Chapter Three.

“When shall we three meet again?”

Once more Dr Plummer reserved himself for the afternoon. Perhaps it was the haunting tyranny of the defunct Hector; perhaps it was pique at being baffled, so far, in finding the culprit; whatever may have been the reason, he was in an ominously uncompromising mood when at last he returned to the fateful question.

“Come up, the first boy,” said he abruptly.

The Dux was evidently getting tired of all this business (and no wonder, it seemed to me), and obeyed the summons not in the best of humours.

“Tempest,” said the doctor, “I repeat my question of yesterday. Do you know anything whatever of this matter?”

“No, sir—I said so,” replied the Dux, in a clear voice.

Dr Plummer scowled somewhat at this tart reply. He rather liked his head boy, and was not prepared to find him, of all others, recalcitrant.

“I do not ask what you said, sir; I ask what you say,” said he.

“I said No. I’m not a liar,” replied the Dux rather fiercely.

The doctor received this rather more meekly than most of us expected, and proceeded with his next question.

“Have you the slightest reason to suspect any one of having done it, or of knowing anything about it?”

Tempest remained silent, with flushed and angry face.

“Do you hear me, sir?” asked the doctor, now thoroughly roused.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why don’t you answer at once?”

“I would not answer the question if I could,” said the Dux defiantly.

Dr Plummer stared at the boy as if he had been a wild beast.

“How dare you say such a thing to me?” he demanded. “You heard my question. Have you the slightest grounds for suspecting any one?”

The Dux bit his lips and remained silent.

“Do you hear, Tempest?”

No reply.

“Go to your seat, sir. I will speak to you presently.”

Tempest obeyed, with head erect and a red spot on either cheek.

We gazed at him in amazement. We had always given him credit for hardihood, but we had never believed him capable of mutiny of this kind; especially—

“Seems to me,” whispered Dicky, “he might as well tell right away. He’ll get expelled either way. Anyhow—”

“Brown, come forward.”

Dicky started as if he had been detected in the act of holding a pistol to Hector’s head. He was not in the least prepared to be summoned thus out of his turn; and morally he went to pieces as he rose to obey.

“Mum’s the word!” whispered I, encouragingly, as he started for the front.

The doctor was on the alert with a vengeance to-day!

“Jones, come forward too,” said he.

It was my turn to jump now.

“Now, sir, what was that you said to Brown just now?”

My back went up instinctively at his tone.

“I said, ‘Mum’s the word,’” I replied as doggedly as I could.

The doctor changed colour. This was getting serious. He had no precedents for such a case at Dangerfield, and for a moment was evidently at a loss how to proceed.

Perhaps he regretted for once in a way the policy of believing a boy guilty till he can prove himself innocent. Whether he did or no, it was too late to surrender it now.

“Go to your seat, Jones; I shall deal with you presently.”

I marched off, with all the blood of the Joneses tingling in my veins. The ingenuous Dicky was left to his ordeal single-handed.

“Now, Brown,” said the doctor, “you have heard the question, to which I mean to have an answer—and I caution you before I repeat it, to be careful—I shall know what interpretation to put on any attempt to prevaricate. Tell me, Brown, do you know anything at all of this matter, or have you grounds for suspecting any one of being concerned in it?”

Dicky shut his mouth with a snap, and looked as if he wished devoutly some one could turn a key on it and keep it so.

“Speak, sir,” said the doctor, coming down from his desk.

By one of those strange freaks of perversity which are so hard to account for, Dicky’s spirits went up higher every moment, and when the doctor stood over him and repeated the question a third time, he almost, I believe, enjoyed himself. He had never imagined courage was so easy.

To his surprise Dr Plummer did not strike, but returned quietly to his desk.

“Brown,” said he, “you may go. Tell the housekeeper to pack your box in time for the early train to-morrow.”

“What!” exclaimed poor old Dick, fairly electrified into speech; “am I expelled, sir?”

“You will be unless you speak at once. I give you a last chance.”

Dicky looked up at the doctor, then down at the floor. I knew the struggle in his mind: the thought of his people at home, of the disgrace of being expelled, of the suspicions he would leave behind. Then I could see him steal a doubtful glance at the Dux and at me, and then pass his eye along the rows of faces eagerly waiting for his decision.

Then he held up his head, and I knew dear old Dicky was as sound as a bell. No one had the right to make him turn sneak—and no one should do it! “I’ll go and pack,” said he quietly, and turned to the door.

Neither the Dux nor I saw the last of poor Dicky Brown at Dangerfield. We were otherwise engaged when he departed home in a four-wheeled cab in charge of Mr Ramsbottom that evening. We were, in point of fact, in durance vile ourselves, with every prospect of speedily requiring the services of two more four-wheeled cabmen on our own accounts.

The Dux’s fury at Dicky’s summary expulsion had been quite a surprise even to me.

“It’s a shame,” he had shouted as the door closed; “a caddish shame!”

“Who said that?” asked Dr Plummer.

“I did. I say it’s a caddish shame!”

“So do I!” yelled I at the top of my voice, and quite carried away by the occasion.

This was getting very embarrassing for Plummer. Perhaps he behaved in the best way open to him under the circumstances. He ignored us both, and proceeded to call up Faulkner to answer his precious questions.

Much depended on Faulkner then. If he had refused to answer, as the Dux had done, and Brown had done, and others were prepared to do, Plummer might have seen that his case was hopeless, and have given it up. Faulkner was nothing like such a favourite with the head master as Tempest, nor had he such a following among the boys. Still, he led his party, and if he chose now to leave us in the lurch Plummer was saved and we were lost.

“I know nothing of the matter, sir,” said Faulkner, “and I have no reason at all to suspect any one.”

It sounded a simple answer, but it was rank treason. For it was as good as saying Plummer had a right to ask these questions, and that he, Faulkner, would inform if he only knew who the culprit was.

After that it was evident the game, the Dux’s game and mine, was up. Boy after boy was called up and interrogated, and one by one they followed Faulkner in his submission. A few—like Graham junior—attempted to hold out, but broke down under pressure. A few feebly compromised by explaining that had they known the culprit they would not have answered; but as they did not they saw no reason for not saying so.

“It comes to this, then,” said the doctor: “that out of the entire school, three boys, and three only, are silent. The only conclusion I can draw from their conduct is that they dare not deny that they know something of this shameful outrage. Tempest, you are the head boy. I have always looked on you as a credit to the school, and a good