guess it will be hotter before long,” said some one. “Plummer looks as if he means to have it out this afternoon.”

“I hope he won’t go asking any awkward questions,” said Dicky, who had by this time joined us.

“What’s the odds, if you didn’t do it?” demanded the Dux.

“Look out,” said Faulkner; “here he comes. He’s beckoning us in.”

“Now we’re in for it!” thought we all.

Plummer evidently meant business this time. The melancholy ceremony at which he had just assisted had kindled the fires within him, and he sat at his desk glowering as each boy dropped into his place, with the air of a wolf selecting his victim.

As I encountered that awful eye, I found myself secretly wondering whether by any chance I might have shot the dog in a fit of absence of mind. Brown, I think, was troubled by a similar misgiving. Some of the seniors evidently resented the way in which the head master glared at them, and tried to glare back. Faulkner assumed an air of real affliction, presumably for the departed. Tempest, on the other hand, drummed his fingers indifferently on the desk, and looked more than usually bored by the whole business.

“Now, boys,” began Plummer, in the short sharp tones he used to affect when he was wont to administer justice; “about Hector.”

Ah! that fatal name again! It administered a nervous shock all round, and the dead silence which ensued showed that every boy present was alive to the critical nature of the situation.

“I have already told you what has occurred, and have asked if any one here knows anything about the matter,” said the doctor. “I repeat the question. If any of you know anything, let there be no hesitation in speaking up.”

No reply. Boys looked straight in front of them and held their breaths.

“Very well,” said the doctor, his voice becoming harder and sterner, “I am to understand no boy here is able to throw any light on the mystery. Is that so?”

If silence gives consent, no question was ever more emphatically answered in the affirmative.

“I hoped it would be unnecessary to ask the question twice,” said Dr Plummer. “I decline to accept silence as an answer. Let the head boy come forward.”

Tempest left his place and advanced to the desk.

“Tempest, do you know anything of this matter?”

“No, sir,” said Tempest.

I felt the skin on the top of my head grow tight, and my breath catch in my throat. Never had I known the Dux to tell a he to any one. What was I to do when my turn came?

“Go to your seat. The next boy come forward.”

Parkin obeyed, and answered the question with a clear negative.

“The next boy.”

The next boy was Faulkner, who I suspected would fain have been able to say he knew anything. But for once he was at fault, and had to reply with an apologetic “No.”

In due time it was Dicky’s turn.

“Do you know anything of the matter, Brown?”

“No, sir,” said Brown, almost noisily.

The doctor looked at him keenly, and then ordered him to his place.

“Jones, come forward.”

I felt the blood fly out of my cheeks and my heart jump to my mouth as I obeyed. As I passed up the room I glanced nervously at the Dux where he sat listlessly regarding the scene. But he took no notice of me.

“Jones,” said the doctor, “do you known anything of this matter?”

The words would not come; and I glanced around again for succour.

“Turn your face to me, sir,” thundered the doctor, “and answer my question.”

What could I say? Where could I look? The question was repeated once more.

“I only know I fancy I heard a shot in the night.” I stammered at last.

A flutter of interest went round the room. Failing all other clues it evidently seemed to be something to most of those present to elicit even this.

“Why did you not say so when you were asked this morning?”

No answer.

“Do you hear me, sir?”

“Please, sir, I couldn’t be sure I had not been dreaming.”

“When did you hear this sound?”

“I don’t know what time, sir; I had been asleep.”

“Was it light or dark?”

“Dark.”

“Is that all you heard?”

“I thought I heard a yell, too.”

“Did you get up or wake any of the others?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you do nothing at all?”

“I was frightened, sir, and hid under the clothes.”

“Is that all?”

Wasn’t it about enough? I thought.

“Yes, sir.”

I staggered back to my seat like a wounded man after a fray. I knew I had lost caste with the fellows; I had seriously compromised myself with the head master. At least, I told myself, I had escaped the desperate fate of saying anything against the Dux. For the sake of that, I could afford to put up with the other two consequences.

The grand inquest came to an end. One candid youth admitted that all he knew of the matter was that he was very glad Hector was dead, and for this impious irrelevance he was ordered to write an appalling imposition and forfeit several half-holidays. But that, for the time being, was the worst thunderbolt that fell from the doctor’s armoury.

The Dux was kindly waiting for me outside. If he was grateful to me he concealed his feelings wonderfully; for he seized me by the coat collar and invited me to step with him to a quiet retreat where he administered the soundest thrashing I had had that term without interruption.

Explanation, I knew, would be of no avail. Tempest made a point of always postponing an explanation till after the deed was done.

When at length I gathered myself together, and inquired as pleasantly as I could to what special circumstances I was indebted for this painful incident, he replied—

“For being an idiot and a sneak. Get away, or I’ll kick you.”

Brown, whom I presently encountered, put the matter rather more precisely.

“Well,” said he, “you told about as much as you could. How sorry you must have been not to tell more!”

“Don’t, Dicky;” said I; “I—I—”

“You’re almost as big an ass as you look,” said Dicky, “and that’s saying something. Come and see my experiment.”

I was not in a scientific mood, but anything was welcome to change the subject. So I took Dicky’s arm and went.

Dicky was a queer boy. He was of an inventive turn of mind, and given up to science. His experiments rarely succeeded, and when they did they almost invariably landed him in disgrace. Still he persevered and hoped some day to make a hit.

He explained to me, as we walked down the garden, that he had lately been taking an interest in the pond.

It was all I could do to appear only moderately interested in this announcement. Had not I an interest in the pond too? What followed was even more uncomfortable.

“You know Lesseps and all those chaps?” said he.

“He left before I came, I think,” said I.

Dicky laughed unfeelingly.

“I mean the chap who cut the Suez Canal,” said he.

“Oh! I beg your pardon,” said I. “No, I don’t know him.”

“Well, I’ve been having a go in at the same kind of job,” continued Dicky. “You know what a drop there is at the end of the pond, where you saw me yesterday, in the shrubbery? Well, it struck me it wouldn’t take much engineering to empty it.”

“What!” I exclaimed, “empty the pond! You’ll get in an awful row, Dicky. Don’t think of it.”

“Think—it’s done, I tell you,” said the man of science. “That was what I was at when you saw me.”

“I thought you were digging up primroses.”

“Digging up grandmothers! I was letting in a pipe to drain it. It was a rare job to shove it in from the bottom corner of the pond through the bank into the shrubbery. But I managed it. It was coming through like one o’clock when I left.