a plain, 
straight-forward slogger. He could fight, yes; but box, no, not a bit.

The applause at the end of the round was now more evenly divided; Jimmy felt 
that he was making friends. Had he but known it, the Alderton boys were 
beginning to feel just a little ashamed of their truculent-looking champion, and 
the way he had forced this stranger into a fight. Until the two opponents had 
stood up to each other in their shirt-sleeves, nobody had realised how much 
slighter Jimmy was, and his plucky stand was making him popular. It had been a 
joke at first, this fight; now they shuffled uneasily as they watched the 
Marleigh boy taking his punishment without flinching; and after all, what was 
the fight about? And then, again -- but all the same, Alderton must win.

Jimmy's head was singing, his mouth was bleeding, and his arms felt a bit heavy, 
but he was still fresh, and breathed easily; while O'Connell opposite gasped and 
scowled at his seconds, as they bent over him.

And once more they stood up to fight.

O'Connell, his face marked with purple blotches, his eyes glittering nastily, 
again led. He knew that this fight he had so eagerly entered on was going to tax 
his full powers; here was this kid standing up to him still; but this would be 
the last round, and he rushed, but without the dash of the first two rounds.

Jimmy edged a blow off his body, and then ducked as O'Connell's right whistled 
past his ear; he countered and felt the crash of his fist against the other's 
body, and was in again with his right, good blows both, then he found himself 
struggling in O'Connell's arms.

"Break away", shouted Williamson, "break away." O'Connell's face was white, and 
he breathed heavily, those two punches were beginning to tell already. Then 
"break away, there", and Jimmy dropped his fists. O'Connell grinned wickedly, 
and holding him with one hand, lashed out.

Whether it was a foul or not, was always a disputed point at Alderton, and if 
the truth be known, rather a sore subject for a long time. Williamson, who was 
on the wrong side to see, thought not; he hesitated to believe that an Alderton 
fellow could be guilty of hitting while he held an opponent. It is a thing that 
no one ever does, and there Williamson left it. And then -- Jimmy was on his 
back, staring up at the sky, wondering; then he heard —- "one" -- Great Scott; 
he must get up, he mustn't lie there —- "two" -- he heard Bowdon shouting at 
Williamson —- "three" -- he was on his hands and knees —- "four" -- on one knee 
—- "five" -- he was keeping his mind firmly fixed on the fact that he must stand 
up, if it killed him —- "six" -- and "get back, O'Connell." Someone said "seven" 
-- he was up at last, and O'Connell, white faced and hideous, with his mouth 
open, was on him.

Jimmy had been badly shaken, but the blow had not got him fairly, or he would 
not have been on his feet as he was; still he knew that it would try him hard to 
get through the rest of the round. What had he to remember? Oh! yes, that right 
-- and he fought on in a  whirl. Why did not the other finish him off? He was 
not hitting very hard; was he staying his hand? And then in a flash came the 
thought, he couldn't, he couldn't; he was done too, and Jimmy suddenly felt 
better. "Time."

As he turned, a storm of cheers broke out, and Jimmy tottered to his corner, 
feeling that even if he was an alien, an outlander, somehow he, Jimmy Stewart of 
Marleigh School, was being cheered by a throng of Alderton fellows, and again he 
felt better.

Bowdon was flapping him with the towel, sending a perfect current of air into 
his lungs. That was better -- a-ah! -- much better, and he breathed deeply. When 
one is in perfect training as Jimmy was, one can stand a lot of knocking about, 
and Jimmy felt that that blow
of O'Connell's was a mere accident. Whether it was fair or not never troubled 
him. It would not happen again, he told himself, and his head was better 
already; after all it was only the sudden shock.

"That", said a voice, his solemn-faced second's, "was the most caddish thing I 
have ever come across. If he had got you fair on —-"

"Yes, Williamson was on the off side, but that chap held you as he hit, I swear 
he did. It's a shame, he ought to have been disqualified. But you hurt him, I 
think, more than he did you, all the same."

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, thank you", said Jimmy, "my neck's a bit stiff. Otherwise I'm quite fit."

"Good man."

"Time!"

O'Connell moved stiffly and with an effort. Jimmy's two body blows in the last 
round were hurting him.

They circled round each other quietly. O'Connell led at Jimmy's head, but was 
short, and Jimmy jumped in. O'Connell staggered. Again they moved round, and 
this time Jimmy led, and O'Connell in his turn got home. But his blows lacked 
strength. And then Jimmy, from the corner of his eye, saw Bowdon wave his hand. 
He jumped in again. O'Connell gave way. Jimmy made his big effort. With all the 
strength that was left in him he went in left and right.

Then suddenly there was nothing to hit at. In a sort of dream he saw that 
O'Connell was lying on the ground. He stepped back, while Williamson counted the 
seconds in a solemn voice. O'Connell paid no attention. He was evidently 
finished. "Ten", said Williamson.

Jimmy felt himself gripped by the hand, the centre of a crowd of excited faces. 
He had beaten their man, but that did not matter. They were sportsmen at 
Alderton, and they meant to make up for the way in which they had treated this 
stranger from another school. Everybody was cheering, and slapping Jimmy's back.

"Well played", said a quiet voice. "That was ripping." Jimmy turned and saw 
Bowdon.

"Thanks awfully for seconding me", he said.

"Not a bit", said Bowdon. "Come and have some tea."

They made much of Jimmy and Ram in Bowdon's study. Ram was in his element. He 
made speeches. He drank Jimmy's health in tea. He drank eternal friendship to 
Bowdon and the others. As a wind-up, by special request, he recited "The Charge 
of the Light Brigade".

"There are the stout fellows and good chaps", he said enthusiastically to Jimmy, 
as they started to ride home, turning and waving a hand benevolently to the 
cheering group at the big gate. "We came in like lamb, and have gone out like 
lion and big pot. Huzza! You are the courageous, Hon'ble Stewart."

Jimmy was feeling too tired for conversation. His head was aching from his 
exertions. He rode on in silence.

Half-way home he felt a sudden jarring and bumping.

"Dash it, I've punctured", he said.

He got off.

"You ride on, Ram", he said. "I'll stop and patch up this beastly tyre."

"Shall I not stand by friend in distress?" asked Ram.

"No, thanks. I'd rather be alone. I'm feeling a bit done. I don't want to talk 
much."

Ram rode off. Jimmy got out his repairing outfit, and was preparing to take the 
tyre off, when a spot of rain fell on him, then another. In another moment it 
was coming down in earnest. Jimmy looked about him for shelter.

A hundred yards away, separated from the road by a field, was a deserted, 
tumble-down cottage. It was not an inviting-looking spot, but, at any rate, it 
had a roof. It would at least be drier in there than out on the road. He made a 
dash for it, wheeling his machine.

"Inside and under shelter", he chuckled.

"Old Ram'll get soaked", he said, dabbing at his clothes with his handkerchief. 
"Rum old place, this. Shouldn't care to live here, but it's all right to keep 
out the rain. Hullo! what's that?"

Somebody was coming towards the cottage. At first he thought it might be Ram, 
returning for shelter. But a voice made itself heard, a man's voice. Jimmy could 
not distinguish the words, but with a sudden start he recognised the voice. 
There was no mistaking those deep tones. It was Marshall who was approaching.




Chapter 21

A Meeting in the Ruined Cottage



There was only one place where Jimmy could hide, and that was the shallow loft, 
to which a trap-door in the corner of the room gave access. A broken-down ladder 
led to the trap-door, and Jimmy was on the point of climbing this when he 
remembered his bicycle. There was no time to hide it securely. The best he could 
do was to prop it against the wall in the darkest corner of the room -- it was 
all very dark in the cottage, for the windows, which were small, had now, owing 
to neglect, become completely overgrown with ivy — and fling over it a piece of 
mildewed sacking which he found on the floor. There was the chance that 
Marshall, having no reason to suspect his presence, would not think of searching 
the place.

Having done this, he contrived to mount the rickety ladder and enter the loft 
just as Marshall and his companion turned in at the door.

The floor of the loft was a sieve of holes. As his eyes grew accustomed to the 
dark, Jimmy could catch glimpses of the two men. Marshall was smoking a cigar, 
and the glow lit up his sharp features as he drew in the smoke. The other man 
Jimmy could not see. He appeared to be sitting down or leaning against one of 
the walls. At least, he did not walk about, as did Marshall.

The other man spoke. Jimmy had no difficulty in hearing the words. He seemed to 
be continuing a conversation which had begun outside the cottage.

"I don't see what you're grumbling about", he said. "You've been on worse jobs."

It was an educated voice -- Jimmy could hear that -- but not a pleasant one. 
There was a false smoothness in it which would have put most men on their guard.

"Worse jobs!" said Marshall irritably. Jimmy could see him puffing quickly at 
his cigar. "If you mean more dangerous, perhaps I have. It's the infernal 
difficulty of the thing which is breaking my nerve, Ferris."

"Dear old boy", said the man addressed as Ferris, smoothly, "not quite so free 
with names, if you don't mind. There's no need for them, and they add a little 
to the risks of the business, don't you know. See what I mean?"

"Oh, very well", said Marshall shortly.

"Thought I'd just mention it. Give me a match and proceed. You were talking 
about the difficulties of this little affair."

"It is difficult", said Marshall. "I've at last succeeded in convincing —-"

"Call him Jones", said Ferris softly, "or 'our employer'."

"Convincing him —-"

"'Him' is much better. We'll stick to that."

"I wish you wouldn't interrupt. I've at last succeeded in convincing him of the 
difficulties. That is why he sent for you to help. I happened to hear that you 
were in England, and I mentioned your name to him."

"These unsolicited tributes to one's merit are very gratifying."

"I could handle the job alone so long as it was simply a question of Sam 
Burrows, but now —-"

"Well? What now? I don't see your point. Sam was undoubtedly a tough customer. 
You have now merely a boy to deal with. I should have thought the thing had 
simplified itself."

Marshall uttered an exclamation of impatience.

"You seem to be a perfect fool!" he said sharply.

"These unsolicited tributes are very gratifying", ^murmured Ferris.

"'Merely a boy!' 'Simplifies itself!'" Marshall kicked angrily at a fragment of 
brick on the floor. "Can't you see that it is not a case of merely a boy? It is 
a case of a school. Bah! merely a boy! Do you think, if that were all, I should 
want your help? If young Stewart were at his home I could have the stone in a 
day. But here! How is one to get at him? He is in a fortress. It is as difficult 
to get at a boy in his school as it would be to enter a monastery."

"But -- this is very interesting. I have never been brought face to face with 
our English school system before. Does he never go out of the school grounds?"

"Yes", said Marshall savagely, "he does -- with a dozen other little brutes 
hanging on to him like burrs. How can a man do anything? I admit that I am 
baffled. Perhaps you will be more successful."

"Perhaps I shall", said Ferris softly. "If you will excuse my saying so, my dear 
old fellow, your methods are excellent in their way, but they have their 
limitations. At bludgeon work you are capital. But perhaps you lack a certain 
finesse which I flatter myself I possess. In a case like this I think our mutual 
friend -- er -- Jones was wise to call me in. I am not fond of violence —- that 
is more in your line -- but it seems to me there is no need for violence here. 
The affair has passed out of that phase; something a little subtler is needed."

"We shall be working together", said Marshall. "You may try your methods, I 
shall stick to mine."

"Dear old boy, you were always so impetuous, weren't you? You would always go 
blundering straight at the fence. I prefer to walk about and see if I can't find 
a gate or a gap somewhere. I think the whole business is being conducted on too 
melodramatic lines. It is a small point, perhaps, but why must our mutual friend 
arrange this meeting in such an uncommonly damp, dark, beastly spot as this? A 
far better plan would have been for him to have given us a nice light little 
lunch at his hotel. Then we could have talked it all over comfortably afterwards 
over a cigar and coffee. The fact that we shall have deuced bad colds in the 
head to-morrow does not make our chances of success any brighter. But I suppose, 
when one is well paid, one must be patient. On the terms on which I am being 
employed I am prepared to wear a cloak and mask and go about muttering 'Aha!' if 
necessary."

Marshall made no reply, but continued to pace up and down. Jimmy saw him light a 
second cigar.

Ferris began to speak again.

"I suppose", he said reflectively, "it is the privilege of the employer to be 
unpunctual at the rendezvous, but I wish our friend Jones would not exercise it 
so rigorously. We were instructed to be here at half-past five. It is now nearly 
ten minutes to six, but I see no signs of him."

"Perhaps the rain has stopped him", growled Marshall. "Hark! was that a 
footstep?"

Ferris listened. Jimmy, up in the loft, could hear that somebody was walking 
towards the cottage. The footsteps had a curiously irregular sound.

A moment later a small figure was silhouetted against the light of the open 
door. Jimmy could not see him clearly enough to judge of his appearance, but he 
saw that he was lame. One of his legs was shorter than the other.

"Marshall!" said the newcomer in a sharp voice of authority.

"Here, sir", A note of respect had come into Marshall's voice which had been 
markedly absent before.

"Ferris."

"Here I am", came Ferris's smooth voice. "Ready, aye, ready, as Nelson or 
somebody observed."

The lame man turned to Marshall.

"Well?" he said.

"I am afraid that I was unsuccessful, sir."

The lame man uttered a guttural exclamation of annoyance. From his voice he 
seemed to be a foreigner. There was nothing English about his accent.

"Explain", he said.

"I went to the school", said Marshall, "and saw the boy, but it was useless. 
Somehow —- how I cannot explain -- he had got wind of my fight with Burrows in 
the study that night. How he knew that I was the man I cannot tell. He cannot 
have been in the room."

"Why?"

"I should have seen him. There was nowhere for him to hide."

The lame man's voice, when he spoke, was quivering with suppressed anger.

"You would have seen him, would you, Marshall? You use your eyes well, Marshall? 
Is that so? Fool! Did you see anything as you came to this cottage?"

"No, sir." Marshall's voice was sullen.

"You did not see footprints in the mud? No, your good eyes did not see those. 
Nor the track of a bicycle in the mud? No, your keen eyes overlooked that. I saw 
them, Marshall. Yes, and I saw that on no side of the cottage was there in the 
mud the track of a bicycle going away or footprints coming away. Yes, Marshall."

Jimmy's heart gave a great leap. Marshall sprang forward.

"You mean —-"

"The boy is here, in this cottage, hiding. You will say: Why the boy? Why not 
any ordinary cyclist? Bah! why should an ordinary cyclist hide? This boy must 
have been in the cottage when you arrived. He heard your voice -- you would have 
been speaking. You speak too much -- and he hid."

"Dear old boy", murmured Ferris, "you have been a little indiscreet, I fear."

The lame man peered round him. Jimmy could see his eyes shining in the dark like 
a cat's. Suddenly he made an ungainly dash forward.

"See!" he hissed. "See, see! Look at it, Marshall. Can you see it? What is 
this?"

"It looks uncommonly like a boy's bicycle", drawled Ferris. "Dear me! how sad 
that one so young should practise deceit! Excuse me, sir, but that ladder —-"

The lame man turned his eyes in the direction indicated. Then he laughed softly.

"Marshall", he said, "climb that ladder, if you please, and ask our young friend 
to be good enough to join us."

Marshall looked up. To all appearances the trapdoor hadn't been disturbed for 
weeks. He was about to remark this, but thought better of it. Silently he 
mounted the ladder, and slowly made his way upward.

The others watched him eagerly.




Chapter 22

The Welcome Holiday-makers



It is probable that many boys in Jimmy's place would have recognised that the 
game was up, and, realising this, would have thrown up the sponge and gone down 
the ladder without further delay. But Jimmy came of a fighting stock. He had not 
the slightest intention of surrendering without a struggle. He would just as 
soon have given in to O'Connell in the fight an hour back. Jimmy was his father 
in miniature, with his father's traditions, just as his father was the British 
Army in miniature, with its traditions. The British Army generally puts up 
something of a fight when the moment arrives, and that spirit was a second 
nature to Colonel Stewart and to Jimmy himself. Where another boy might have 
lifted the trap-door and climbed down the ladder, Jimmy, looking about him for a 
weapon, waited for Marshall to lift it and climb up.

The weapon was ready to his hand in an unwieldy piece of wood which had once 
formed part of the flooring. It was almost separated from the other planks, 
joined to them only by a few rusty nails, and it came away silently in Jimmy's 
hand.

He lifted it and waited.

He could hear Marshall fumbling with the trapdoor. Presently, with a slight 
creaking, it rose. Marshall's head appeared in the opening. And at that instant 
Jimmy struck at it with his plank.

Struck is hardly, perhaps, the word, for the plank was too heavy and unwieldy to 
use as a club. But he half struck with it and half let it fall, just as 
Marshall's head and shoulders entered the loft.

At the last moment the latter saw the danger, and attempted to draw back. But it 
was too late. He succeeded in avoiding the full force of the blow, but the plank 
struck him slantingly on the side of the head, and fell with a crash on to the 
floor of the loft, while Marshall dropped back with a groan, the trap-door 
shutting with a bang behind him. Jimmy heard the thud as he fell to the ground, 
and then for a moment there was absolute stillness. The unexpectedness of the 
disaster had silenced the enemy.

Presently Jimmy heard whispers, then another groan. Then Ferris's voice saying, 
"He's all right. He's coming to."

He waited breathlessly for the next move.

Apparently the enemy were considering the position. This unexpected resistance 
had taken them by surprise. He heard whisperings.

Then Ferris's voice hailed him.

"Mr Stewart."

"Well?" said Jimmy, after a momentary pause.

"Don't you think, my boy, that you had better come down without any of this 
fuss? You are giving a great deal of unnecessary trouble."

There was something about this shouted conversation which appealed to Jimmy's 
sense of humour even in that crisis. The most imminent danger has not the power 
to stifle one's sense of the ridiculous, and Jimmy could not help being reminded 
of a ventriloquial entertainment which he had once heard, where the performer 
had carried on a conversation with an acquaintance on the roof of the hall.

"I'm quite comfortable where I am, thanks", said Jimmy.

"I'm advising you for your own good", said the smooth voice from below.

"Thanks", said Jimmy drily.

"We're bound to get you. It's only a question of time. And the more trouble you 
give, the worse it will be for you in the end."

Jimmy made no reply to this. It was an aspect of the affair of which he 
preferred not to think too much. He liked to fix his mind on the fact that they 
had not got him yet, and that, all things considered, he was in a fairly strong 
position. As far as he could see, the only means of entrance to the loft was by 
way of the trapdoor; and he felt himself capable of guarding that all night. 
Indeed, he rather hoped that another attack would be made from that quarter. His 
blood was up now, and he would have welcomed another chance of active fighting.

Below there was a stir. Evidently Marshall had recovered, and was on his feet 
again. Jimmy could hear him swearing faintly.

"Have a pull at this", said Ferris.

A flask apparently changed hands. He heard Marshall utter a deep satisfied "Ah-
ah!"

"That's the stuff", said Ferris. "I think I'll try a little drop myself. Mr 
Stewart", he called.

"Well?" said Jimmy.

"I am drinking to our speedy acquaintance."

"Thanks", said Jimmy. "If you'll step up that ladder and open the trap-door, 
you'll find me here."

Marshall's voice broke in, thick and furious.

"You young whelp! I'll pay you for this! I'll —-" He burst into a flood of 
threats.

"I'm afraid you have annoyed our friend here, Mr Stewart", said Ferris blandly. 
"He is quite cross."

All this while the lame man had made no sound, but now he began to speak rapidly 
in a language which was strange to Jimmy. He spoke in quick, sharp sentences. It 
seemed to Jimmy that he was giving advice or orders. When he stopped, Ferris 
said, "Not at all a bad idea. I had thought of something of the kind myself."

The next thing that happened took Jimmy completely by surprise. Suddenly, as he 
stood listening, there was a sound like a very soft cough, and simultaneously 
something ripped through the floor a yard from where he stood and passed through 
the thatched roof. The next moment the same thing happened again. Then he 
understood. It was the air-gun, that quiet, deadly weapon which had struck down 
Sam Burrows in the drive at home on the night when he had first made the 
acquaintance of the blue stone.

He crouched back against the wall as a third shot smashed through the floor.

Even as he did so he thought that the attackers must be nearly at the end of 
their tether if they had to try desperate measures like this. It must mean that 
they had given up all hope of storming the loft, and were, trusting to the 
chance of maiming him with a random shot.

There did not seem to be much danger of this happening. The shots were passing 
through the floor several feet from where he stood. After the first shock of the 
surprise he began to smile again. It was a foolish thing to do, this shooting. 
While it continued it meant that he was safe as far as a direct assault went. He 
leaned against the wall and waited.

Presently the shots ceased. In the room below there was complete silence.

A few minutes later a curious sound broke the stillness. At first Jimmy could 
not locate it. Then it flashed on him what it was, and all his feeling of 
confidence left him.

Somebody was tearing away the thatched roof.

Jimmy's position was now becoming desperate. He had not reckoned on an attack 
from above, and it chilled him to think how helpless he was against such a move. 
His good plank was useless now. That very heaviness and unwieldiness which made 
it so excellent a weapon against an attack from below rendered it useless now. 
He could barely lift it, much less handle it as a club. He must trust to his 
hands. And what sort of fight could he make with them against a grown man? And 
if he could manage him, how could he guard the trap-door and prevent the others 
coming up from below? For the first time he felt like giving up the struggle.

The man on the roof was digging like a dog at a rabbit-hole. The sodden thatch, 
once the first layer had been removed, offered little resistance. Jimmy could 
hear it being torn away in great handfuls. Presently a glimpse of daylight 
appeared, and the gap widened swiftly. Now Jimmy could see a head and shoulders. 
He stood rigid, unable to move.

A soft voice from above addressed him.

"I shall not keep you waiting very much longer, Mr Stewart", said Ferris.

And almost at the same instant he sprang down into the loft.

What happened then had all the suddenness and unexpectedness of a dream. Jimmy 
saw Ferris spring, heard the crash of his feet on the floor, and then the air 
was filled with noise and dust, and he was looking down into a ragged gap. The 
planks, rotten with age and damp, had been unable to bear the shock, and had 
given way, taking Ferris with them. Jimmy had a momentary sight of the latter 
seated in the midst of a heap of debris with a dazed look on his face, and 
leaned back against the wall, shaking with hysterical laughter.

The sound seemed to madden Ferris. His smoothness and humorous calm vanished. He 
sprang to his feet with a curse.

"Give me that gun, Marshall", he cried furiously.

Jimmy darted to one side as a shot splashed against the wall where he had been 
standing.

He was on the alert for another, but it did not come. He heard the lame man say 
something sharply in his strange tongue. The other seemed to listen. Another 
word from the lame man, and they had left the cottage. Jimmy heard them 
scrambling out of the window at the back of the room, bursting through the ivy 
with furious haste.

He was wondering if this were a fresh development of the attack when the sound 
of voices came to his ears.

"Here you are, Jim. This way to the Court of Honour."

"All change for the Scenic Railway."

"I'm not half soaked, I don't think."

"Come along, Ada. Make yourself at home."

Jimmy moved so as to get a sight of the door. A party of cyclists ran in, 
wheeling their machines. Their voices were not naturally harmonious, but to 
Jimmy at that moment they sounded like the sweetest music.

He was safe.

He opened the trap-door, and climbed down the ladder.

"'Ullo! 'ullo! 'ullo!" said one of the party. "See what's come down the chimney. 
What ho! Santa Claus!"

"Beastly wet, isn't it?" said Jimmy. "I came in here for shelter. I've been 
exploring."

The cyclists were a friendly band. They made Jimmy one of themselves. They sang 
music-hall songs with great cheerfulness, and cracked small jokes, till one of 
the party, stationed at the door, announced that the rain had stopped, and that 
they might as well be popping off. Jimmy walked to the road with them, and they 
parted with expressions of mutual esteem. They were going in the direction from 
which Jimmy had come. He wheeled his bicycle on towards the school. He felt 
curiously dazed, as if he had wakened.

Half a mile from the cottage the road passed through an avenue of trees.

As Jimmy entered this avenue a man stepped out into the road in front of him, a 
tall man with a bandaged head. At first Jimmy took him for a tramp. It was not 
till he spoke that he realised that he was face to face with Marshall once more.




Chapter 23

The Babu and the Bicycle



Ram meanwhile, full of triumph at the victory which had attended the Marleigh 
arms, as represented by Jimmy, the fighter, and, in a lesser but still glorious 
degree, by himself, the friend, looker-on, and sympathiser, had ridden on to 
tell the great news to the school. It was a proud moment for Ram. As he had 
frequently observed, he was not by nature a temerarious, and he glowed at the 
thought of the great victory with which he had been connected. It was true that 
he had not actually fought -- it was Jimmy who had done that -- but he had stood 
by, and represented Marleigh among the spectators.

"Huzza!" shouted Ram as he rode.

He would probably have gone on shouting "Huzza!" all the way back in a sort of 
chant, varied by excited exclamations in the language of his fathers -- he was 
apt to drop into Hindustani when moved -- but after he had gone about a mile on 
his way the storm broke.

Ram hated rain, and this was particularly rainy rain. It sluiced down from the 
grey sky like water from a shower-bath. His clothes were soaked before he had 
travelled a hundred yards. His gold spectacles were moist and clouded. He could 
barely see.

It was this that proved his undoing. Pedalling damply along, he did not notice a 
sharp bend in the road. For one moment he proceeded unsteadily along the damp 
grass at the roadside, then shot like an arrow into the ditch, his bicycle 
clattering behind him.

There was a good deal of water in the ditch, but on the whole mud was the 
leading feature of its contents. Ram literally wallowed in it. When he sat up 
and crawled painfully out, he was caked from head to foot, a very different 
person from the Ram who had shouted "Huzza!" five minutes before.

"This", he said to himself as he picked up his machine, "is the pretty kettle of 
fish!"

The kettle of fish was even prettier, on a close examination, than he had 
suspected. As he picked up his bicycle and started to wheel it out into the 
road, he saw that something was wrong with it.

To Ram there were only two sorts of bicycles: the bicycle that was all right and 
the bicycle that had something wrong with it. He knew no degrees in the latter 
class. It was only with the greatest difficulty, and more pain than he had ever 
endured in any other way, that he had succeeded in actually learning to ride. He 
had never aspired to the understanding and repairing of bicycles. As a matter of 
fact, all that was wrong with his machine could have been put right with a 
spanner in five minutes; but, as far as Ram was concerned, the thing was a 
wreck.

In this crisis he thought of Jimmy. Hon'ble Stewart, as he knew well, had an 
almost uncanny familiarity with the workings of bicycles. He would retrace his 
steps, meet Hon'ble Stewart, and put the case in his hands.

So Ram proceeded to wheel his machine disconsolately back along the road. Soon 
after this the rain, as if satisfied with what it had done, stopped; and Ram, 
having wiped his spectacles, was now more in a position to see things.

He trudged on.



Jimmy stopped and faced Marshall with a sinking heart. The road was deserted. 
His cyclist friends were miles away by this time. If only he had stopped to mend 
his puncture before going on! Then he might have swerved past Marshall and 
ridden on to safety. But in his eagerness to get away from the cottage at the 
earliest possible moment he had postponed the repairs; and now he was trapped 
again, as surely as he had been in the cottage a quarter of an hour ago.

"Well, my young friend", said Marshall, "so we resume our interrupted 
conversation. We can talk at our leisure now, which is so much pleasanter, is it 
not? You will think me a bore, I am afraid, to keep harping on the same subject, 
but I must ask you once more for that stone."

"I haven't got it", said Jimmy. "I told you so before."

"So you did, so you did. And yet, somehow, I can't help feeling that you were 
mistaken. Out with it, if you please. At once."

"I tell you —-" began Jimmy.

"Very well", said Marshall between his teeth, "if you stick to it."

He made a step towards Jimmy. Jimmy backed. His bicycle was still between them, 
and that checked the other for the moment. But only for a moment. Springing 
forward, Marshall had seized him by the arm in a grip of steel, when a polite 
voice from behind his back made him drop Jimmy and spin round.

"Excuse the complete stranger, Hon'ble sir", said the voice, "but are you by 
chance the skilled mechanic? I have here a bicycle —-"

"Ram!" shouted Jimmy, with a sudden rush of relief.

"Hon'ble Stewart! I did not suspect that you, too, were among those present. 
This is the glad meeting."

An idea flashed across Jimmy's mind.

"This way, you chaps!" he shouted. "Here I am!"

Marshall, who had been standing as if undecided what to do, waited no longer. 
With a muttered oath he slipped back through the hedge, and began to run across 
the field into the gathering dusk. They could hear his footsteps squelching 
across the damp turf. The advent of Ram had unnerved him, and Jimmy's words had 
completed the effect. He saw in Ram the advance-guard of a body of Jimmy's 
schoolfellows, a notion which Jimmy's shout had confirmed. To attempt to regain 
the stone from Jimmy forcibly before witnesses was more than even he dared.

"By Jove! Ram", said Jimmy, "I'm glad you turned up."

Ram was looking wonderingly in the direction in which Marshall had vanished.

"What", he asked, "was the matter with the mister? Why did he run like hare and 
vanish like snow before rays of sun?"

"I expect he couldn't stand your handsome face, Rain", said Jimmy with a grin. 
"I find it jolly difficult sometimes myself."

"What was it that you and he were having snip-snap and sotto-voce conversation 
about? Was he chum or chance acquaintance?"

"Bit of both, I should call him. Come on, Ram, we must run."

"Run?" repeated Ram vaguely.

"Yes, run, you rotter. Run like hares and vanish like snow before rays of sun. 
See?"

"But my bicycle?"

"Dash your bike! What's up with it? Never mind, I'll mend it in half a jiffy. 
Only we must get away from here at once. He may be coming back. We'll run on 
about a quarter of a mile. Then we can stop and do repairs. Come on; don't stand 
there looking like a golliwog! Run, man, run!"

And Ram ran, marvelling.




Chapter 24

The Great Concert



The afternoon of the great concert had arrived. For days. Tommy Armstrong had 
been rushing round, beating up talent with all the persuasiveness at his 
command, which was considerable. Herr Steingruber's amiability had been more 
pronounced every time he met his class, and it was rumoured that he sat up till 
unheard-of hours practising on his 'cello to the marked discomfort of his next-
door neighbours, who were soulless people who wanted sleep. Bills had been 
written out by Tommy and his friends in a fair, round handwriting, setting forth 
the outlines of the treat that might be expected, and mentioning that the 
concert was "for a deserving object". That was as far as the impresarios dared 
to go in the way of writing, but Tommy, questioned by interested members of the 
school on the subject, had spread the news that the deserving object was the 
Spinder's House Food Fund; and the school, approving of the cause, had promised 
to roll up. Binns and Sloper practised duets daily, and the brothers Tooth had 
the comfortable feeling, when they embarked on their usual morning fight, that 
they were killing two birds with one stone, working off their grievances and 
also rehearsing for their boxing exhibition.

"It'll be quite a pleasant change for them, sparring with the gloves on", said 
Tommy reflectively, as he watched the great twin brethren joining battle. "Quite 
refreshing for 'em."

Herr Steingruber drew Tommy aside one morning. "In der virst bart of der 
brogramme, my liddle Armsdrong", he said beamingly, "I shall der Moonlight 
Zonada of Beethoven blay. In der zecond bart -- zo -- a liddle dthing of my own 
gombosition I vill for der virst dime on dis or any odder sdage berform. He is a 
-- what you say? -- a zort of vairy legend of Shermany which I have in my youth 
ad Heidelberg heard und jodded down; and now I him zet to musig and do you und 
do der odder liddle vellows now for der virst dime blay. Jah, zo."

"That'll be ripping, sir", said Tommy doubtfully.

"Jah, zo. Ribbing. Dat vos him. You und der odders, you vill glap your hands und 
say, 'Goot! Dot vos goot!'"

"Of course we shall, sir", said Tommy. "But -- er -1 suppose you don't know any 
cake-walks, do you, sir?"

"Gayg-walks, my liddle vellow?"

"Yes, sir. 'Smoky Mokes' or 'Bill Simmons', or something like that."

"Jah, I onderstand. I know der 'Pill Zimmons'. But he is not der goot musig, my 
Armsdrong."

"It's a ripping tune, sir. I'm sure the chaps would like it."

"Ah, no, no, Armsdrong. He vos der bad, light musig."

And Tommy had been able to draw no other opinion from him.



The gymnasium was crowded when the time arrived for the curtain to go up. Most 
of the audience had been there for a quarter of an hour or more, and there was a 
general demand that the thing should start. Everybody, in fact, was ready for 
the curtain to go up, except the curtain, which absolutely declined to oblige.

This curtain was a sheet which Tommy had draped with great skill in front of the 
improvised platform. It was supposed to roll up when Thomson, stationed there 
for the purpose, hauled on a rope. All that happened, however, when Thomson 
pulled, was that the rope broke.

A chorus of advice and abuse came from every part of the room. Tommy rose to the 
situation like a Napoleon. He caught hold of the sheet and put all his weight 
into one tug. The sheet came away with a rending sound, amidst roars of 
applause, leaving the platform open to the public view, with the piano in one 
corner and Stephens Tertius, in his shirt-sleeves, adjusting his braces, in the 
centre. It had occurred to Stephens Tertius that his trousers were braced a 
shade too high, and he hoped to be able to put the matter right before the 
curtain rose.

Tommy, in his rô1e of announcer, flung away the sheet and stepped to the front.

"Order, please", he yelled. "Jellicoe, I'll come down and kick you in a second. 
Ladies and gentlemen, item one on the programme. Song, 'Annie Laurie', Mr 
Stephens Tertius."

"Half a second", growled the songster; "let a chap finish dressing first."

"No, go on", hissed Tommy. "There'll be a row if you don't start."

He did start, and yet there was a row. Stephens Tertius's voice was in that 
uncomfortable state when a voice is not quite certain whether it is a treble or 
a bass. It tries both at intervals, as if anxious to make up its mind.

Stephens Tertius started 'Annie Laurie' in about as high a key as a human being 
could achieve. He got through the first line without a hitch. 

As he began line two a small, austere voice from the back of the room spoke.

"Your bags are coming down, Stephens", said the voice dispassionately.

Stephens started as one who has had bad news from home, and his voice,, seizing 
the opportunity now that his attention was off it, suddenly changed to the 
deepest bass. A thrill of excitement ran through the audience, a sort of 
startled gasp, and then a roar of applause rent the air. Stephens sang on to the 
end of the verse, quite inaudible, and then backed off the platform, crimson in 
the face, refusing to return in spite of a loud encore.

Tommy stepped to the front again.

"Order, please", he shouted. "Item two on the programme. Penny whistle solo, 
'Poppies', by Mr J Cheetham."

This, one is sorry to have to record, proved a complete frost. Certain frivolous 
spirits in the first row, who had come expecting some such turn as this, 
produced lemons from their pockets, and began to suck them in an ostentatious 
manner, which soon had its effect on the unfortunate performer on the penny 
whistle. Cheetham watched the operation with fearful scowls for some bars. Then 
the flow of music gradually dwindled away, ending in a sickly note like the 
chirp of some newly-born bird. Tommy hustled the indignant penny-whistler off 
the stage, listening unmoved to his complaints and threats of what he would do 
to the lemon-suckers when he met them outside.

The next item on the programme should by right have been Herr Steingruber's 
'cello solo, but the first two turns had caved in so badly that Tommy did not 
dare to risk another failure. He postponed the Herr's performance, and put on 
what he knew was bound to be a success, the inter-Tooth boxing competition.

A lifetime devoted to fighting each other had given the Tooth twins a certain 
skill with their hands, which, added to their great natural energy, made their 
warfare highly popular in the school.

"Gentlemen", said Tommy, "the next turn will be a three-round boxing exhibition, 
Queensberry rules, by the brothers Tooth. I must request kind friends in front 
to abstain from applause during the rounds, and if young Sickers at the end of 
the fifth row doesn't stop chucking nutshells about I'll come down and punch his 
ugly head till his teeth rattle. Are you ready? Time!"

The two pugilists wasted no time sparring. They charged in at each other with a 
willingness greatly to the taste of the audience, who, ignoring Tommy's request 
for silence during the rounds, yelled and whistled all the time.

The round ended in one of the combatants making a furious rush at his opponent, 
who dodged, with the result that the former flew off the platform into the front 
seats, to the huge delight of everybody except the occupants of those seats. As 
these were the very scoundrels who had sucked lemons during his turn, Cheetham 
was especially pleased, and began to think that there was such a thing as poetic 
justice in the world after all.

The next two rounds, though less sensational, were extremely brisk; and the 
audience were in a thoroughly good humour at the call of time. Tommy 
congratulated himself on his foresight in altering the order of the turns. The 
Tooth brethren had ensured the success of the entertainment.

When Herr Steingruber mounted the dais the cheering was inclined to be ironical. 
The German master looked round the room with a benevolent smile.

"My liddle vriendts", he said, "I vill a gombosition dot do you familiar 
possibly may be endeavour to berform. My vriendt Dollervield will mit der 
aggombaniment on der biano assisd."

Tollerfield was a tall boy with a grave face and spectacles. Nobody knew much 
about him except that he played the piano very well. Tommy, as he watched the 
solemnity with which the accompanist struck a few preliminary chords, feared the 
worst. He began to regret that he had asked Herr Steingruber to perform at all. 
How would the chaps take it? Would they put up with some long classical 
composition which they could not understand and did not want to? It was a pity 
that this should happen just when the concert was beginning to go with such a 
swing.

Tollerfield played a very slow, mournful prelude, and the 'cello moved into a 
soft, at first almost inaudible, melody. At first Tommy did not recognise it, 
but suddenly it quickened and swelled, and he gasped with relief. The Herr was 
playing 'Bill Simmons'.

The audience uttered a suppressed yell of joy. Feet began to tap in time to the 
music. Herr Steingruber increased the pace. His bow flew over the strings. He 
finished with a deep, long-drawn note, rose, and bowed. The house rose at him. 
There was a universal demand for an encore. The Herr, beaming proudly, obliged. 
As he stepped down from the platform Tommy approached him, almost tearful with 
relief.

"That was ripping, sir", he said warmly. "It was awfully good of you to play. 
It'll be the best thing on the programme by miles."

Herr Steingruber beamed.

"Ach, my liddle Armsdrong", he said, "I did dthink id over do myself, und I do 
der gonglusion gom dot id would be better dan der grand of Beethoven musig. Id 
is best vor us der dastes of der audience do sdudy, zo! In der zegond bart of 
der brogramme I vill der 'Smogy Moges' blay. Zo!"

Tommy's last anxiety was relieved. Now the entertainment was bound to go.

Binns and Sloper followed with a duet, after which Morrison gave what he called 
imitations of famous music-hall artistes. In each of these he was more like 
himself than ever, but the audience were not in the mood to be too critical now, 
and, as they knew the tunes of the songs Morrison sang and could join in the 
choruses, they asked no more. They simply sat tight and made the place rock.

In the second half of the programme the star turn was undoubtedly Ram's 
recitation of Hamlet's soliloquy. Even in its original form this is admitted by 
most people to be a pretty good piece of writing, and Ram improved on the 
original. He happened to forget the exact words half-way through, and, scorning 
to retire gracefully, as a lesser man might have done, he improvised. It was 
felt that Shakespeare would have been glad if he had known.

'Smoky Mokes' proved as great a success as 'Bill Simmons' had done, and Herr 
Steingruber, having played an encore, left the hall feeling quietly contented. 
It was the object of his life to get into closer touch with the boys of the 
school, and there was no doubt that tonight he had made a big step in that 
direction. The feeling in the school was one of vague surprise that they could 
have failed to appreciate the German master at his full value till now. Men who 
could play 'Smoky Mokes' on the 'cello were deserving of respect.

At the conclusion of the final turn Tommy stepped on to the platform to say a 
few words.

"I hope you fellows enjoyed the show", he said when he could make himself heard. 
"It was jolly good of you to roll up. I can tell you we want the money badly. 
You've no notion of the muck Spinder makes us eat. We all felt it was about time 
something was done. I think all present who have had anything to do with it will 
agree with me that the meals at Spinder's are about as near the limit as -- as, 
well, as anything can —-"

He broke off. Not because he had finished what he had to say. Indeed, he had 
only just begun, and could have spoken at some length on what was his favourite 
subject. The reason why he stopped was because he happened to see that the 
audience had increased by one since he opened his remarks, and that that one was 
Mr Spinder himself.




Chapter 25

Tommy on the Track



"Pray continue, Armstrong", said Mr Spinder coldly.

"I -- er -- I think that's about all, sir", said the unfortunate Tommy.

"I should like to see you in my room, Armstrong."

"Yes, sir."

Mr Spinder left the gymnasium, while Tommy, jumping down from the platform, 
prepared to follow. How much had the master heard? That was what he wanted to 
know. Of course, there was bound to be a row about this food business sooner or 
later when it came to a head; but he did not want it to come to a head 
prematurely. Nor was he particularly anxious to appear too prominently as the 
leader of the movement.

He made inquiries of the audience. Nobody seemed to know exactly how long Mr 
Spinder had been standing at the door.

"Oh, well", said Tommy, philosophically, "I suppose I shall soon know."

Mr Spinder was walking up and down his room when he arrived. He turned sharply 
on Tommy.

"I wish to know what all this nonsense is about, Armstrong", he said brusquely.

"Sir?" said Tommy, to gain time.

"You know what I mean."

"It's about the food, sir."

Mr Spinder's eyes glowed.

"Once and for all, Armstrong", he said, "there must be an end of this."

"An end!" thought Tommy. "Great Scott! It's only just beginning!"

"I have had to speak to you about this before. You seem to be the chief mover in 
a kind of foolish agitation which is going on in my house. I tell you, 
Armstrong, I will not have it. There is a certain type of boy who delights in 
promoting strife of all kinds in a school. You are a boy of that sort. You will 
learn that it does not pay. If I have any more of this absurd conduct, I shall 
punish you very heavily. Very heavily indeed. What was all that nonsense you 
were saying tonight?"

"I was making one or two remarks, sir", said Tommy, diffidently. One wanted 
supporters for a job of this kind. If he had been at the head of a deputation he 
would have been boldness itself; but somehow he could not help feeling very 
lonesome, all by himself in the study.

"Yes", said Mr Spinder, growing gradually more angry, "I heard you, I heard you. 
You were speaking in an extremely impertinent and disrespectful manner."

"Whew!" murmured Tommy to himself, surreptitiously mopping his forehead. The 
pace was getting too warm for him.

"I -- Who's that? Come in."

The handle turned. The form of Morrison appeared.

"Well, Morrison, what is it?" snapped Mr Spinder. He hated being interrupted.

"Please, sir, may I have a plain-ruled exercise book?"

A hasty consultation among the members of Mr Spinder's house -- Tommy's 
immediate circle of friends, that is to say -- had resulted in a decision to act 
for the latter's good, as far as in them lay. There was Tommy in the hands of 
the enemy. It was their duty to see that
he was not handled too roughly. So they proceeded to act on the lines adopted by 
Spanish bull-fighters, whose plan it is to distract the attention of the bull 
from their comrade by means of small side-attacks.

"Exercise book?" said Mr Spinder, irritably. "What in the world do you want with 
an exercise book now?"

"Only in case I should happen to want it to-morrow morning, sir", said Morrison, 
whose powers of impromptu invention were unequal to the tax so suddenly laid 
upon them.

"You come here and interrupt me when I am talking to Armstrong, and waste my 
time with foolish -- Go away, Morrison; and do me a hundred lines", thundered 
the master.

"Yes, sir", said Morrison, meekly, as he withdrew.

Mr Spinder turned to Tommy again.

"I have been watching you for some time, I may tell you, Armstrong. I have had 
my eye on you. You are a thoroughly undisciplined and disorderly boy. I shall 
take no notice of your absurd complaints about the food, which is perfectly 
good, except to punish you very severely if you are foolish enough to repeat 
them. I tell you I will not -- Come in!" He broke off with increased irritation, 
and watched the door angrily through his spectacles.

The door opened, and the mildly beaming face of Ram loomed into view.

"Well? Well? Well?" Mr Spinder's voice was tense with suppressed annoyance.

Ram cleared his throat nervously. He was not liking this job, but he meant to go 
through with it courageously.

"Hon'ble Spinder", he began.

"Don't call me 'Hon'ble Spinder'. I have spoken to you of this before. You are 
at an English school, so be good enough to conform to our English school 
customs. Call me 'sir' when you speak to me, if you please. Well, what is it?"

"Distinguished sir —-"

Mr Spinder stamped. Then, as if feeling that the sooner he heard what Ram had to 
say the sooner he would be able to resume his remarks to Tommy, he restrained 
himself and said, "Well?"

"Distinguished sir —-"

A look of pain and agitation passed over Ram's face. With a sinking sensation in 
his interior he realised that he had forgotten the message which his friends had 
arranged for him to speak. In his agitation he could only remember the one which 
Morrison had selected.

"Distinguished sir", he stammered, "do not look on me as the unwelcome visitor 
and beastly bore. May I be conceded a plain-ruled exercise book?"

Mr Spinder's restraint disappeared. He gesticulated silently for a while, then 
pointed to the door.

"Two hundred lines", he cried furiously, "for gross impertinence. Two hundred 
lines. Go, go."

Ram went.

The master took a turn up and down the room to recover himself. He was about to 
attack Tommy once more, when there was a third knock at the door.

This time Mr Spinder did not wait for the visitor to turn the handle. He rushed 
to the door with a sort of choked cry and flung it open.

On the mat outside stood the headmaster's butler regarding him with a stolid 
stare.

You cannot give a butler two hundred lines for knocking at your door. Nor can 
you shout at him to tell you why he has come.

Mr Spinder controlled his voice sufficiently to ask more or less mildly what was 
the occasion of the visit. The butler handed him a note.

"From the headmaster, sir."

Mr Spinder read its contents.

"Wait here", he said to Tommy. "I shall return in a moment."

And he left the room, closing the door behind him.

When he was alone Tommy's mind worked quickly. More than anything else, he 
wanted to see what it was that Mr Spinder kept concealed behind the books on his 
bookshelf. It must be something of a value out of the common run to lead to two 
men breaking into the house and searching the room, as they had done on the 
night when he and Jimmy had hid behind the piano.

He had marked down the particular shelf that night from his hiding-place. It 
only remained to discover the exact book which Mr Spinder had taken from the 
shelf. As he had looked from behind the piano, he had fancied that it was one of 
the first ten or so from the right. It had been hard to see clearly. Now there 
was a chance to find out for certain.

It was best to do the thing thoroughly. He removed the first book. There was 
nothing behind it but the mahogany of the shelf. He replaced it, and drew out 
the second. Again no result. The third and fourth yielded nothing.

"Never mind", said Tommy; "I know I'm on the track."

In the cavity left by the fifth volume he came on the first proof of this 
statement. Between the shelf and the back wall of wood there was a distinct 
crevice. It seemed to Tommy to widen as it ran along the shelf. With an eager 
exclamation he drew out the sixth book.

Yes! The crevice had widened considerably. It had now become large enough for 
him to insert the first joint of his finger.

What was there behind the seventh book, a ponderous volume on Oriental 
mythology? He tore it from its place, and plunged his hand into the opening. His 
fingers struck on something small and hard, something that felt like a small 
nut.

"Got him!" said Tommy, joyfully.

He was pulling it out when the tread of feet in the corridor came to him. The 
removal and replacing of the books had taken time. Each volume was large and 
awkward to handle. He had only just time to push the "Oriental Mythology" back 
into its place and leap away from the shelf when the door opened and Mr Spinder 
re-entered.

The headmaster had been consulting Mr Spinder on matters connected with the work 
of the school, and his mind was too full of this when he returned to allow him 
leisure for concentrating himself on Tommy. He dealt with him briefly, by giving 
him three hundred lines, and then dismissed him.

Tommy walked away from the study thoughtfully. "Seventh book from the end of the 
shelf", he murmured to himself. "I must remember that. I wonder what that thing 
was? And I wonder when I shall get another chance of looking? Beastly bad luck 
being interrupted just as I had tracked the thing down."




Chapter 26

That is Always the Way Things Go



It was while Tommy was working off his three hundred lines in the day-room next 
morning before school that he was aware of a rising argument between the Teeth. 
As a rule he was quite glad to sit and watch the twins brawling, but just at 
present he had work to do, and their voices disturbed him. So, throwing a 
dictionary at the nearest twin by way of a protest, he inquired what the dickens 
the matter was. In a moment the Teeth were at his side, voluble and explanatory.

"Oh, give us a chance", said Tommy, putting his hands to his ears. "One at a 
time, one at a time."

Gradually the cause of strife made itself clear. It seemed that one of the 
brothers was accusing the other of bagging an ivory penholder from his play-box. 
The second brother stoutly denied this.

"Well, you're the only chap who's got a key that fits my box. You know they were 
bought at the same shop, and the locks are just the same."

"All the same, I didn't bag your beastly pen. I wouldn't touch it with a barge-
pole."

"Give it up."

"All right, then, call me a liar."

"All right, I will, then."

"Do you think I bagged your beastly pen?"

"Yes, I do think you bagged my pen."

Tommy intervened.

"My dear young friends", he said, "at any other time I should be delighted to 
listen to your bright and interesting conversation; but just at present I happen 
to be doing three hundred lines for that blighter Spinder against time, so I 
should be glad if you would finish your argument about half a mile away. 
Otherwise I shall be reluctantly compelled to knock your ugly little heads 
together."

The twins departed, and Tommy, full of unkind thoughts about Mr Spinder, resumed 
his imposition.

That was the first hint Tommy got that something was wrong in the house. When, 
later in the morning, Morrison came to him with the statement that a leather 
ink-pot had disappeared from his play-box, Tommy wondered a little at the 
coincidence, but nothing more. It was not till Bellamy, his customary calm laid 
aside, went about complaining in an agitated voice that two pounds of mixed 
chocolates had gone from his box that the thing really became sinister.

Tommy questioned the victims.

"Was your box locked, Morrison?" he asked.

"I couldn't swear to it; but, dash it all, surely in a school like this it isn't 
necessary always to make sure of your things by locking your box? I thought 
somebody must have borrowed the ink-pot and forgotten to put it back. It's a 
beastly nuisance."

"How about your box, Bellamy?"

"I locked it. I remember doing it. I always lock my box now in case some silly 
goat who wants to try and be funny should go and shove a beastly dead rat in it, 
all in among my fretwork."

This had happened during the previous term, and it had rankled in Bellamy's 
mind. He could still remember his feelings as his fingers, exploring the box in 
the dark, collided with the rat's limp corpse. He more than suspected Tommy of 
having placed the deceased there, but he had never been able to bring it home to 
him.

"All right, all right", said Tommy, hastily. "What a lot you do jaw, Bellamy! As 
if anybody would be likely to put a -- However, we're wasting time. If your box 
was locked, how on earth did the chap, whoever he was, get at the chocolates? 
That's the rummy thing. I must think this over."

By the end of the day it appeared that half the boys in the house had lost 
things. Clayton's air-pistol, with which he was wont in his spare time to shoot 
rubber-tipped darts against the walls of the day-room (and occasionally against 
the backs of his friends' heads), had vanished, as Ram would have said, like 
snow before rays of sun. Ram himself had lost a curiously carved piece of wood, 
supposed (for no apparent reason) to be valuable. Others had lost various small 
objects. The worst loss was that of Sloper, who was in the habit of keeping a 
sort of reserve fund of silver in his box, wrapped up in a piece of paper. The 
paper was there, but the cash had gone. Fortunately, in a way, the reserve fund 
was at a low figure, owing to its owner's passion for Turkish delight, in which 
delicacy he had sunk most of his fortune; but still there was one-and-six, and 
in these hard times one-and-six is always one-and-six.

"It's jolly mysterious", said Tommy. "Because, you see, the rum thing is that 
most of the boxes from which things have gone were locked. Chaps remember 
locking them. Now, a fellow might have a key that happened to fit one box 
besides his own, or even two boxes, say. But when it comes to about a dozen, I 
don't see how the dickens he managed it. Besides, the chaps at this school 
aren't the sort of chaps who go about bagging things belonging to other people. 
I'm hanged if I know what to think about it."

"Burglar", suggested one of the Teeth.

"Silly ass", said his brother, loftily.

"How do you mean, silly ass?"

"I mean silly ass, you silly ass. As if a burglar who broke into the house would 
be silly ass enough to bag penholders and things when he might be collaring 
plate."

"Whose plate?"

"Spinder's plate, of course."

"How do you know he's got any plate?"

"Of course he has. Everybody with a house has got plate."

"Fat lot you know about it."

"More than you, anyway."

"Oh, chuck it", said the company, wearily. This was too serious an occasion for 
Teeth rows. The twin brethren subsided, muttering, and the tea-bell, ringing 
shortly afterwards, put an end to the discussion.

When they reached their study, Tommy resumed the discussion with Jimmy. Jimmy's 
mind, full of his own anxieties, was not equal to taking much interest in petty 
thefts from play-boxes. He had lost a photograph frame from his own box, but he 
was not excited about it. The thought of the blue stone weighed on his mind. How 
was he to get it from Mr Spinder's possession? Where had the master hidden it? 
It must be somewhere in the study. Sam had thought so, for he had been searching 
it that night. It was the most likely place. But he could not think of any way 
of narrowing the search down. To be successful such a search must be long and 
careful. It was next to impossible to get into the study for the necessary 
length of time. Now that the master had been put on the alert by finding Sam and 
Marshall there, the risk of attempting a night visit was too great. It was a 
curious situation. Marshall, Ferris, and the lame man thought that he -- Jimmy -
- still had the stone. Whereas, in reality, it was farther from his grasp than 
even from their own. They had methods of obtaining it, once they knew that Mr, 
Spinder had it, which Jimmy lacked. School rules and regulations hampered Jimmy. 
The only times when it was certain that Mr Spinder would be out of his study -- 
that is to say, during the hours of school work -- Jimmy, by reason of this same 
school work, was unable to go into it. There seemed to be no solution to the 
problem.

Tommy, meanwhile, continued to discuss the mysterious play-box affair. To Tommy 
that was the important event of life at present. It took his mind for the time 
being even off the fascinating problem of what it was that Mr Spinder was 
keeping so carefully concealed behind the seventh book on his bookshelf.

He examined the matter from every point of view.

"It's the queerest thing I've ever known since I've been at the school", he 
said. "It's a regular Sherlock Holmes job. Isn't it curious about school; some 
terms nothing happens, and you feel as if you were going on for ever just the 
same day after day, and then next term you are in the middle of all sorts of 
rows and excitements. I never dreamed this term was going to be half such fun. 
That fight between those two chaps in Spinder's study would have been enough by 
itself to make the term a success, and now this play-box business has come right 
on top of it."

"I wonder what Spinder has done with that stone?" said Jimmy, meditatively.

"Great Scott! Are you still worrying about that rotten blue thing? I expect he's 
chucked it away by this time. I'll tell you something about Spinder that really 
is -- no, I won't though. Not yet, at any rate."

Tommy wanted to keep his investigations into Mr Spinder's bookshelf a secret 
until they were complete. Half the fun of the thing would be gone if the secret 
was shared with anybody, even with Jimmy.

Jimmy said nothing. He had given up hope of trying to convince Tommy of the real 
value of the blue stone. Tommy still treated the whole matter as a very 
successful flight of imagination on the part of his friend. And Jimmy was 
content to leave it at that. Tommy, he thought, could be of no real assistance. 
He would be just as helpless in the circumstance as he was himself.

"I tell you what", said Tommy, "there's one thing I've thought of. Those things 
can't disappear from the play-boxes during the day. The thief, whoever he is, 
must go round at night after we're in bed. I tell you what. Tonight you and I 
will nip down into the day-room and watch. Are you on?"

Jimmy only hesitated for a moment. Then his natural love of adventure asserted 
itself.

"All right", he said.



On this occasion they had not the electric torch which they had used on their 
previous night ramble. They would not have used it in any case, as they wanted 
all the darkness they could get to conceal them; but they could not have had it, 
even if they had wished, for it was among the articles which had been stolen, 
greatly to its owner's grief.

It was pitch-dark in the room, and their shins suffered at first. Then they came 
to a standstill beside the further wall, where a cupboard, jutting out, would 
conceal them, provided the marauder did not carry with him too strong a light. 
And, for his own sake, he was not likely to do that.

Waiting in the dark was weary work, and several times Jimmy was minded to give 
it up and go back to bed; but Tommy's heart was so evidently in the business 
that he could not bring himself to leave him. They waited on for what seemed 
hours, till their ears, straining to catch the slightest sound, detected the 
soft pad-pad of stockinged feet. Tommy gripped Jimmy by the arm.

The unseen visitor was evidently one who knew his way about the room. He 
collided with nothing.

The footsteps ceased. There was a click. A sudden light shone out. They knew 
that light. It was the missing electric torch.

They could see a shadowy figure kneeling in front of a box, fumbling at the 
lock.

"Now!" whispered Tommy.

They darted forward, and flung themselves on him.




Chapter 27

The Thief Explains



The struggle was short and sharp. Taken by surprise, the unknown looter of play-
boxes made very little resistance after the first half-minute. His head had come 
into contact, as he fell, with the edge of a box, and this had discouraged him 
as much as anything.

The whole affair, except for the crack of the head on the box and the quick 
breathing of the three as they struggled, had been conducted with perfect quiet. 
The thief was just as anxious as were Jimmy and Tommy not to be heard.

Tommy sat on the man's chest and whispered to Jimmy to bring the torch, which 
lay some feet away. They turned the light on to the prisoner.

"Why, it's Wilkins!" said Jimmy.

Wilkins was the overgrown youth who cleaned the knives and boots of the house. 
Jimmy and Tommy had sometimes given him twopence to fetch them biscuits and jam 
from the village after lock-up.

"Is that you, Mr Stewart?" whined the prostrate knife-and-boot expert. "Let me 
up, Mr Stewart. I won't never do it again. Give a feller a chance, Mr Stewart."

Tommy rapped him on the top of the head with his knuckles.

"Not so much of it", he said severely. "What were you playing at with these 
boxes? That's what we want to know? Buck up and tell us, or I'll jolly well 
screw your neck."

"Oh, Mr Armstrong", said Wilkins, "do let me up.


"Don't be 'arsh on a feller, Mr Armstrong. I promise faithful it shan't 'appen 
again, Mr Armstrong. I —-"

"Less of it -- less of it", said Tommy. "Good heavens! The chap's a perfect gas-
bag. You lie still for a bit and don't talk. I want to discuss this matter. If 
you jaw again till I tell you you may I'll smother you."

Wilkins subsided with a sniff.

"Now then, Jimmy", said Tommy in a brisk undertone, "what's to be done about 
this?"

"Oh, let him go", said Jimmy. Now that the excitement was over he was tired of 
the whole thing, and wanted to get safely back to bed. Besides, though he knew 
that Wilkins deserved whatever he might get, he always felt sorry for anybody 
who was in a tight place. He did not wish to treat Wilkins with the severity 
which a stern moralist would have considered proper.

"Oh, thank yer, Mr Stewart, thank -- ow!"

The last word was the result of a vigorous smack on the head from Tommy.

"Keep quiet, you worm!" said Tommy. "Reserve your remarks till this court calls 
upon you to speak. By Jingo, if you interrupt again I'll give you a jab in the 
bazooka, which'll make you see stars for the rest of the night."

Another sniff was the reply. Tommy turned to Jimmy again.

"Let him go?" he said. "But, dash it, we've only just caught him."

"I know. But it's no good getting the poor beast into the dickens of a row. If 
you let him go now he'll probably turn over a what-d'you call-it -- new leaf, I 
mean. Let's make him give back the things he's bagged, and then let him go."

Tommy reflected.

"All right", he said at last. "I suppose we may as well. It'll be a lesson to 
him. And, by Jove, I forgot! There's another reason. Tell you later."

It had suddenly dawned upon Tommy that his own and Jimmy's position in this 
matter was more than a little questionable. True, they had caught the thief. But 
they had broken out of their dormitory and climbed the locked railing at the end 
of the passage to do it; and there was no doubt that, after the authorities had 
made it warm for Wilkins for stealing, they would proceed to make it more than a 
little warm for the captors for breaking school rules. This had the effect of 
quenching Tommy's zeal for arresting malefactors. In the detective stories the 
detective does not have to think whether he will get caned or given lines after 
he has captured his man. He can concentrate his mind on the capture. This, 
thought Tommy, gives him an unfair advantage over the amateur detective at 
school.

"All right", he said, "we'll let you go. But you've jolly well got to put back 
everything you've bagged. You can leave them somewhere in here where the chaps 
will find them."

"Oh, thank yer, thank yer, Mr Armstrong and Mr Stewart; but I've ate the 
chocolates."

"Well, you needn't worry about those, then. I only hope they made you ill. But 
all the rest of the things -- see?"

"Yes, Mr Armstrong."

"To-morrow morning, first thing."

"Yes, Mr Armstrong."

"And now", said Tommy, "before I let you up, you can go ahead and tell us how 
you managed to open these boxes. That's what's been puzzling me."

"I was led away, Mr Armstrong."

"Don't be an ass. That doesn't account for it. You can't open a locked play-box 
simply by being led away",

"It was the chap wot led me away wot give me the key."

"What key?"

"He called it a skellington key."

"Skeleton key! Ah, that accounts for it. Now we are getting hold of something, 
as the bulldog said when he bit the tramp's Sunday trousers."

Wilkins laughed respectfully, but was discouraged with a rap on the head.

"Don't giggle there like a hyena", said Tommy sternly. "What you've got to do is 
to fix your mind on the painful details, and tell me them in a low, clear voice. 
Who's this chap you're talking about -- the chap who gave you the key? And what 
on earth did he give you the key for?"

"He wanted me to find him something in Mr Stewart's box —-"

"What!" cried Jimmy, suddenly interested.

"Yes, Mr Stewart. He said it was a small blue stone, what looked like a piece of 
sealing-wax, and I was to take it from your box and he'd give me half a crown 
for it. And he give me the key. He said it would open any box -- it didn't 
matter what sort of lock it was; and, being easily led away, I tried some of the 
boxes, and --"

"By Jove, Jimmy, then you were right after all!" said Tommy excitedly. "That 
rummy stone was really worth something. I thought you were only piling it on 
about it for a lark. By Jove, this is getting interesting! Go on, you blighter. 
Who was the man?"

"I 'adn't never set eyes on him before, Mr Armstrong."

"Was it a biggish, clean-shaven man, with queer-looking eyes?" asked Jimmy. It 
was the nearest he could get to a description of Marshall.

"No, Mr Stewart. He was a stout man with a moustache. He talked rather slow and 
pleasant-like. Sort of like a cat, he reminded me."

"Ferris!" cried Jimmy. So this was a sample of Ferris's methods! He could not 
help admitting that they were subtler than Marshall's, as Ferris himself had 
said. But for the accident of the stone having passed in the first instance out 
of Jimmy's possession it would have been in the play-box, and the move would 
have been successful. Jimmy felt that Ferris was more to be feared than 
Marshall. Ferris could strike where Marshall could not. Wilkins's comparison of 
him to a cat struck him as particularly apt. It was that smooth, cat-like 
quality in him which made him so formidable as a foe.

"Have you got the key?" asked Tommy. "Oh, it's in that lock now, is it? Well, 
I'll keep it, I think. It's a useful thing to have about the house. Now", he 
said, rising, "you can clear out. We needn't detain you."

Wilkins began to utter profuse expressions of gratitude, but was cut short. He 
slid noiselessly from the room; and Tommy and Jimmy, bearing the electric torch 
to light their way, returned hurriedly to their dormitory.

"I say, Jimmy", said Tommy, sitting on his bed, "this has been a bit of an eye-
opener. I'd no notion you weren't simply rotting about that blue stone of yours. 
Do you mean to say these fellows really are after it?"

Jimmy related briefly the events which had taken place in the cottage. Tommy's 
eyes bulged as he listened.

"My word!" he gasped.

There was a silence while he rearranged his view on the whole matter, and 
examined it afresh in the light of this new information.

"Do you mean to say they shot at you?" he said at last.

Jimmy nodded.

"I say!" said Tommy.

"But, dash it, you ought to do something", he went on. "I mean it's dangerous."

"It is a bit", agreed Jimmy with a short laugh, "But what can I do?"

"Why, tell the -- No, you can't do that. Not tell the police, I mean. They 
wouldn't believe you any more than I did."

"No."

"The queer part about it is that these fellows are after the wrong man the whole 
time. They really don't want you at all, if they only knew it. They want 
Spinder; he's got the stone."

"I know he has -- somewhere. I wish I knew where."

Tommy leaped excitedly from his bed.

"I know where it is! Great Scott, of course. Do you remember, when we were 
hiding in his study, seeing him —-"

"I couldn't see him from where I was."

"Nor you could. Well, I saw him go to one of the shelves, pull out a book, and 
take out something from behind it. It was the stone, of course. I can see that 
now. Well, when he was ragging me in his room yesterday, the Head sent for him, 
and I was left alone. So I nipped to the shelf and began lugging out the books. 
I'd just pulled out the seventh, and felt there was something small and hard 
behind it, when he came back, and I had only just time to shove the book in 
again."

It was Jimmy's turn to be excited.

"Are you sure?" he said eagerly.

"Absolutely certain."

Jimmy sprang to his feet.

"Let's go down and look", he said.

They left the room and made the difficult journey a second time, creeping 
stealthily down the stairs and along the corridor to the master's study.

They stopped at the door. There was no light underneath it. Jimmy seized the 
handle, turned it gently, and pushed. The door did not open. He pushed again, 
but with no result.

"Locked", he whispered.

"He must have started locking it after that fight between Sam and the man", said 
Tommy. "We'd better get back."

"Yes; we must look out for another chance."

They crept upstairs again to their dormitory.




Chapter 28

The Great Football Match



The next day was the day of the football match. Most of the members of the team 
spent their spare time during the morning practising shooting goals with 
crumpled-up balls of paper, and Bellamy, who was to keep goal, being a youth who 
believed in taking no chances, was observed sitting in a corner studying "Hints 
to Young Goal-keepers", by a Scottish International. He thought it might contain 
one or two tips which would come in useful in the heat of the struggle.

As Jimmy was standing in the road by the school that morning, a village boy 
addressed him.

"Could yoou tell Oi —-"

He held out a note.

"Let's have a look", said Jimmy. He glanced at the note. It was addressed to 
himself, written in pencil in a hand that was strange to him. "That's all 
right", he said. "It's for me. Thanks."

He opened it. It was from Sam Burrows. 

"Mr Stewart", it ran. "Sir -- Must see you if possible to-day. Very important. 
Hear you are playing football at the College to-day. Should respectfully request 
you meet me at the first mile-stone as you leave College at five sharp. Please 
be there, as matter is very important. -- SAML. BURROWS."

Jimmy stared at the note thoughtfully. He re-read it. What could this thing be 
about which Sam wished to see him? He wished he had given a hint in the note, 
but recollected that it might not have been safe. The note was written on a 
scrap of paper, not enclosed in an
envelope.

He had not seen Sam since that day when he had told him of the loss of the 
stone, and he had wondered at the latter's silence. Where had he been all this 
time? Why had he sent no message? However, he would soon know. He resolved to 
bicycle to the match, instead of riding with the others in the brake. That would 
give him an opportunity of slipping away. He could ride on and catch them up 
after he had seen Sam. Or he could slip away before the brake started. Bowdon 
would probably ask him to tea. He could go to tea and come away early. The team 
would know where he had gone, and would not expect to see him again till they 
returned to the school.

He showed the note to Tommy. Tommy, greatly interested, suggested that he should 
come too; but Jimmy thought not. Sam would prefer to see him alone.

"I tell you what", said Tommy, "I've been thinking this business over, and I see 
the force of what you told me that fellow Marshall said in the cottage about the 
difficulty of getting at a chap at school. I think you're all right as long as 
you stick to the rest of us. You're sure there's no risk of them getting you if 
you come home alone?"

"Oh, no. They wouldn't tackle me while Sam was there. Sam's got a revolver."

"How about the air-gun?"

"They won't get him that way again. There's no cover by that milestone. They 
couldn't hide near enough to shoot. Besides, it's pretty dark about five 
o'clock. They couldn't see to aim from a distance. I shall be all right."

"I hope so", said Tommy doubtfully. "I wish you'd let me come."



The match was due to begin at half-past two. It was a dry, cold day, with a 
rather strong wind blowing across the ground. The Marleigh team took the field, 
somewhat nervous. They were playing away from home -- which is always a handicap 
to a football team -- and the jaunty confidence of the College boys tended to 
make them think less of themselves. The only unconcerned member of the eleven 
was Bellamy, who perused his "Hints to Young Goal-keepers" till the last 
possible moment, putting the book away in his great-coat pocket with reluctance 
when the teams began to strip.

"I'd only got to page eighty-one", he confided to Jimmy in an aggrieved tone. 
"Still, I've got hold of some useful information. I think we shall be all 
right."

He was the only one of the eleven who did think so. The rest were unmistakably 
nervous. Even Jimmy felt doubtful, and Tommy was remarkably subdued.

The Alderton team filed on to the ground, looking very trim and workmanlike. 
Bowdon came across and shook hands with Jimmy.

"Hullo!" he said. "Feeling fit?"

"Pretty well, thanks. Where are you playing?"

"Outside right. Where are you?"

"Right back."

"Oh, then we shan't meet, I suppose. By the way, you ought to see O'Connell. 
He's a different man. You seem to have knocked all the side out of him. It was a 
splendid thing for him. Come in and have some tea in my study afterwards?"

"Thanks awfully."

"Good. Oh, I say, how's your pal -- the black man who recited? All right?"

"Splendid. Hullo, they're just going to start."

"So they are. "Well, see you afterwards."

"Right ho. Thanks."

Bowdon trotted to his place, and the referee blew his whistle.

It was evident from the first that the College team thought little of the 
capabilities of their opponents. They started with a cheerful confidence in 
their own powers, which had the effect of upsetting the Marleigh eleven still 
further. A little tricky passing, and the ball was in the visitors' territory. 
Bowdon, racing down on the right, tricked Tommy, made for the corner flag, and 
centred. The Alderton centre forward steadied himself for a moment, then banged 
the ball hard and tight into the corner of the net. Alderton was one up after 
two minutes play.

Bellamy, the goal-keeper, had stood stock still while the shot was being made.

"For goodness' sake get to them, Bellamy", said Jimmy. "You didn't move."

"I know", said Bellamy indignantly. "It was all that book. It's a beastly fraud. 
That was one of the cases mentioned in the second chapter. By right that man 
ought to have shot along dotted line A to B, clean into my hands. Instead of 
which he let me down by sending the ball into the corner. I'm going to forget 
that book for the rest of the game."

"I should", said Jimmy. "We don't want to get licked by double figures."

The early goal had two effects. It increased the self-confidence of the Alderton 
team to just beyond that point where self-confidence is a good thing; and it 
stung the Marleigh eleven into activity. The feeling of strangeness and 
nervousness wore off, leaving only a
determination to play their own game and win if they could.

A stout attack by the forwards was stopped by the Alderton backs, and the ball 
returned to the Marleigh half. The College forwards began to attack again. But 
their over-confidence robbed the movement of all its force. Instead of going 
hard for the goal they wasted time in exhibition passing and trick-work. It 
baffled the Marleigh halves, but Tommy and Jimmy, lying behind them, found no 
difficulty in tackling. The fact was that the College team was suffering the 
curious effect of being too scientific. Every year in the cup ties one sees 
instances of what is plainly the less skilful team beating by rugged, 
straightforward play a team that plays too clever a game.

This was what happened now. The College forwards did surprising things with the 
ball. They passed with the greatest neatness, and tricked their men time after 
time. They did everything, in fact, but score goals. Whereas Marleigh, when they 
attacked, did it with a direct purpose which was infinitely more effective.

After twenty minutes' play, Morrison, running straight through in the centre, 
slung the ball across to Jarvis on the left. Jarvis sprinted straight down the 
touchline, dodged the back, and centred. Morrison got to the ball just before 
the goal-keeper, and headed it through. The scores were now equal.

This unexpected reverse sobered the College team. Their forwards abandoned their 
exhibition tactics, and endeavoured to get through. But Marleigh was now on its 
mettle. Tommy and Jimmy at back were not to be passed. Time after time they 
cleared with long kicks which gave their forward line chances of which they 
availed themselves. The scientific College forwards were knocked off the ball 
again and again till their combination became ragged and uncertain. The college 
goal-keeper was kept busy.

Just before half-time, stopping a hot shot from Morrison, he could not get rid 
of the ball at once, and Binns, who had come up from centre half to join in the 
attack, rushed in and hustled him over the line.

Marleigh crossed over at half-time a goal to the good.

Alderton never recovered the lost ground. Bowdon made some good runs on his 
wing, but the team, as a team, were all to pieces. They passed wildly. They lost 
their heads, and dribbled when they should have passed. The wind, which was now 
blowing straight down the ground, helped Tommy and Jimmy with their clearing 
kicks; and when, shortly after the restart, Sloper scored with a long dropping 
shot, the thing became a rout. Marleigh had all the game. Bellamy was only 
called upon to save twice more, on which occasions, relying on his own methods, 
he kept the ball out with great success. Ten minutes later Morrison shot the 
fourth goal. And when the whistle blew the score was six to one in favour of 
Marleigh. The College team left the field with rather less jauntiness than they 
had entered it. Marleigh strolled off with a careless air, as if that sort of 
thing was a mere nothing to them.

Tommy went home with the others in the brake, leaving Jimmy with Bowdon. He was 
not easy in his mind. He was vaguely afraid. Jimmy should have taken him to the 
rendezvous in case of accidents.

He went to his study and waited. He waited for what seemed to him quite a long 
time. Surely, he thought, Jimmy should have been back by now. He looked at his 
watch. A quarter-past six. It was queer.

Half-past six came and went, and a quarter to seven. Tommy began to feel more 
than vaguely uneasy. He was almost certain now that something must have 
happened.

Five to seven.

He went into the road, and looked out along it.

There were no signs of Jimmy. It was empty.




Chapter 29

The End of an Adventure



Tommy stood and looked down the road for fully ten minutes before he saw anyone 
on it; and when somebody did appear, it was not Jimmy, but a man, a sturdy, 
thickly built man, whom the most careless observer could have told as an old 
soldier from the set of his shoulders and the swing of his walk.

He was shabbily dressed, and Tommy took him at first for a tramp. He watched him 
approach, and wondered mildly if he would try to get anything from him. When the 
man, coming nearer, saw him, and hurried on towards him, Tommy had made up his 
mind that he and twopence must part company. He was feeling in his pocket as the 
man halted before him.

"Beg pardon, sir."

Tommy began to draw his hand, with the twopence in it, out of his pocket.

"Do you belong to the school, sir?"

"Yes. Why?" said Tommy.

"Do you 'appen to know a young gentleman of the name of Stewart?"

Tommy jumped.

"What!" he cried. "Stewart?"

"Master Jimmy Stewart."

"Great Scott, yes. Why --"

"Chum of yours, maybe?"

"Yes, I should rather say so. We share a study. But what —-"

The man lowered his voice.

"It's like this, matey", he said. "I want to see 'im particular, and there's 
reasons why it wouldn't quite do for me to walk up to the front door and say, 
'Is Master Stewart at 'ome?' I want to see him private about something as 
concerns only 'im and me. You couldn't take me a message to him, could you, 
matey?"

"He isn't in."

"Not in? Where's he to, then?"

"There was a footer match on this afternoon at Alderton College. Jimmy was 
playing, and has stopped to tea with one of the chaps."

Tommy had decided to use this version of the case, if questioned.

"Ah", said the man. "Well, when he comes back, I'd take it kind if you'd tell 
him Corporal Sam Burrows called to —-"

"Sam Burrows!" gasped Tommy. A chill sensation of impending disaster came over 
him. If this was Sam Burrows, why had he not met Jimmy? And where was Jimmy?

"That's me, matey. Know the name?"

"But", cried Tommy, "what are you doing here? What's happened to Jimmy? Why 
didn't you meet him?"

The soldier flashed a puzzled look at him from under his thick eyebrows.

"What's all this, matey?" he said sharply. "All this about meeting the colonel's 
nipper. What are you driving at?"

"The letter you wrote!" stammered Tommy.

The other's face became very grave.

"How's that? A letter? I wrote no letter."

Tommy stared at him with a growing fear at his heart.

"You didn't write that letter?" he muttered.

The soldier shook him roughly by the shoulder with a strong, brown hand.

"Pull yourself together, mate", he said quickly. "Tell me what you mean. This 
looks bad. Tell me what it is you're driving at."

"The letter!" said Tommy. "Jimmy got a letter this morning signed with your 
name, telling him to meet you at the first milestone from the college gates at 
five o'clock to-day. That's where he's gone."

Sam Burrows swore a full-bodied oath.

"The devils!" he cried. "They've got him. My lord, they've got him. See here, 
which is the way to this college you're talking about?"

Tommy pointed down the road.

"It's straight along the road you came down. Look here", he added, "I'll come 
with you. I shall get into a row, but that doesn't matter. I know all about this 
business. Jimmy told me. I thought he was ragging at first, but after what he 
told me last night —-"

"What was that?"

Tommy related the story of what had happened in the cottage, as told him by 
Jimmy, Sam swearing softly at intervals by way of accompaniment.

"Ferris", he said, when Tommy had finished. "Never 'eard of 'im. So they've got 
a new man in to help, have they? Well, I hope I'll lay my hands on him one of 
these days. I'll stop his games. See here, matey, we must hurry. Lord knows 
what's happened out there."

"They wouldn't kill him, would they?" faltered Tommy.

"All depends. They'd stick at nothing, they wouldn't. Kill a man as soon as look 
at 'im if it suited their book. Come on, sonny. We must run."

They started off down the road at a jog-trot. Tommy, tired with his efforts in 
the football match, soon found this too much for him. He stopped.

"You go on", he panted. "I can't keep up. I'll follow."

But at this moment a cart turned into the main road from a lane just behind 
them. Sam hailed it.

"Going down the road, matey?"

"Ay."

"Couldn't give us a lift, could you?"

"Jump up."

"That's a bit of luck", said Sam to Tommy, as they scrambled in. "Get there in 
no time now."

The cart bowled on till they could see the top portions of the college buildings 
over the brow of the hill.

"Best get off here", said Sam.

They thanked the driver, and dropped off. The cart rumbled on.

It was quite dark now, a fact which caused Sam to look gloomy.

"Don't give a man no chance", he said, "this bloomin' darkness. I can do a bit 
of tracking by daylight, but blow me if I can manage it now. We shall have to 
trust to luck."

"Shall we shout?" said Tommy.

"It won't do no 'arm."

Tommy let out a yell of the sort with which he was accustomed to crack the 
plaster on the ceiling of the dayroom at the school. They waited.

"No good", said Sam. "We'll --"

"Listen!" said Tommy, clutching him by the arm.

They stopped, and strained their ears.

"I don't hear nothing", said Sam.

"I'll try again." He uttered another shout. "Now!"

This time there was certainly an answer, very faint and seeming to come from far 
away.

"He's in the fields somewhere", said Sam. "If it's him. It sounded a precious 
long way away."

"Come on", said Tommy.

They left the road, and plunged into the fields at the side. Every now and then 
Tommy stopped to shout, and gradually the answering cries grew more distinct.

Presently, on the left, a building could be seen dimly in the darkness. Tommy 
shouted once more, and this time the answer came from quite close at hand. 
Followed closely by Sam, Tommy made a dash for the building.

"He's in there", he cried. "Jimmy!"

The building, they could see now, was a ruined cottage of the usual one-storey 
type. The door was open. They rushed in.

"Who's that?" said a faint voice. "Is that you, Tommy? Here I am. Against this 
wall."

Tommy felt his way along the walls till his hand touched a shoulder.

"I'm tied up", said Jimmy. "Get a knife."

Sam struck a match. The light, burning up, fell on Jimmy's face. He looked tired 
and worn.

Tommy was hacking with his knife at the cords. It was difficult work, for they 
were thick and the knife blunt; but he managed it at last. Jimmy staggered to 
his feet, then fell in a heap with a cry of pain.

"Cramp", said Sam briefly, dropping the match and beginning to rub Jimmy's legs. 
After a while Jimmy got to his feet again. He could stand now, but he was 
evidently weak. Sam lit another match, and produced a flask. Jimmy drank from 
it, and the effects were immediate.

"It's all right", he said, "I'm better now. Thanks, Sam."

"Look here, Jimmy", cried Tommy, "can you walk? How are you feeling? Don't try 
to talk about it yet. Wait a bit."

"My bike's somewhere about", said Jimmy. "They brought it in here. There it is."

"How are we to get out into the road again? I don't know how we got here."

"It's quite simple. There's only one field to cross. This is the same cottage 
they found me in before."

"Let's make a move", said Tommy. "Jimmy, that letter wasn't from Sam at all. It 
was a trick. Come on, though. Don't talk."

They reached the road.

"I'm all right now", said Jimmy. "I'll tell you what happened. By Jove, I'm glad 
you came. I thought I should never get out of that beastly place. I had almost 
given up hope. Let's sit down here for a bit. I want to rest, if I'm going to 
get back to the school."

"If they come back", said Sam grimly, "I'll be ready for them." He pulled 
something out of his pocket, and kept it in his hand while he listened. "Well, 
matey, what happened?"

"I got away from Bowdon's study at about ten to five, and hiked to the 
milestone. It was just five by my watch when I reached it. I couldn't see Sam 
anywhere about, so I propped my bike up against the hedge, and sat down on the 
milestone to wait for him. I was a bit fagged after the game, and I must have 
gone half to sleep, for I suddenly woke up with a start, feeling there was 
someone just behind me. You know. That queer feeling you get in a darkish room 
sometimes. I was just going to turn round, when a hand slid over my mouth,
and somebody jerked me back and knelt on my chest. I was too surprised to 
resist. I just lay there, and they tied me up and carried me across the field to 
the cottage, Marshall and Ferris. It was the first time I've seen Ferris close 
to. He's a fat chap. An awful brute." Jimmy shuddered.

"Well?" said Tommy eagerly.

"They got me in there, and then they started to search me. I think they were a 
bit rattled at not finding the stone on me. At any rate, Ferris was. You see, he 
knew it was not in my play-box, so he thought I must carry it about on me. Well, 
when they couldn't find it, they began cursing and threatening me. I swore I 
hadn't got the stone. I said I'd lost it soon after I got back to school after 
the holidays. They wouldn't believe me, and Ferris -- he's the worst of the lot, 
an awful brute -- got hold of me and tied me up to a beam, so that only my toes 
were on the ground. It was a frightful strain on my wrists. I nearly yelled -- 
it hurt so. Ferris said he'd keep me like that till I told them where the stone 
was. I kept on saying I hadn't got it. They wouldn't believe me, and at last the 
strain got so bad I suppose I must have fainted. At any rate, I heard them 
jawing to one another in a rum sort of language I didn't understand, and then 
the words began to run into one another, and everything got all dark, and the 
next thing I remember was finding myself on the floor, propped up against the 
wall, still tied up and feeling awfully sick. Then, after what seemed hours, I 
heard you shouting."

Sam looked thoughtful.

"You didn't say as how it was Mr Spinder what had really got the blue ruin, did 
you, Master Stewart?"

"No. I simply said I hadn't got it."

Sam nodded.

"They'll guess", he said. "Trust them. That Marshall, as you call him, knows it 
was me he found burglaring Mr Spinder's study, and he knows only one thing what 
would take me out a-committing of burglary. Yes, they'll be on the track 
precious soon. It's your Mr Spinder what's got the hornets' nest on to him now. 
You and me, Master Jimmy, we're put on one side. It's a what you might call a 
triangular tournament like what didn't 'appen between England, Australia, and 
South Africa at cricket. It's a all-against-all game, this is. And it'll be us 
as'll win, or I'll know the reason why. I'll pay them, the whole bloomin' crew 
of 'em, if I can get to arm's length of 'em. And now we're all a-gettin' ready 
for the bloomin' last match of the tournament, what'll be played on Mr Spinder's 
ground. And I don't envy him, neither. Are you ready, Master Jimmy? We'd best be 
moving on."

Tommy chuckled.

"It's rather rummy, when you come to think of it", he said, "that to-night's 
business will simply end in your getting a hundred lines from Spinder for being 
late for lock-up."




Chapter 30

Jimmy Acts Rashly



Morning school at Marleigh was over by half-past twelve, and afternoon school 
did not begin till two o'clock. Mr Spinder had just entered his study at half-
past one on the following day, when the servant appeared to say that a gentleman 
wished to see him.

"Gentleman? What name?" asked Mr Spinder.

"He wouldn't give no name, sir."

"Well, show him in", said Mr Spinder. He spoke irritably, for he had been 
looking forward to a rest before afternoon school began.

The servant left the room, returning shortly with the visitor. He was a sleek, 
stout man, with a curious, fixed half-smile always on his face. He looked almost 
like a man wearing some sort of mask. Only a very poor student of character 
would have set him down as the amiable, easy-going person he looked at a first 
glance.

"Good afternoon", said Mr Spinder. "Will you take a seat?"

"Thanks. I hope to take more than a seat before I go", was the reply, in a 
smooth voice which matched the smooth face. "I believe I am addressing Mr 
Spinder?"

"You are", said Mr Spinder shortly. "Well?"

The servant had left the room and shut the door. The visitor moved softly to it, 
and flung it open. He looked up and down the passage, then returned to his seat.

"Servants", he said blandly, "are worthy creatures, but they sometimes stay much 
too near keyholes. Yours, however, does not seem to suffer from the sad vice of 
inquisitiveness."

Mr Spinder tapped the floor with his foot.

"I should be glad if you would kindly --"

"Just so. Just so. I can put the thing in a nutshell. It is much better to be 
brief. I want that little blue stone, Mr Spinder."

Mr Spinder tried to restrain a start, but he could not wholly succeed. The other 
noted it with a slight broadening of his placid smile.

"What do you mean?" said the master. "What is this nonsense about blue stones? I 
must remind you that I am a busy man, and that if this is a joke —-"

The visitor waved his hand deprecatingly.

"Just so, just so", he said. "But couldn't we skip all that, Mr Spinder? It 
would save such a lot of time, and, as you say, you are a busy man. So am I. So 
don't let us waste time. You know you have that stone. I know you have. You know 
I know you have. So why not let us be open and frank about it, and talk it over 
quietly and comfortably?"

Mr Spinder made a sudden dash for one of the drawers in the writing-table, and 
pulled out a revolver.

"This is loaded", he said shortly, pointing it at his visitor.

The latter's smile almost became a grin. He raised his eyebrows.

"My dear sir", he said, "really! How very crude you are! Quite like poor dear 
old Marshall. Do you really think that I should attempt violence, when I have 
been admitted at your front door and am in the middle of a crowd of servants and 
boys and I don't know what? I can assure you I have far more respect for my neck 
than to risk it like that. I am here in the perfectly peaceful capacity of 
ambassador. I am anxious to know on what terms you would part with the stone. We 
are prepared to pay anything reasonable, for, to be frank with you, time is a 
consideration, and, while we shall undoubtedly get the stone in the end, whether 
you sell it or not, the process might be rather a long one."

"That", said Mr Spindor, "is quite true."

"But why consider such a possibility?" went on the visitor. "You are a sensible 
man, and will not cause us this inconvenience, I am sure. To come to bedrock, Mr 
Spinder, how much?"

"I am sorry, but it is not for sale."

"No, no, no, Mr Spinder, really. Think again."

"It is not for sale."

"A thousand pounds. You could do a great deal with a thousand pounds, a man with 
your intellect."

"It is not for sale."

"Five thousand pounds. You could do even more with five thousand pounds, could 
you not?"

"You have had my answer."

"Not your final answer, I hope. Shall we say ten thousand pounds?"

Mr Spinder rose and moved to the bell.

"I need not detain you", he said.

"One moment, one moment. No need to ring in any case. I can find my way out. 
Would twenty thousand pounds be more to your taste? Think of it, Mr Spinder! 
Twenty thousand pounds! A fortune!"

Mr Spinder took up a book, and began to turn the leaves.

"You will forgive me if I read", he said. "This conversation is beginning to 
tire me. Pray, continue, however, if it amuses you."

The visitor's eyes gleamed viciously, but his voice was as smooth as ever when 
he spoke.

"I am sorry to interrupt your reading", he said. "You are holding the book 
upside down, by the way. May I ask, apologising if the question is impertinent, 
why you persist in this refusal? You do not propose to give the stone to Colonel 
Stewart?"

"Colonel Stewart? I have never heard of him."

"Then why refuse twenty thousand pounds?"

Mr Spinder shut his book with a bang.

"Suppose you had a gold mine, Mr —-"

"Never mind my name. You were saying —-"

"Suppose you had a gold mine, would you part with it to a man who offered you 
sixpence for it?"

"I fail to see the connection very clearly, Mr Spinder. You mean —-"

"You are offering me sixpence for my gold mine. Do you suppose I intend to let 
you have this stone for a mere twenty thousand pounds? I might just as well give 
it to you."

"You don't think twenty thousand pounds a very large sum, then? Well, well, 
opinions differ. I should be glad enough of it. Would thirty thousand suit you 
better?"

"Not in the least."

"You are a man of large ideas, Mr Spinder!"

"Exactly. I happen to be one of the few men in England who know what this stone 
is, and what is its real worth. I intend to see that I am paid full value for 
it. I don't know whom you are representing, though I suspect. At least, I know 
that there are people who want this stone very much indeed, and can afford to 
pay more than thirty thousand pounds for it."

"Then —-"

"When your employers, whoever they are, offer me two hundred and fifty thousand 
pounds, I may begin to consider it."

"You certainly are a man of large ideas. Have you reflected, though, that you 
will find it a little difficult to dispose of this stone? We are the only buyers 
in the market. The other party would merely take the stone, if you approached 
them with it, and probably put you in prison for a lengthy period for having it 
in your possession? Have you considered that?"

"I have. You say you are the only buyers in the market. Quite so. But, you see, 
you cannot afford not to buy, whereas I can afford to wait. Perhaps you will 
tell your employers that, and add that delay in buying may very possibly mean 
that my price will go up. I think that now we may end this little discussion, 
may we not?"

The visitor rose, his suave manner laid aside.

"You fool", he hissed. "You sit there talking simply of buying and selling. Have 
you thought that there is another way? We are not men whom it is well to thwart, 
Mr Spinder. You are treading a dangerous path. You will be watched every hour of 
the day. Sooner or later you must fall into our hands. And then -- well, I think 
you will wish you had accepted my offer."

"I will risk it", said Mr Spinder curtly. "Good afternoon."

The visitor recovered himself. He picked up his hat.

"Good afternoon, Mr Spinder. I may take it, then, that our offer is definitely 
refused?"

"You may."

"Quite so, quite so. We shall have to think of another way. I am sorry for you, 
Mr Spinder."

Mr Spinder motioned towards the door. With a nod and a smile the visitor passed 
out.

Scarcely had he gone, when Mr Spinder, locking the door, darted to the 
bookshelf, and took out the seventh book. He thrust his hand into the cavity. 
Then he uttered a cry like that of an animal. With wild haste he tore book after 
book from their places, and hurled them on to the floor. The whole shelf was 
bare now. He ran his hand from end to end of it, but his fingers found nothing.

The blue stone was gone.




Chapter 31

The Attack of Neuralgia



About two hours before Mr Spinder made the discovery which caused so great an 
upheaval of his mind, Herr Steingruber, stolidly patient as ever, had been 
endeavouring to drive into the heads of his class the mysteries of his native 
language. It was a thankless job, and one which a lesser man would have thrown 
up long before. But the Herr, in whose character dogged patience was a leading 
trait, had never lost heart. Not even the massive stupidity of Bellamy could 
discourage him.

Bellamy was translating at the present moment, in a slow, dreamy style, 
admirably designed to show up his mistakes. The German master plucked in a 
distracted way at his hair as the stout one ambled on.

"Ach, no, no!" he moaned.

Bellamy looked up, surprised, almost pained. He made another shot. The German 
master's agony increased.

"Wrong; horrible id is", he cried.

Bellamy, after staring goggle-eyed at him for a moment, apparently gave the 
thing up as a bad job. He produced a nib from his pocket, stuck it into the 
desk, and began flipping it meditatively with his forefinger. The musical twang 
roused the German master like a trumpet-blast.

"Vhat vos dat?" he cried.

"That sir? What sir?" answered half a dozen eager voices.

So far the lesson had been on the dull side, and the interruption was welcome.

"Dat zound. Dat like zome musigal instdrumend far away blaying zound. Vas it in 
der room?"

"I don't think so, sir", said Binns. "I rather fancy it's a harpsichord, sir, 
playing out in the road. I'll go and stop it, sir, shall I?"

"Do your seat, Pinns! Do your seat dis momend redurn", cried Herr Steingruber 
wildly, as Binns began to move swiftly to the door.

"All right, sir", said Binns agreeably. "I only wanted to help."

"Dat vos kindt of you, Pinns", said the Herr, mollified, "but not a harbzichord 
do I dthink dot it vos, but zomething in dis room."

"Perhaps a mouse, sir", suggested Sloper.

"Berhaps a mouze. Jah, but berhaps nod, I dthink. No, it vos like zome zo 
strange und faint musigal instdrumend, var, var away blaying. Ach, vell, dis vos 
nod der deaching of der Sherman language, zo? Dis vos der idle chadder und dime-
wasding. Zo, Pellamy, vill you gontinue?"

Bellamy, who had broken the nib in extracting from it a fortissimo note, was at 
liberty to return to the lesson. He went on at the place where he had left off, 
but his performance did not improve. After a couple of lines Herr Steingruber 
stopped him and informed the class that he would relate a little story with a 
moral. The Herr's stories were always extremely long, and consequently formed an 
admirable break in the actual work of the class. For that reason, if for no 
other, they were eagerly welcomed. The class settled itself comfortably to hear 
what he had to say.

"In der zity of London", began the Herr impressively, "I vas do my pank der 
odder day broceeding do gash a liddle cheg —-"

"How much for, sir?" inquired Morrison, who was a stickler for detail, 
especially when it made for a longer postponement of work.

"It does nod madder, der amound of der cheg."

"Still, it makes it so much more interesting, knowing, sir", argued Morrison.

"Yes, sir", said Sloper. "It makes the whole thing so much more real."

"Ach, zo! Bot der exagged amoundt I gannot ad dis momend glearly regollegt. Bot 
I dthink dot it vas doo bounds vour shillangs. Berhabs a liddle more."

"Let's call it two pound ten, shall we, sir?" said Binns.

"No, no, it vos nod krite zo moch as dat. Nod nearly krite zo moch."

"Two pound five, then, sir", suggested Sloper.

"And six", said Morrison.

"Zo, zo, zo. Doo bound vive and zix. Bot, I dell you, id does nod madder, id 
does nod madder. Of der liddle cheg der amound vos immaderial. Zo. I vos going 
droo der zity of London —-"

"What street, sir?" asked Morrison.

"I do nod der sdreet regollegt."

"Was it Threadneedle Street, sir? My father has an office there."

"Was it near the Mansion House?"

"Or St Paul's, sir? I once went to a service at St Paul's."

The Herr waved his arms protestingly.

"Dot vos all immaderial, all immaderial. Id does nod madder, nod der amound of 
der cheg nor der name of der sdreed. Vhot I am delling you is dis. I vos droo 
der sdreed -- let us zay, if you on a name inzist, Lompard Sdreed —-"

Morrison thought for a moment of asking which side of Lombard Street, but 
decided not to push the point. Sloper, however, was less restrained.

"Anywhere near the England and Europe Bank, sir? My father banks there. I went 
there once with him."

"Zo", said the Herr patiently, "led us zay id vos near der Enkland and Eurobe 
Bangk, then. Id vos all immaderial. Vell, I vos along der bavemend broceeding, 
dthinging of dthings within myself, vhen a man in der road, in der cutter, you 
understandt, he say do me, 'Puy a doy, sir? Puy a doy?' He vos, you understandt, 
a -- as you would zay -- a hawker, a beddlar, und he had a dray pefore him of 
liddle doys full."

"What sort of toys, sir", inquired Morrison.

"All der ladest doys. Der wriggling znake, und der wrestling men, und der 
exbiring roosder, und gollar-sduds."

"You can't call a collar-stud a toy", objected Binns.

"He is under der heading of doys in dis gase gombrised, because der man vos 
zelling him wit der odder doys, all on von dray.

"Vell, I do der man turned, und I zay, 'No, dthangk you, my goot man; I have nod 
of a doy any need.' Ad der zame time, as I looged ad him, dere zeemed zomething 
aboud his face dot of zomebody I had once med zomehow zeemed to remind me. Bot I 
vos dthinging no more aboud id, ven he say to me, 'Von't you puy a gollar-stud 
for the zake of old times?'"

"Why a collar-stud?" objected Morrison. "Why not a toy?"

Herr Steingruber waved the interruption aside. He saw the point of his story 
well in sight, and he was making for it with the earnest concentration of a 
horse which knows that it is heading for its stables.

"I looged ad der man glosely, und I say, 'For old dimes, my goot man! Vhot vos 
dot you mean by zaying a zo gurious dthing?' Und he durn his vace up do mine, 
and he say, 'Ach, my old poyhood vriend und gollege gombanion Hans, is id dot I 
am zo by misfortune und brivations changed dot you do not recognize me?' Und den 
I loog more garefully sdill, und I zee dot id is my old vriend Fritz Muller dot 
I have nod for many years, nod since we were vellow sdudents und inzebarable 
goot vriends at der university of Heidelberg, met. Und I zay to him, shogged und 
sdardled" -- here the Herr, to add point to the narrative, assumed a look of 
intense agitation and threw his arms above his head —-"I zay to him, 'Fritz, 
vhat is id dot you do dis zo great distress und misfortune has brought?' Und he 
shed a zad dear."

This was too much for the class. Their feelings were outraged. Every nerve in 
their bodies resented Fritz's degraded conduct.

"What, sir!" they cried. "Did he blub?"

Herr Steingruber gazed round impressively, mistaking the disgust of the class at 
Fritz's disgraceful axhibition for horror at the reduced condition of that 
unfortunate.

"Zo", he said. "Jah! He shed der zad dear, und he zay, 'Vhat vos it dot me do 
dis zo great distress und misfortune has brought?'"

"But you said that, sir", interrupted Binns.

"Jah, ah! Krite droo, my liddle vellow; krite droo. I did id zay, but he my 
vorts did eggo."

"Why on earth did he do that, sir?" asked Binns.

Herr Steingruber was not equal to explaining. After all, it was Fritz's affair, 
not his.

"He zay", resumed the Herr "-- und id is dis dot I ask you zo garefully do marg 
Pellamy -- he zay, 'I vos do dis zad ztate of boverty und zorrow reduced by der 
vact dot in my youth I my boog-worg und language-studies neglected!' Zo!"

He stopped, and eyed his class inquiringly through his spectacles, as who should 
say, "What do you think of that for an awful warning?"

But the interest of the class was centred, not on the moral of the story, but on 
the subsequent adventures of Fritz. What happened to him? That was what they 
wanted to know. Did he go on selling collar-studs? Did Herr Steingruber take him 
off and give him a lunch? Did he do anything for him? Did he buy a toy? Or a 
stud? Questions rained from all parts of the room.

They were interrupted by Tommy standing up, with his hand pressed to his 
forehead and a look of pain on his face.

"Might I leave the room, sir?" he asked. "I am not feeling very well. Neuralgia, 
sir."

The kind-hearted Herr was all sympathy.

"Zo, zo", he said. "Zertainly -- py all means. A liddle vresh air berhaps, or a 
vew minutes' rest by yourself guietly. Go, my liddle vellow, und redurn vhen you 
are petter."

Tommy thanked him, and left the room in a subdued way. When he had shut the 
door, however, nobody would have taken him for an invalid. His face cleared, and 
he began to run. He galloped into the house. There seemed to be nobody about. He 
made his way noiselessly down the passage to Mr Spinder's study.




Chapter 32

Mr Spinder Makes Inquiries



Mr Spinder, having ascertained beyond any possibility of doubt that the stone 
was gone, left the bookshelf, and seated himself limply in a chair. The shock 
had completely unmanned him. He had braced himself up to face what he knew would 
be the extreme danger of his position now that the mysterious band which was 
working to get the stone knew that he had it; but this totally unexpected blow 
temporarily shattered him. For the moment he was a beaten man. All the iron 
determination which had carried him so successfully through his interview with 
Ferris had been shaken out of him. His face, as he sat, looked years older. It 
was drawn and haggard. His fingers plucked feebly at the arm of the chair.

Gradually his fine brain reasserted itself. The dull stupor left him. He could 
think coherently now.

Who could have stolen the stone?

It was a theft that could not possibly have been the result of an accidental 
discovery. Nobody could have found the stone unless he had known where to look. 
Even the removal of the book would have been insufficient to put a searcher on 
the track unless he had happened to know that what he sought was there, for the 
hiding-place was invisible. This narrowed the search down to those people who 
could possibly have known that the stone was in his room. And who did? That this 
was not the work of the gang, of which Ferris was the representative, he was 
certain. He knew that Ferris had been genuine in his offers. It must be some 
independent person, working in opposition both to himself and the Ferris party.

Instantly his mind turned to Jimmy Stewart. As far as he knew -- for when he 
found them fighting in his study he had put Sam Burrows and Marshall down as 
members of the same gang who had fallen out -- as far as he knew, Jimmy was the 
only person outside Ferris's party who was aware that the stone was in his 
possession. Jimmy had actually seen him handling it, and it was to Jimmy that it 
had belonged in the first instance. He did not suppose that Jimmy knew the real 
value of the stone, but it had been plain that he had regarded it as a treasured 
possession, and would make all possible efforts to recover it. His suspicions 
centred on Jimmy.

But then there was the objection that Jimmy must have been in school at the time 
of the robbery. Roughly speaking, the stone must have been taken between eleven 
and half-past twelve that morning.

Still, he decided to question him.

He did so as he was going in to afternoon school.

"Stewart!"

"Yes, sir."

"Where were you this morning between eleven and one?"

"I was in school, sir."

"The whole time?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who was teaching you?"

"Herr Steingruber, sir", said Jimmy shortly. He objected to having his word 
doubted at any time, especially by a man whom he knew to be a thief.

"Very good, Stewart."

Mr Spinder walked off.

"What's up now, I wonder?" thought Jimmy, as he went into school.

At the conclusion of the afternoon's work Mr Spinder approached Herr 
Steingruber.

"Ach, my Sbinder", said the Herr jovially. He was always in a good temper, 
especially at the end of the day's work.

"I wanted to ask you, Steingruber, if Stewart was in your classroom all the time 
between eleven and half-past twelve this morning."

"Sdeward! Jah, zo. He vos."

"The whole time? He did not leave the room even for a few minutes?"

"No. Der liddle vellow vas in his sead from peginning to end of der lesson. It 
vas der poy Armsdrong who did der room on aggount of a zo zudden addack of 
illness leave."

Mr Spinder started. Armstrong! Jimmy's closest friend. Who was more likely than 
he to be chosen by Jimmy as a confidant in this affair? Probably they had talked 
it over together, and come to the conclusion that Tommy had better take the 
stone, seeing that Jimmy would occur to Mr Spinder at once as the probable 
thief. And Armstrong had been out of the room during the morning's lesson.

"How long was Armstrong away?"

"Aboud vive minutes. Berhaps less. He did ad der end of dot dime redurn, zaying 
dot he had bathed his vorehead und did moch bedder feel."

"Bathed his forehead. Why?"

"Do relieve der keen neuralgia bangs which did bain him."

"Neuralgia!"

"Jah, zo. It vos of der neuralgia dot der liddle vellow did gomblain."

That settled the matter as far as Mr Spinder was concerned. He knew that 
convenient neuralgia, which was so much better at the end of five minutes. Five 
minutes! It was all that Tommy would need to enable him to go to the study, take 
the stone, and return.

He was satisfied now that it was Tommy who had taken it. The only question now 
was, how to recover it from him. In a way, the problem which faced Mr Spinder 
was almost as hard as that which had faced Jimmy before. A master could not go 
to a boy's room and search it whenever he pleased without due reason. He would 
have to find some excuse.

But what? That was the difficulty. There seemed to be no reason under the sun 
why he should demand the keys of Tommy's box and ransack it from top to bottom. 
Boys had their rights, and he knew enough of Tommy to know that he would 
exercise his to the utmost. If he went to Tommy now, and demanded his keys, 
Tommy would refuse to give them up. And if he carried the matter to the 
headmaster, the latter, unless Mr Spinder could produce some adequate reason why 
he asked to search, would certainly decide in favour of Tommy, and probably read 
the housemaster a lecture on the limitations of his authority.

Mr Spinder was undeniably baffled. He could see no way out of the tangle.

He wandered out into the playground to think the thing out in the open air. It 
was dusk by this time, for the evenings were beginning to draw in rapidly.

It was at this point that his luck turned. Wandering slowly in the direction of 
the gymnasium, he turned the corner of that building, intending to skirt round 
it and come back the way he had gone. Hardly, however, had he turned the corner 
when a familiar smell came to his nostrils. The smell of tobacco. At the same 
moment a faint groan reached his ears. Somebody was smoking under the sheltering 
wall of the gymnasium, and, to judge from the sounds, it was evidently doing him 
no good.

Mr Spinder crept stealthily forward. The smoker, however, showed no signs of 
retreating. When Mr Spinder's grasp fell on a limp arm, the captive scarcely 
stirred. Mr Spinder shook the arm. Another groan was the only answer.

"Who are you?" demanded the master. "What are you doing here?"

"Hon'ble sir", moaned a feeble voice, "Peccavi. I am in articulo mortis and the 
utter wreck. Distinguished and benevolent mister, bring the doctor. My last 
moments are arriving with rapidity of greased lighting-flash."

Mr Spinder struck a match. It blazed up in the damp air. Against the gymnasium 
wall was seated Ram, his forehead beaded with perspiration and his face a sickly 
green. In one hand the stump of a cigar was tightly clutched.

"What does all this mean?" thundered Mr Spinder.

"Benevolent sir", said Ram feebly, "do not continue to shake me, or -- hoity, 
toity! -- who knows what may not happen? I —-"

The warning was too late! Without entering into painful details, one may say 
that the warning justified itself almost immediately by fact. Mr Spinder waited 
grimly till all was over.

"Go into the house at once", he said. "You will hear more of this."

"Spare me, benevolent sir", moaned the sufferer. "I am the worm."

"Go in", said Mr Spinder.

Ram moved painfully off towards the house.

Mr Spinder stood where he was, thinking. Then he started. In a flash he saw that 
luck had played into his hands. He had caught one of the boys in his house 
smoking. Nothing could be more natural or praiseworthy than that he should at 
once institute a general search through all the boxes in the house. It would be 
like fishing with a drag-net. He was bound to find the stone. He hurried back to 
the house, overtaking Ram on the way. Ram, to quote the poem, was "remote, 
unfriended, melancholy, slow". He was dragging himself along, wishing in a sort 
of general way that he had never been born, and particularly that he had never 
been seized with the idea of smoking a cigar.



In the study which he shared with Jimmy, meanwhile, Tommy was seated in the only 
comfortable chair, gazing at something small and blue that lay in the palm of 
his hand. He was feeling like a successful detective. Alone and unaided, he had 
tracked down the stone and recovered it. He was now waiting for Jimmy to come 
in, to show it to him.

He heard a footstep on the stairs, and got up. No, that could not be Jimmy. The 
step was not his. It was somebody else's, somebody who --

"Spinder, by Jove!" thought Tommy, with a start.

The next moment the door burst open. He was quite right. His visitor was Mr 
Spinder!




Chapter 33

A Cunning Hiding-place



Tommy rose politely as the door opened. Mr Spinder closed the door behind him.

"Armstrong", he said abruptly, "I intend to search this study."

Tommy raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"I have reason to believe", continued the master, "that a great deal of smoking 
is going on in this house. I have this very evening found" -- here he gave Ram's 
full name, which, owing to pressure of space, must be omitted; it was the sort 
of name that covered nearly the whole of one line on a sheet of foolscap when 
Ram wrote exercises —- "in the act of smoking a large cigar."

A faint smile appeared on Tommy's face for a brief instant. The idea of Ram 
smoking a cigar, and the probable result of such a feat, amused him. The smile 
quickly vanished. He made no spoken comment on the news.

"I have determined", said Mr Spinder, "to institute a personal search through 
the boxes of every boy in the house. I will not have these breaches of important 
school rules. I don't say that I suspect you or anyone else of having tobacco, 
but I am resolved to pay no attention to anyone's word, but to make a thorough 
search on my own account. Ah! Stewart!"

Jimmy entered during the conclusion of this speech.

"Yes, sir", said Jimmy.

"I was informing Armstrong that I was about to search this study thoroughly, to 
satisfy myself that there is no tobacco concealed here."

"We haven't any, sir", said Jimmy.

"I do not wish to hear any statement from you. I intend to satisfy myself by 
searching. Kindly turn out your pockets, both of you."

Jimmy and Tommy, the former furious, the latter apparently resigned, proceeded 
to empty their pockets on to the table. It was a miscellaneous collection that 
met Mr Spinder's eyes -- knives, string, a bag of chocolates, another of 
jujubes, letters, a screw, two cold roast chestnuts. Everything under the sun, 
in fact, except the blue stone.

Mr Spinder eyed the collection sourly, and, motioning to them to replace the 
things, proceeded to make a search round the study. There was not a great deal 
of cover for the stone to hide in, and he had soon exhausted all the possible 
places. He turned to the two boys.

"You have boxes?" he said.

"Downstairs, sir", said Jimmy.

"Give me your keys. Thank you. I will return them to you after I have finished 
with the boxes."

He left the room.

Jimmy turned to Tommy.

"What on earth's the matter with him?" he asked. "Why should he suddenly take it 
into his head that we are keeping baccy up here?"

Tommy was rolling in a chair with silent laughter.

"You chump!" he said at length. "Couldn't you spot his game? He was looking for 
the stone. The baccy was only a bluff to give him an excuse for routing round 
this place. He-he-ha-ha! -- he caught old -- old Ram smoking a whacking big 
cigar this evening."

Jimmy grinned.

"No!" he said.

"Fact! By Jove, I wish I'd seen him. What an ass old Ram is! I expect he was as 
sick as a cat."

"But what did you mean about the stone? Why should Spinder be looking for it?"

"It's gone from his study."

"Gone! How do you know?"

"Because", said Tommy calmly, opening his mouth and taking something out, "here 
it is!"

He extended his hand with the stone in it. Jimmy stared at it as if it had been 
some new and hitherto undiscovered animal. The surprise of the thing deprived 
him of the power of speech.

"How did you get it?" he almost whispered at last.

'When I left the room during old Steingruber's lesson. I shammed ill on purpose 
to get a chance of slipping out. I knew that during school hours was the only 
chance I should get of being in Spinder's study without him coming and 
interrupting. I knew exactly where to look. I'd felt the thing when I looked 
before. So I nipped across and had it out and got back to the classroom in under 
five minutes."

"Tommy, you're a marvel!"

"I have a big brain", admitted Tommy complacently. "A very big brain. Sometimes 
I wonder if it's quite healthy. I suppose old Steingruber must have told him I 
was out of the room during the morning, and that sent him buzzing up here. Well, 
here it is. Now, what are we to do with it? It won't be safe to keep it up here 
or down in either of our boxes. There's no knowing when he may not take it into 
his head to have another search. What's to be done?"

Jimmy produced a letter from his pocket.

"We shan't have it on our hands long", he said.

"That's one comfort. This is a letter from my father. It arrived just now. He's 
back."

"Good business. Where is he?"

"That's just what I don't know", said Jimmy ruefully.

"Don't know? Why, where does he write from?"

"From a hotel at Southampton. But he says he's leaving there the same night and 
going to London. And he doesn't say where he'll be in London. Says he'll write 
again when he gets there. So we shall have to wait till he does, I suppose."

"I suppose so. Still, we've got the stone. That's the great thing. Now where 
shall we hide it?"

Jimmy reflected.

"No good in our dormitory anywhere, I suppose?"

Tommy shook his head.

"Not a bit. He might easily look there. What we must do is to find some place 
that he can't possibly think of. And it must be a place, of course, that we can 
get at in a jiffy whenever we want to. Dash it, I wish your father had given you 
his London address. Hasn't he got a club?"

"Yes. But I'm blowed if I know which it is."

"I wish we could find Sam. I wonder where the dickens he is."

"It's a rum business, isn't it?" said Jimmy. "Here we are, with the stone, 
simply waiting to hand it over, and there's nobody to give it to. It's a bit 
sickening."

Tommy looked curiously at the stone.

"I wonder", he said, "what the thing really is. Why is everyone so keen on 
getting hold of it? How does your pater come to be mixed up with it? And why is 
it that Spinder knows all about it? He evidently thinks it's worth having, 
doesn't he?"

"I suppose we shall know soon, I wish we knew where Sam was."

"It's Indian, I should say. I wonder if Ram would know anything about it. By the 
way, I must go down and see Ram. He seems to have been having a stormy time."

"Don't say anything to him about the stone."

"Rather not."

"Oh, talking of Ram reminds me. I never mended that bicycle of his. I promised 
to. After he had that smash, you know. There's nothing much wrong with it. It 
won't take me a minute. I'll go. and do it now, I think, and get it over."

"I'll come and help."

They went downstairs to the back of the house, where the bicycles were kept. 
Ram's injured machine was leaning forlornly against the wall. Jimmy took out the 
spanner and got to work. Tommy looked on, which was his notion of helping.

Suddenly Tommy uttered an exclamation.

"By Jove! I've got it!" he cried.

"What's that?" asked Jimmy, looking up.

"Look. Which is your bike?"

"The one over there."

"The one with the dented mudguards?"

Jimmy nodded.

"Observe", said Tommy. "There's no one about, is there?"

He went to the door and looked. The place was empty.

"Now", he said.

He took the bicycle, and began twisting the tortoiseshell at the end of the 
handle-bar. It came away in his hand, leaving the bare steel.

"Hollow, you observe", said Tommy. "Now we wrap him up neatly in a piece of 
paper" -- he produced the stone, and suited the action to the word —- "shove him 
in here" -- he pushed the little parcel into the tortoiseshell cover —- "and 
then put the whole thing back. How's that? It doesn't go on quite so far as it 
should, but nobody's likely to notice that. After all, you won't be lending your 
bike to Spinder, I suppose. There!"

Jimmy rose, and inspected the result.

"That's good", he said, with approval. "That's a good idea."

"My brain", said Tommy, "is something colossal. I often think of charging a 
small fee for talking to people. Let's be going upstairs, shall we? The stone's 
as safe as houses now."

On the stairs they met Mr Spinder.

"Where have you been?" he inquired irritably. He had been searching vigorously 
ever since he had left them, with absolutely no result. He had not even found 
tobacco, which would have been better than nothing. Ram's cigar seemed to be the 
sole specimen of the world's tobacco industries at present within the walls of 
Marleigh.

"Where have you been?" he said. "I went to your study, but you were not there. I 
have left your keys on the table."

"Thank you, sir", said Tommy politely. "We have been downstairs mending Ram's 
bicycle. He had a spill riding home after the football match, and injured it a 
little."

"Well, well, either go up to your study again or to the dayroom. I cannot have 
you wandering about like this all over the house."

"Yes, sir", said Tommy.

They walked on.

"For choice", said Tommy, "give me the dayroom. It is nice and quiet in our 
study, but I want to see Ram. I should think he must be worth seeing after that 
cigar. Poor old Spinder!"

If he could have seen Mr Spinder at that moment he would have felt that his pity 
was no more than was needed. The housemaster was sitting at his study table, 
staring blankly before him, seeing nothing. The unexpected turn the game had 
taken had had its effect on Mr Spinder.




Chapter 34

An Accident and its Consequences



It takes very little to upset the best-laid plans. In theory the stone was 
perfectly safe in the handle-bar of Jimmy's bicycle. Nobody could possibly guess 
that it was there. In theory the handle-bar was an ideal retreat.

But all the theoretical value of the hiding-place was totally destroyed by the 
simple fact that Herr Steingruber was engaged to be married to a girl in his 
native town of Munich.

There does not seem much connection at first sight between the two things. Yet 
it undoubtedly existed.

Miss Gretchen Steidl of Munich, was a young lady with expectations. When an 
uncle died, she would be comfortably situated. Till that melancholy event she 
kept the wolf from the door by teaching the alphabet and elementary drawing to 
infants in a kindergarten. Herr Hans, meanwhile, separated from her by many 
miles of sea, taught German to English boys at Marleigh. The parted pair had to 
console themselves by writing each other long letters.

Now it happened, on the afternoon of this particular day, that Herr Steingruber 
had spent all the time between lunch and the gathering of darkness on the links. 
His play had not improved to any great extent since his first introduction to 
the game, but his enthusiasm had increased wonderfully. He spent the afternoon 
smiting furiously, sometimes at the air, sometimes at the turf, less frequently 
at the ball. The result of all this energy was that when he arrived home and had 
had his tea he felt thoroughly tired. Comfortably so, and extremely sleepy. 
After a pipe in an armchair before the fire he had fallen sound asleep, and only 
awoke in time for dinner. After dinner he still felt drowsy. He sat in his chair 
smoking, till he suddenly remembered with a start that he had not written to his 
Gretchen.

This was a duty that had to be attended to at once. Yawning hugely, he stretched 
himself and went to the table. His letters to Gretchen always took him a long 
time to write. It was not till half-past nine that he had finished. Reading the 
letter over and dreaming of the day when they should retire together to Munich 
on the money of the uncle, who still clung obstinately to life, and spend their 
time listening to Wagner, occupied time till twenty minutes to ten. Then he 
stamped the letter, and went to the door.

A housemaid was passing at the moment.

"Ach!" said Herr Steingruber, "vill you dis ledder do der post-poy give, vor do 
dake do der bost?"

"Lor, sir", said the housemaid, "he's been gone this half-hour."

It was the boot-boy's duty to collect the letters of the house and bicycle to 
the village post-office with them. The post-office was three miles from the 
school, and letters had to be in the box by ten o'clock. As a rule, he did not 
start on his journey till about half-past nine; but to-night, wishing to get 
back early in time to continue his acquaintance with a paper-covered book, which 
he had bought, entitled "Black Bill of the Mountains, or the Scourge of 
California", he had left early.

"Himmel!" was Herr Steingruber's reply to this bad news. "I haf der bost 
missed."

Herr Steingruber was a favourite with the servants at the school, partly because 
he was exceedingly free with his money, and partly because he was unvaryingly 
good-tempered and always spoke pleasantly to them. This was the reason why the 
housemaid, instead of passing on and thinking no more about the matter, stopped 
sympathetically and tried to be helpful.

"It's only a quarter to the hour, sir", she said. "If you'd got a bicycle, sir —
-"

"Alas! I no bicygle haf", sighed the Herr.

"Or if one of the young gentlemen could go —-"

"Ach, no, dey are to der house by der log-ub rule gonfined. Do sdray and move 
out of der house ad der hour of ten o'glog, dot vas do der poys vorpidden. But -
- ach! I haf id got, I haf id got! I vill der picygle of der boy porrow, and 
myself on id do der bost wit der greatest sbeed hurry. Dthangk you, you haf do 
me der idea given."

To rush to the basement where the bicycles were kept took Herr Steingruber under 
a minute. It was just a quarter to ten when he wheeled his machine out of a side 
gate into the road, mounted, and began to pedal.

Or, rather, not his machine, but Jimmy's. For the Herr, faced with the task of 
choosing between a dozen bicycles, had selected Jimmy's.

This he did principally because the seat was a good deal higher than the seats 
on the other machines. Jimmy always liked a high seat.

The road to the village was uphill for a quarter of a mile, downhill for two 
miles, and level for about three-quarters of a mile. The Herr was slightly 
behind the clock and very much out of breath when he arrived at the top of the 
first incline, but he made up for lost time on the downward slope. Free-
wheeling, he moved along at a capital pace, and, having recovered his breath 
during the two miles of coasting, he was able to finish up on the flat with a 
fine spurt, which landed him, moist but triumphant, at the post-office with a 
good two and a half minutes in hand.

"Ach!" he grunted with placid triumph. "Vigtory! I haf id on mein head done."

He was very pleased indeed with himself. He felt that he had carried through a 
difficult business with skill and precision. Gretchen would be pleased to get 
that letter. She would have been bitterly disappointed if none had arrived.

The Herr leaped on to Jimmy's bicycle, and began to pedal slowly homewards, 
thinking of Miss Steidl and Munich, and everything except the fact that he was 
on a bicycle. His afternoon's golf and the brisk ride to the post had left him 
in that curiously dreamy state, which is often the result of physical fatigue. 
He had to tramp up the last mile of the hill before reaching the incline that 
led to the school gates; and by the time the hill ceased, and he was able to 
mount his machine again, all he wanted was to free-wheel dreamily, thinking of 
her.

This he did. In fact he lost himself to such an extent in his thoughts that the 
first intimation he had that he was still a dweller in the practical, everyday 
world, bicycling in the dark down a steepish incline, was the colliding of his 
front wheel with something hard and unyielding. The fact was, that the Herr, who 
never used the main entrance to the school ground except in daylight when the 
gate was wide open, had completely forgotten that there was a gate there at all. 
The consequence was that, wrapped in thought, he charged into it without the 
slightest slackening of speed, and only escaped an uncommonly nasty accident by 
mere good luck. He shot off, but fortunately to one side, not straight over the 
handle-bars; so that, instead of dashing against the iron bars, he only 
staggered and sat down rather hard in the road, getting off with a severe 
shaking instead of broken bones.

The bicycle, having rammed the gate, fell over with a great clatter and a noisy 
ring of the bell.

"Who in the world's that?" asked a voice from the other side of the gate.

Herr Steingruber did not reply for a moment. He was not at all satisfied at 
first that it was anybody in the world. He had a strong disposition that he was 
dead. Then his head began to clear, and he rose with a groan.

"Who's that?" said the voice again, sharply.

"Ach! my Spinder", said the Herr, recognising the accents, "I am moch shagen."

"Is that you, Steingruber? What has happened?"

"I haf a bicygle aggident had."

"Are you hurt?"

"I am shagen, moch shagen."

"Can you walk?"

"Jah! I can walg. But der bicygle, he is all do bieces smashed. And he vos not 
mine, but do one of der liddle vellows did belong."

"Come round to the small gate. Carry the bicycle if you can't wheel it. I can't 
let you in here. The porter has the keys."

With many groans the Herr made his way to the little gate, carrying the bicycle. 
It was impossible to wheel it. The front spokes were twisted and broken, and he 
could feel that the handle-bar was injured, too.

Mr Spinder met him at the gate, and helped to convey the machine to where there 
was light enough to examine it.

"H'm!" said Mr Spinder. "You've certainly done the machine no good."

"Der damage I vill vrom my own burse devray."

"Whose bicycle is it?"

"Dot I do nod know. I vos in a hurry to gatch der bost, and I him ad random 
dook."

Mr Spinder was looking at the machine.

"I think it must be Stewart's", he said. "I have noticed that he rides with his 
saddle particularly high. What on earth is this?"

He was looking at the handle-bar. The tortoise-shell at the end was split and 
gaping, and through the rents protruded paper.

"What do they want to put paper in there for, I wonder", said Mr Spinder.

Herr Steingruber merely groaned. An injudicious movement had caused a twinge to 
pass through his aching bones.

Mr Spinder was twisting the tortoiseshell. It came off in his hand. All at once, 
as he looked at it, he became rigid. The hand which held it shook.

"If I were you", he said to Herr Steingruber, in a curiously strained voice, "I 
should go and change your clothes and lie down. You want a rest. Better take a 
stiff brandy and soda. You're shaken."

"Jah, zo! I am shagen, moch shagen."

"Go along, then. You'll find brandy and soda in my room. If not, ring and ask 
for it."

"Dthangks, dthangks", murmured the Herr, and dragged himself from the room.

When he had gone, Mr Spinder removed from the handle-bar the paper and what it 
contained. Then he replaced the paper very carefully, and screwed on the 
tortoiseshell once more.

There was a smile on his thin lips as he went to the bell and pressed it.

"Send Master Stewart here", he said, when the servant appeared.




Chapter 35

The Stone is Lost Again



Jimmy was reading a book when the summons came, with the comfortable feeling 
that his troubles were over, and that he had now nothing to worry about.

"What on earth does he want me for? I wonder", he grumbled, getting up.

"Better go and see", suggested Tommy, who was binding a cricket bat. "And don't 
forget to give him my love. Tell him that I'm always thinking of him."

Jimmy went, and found the house-master waiting in the hall, holding the bicycle.

His first thought was that Mr Spinder, suspecting the presence of the stone in 
the bicycle, had been exploring with a pickaxe. The machine certainly looked a 
pretty bad wreck.

"Oh, Stewart", said Mr Spinder, "this is your bicycle, I think?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am afraid there has been an accident. Herr Steingruber was in a hurry to 
catch the post, and took the first bicycle which came to hand. It, 
unfortunately, happened to be yours. He ran into the gate, and has, I am afraid, 
damaged the machine a good deal. He will, of course, pay for the repairs. Will 
you take it down into the basement, please?"

Jimmy's first glance, when the machine was in his hands, was for the handle-bar. 
It was badly smashed. He noticed the paper peeping out at one of the cracks. A 
near shave, he thought. Spinder might have seen it, and wondered what it was.

It was not till he was down in the basement, and had time to look more closely, 
that he discovered his loss. The paper was there, but the stone had disappeared.

He rushed up to the study, where Tommy was still sitting binding his bat.

"Well", said Tommy, without looking up, "what did he want you for?"

"Tommy", cried Jimmy, "it's gone. The stone's gone."

"What! How could it have gone? Who would think of looking there? What do you 
mean?"

Jimmy related what had happened. Tommy whistled softly.

"What frightful luck!" he said.

"What are we to do?"

"That's rather a problem. You're certain the stone really isn't there? Hasn't 
got shoved up into the handlebar?"

"Absolutely. The paper you wrapped it in is still there. Spinder must have seen 
it, and suspected something, and put back the paper after he'd got the stone. 
What shall we do?"

"We must think this out."

"We're exactly where we were before you got the thing from the bookshelf."

Tommy shook his head.

"We aren't", he said, "by a long way. Not by a very long way, indeed. Don't you 
see that, before this happened, Spinder had no notion that we knew anything 
about the bookcase? He was simply watching out for Ferris and his gang. He 
didn't think that we were in the hunt at all, especially me. Now he's on his 
guard. He won't trust to the bookcase again. He'll shove the bally stone 
somewhere else. Probably he'll keep it on him, and sleep with it under his 
pillow. My word, this is a pretty tough nut. What a fool old Steingruber was to 
go charging into the gate like that. And what rotten luck. I'm blowed if I know 
what we're going to do now."

The game certainly seemed very much in Mr Spinder's hands. They could hardly 
hope to discover the next hiding-place in which he might place the stone, even 
if he did not make it absolutely secure from them by keeping it always on his 
person.

"The only thing is, though", said Tommy, "he might be afraid to carry it about 
with him, in case Ferris or Marshall got hold of him. Not that that helps us 
much. If you ask me, I think we're done. We've shot our bolt. All we can do is 
to tell your pater who's got the stone, and let him have a try at getting it."



The next day passed, and the next, but still they were as far from hitting on 
any solution of the difficulty.

Herr Steingruber met Jimmy, and was full of apologies.

"More zorry dan I gan eggsbress, my liddle Sdewart", he said, "am I dot dis 
should have oggurred. I do myself did zay: 'I must der bost vor do zend my 
ledder do Germany gatch, und der is no dime to zee der liddle vellows, und vor 
der loan of der bicygle ask. Bot dey would, I am sure, wit gladness und 
readiness der bicygle lend, zo I will dake.' Bot, alas! Garelessly und wit' der 
absend mind did I dowards der gade ride, und grash! Dere vos I, moch shagen, on 
der ground, und der bicygle, he vos moch injured. Bot do not rebine, my liddle 
vellow, vor I vill myself all der exbenses of der mending upon myself dake, und 
in a vew days, a very vew days, back gom der bicygle as goot as new, and you are 
once again wit id habby. Zo!"

Jimmy thanked him, and said politely that the smash-up did not matter a bit; but 
that was far from being what he really thought. He had had another letter from 
his father, written from the Grand Hotel in London, in which the colonel said 
that he was motoring down on the following Wednesday, and would put up for the 
night at the Crown Hotel in the village. It was there that the colonel always 
stayed when he visited Jimmy at Marleigh. The Crown was a comfortable inn of the 
old-fashioned country sort, and Jimmy had had some very pleasant meals there 
with his father in the days before his life became complicated by the stone and 
the responsibilities it brought with it.

The colonel added that he would be breakfasting on the Thursday morning at eight 
o'clock, as he had to return to London on some business which, though not 
extremely important, might as well be attended to and disposed of. He hoped to 
see Jimmy at that meal, and had not forgotten that Jimmy had a preference for 
scrambled eggs on toast.

It was on the afternoon of this day that Jimmy met Sam again. Sam had been 
waiting near the school gates for him to come out.

Jimmy put him in possession of the facts of the case as shortly as he could, and 
Sam, like Tommy, was of the opinion that the position was a difficult one.

"And father's coming down to-morrow", said Jimmy.

"What, the colonel! That's good news. Maybe he'll see a way out of this."

Sam's confidence in the ability of his old officer to cope with any situation, 
however difficult, was immense. He had been with Colonel Stewart in some very 
tight corners indeed, and had that faith in him which the officers of our Indian 
army inspire in their men.

"But before he comes", said Sam, "I think as how you might have another try for 
the stone. Couldn't you get into the room again, and look about?"

"It's no good trying that game now, Sam, or I'd do it like a shot. Spinder 
always locks his door at night now. We tried to get in the other night, just 
before Tommy got hold of the stone, and we found we couldn't."

Sam fumbled in his pocket.

"We'll soon get over that", he said. "See here, this is one of those skeleton 
keys."

"By Jove! The one you were opening the drawers of his desk with that night you 
and Marshall fought. Let's have it."

"If the stone's locked up anywhere in 'is room — and it might be -- you'll soon 
have it out with that."

"Thanks, Sam. That's splendid. I think you'd better go to the Crown, and meet 
father when he arrives, and tell him all about this. I'll be trying for the 
stone."

Jimmy went back, and found Tommy.

"It's all right about getting into Spinder's study", he said. "Sam Burrows has 
given me a skeleton key. It'll unlock anything. We could go down to-night."

"Not to-night", said Tommy.

"Why not?"

"I've an idea. I'm pretty certain Spinder has got that stone on him at present. 
I think he'd carry it about with him for a day or two till he could think of 
somewhere to hide it. But I think he's bound to hide it in the end, so as to run 
no risk of being collared with it on him. After a bit he won't think much of our 
chances of getting the thing. He'll think that a locked door is enough to keep 
us out. And then he'll shove it back in its old place behind the books. Because, 
you see, except for us that's a ripping place for it. The Ferris gang can't know 
of it. They might break in and search for hours without finding anything. And he 
won't be afraid of us. All he'll do, by way of choking us off, is to keep the 
door locked all day instead of only at night. So we'll give him another day. 
Then we'll nip down to-morrow night and see what happens."

"All right. Sam's going to wait at the Crown for my pater, and tell him all 
about what's been happening."

"Just as well", said Tommy. "He couldn't do any good by hanging round here. This 
job can only be tackled from inside the house. To-morrow night, then. And I only 
hope we have some luck!"




Chapter 36

Yet Another Midnight Raid



It was not with any very great feeling of hopefulness that Jimmy accompanied 
Tommy over the difficult route which lay between them and Mr Spinder's study on 
the following night. Tommy's theory that the master would look on them as out of 
the battle, and feel that the old hiding-place behind the books was as good as 
any others, was not so sound as it had seemed on first sight. Of course, Mr 
Spinder might do that, but Jimmy was not very hopeful. He knew the housemaster 
too well to believe that he would be capable of such carelessness and want of 
resource. However, he did not tell Tommy that this was his view. The latter was 
full of confidence, and it seemed a pity to discourage him.

They stole downstairs in their gymnasium shoes, pausing every now and then to 
listen. No sound came to their ears. The house seemed asleep.

They could find their way to Mr Spinder's study in the dark easily now.

"Got the key?" whispered Tommy.

Jimmy handed it to him. Before trying to find the lock, Tommy turned the handle, 
more from force of habit than because he expected any result from the action. To 
his surprise, at first, and then to his horror, he found that the door was not 
locked. To his horror, because the push which opened the door also let loose a 
stream of light, which darted out into the passage. The room, instead of being 
dark and empty, was lit up.

Was it occupied? That was the question which the two boys asked themselves, as 
they stood there paralysed, Tommy still holding the handle. Every moment they 
expected to hear a sharp voice cry, "Who is that?" from inside the room. Each 
second that passed seemed like an hour, till at length, reassured by the 
silence, Tommy pushed the door still further open, and looked in.

There was nobody in the room. But there were plenty of signs that somebody had 
been there only a short time before. A great book was open on the desk, and a 
cigar smouldered on an ash-tray beside it.

Tommy looked at Jimmy, and Jimmy looked blankly at Tommy.

"We'd better be getting back", said Jimmy. "And jolly quick, too, or we shall be 
caught here. He'll probably be back in a minute. I can't think why we didn't 
meet him."

"This is no place for us", agreed Tommy. "What on earth is he doing up so late? 
Shift ho, I think!"

They were on the point of retracing their steps down the corridor when Tommy 
clutched Jimmy by the arm.

"Listen!" Somebody was coming down the stairs.

Tommy was a man of action.

"In here! Quick!" he whispered.

They were in the study, and had closed the door behind them before the man on 
the stairs could turn the corner. Their old ally, the piano, was standing in the 
corner it had always occupied.

"In there", said Tommy. "Look sharp."

Jimmy scrambled behind the piano. Tommy followed him.

Just as they had settled themselves down as comfortably as was possible, the 
door opened, and somebody walked across to the writing-table and sat down. From 
the smell of smoke it was evident that he had continued his cigar at the point 
where he had left off.

Then ensued the weariest period of waiting which either of the two boys had ever 
experienced, rendered even more wearisome than it might have been by the fact 
that only with the utmost caution could they move their limbs. They began to 
feel cramped and stiff, but still the master sat where he was. They heard him 
throw away his cigar and light another. Once there came the swish of soda-water 
into a glass. At intervals there was the rustling sound of the pages of the big 
book being turned. Jimmy and Tommy came ruefully to the conclusion that Mr 
Spinder had made himself comfortable, and got hold of a book which interested 
him, and intended to make a night of it. They both wondered dismally how they 
would feel after an hour or so of waiting.

Things must have gone on like this for about half an hour, when a very faint 
sound made itself heard. Both boys had heard it before, on that memorable night 
when Sam and Marshall had fought on the floor in this same room. It was the 
sound of a diamond on glass. Somebody was cutting out a pane.

The curtains were drawn in front of the window, so that nobody outside could 
tell that there was anyone in the room. The man, whoever he was, had made the 
same mistake that Jimmy and Tommy had made, in supposing that at such a late 
hour it was certain that there would be nobody about.

Mr Spinder got up. They heard his chair creak as he rose. The next moment the 
room was in darkness. The master had switched off the electric light.

The scratching noise continued for a long time, then stopped. There was a soft, 
a very soft, thud as a foot touched the carpet, and a momentary rustle as the 
curtains were pushed back. Tommy gripped Jimmy's arm excitedly. What was going 
to happen? They wondered that Mr Spinder could not hear their hearts thumping.

The visitor breathed a long, soft breath. Then he uttered a gasping curse, for 
the room was suddenly flooded with light again, and the dry, hard voice of Mr 
Spinder spoke.

"Good evening", he said. "Rather an unceremonious mode of entry, is it not? The 
last time I had the honour of a visit from you, you came and left by the front 
door quite in the orthodox style. Is there anything I can do for you? I take it 
that such a late call as this must be a business visit."

The other man laughed.

"You've got me", he said. "Don't let that gun go off."

"Ferris", whispered Jimmy in Tommy's ear.

What happened after that was so rapid that Tommy could not follow it. He saw 
Ferris dip languidly in the side pocket of his coat, and draw out a 
handkerchief. Then suddenly the scene changed to one of noise and movement. He 
saw Ferris suddenly open and shoot forward his hand. What left it he could not 
see, but he heard Mr Spinder utter a piercing cry of agony, and, springing from 
his seat, stagger about the room. His head and shoulders appeared above the 
level of the piano, swaying. He had dropped the revolver, and was covering his 
face with both hands. He plunged heavily against the piano, causing it to rock. 
Then there came the sound of a blow being struck, followed by a crash, as the 
housemaster's body fell heavily to the ground.

They could hear Ferris's quick breathing, as he knelt beside the body and 
searched for the stone with feverish haste. From far away in the other part of 
the house came the noise of voices and running footsteps. Mr Spinder's cry had 
roused the house.

Ferris muttered oaths as he searched. He darted to the door and locked it. As he 
did so running footsteps made themselves heard.

"Mr Spinder!" cried a voice.

There followed a rapping of knuckles on the panels.

"Mr Spinder!"

Ferris was tearing the prostrate man's clothes in his haste.

"Come on!" shouted Jimmy to Tommy.

They sprang up.

At the same moment Ferris leaped to his feet with a cry of triumph, holding 
something aloft in his hand. For a moment he stood there, staring at them, while 
the panels of the door splintered beneath the blows from outside. Then, leaping 
to the window, he sprang out.

Jimmy and Tommy followed on his heels. Ferris was running down the road; but he 
was a stout man, and Tommy and Jimmy, helped by their condition, had begun to 
overhaul him, when he turned and stopped. There was a flash and a crack. A 
bullet zipped between the two boys. Another flicked up the dust at their feet. 
Ferris turned and ran on again.

The two boys redoubled their efforts, but, as they ran, they were aware of a 
throbbing noise down the road. Ferris heard it, and shouted. An answering shout 
came from the darkness.

"It's a motor", gasped Jimmy. "Quick, or he'll get to it."

But he had already done so. The throbbing in-
creased in volume, and the black mass began to slide away into the night.

The two boys stood where they were, looking after it. So fixed was their 
attention that they did not notice that from behind them there was coming the 
ever-increasing murmur of a second car.

They realised it just in time, and sprang to one side just as the car, with much 
jarring of brakes, pulled up short.

It was a big car, but there was only one man in it. He seemed irritated.

"What the deuce do you mean by standing out in the middle of the road like that 
on a dark night?" he shouted over his shoulder.

Jimmy knew the voice.

"Father!" he cried, and dashed towards the car.




Chapter 37

A Stern Chase



"Who on --! Jimmy! Whatever are you doing out here at this time of night?"

"Father, catch that motor in front", gasped Jimmy, clambering on to the seat by 
Colonel Stewart's side.

"Who's this?"

"That's Tommy. Tommy Armstrong. Nip into the car, Tommy. Do make haste, father, 
or they'll get away."

Colonel Stewart was a man who believed in doing a thing first, and asking for 
explanations afterwards. He released the clutch, and opened the throttle, and 
the big motor raced away down the road. The noise of the other car could be 
heard faintly in the distance. By now it must have been half a mile ahead.

"And now", said Colonel Stewart, "perhaps you'll kindly explain, my son, why I 
am risking my neck in this way, and who your friends in the car in front are."

"Haven't you seen Sam?"

"I have not seen Sam", said the colonel politely. "Who may Sam be?"

"Sam Burrows."

"Corporal Sam Burrows, who was under me in the Surreys?"

"Yes."

"And how in the world do you come to be mixed up with Corporal Burrows?"

Jimmy, as briefly and clearly as he could, told his father the whole story from 
the beginning; how he had met Sam, how Sam had been shot, how the stone had been 
entrusted to himself, and how it had passed from hand to hand in a sort of hunt-
the-slipper fashion, till finally it had been taken by Ferris, who was now, with 
his accomplices, speeding away into the night at forty miles an hour in a car 
whose tail-lights they could just see.

The colonel listened with growing interest.

"You seem to have had a fairly lively term", he said, when Jimmy had finished. 
"What sort of stone was it? Can you describe it?"

"It was a rummy blue stone, with scratches on it. It looked like blue sealing-
wax."

The colonel took his eyes from the road for a moment, to look at Jimmy with 
increased interest.

"Blue?" he said. "Like blue sealing-wax? Can it have been? It must be. But how 
in the world did Corporal Burrows get hold of it? How big was this stone?"

"About the size of a shilling."

"What sort of scratches were there on it? Did they look like writing?"

"Yes. In some rum language, though."

"It must be the same. Good heavens, if they get away with it! We must catch that 
car if we follow it to the other end of England."

He opened the throttle still wider. The car seemed to bound over the road, as a 
race-horse might gallop. Jimmy hung on to the side of his seat with all his 
might, and Tommy, in the tonneau, was being bumped up and own as if he were the 
ball in a cup-and-ball game. Jimmy felt very cold. The glass screen broke the 
force of the wind to a great extent; but it was a chilly night, and he was not 
dressed for motoring. Tommy was doing better, for he had found a rug on the 
floor of the car, and was tolerably comfortable in it. The colonel, muffled to 
the eyes in a huge coat, and wearing fur gloves, was the best off of the three.

Gradually, however, Jimmy began to forget the cold in the excitement of the 
chase. The car in front was powerful and speedy, but the colonel's had the 
advantage of it.

Little by little the pursuers were gaining. The tail-lights of the other car 
gleamed quite close now. Jimmy could see the dark figures of the occupants of 
its tonneau, as they stood up and looked back at the motor that was chasing 
them. It was evident that they realised now that there was a motive in this 
pursuit, and that the car behind them was not merely a chance traveller down the 
same road.

The road was one of those broad, well-laid tracks which the Romans put down in 
England to be a memorial of themselves to all time. It ran almost straight for 
mile after mile across the level plain. At intervals a straggling village broke 
the symmetry of it. Neither car slowed down at these villages. They passed 
through with a roar and a rattle which probably roused the inhabitants from 
their slumbers and set them wondering what was happening.

The night was dark but for the rare gleams of a moon which never succeeded in 
breaking completely through the drifting clouds.

The other car was very close now.

The dark figures were standing up again. Suddenly there was a flash and a 
report, sounding faintly above the measured roar of the engines. Something 
struck the woodwork of the glass screen, and sang away into space.

"Hullo!" said Colonel Stewart. "Revolvers! This won't do. I forgot that they 
might be armed. We must slow down a bit."

He closed the throttle slightly, and the other car bounded ahead. A derisive 
shout came to them like a distant whisper. Jimmy cried out in dismay.

"It's all right", said the colonel reassuringly, as he leaned back in his seat. 
"They think they've done us, but they haven't. I don't happen to want my paint 
chipped off with bullets, but I can follow them all night and all day, keeping 
them in sight. I've enough petrol to last out any car on the road. And when it's 
daylight they won't be in such a hurry to shoot off revolvers. We can take it 
easy for a little now."

"If it wasn't for that revolver we could overhaul them in five minutes", said 
Tommy.

"Yes, we -- Great Scott!"

The two uttered a simultaneous shout, for the tail-lights of the car they were 
pursuing seemed to leap into the air. The next moment there was a fearful crash. 
The lights went out. A great shriek rent the air. Then, save for the mad roaring 
of the engines, there was silence.

Colonel Stewart threw out his clutch, and applied the brake. The car slowed 
down, and stopped.

"What's happened? What is it?" cried the two boys, awed by the sense of disaster 
in the air.

Colonel Stewart drew off his gloves, and got down.

"Stay here", he said shortly. "They've had a smash. I am going to look. Stay 
where you are, you boys. If they are not killed, they may shoot."

He unscrewed one of the large lamps from the front of the car. The engine of the 
wrecked motor had stopped now, and all was silence.

He shouted. There was no reply.

He moved cautiously down the road. Jimmy and Tommy strained their eyes, but 
could see nothing. Everything was dark and vague. They saw the light of the lamp 
darting about the road and the ditches on either side. It rested now and then on 
certain shapeless heaps.

Then the colonel walked slowly back to them. His face, as he drew near, looked 
very stern and set.




Chapter 38

The Accident that Rescued the Stone



"Well?" cried both boys in a breath.

The colonel's voice, when he spoke, was grave.

"One of their wheels came off just as they were rounding a curve. The car is 
smashed all to pieces. They must have been travelling at over thirty-five miles 
an hour."

"And --"

"And the men?" said the colonel. "All dead."

Tommy was scrambling down from the car, but the colonel ordered him back 
sharply.

"It's not a fit sight for you", he said. "I am used to these things, but it has 
given me a shock. It is a horrible sight, Jimmy."

"Yes, father."

"Which of the men was it that took the stone? There is one who seems to have 
been an Indian. The other two are unrecognisable. One of them seems to have been 
a stout man. Was that the thief?"

"Yes. Ferris. That was the man."

"Wait here. I must go and search him."

Tommy and Jimmy waited, awed into silence by the sudden tragedy which had 
chilled the excitement of the chase in them. Both felt a little sick. They had 
vivid imaginations, and they could picture to themselves what sort of sight it 
must be at which Colonel Stewart was now looking.

Presently the colonel came back again.

"Jimmy", he said huskily, "you'll find a small flask in the flap on the right-
hand door of the tonneau. Hand it to me, will you?"

He took a long drink, and slipped the flask into his pocket. Then he took it out 
again, and handed it to the boys.

"You had better drink a little", he said. "You must be frozen."

The biting, burning spirit put new life into Jimmy and Tommy. They hated the 
taste, but as medicine it was wonderful.

"Have you got it, father?" asked Jimmy.

Colonel Stewart held his hand in the glare of the front lamp. In the palm was a 
small, round object. The boys noticed with a shudder that the hand was wet with 
something thick and dark.

The colonel took a rag from under the seat, and wiped his hand.

"We must be getting back to the nearest village", he said, taking the wheel, "to 
tell the police of what has happened."

The car was turned with some difficulty in the confined space, and they went 
back along the road till they reached the village through which they had passed 
ten minutes before. They stopped at the police station. A sleepy constable 
answered their knock.

"I am Colonel Stewart", said the colonel. "There has been a motor smash down the 
road."

The constable blinked sleepily.

"Three men have been killed. One was a burglar escaping from justice."

The constable's sleepiness left him.

"Burglar, sir!" he repeated. "Where was the burglary?"

"At Marleigh. We have been pursuing him in my car. He was certainly a burglar, 
and possibly a murderer as well."

This finally woke the constable up. He saw himself being promoted for his 
connection with this affair. Burglary and possibly murder! He must be in this.

"You leave the matter in my 'ands, sir", he said, as briskly as it is possible 
for a country policeman to speak. "About 'ow far down the road? Five or six 
miles, sir? Right: I'll rout up landlord Smith, of the 'King's Head', and get a 
cart. You'll leave your card, sir, as a matter of form."

The colonel handed him his card, and set the car in movement again. It was a 
very long way back to Marleigh, and both the boys were fast asleep in the 
tonneau long before they arrived. The stoppage in front of the door awoke them.




Chapter 39

The Mystery of the Stone Explained



Very sleepy, and feeling as if they had not been to bed at all, Jimmy and Tommy 
dragged themselves up at half-past seven next morning, and made their way, 
yawning, to the village inn.

The colonel was not down, and they dozed in armchairs till breakfast and he 
arrived simultaneously. The colonel had not turned a hair. His lean, brown face 
showed no signs of fatigue whatsoever. A life of campaigning and big game 
shooting leaves a man tough. Colonel Stewart looked as if he had gone to bed at 
ten o'clock and slept peacefully from the moment his head touched the pillow.

"Well", he said cheerily, "and how are you both? No ill effects, eh? Sit down 
and have some breakfast. You look as if you could hardly keep your eyes open. 
Tea would be better for you than coffee. Here, waiter, bring some tea. Come 
along, my boys. It's no good asking me any questions till after breakfast, for I 
shan't answer them."

The colonel ate little but toast for breakfast himself, but he had ordered for 
the benefit of the two boys a meal such as they had never had before. After the 
apology for breakfast to which they had grown accustomed under Mr Spinder's rule 
the present meal seemed too good to be true. Even their curiosity gave way 
before their determination to make hay while the sun shone. The colonel had no 
need to repeat his injunction against questions. Both Jimmy and Tommy were too 
busy for them.

At last Jimmy leaned back in his chair and said, "Ah!" Tommy, almost 
simultaneously, uttered a contented sigh.

"Finished?" said the colonel, lighting a cheroot.

Jimmy and Tommy nodded.

"And now you want to hear all about it?" Jimmy and Tommy nodded again. There are 
moments when speech is a nuisance.

"Well, I'll tell you. But let's have everything in its proper order. First your 
story, then Corporal Burrows's, then mine. Burrows will be here soon. Meanwhile, 
let's have your yarn, Jimmy."

Jimmy was not feeling in the mood for speech, but he made the necessary effort, 
and told his father, as briefly as he could, the story of his adventures with 
the stone; how he had received it from Sam; how Mr Spinder had taken it; and how 
Marshall and the others had dogged him, thinking it was in his possession.

The colonel listened attentively.

"You seem to have had a lively term", he said. "I suppose", he added carelessly, 
"you realised that there would be a certain amount of danger attached to the 
possession of the stone when you took it over?"

"I was afraid there might be a bit."

"But you took it all the same."

"I thought I might as well", said Jimmy awkwardly.

Colonel Stewart's eyes flashed with approval. "Jimmy", he said quietly, "you're 
a brick." Jimmy blushed to the roots of his hair. He had an overwhelming 
admiration for his father, and these few words of praise from him were more 
welcome than a long eulogy from anyone else. He knew that his father was a man 
who had a high standard, and that he never said very much at any time. That 
simple remark of the colonel's was more than enough to reward him for all he had 
passed through.

"Thanks awfully, father", he muttered, and there was a silence till a knock at 
the door made itself heard and Sam Burrows entered. Sam stood stiffly at 
attention in the presence of the colonel, and looked as if he were prepared to 
go on so standing till the end of the interview; but Colonel Stewart motioned 
him to a seat, gave him one of his cheroots, and ordered beer for him. Sam 
looked slightly disturbed at this unusual conduct on the part of an officer, but 
thawed under the influence of the cheroot.

"I missed you last night, Burrows", said the colonel. "I was due to arrive at 
the inn at about eleven, but I had a couple of punctures."

"It was lucky you did, father", said Jimmy. "We should have been done if you 
hadn't come by just then. Does Sam know about what happened?"

"Yes. I saw him for a few minutes, when I got back. I told him the main facts. 
What I want from you now, Burrows, is the story of your dealings with this 
stone." He produced the blue stone and laid it beside his plate. They all looked 
at it with interest. In itself it was an insignificant object, but it had been 
the cause of many strange happenings.

"Now then, Burrows", said the colonel.

Sam took a pull at his mug of beer and began his story.

"I don't rightly know much about the stone, sir", he said, "not about why it was 
so valuable and that. I can only tell you what 'appened to me along of it, and 
'ow I got it."

"That's what I want to know", said Colonel Stewart. "I'm going to tell you about 
the stone when you've finished your story."

"It was up in Estapore, sir. I was Major Ingram's servant."

"Major Ingram succeeded me as political agent at Estapore when I went home on 
leave."

"Right, sir. I was the major's servant. One morning he sent for me. 'Burrows', 
he says, 'you and me have got to get over to England sharp on a matter of life 
and death and find Colonel Stewart.' 'Right, sir', I says. 'When do we start?' 
'In half an hour', says the major. 'Right, sir', I says. We didn't stop to pack 
and say goodbye to the girls and boys. We just saddled horses and let out as 
fast as we knew for the railway, which, as you know, sir, is a precious long way 
off. The major had told me to keep my eyes skinned and never to let my revolver 
out of my 'and, and 'e'd do the same. And my word! it's lucky we didn't take no 
risks. Night and day, day and night, it was just the same. Somebody was after 
us. Who it was was what we didn't bloomin' well know. It wasn't more than once 
in a blue moon we'd see anybody, but they was sniping us. All the bloomin' time 
they was sniping us. Sometimes with Mausers, for all the world as if it had been 
South Africa and the Boers over again, and sometimes with that bloomin' air-gun 
of theirs, wot laid me out subsequent, as Master Jimmy here knows. We didn't 
stop to argue about it. We galloped on as fast as our 'orses would let us, down 
valleys, across rivers, all the bloomin' fun of the fair. Till at last, about 
one day's easy journey from the rail-head, we get to a Dâk bungalow. And that 
was the 'ottest part of the whole entertainment. Knowin' we was pretty nearly 
'ome, -- 'cos, once we was in the train it 'ud be difficult to corner us -- they 
made their big effort. Tried to rush us, the beggars. A dozen of 'em, there was. 
Either they'd squared the 'ead waiter of the bloomin' Rowton 'Ouse we was in, or 
scared him. Anyway, he wasn't on the premises. We was all alone with them. There 
was one blackie wot seemed to be the leader. He came forward to where we'd 
barricaded ourselves, and he slung a lot of talk at the major in Hindustani. I 
wasn't never good at the language, and I only managed to get hold of a word here 
and there. As far as I could make it out they was talking about this stone. I 
heard the blackie keep on saying, 'Give it up and you shall go safe'. He'd hark 
back to that whenever 'e couldn't think of anything else to say. Well, after 
about 'arf an hour of his 'igh-class patter, he seemed to think the time 'ad 
come for a bit of knockabout business. He ups with his hand and shouts 
something, and at us they all come in a body. It was gettin' pretty dark then, 
or they wouldn't have risked a frontal attack. I loosed off with my revolver and 
bowled over the blackie who'd been doing the talking -- hit him on the ankle. 
Then they all came on, yelling and firing, and matters became a little 'ot. Down 
goes the major with a bullet in the shoulder, and, just as I'm beginning to 
think it's all up, out comes the moon, and it's like daylight. That settled 
their 'ash. They couldn't see me, and I could see them proper. I 'ad three of'em 
down and out before you could say knife, and that conclooded the proceedings. 
They sheered off, taking the boss blackie with them, and didn't come back no 
more. I tied the major's shoulder up and did wot I could for him, and when he 
was a bit easier he calls me, and says, 'Burrows.' 'Sir?' I says. He 'ands me 
the blue ruin. 'Wot's this, sir?' I says. 'Never mind', he says. 'It's valuable. 
You must go on with it alone. I shall 'ave to stay here and mend. Guard that 
stone with your bloomin' life, and 'and it over to Colonel Stewart in England.'"

"By Jingo!" said Tommy. It was the first time he had spoken.

"You did splendidly, Burrows. I'll see that official notice is taken of what you 
have done. And now I'll add my information to yours. This is The Tear of Heaven. 
You'll read about it in any good book on India. It is the sacred jewel of the 
Maharajahs of Estapore. The people of the state believe the stone to be sacred 
and worship it. Without it a Maharajah would have little chance of keeping his 
throne. Now in Estapore things are more than a little complicated. In these 
native states the ruler can name his heir. The succession does not go 
automatically to the eldest son. And that is the trouble in Estapore. The old 
Maharajah has two sons, and the younger is the one he has named as his heir. 
Naturally the elder son is jealous, and when an oriental is jealous things are 
likely to happen. So the Maharajah consulted me. I advised him to send the heir 
to England to be educated, which he did. He went to Eton, and later to 
Cambridge, where he is now. You probably know his name quite well. He got his 
cricket blue last season."

Jimmy and Tommy gave a simultaneous gasp.

"Not the chap who made a century against Oxford?"

The colonel nodded and went on.

"Having got him out of the country he was safe as long as his father lived. If 
he had remained at Estapore he would have been murdered as sure as we are 
sitting here. But now, I suspect, the old Maharajah feels himself nearing the 
end, and is anxious to make preparations that will ensure his heir succeeding to 
the throne. That is where the stone comes in. In a nutshell, the position is 
this. The man who has the stone gets the throne, for the people, whatever their 
political views, would be absolutely swayed by their superstition. They would no 
more dare to oppose the owner of the sacred stone than fly. So the old Maharajah 
gave this stone to Ingram to take to me, the guardian of the heir. If I had been 
at home all would have been simple. I should have handed the stone to the heir, 
and he would have returned with it, strongly guarded, to Estapore, for, you must 
know, it is greatly to the interest of Britain that your friend the cricketer 
should succeed to the throne."

He paused.

"By Jingo!" said Tommy.

"But, father", said Jimmy, "how did Spinder know that the stone meant such a 
lot?"

"Spinder? Spinder? A small man with a hooked nose? Wears glasses?"

"Yes, yes."

"It must be the same. Why, this Mr Spinder is one of the best-informed men on 
Indian mythology in the country. He would have read all about The Tear of Heaven 
in the course of his studies. I suppose he recognised the stone and was holding 
it up to ransom when they took it by force."

"And who was Marshall?"

"And Ferris?" added Tommy.

"Agents of the usurper. Probably broken army men who had got mixed up in shady 
affairs. There are scores of them in the underworld of India. And now", said the 
colonel, "you two boys had better be running off, or you will be late for 
school."

Subsequent revelations proved that the colonel was right. The Indian who had 
perished in the motor smash was the claimant to the throne of Estapore. His 
death made the rest of the affair simple.

To Tommy and Jimmy the rest of the term seemed terribly flat and uninteresting 
after the excitement they had gone through.

THE END.