Even the longest of terms comes at length to an end; and finally that eventful first term which Clive and his friends had spent at Ranleigh drew to a close. The last days were carefully and jubilantly marked off by every junior boy on a calendar of his own making. Boxes were packed, good-byes said, and the school divided for the holidays.

"Shall try to get over to see you chaps in the hols.," declared Masters, on the eve of departure. "Much depends, though, on the Governor. Can't do railway journeys on my allowance. Sickening, isn't it?"

"Rotten," Clive consoled him. "But it's only twenty miles, eh?"

"Barely. Perhaps a bit more. Nothing on a motor," agreed Masters, recollecting their trip to Guildford. "And you've a car, haven't you?"

Bert grinned at that, a satirical grin which made Clive boil with anger. Hugh got very red. He looked closely at Masters to see if he were poking fun at him.

"Not going to have a chap like you pulling our leg, you know," he said haughtily and somewhat threateningly. "What do you mean by a car?"

"Why, a car, of course. What else?" grinned Bert provocatively.

"Quite so," admitted Masters, a little puzzled. He had understood, in fact, from Clive's glowing description of the home-made vehicle of which that hopeful and Hugh were joint inventors and proprietors that it was something really very fine. He never imagined, indeed, and had never been given data on which to imagine, that the said car consisted of odds and ends, that the workshop engine was the propelling force, that the steering gear was of the crudest, that bicycle wheels did service in front, while the rector's tricycle had supplied that all-important part, the back axle. Clive in his descriptions of mechanical matters appertaining to himself was wont to wax very enthusiastic. He clothed his inventions in a covering of gloss, which, to the uneducated eyes of Masters, was quite opaque. That car, then, to this same Masters, had always been imagined as a car, not a collection of odd bits.

"Oh!" exclaimed Hugh at length, seeing that no attempt was being made to make fun of the invention. "Well, Clive, a bit more than twenty miles, eh? How'd she do it?"

"On her head. Easy. But we mightn't be able to get away. Train's easier for Masters. Let his Governor stump up. He ought to. What's a Governor for?"

That was just the very point of view from which Masters beheld his paternal relative. He went off in the train promising to see what persuasion would do. And then Susanne waved an adieu to his friends.

"Au revoir!" he sang out, his head projecting from the carriage window. "Wish you chaps a jolly time. Rawlings won't be interfering with you."

And that, indeed, was the thought of Clive and Bert and Hugh. To be quite truthful, the trio hardly now gave the immaculate Rawlings a thought. For the downfall of that young gentleman had been very sudden and very evident. He was no longer a prefect. His haughty, airy ways were gone. He was a changed individual. As for Trendall, the fat fellow's fat cheeks had seemed less fat of late. He had taken the lesson he had received very much to heart, and as if he realised his former shortcomings, had actually drifted away from Rawlings. They were no longer seen together. Their familiar figures, arm in arm, were no longer observed on the playing fields. Instead, Trendall had moped for a while, and then had begun to draw other friends about him. Instead of a sulky nod, he now even deigned to smile at Susanne and the others, and on this, the very last day of the term, he had made a confession.

"Look here, you chaps," he said, somewhat lamely perhaps, for it wanted no little courage to tackle the matter, "I'm afraid I've been rather a pig."

"Eh? Er—oh—don't mention it," was Masters' instant rejoinder, somewhat characteristic of that young gentleman.

"Shut up!" growled Susanne promptly. "Well, Trendall?" he said encouragingly. "We don't think it."

"Then I do. I've acted like a pig and a bounder, and I'm sorry. I've been an ungrateful brute all along and want to apologise. It's late in the day, of course, but then, there it is, I'm sorry."

He held out a hand, lamely again, as if fearful that it would pass unnoticed. But Susanne seized it instantly. It was like Susanne, the warm-hearted Frenchman.

"Good! Very good!" he said. "We're to be friends from now, eh? I'm glad."

"So am I; it's no use being enemies," declared Bert, taking the proffered hand too.

"Rotten!" reflected Clive. "It'll be something nice to look forward to after the hols."

"Ripping!" cried Masters warmly.

And thus was the quarrel made up, much to the relief of all, and particularly of Trendall. As for the guilt of the latter, together with Rawlings, it had leaked out soon after their denouncement before the assembled school that Old B. had seen both cars at the flying meeting, and hearing of the accident had at once given information.

Home at last! The escapade which had sent Clive and his friends to Ranleigh seemed to have been forgotten. The Rector beamed on his boys.

"Wouldn't have sent you at all if I'd known that young Darrell was going to Ranleigh also," he laughed. "Of course, it meant more mischief. That young Darrell's a terrible fellow. Well, here you are, back again. Let's hope you'll have a fine holiday."

"Vote we go prospecting," said Hugh, two days later, when all were settled down. "There's that place we've gassed about so often."

"Place? Lots of places everywhere, and we do nothing but gas," grumbled Bert. "Which particular place?"

"Merton Tower, of course, booby!" cried Clive. "You knew all along."

"Well, there's a place called Merton Tower. What next?"

"There's an ass known as Bert Seymour," declared his brother in disgust. "As if you weren't there when we were talking."

"Oh, I'm there nearly always," came the rejoinder, for the two brothers often sparred. "But you do the talking, you and Clive. I have to listen. It's no wonder if I forget things. Let's get along. There's a tower, a place, and I'm supposed to know that a place is this Merton Tower."

If looks could have brought punishment, Bert would have been a sad individual. He grinned at the threatening glances of his friends.

"Well?" he demanded again, impatiently.

"We're going to explore it," said Clive, forgetting his anger at the prospect before him. "It's said to be haunted."

Hugh went a trifle pale. Ghost stories and tales of haunted houses always had that effect on him.

"Haunted?" he repeated in awed tones.

"Rot!" reflected Bert rudely. "Stuff and nonsense!"

"There's a mystery about the place," Clive proceeded, ignoring the last remarks. "No one dares to enter. We tried once, Hugh and I."

"And funked, eh? Saw the ghost and bolted."

Bert chuckled loudly. It was true of him that he was as a rule a listener in the councils of these three. Often enough his dreamy eyes told that his thoughts were far away, probably on the cricket field, while the chatter of his friends passed unnoticed. But he had a habit of suddenly giving his attention, of picking out scraps which came to his ears and of ridiculing them. That was the time when Clive and Hugh ground their teeth, flashed indignant glances at him, and even threatened violence. Not that Bert minded. He often chuckled the louder.

"We tried once, Hugh and I," repeated Clive with an effort. It was hard to keep one's temper with such a chap as Bert.

"And bolted, probably at your own shadows," laughed his tormentor.

"And were met by a rough fellow a hundred yards or so outside the tower."

"Yes," agreed Hugh quickly. "He threatened to——"

"Whop you, eh?" teased Bert.

"To kill us if we didn't sling our hooks. That's why we bolted. He'd a knife," said Clive. "This time we go armed. Then, if it comes to a question of knives, why, we're ready."

"Yes," Hugh backed him up. "Ready for anything."

"And we're going to-day."

"Now," said Hugh.

"And expect me to risk it," laughed Bert. "Well, let's go. I'll back there'll be no man to greet us. A few jackdaws perhaps, an odd crow too. But a man with a knife, never!"

The conversation having come to an end amicably, Clive dived in at the back door of his mother's establishment, where with wonderful persuasive powers, often practised it must be confessed, he managed to induce the cook to supply three bundles of provisions.

"It'll save coming back for lunch, you chaps," he told them on his reappearance. "We shall have lots of time to explore. Supposing we found something."

"Buried gold and jewels," cried Hugh, his eyes bulging.

"Might happen," admitted the practical Bert. "There are lots of tales of hidden wealth, and some of it gets discovered. There's a yarn about this very tower."

"Gospel?" asked Clive with a jerk.

"True as possible. Place attacked some time in the old days. Rich old bounder in charge. Saw he hadn't a chance, and so dug a hole somewhere and buried his valuables. Supposing we came upon the spot. They say in the village that attempts have been made. Once a bangle was discovered. Then one of the searchers fell into a well and that put an end to the business. It was supposed to be haunted then, and the tale still holds. Lights have even been seen flitting about during the night."

"And there's a tale of buried treasure?" asked Hugh eagerly.

"Ask anyone in the village."

"What'd we do if we found it?" gasped Clive. "I know—buy a real car."

"Rather!" echoed Hugh.

To which the careful Bert made the rejoinder: "Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. Still, if the tale's true, and I believe it, why shouldn't we find the stuff? Clive'd buy back the place and kick the Rawlings out. That'd be good, better than a car by a long way."

By this time the trio were on the road astride their bicycles, and since the ruined tower for which they aimed was barely six miles distant, it took them but a little while to approach it. Then a halt was called.

"Better feed now and so have less to carry," suggested Hugh. "We'll be all the fitter for searching. By the way, supposing the door's shut. There was a door, wasn't there, Clive?"

"That chap rushed out of one, anyway," came the answer. "Vote we go cautiously. Last time we went to the place across the fields and were seen at once. Supposing we try through the copse at the back. That'll give us cover right up to the doorway."

The suggestion was voted to be a good one, as also that of Hugh. The three hopped off their machines, and selecting a sheltered spot by the highway, sat on a gate and opened their parcels of provisions. The meal ended, they mounted again and rode a mile farther, till they had passed the tower on their right and were a little behind it. Then they dismounted, passed through a gap in a hedge, and plunged into the thick cover afforded by a copse which extended to the tower.

"Safe to leave the bikes here," whispered Bert, who once he was embarked on an adventure put his heart into it. "Let's make for that tree over there. It's the nearest to the gap through which we entered, and also the tallest. Then we shall find them again easily."

"Supposing someone else does?" asked Clive doubtfully.

"And clears off? Mine belongs to the Governor," said Hugh, with recollections of what had happened on a former occasion when he had borrowed the Rector's belongings.

"Not worth talking about," declared Bert emphatically. "No one saw us enter the copse. We made sure of that. Then who's to find the bikes? If it weren't for the tree here we ourselves would have a job when it comes to returning. Here we are; prop 'em against the trunk. Now for the tower."

They thrust their way in Indian file through the copse, treading softly. Not that anyone was likely to overhear them. But then there might be someone, as on that former occasion, and as all there were burning to inspect the place and enter the tower they determined to take all precautions. There is this to be added also. Like many other people burning with enthusiasm, Clive and his friends had an inward consciousness that where others had failed they would succeed in finding the wealth said to have been buried.

Ten minutes later found them at the edge of the wood, within twenty yards of the tower. Brambles and scattered bunches of growth extended right up to the moss-clad walls. As for the tower itself, it was a tall, somewhat dilapidated affair, but better preserved in one quarter, where its battlements thrust upward toward the sky. Directly beneath them was a wide archway, overhung by a gallery far up, through apertures in which warriors of old were wont to drop masses of stone upon the heads of unwanted callers. Bert pointed them out to his comrades.

"Splendid dodge!" he said. "Rather a shock for the fellows down below. Bet they bolted."

"Those who could. A few hundredweights of stone fall with a bang," Clive reminded him. "Not much moving afterwards."

"And look at the narrow slits behind which the chaps with the arrows stood," whispered Hugh, pointing to narrow apertures flanking the door, and appearing at various heights till the battlements were reached. "Wonder what it feels like to have an arrow in you?"

Bert shuddered. "Ugh!" he reflected. "Let's get on. How are we to enter?"

The puzzle was not an easy one to solve, for when they had left their cover and reached the door, the latter was found to be a massive affair and in splendid order. There was a postern in it, firmly padlocked, however. Not even the most agile could have clambered up, and had they been able there was no entry at the top of the door.

"Done," groaned Hugh.

"Let's see," whispered Clive. "Let's creep on round the foot of the tower and see what we come to."

Brambles and ferns obstructed their path. A crumbling wall of stone crossed it, and halting for a moment they saw that it turned abruptly to the right some fifty yards away, and then again came towards the building.

"A courtyard or the garden in the old days," said Bert. "Wonder if that's where that old beggar hid the treasure?"

"Ah!" It was a very shrewd suggestion. Clive stared about him with added interest. "Hardly likely," he ventured after a while. "The old chap was cooped up, isn't that the story?"

"Yes; and hadn't a chance. Knew every farthing would be taken from him."

"And so buried it."

"Don't blame him either," declared Hugh. "But where would a fellow be most likely to bury gold under the circumstances? Not in the garden."

"Why not?" asked Bert curtly.

"Because the enemy were round there without a doubt. Probably sat behind the garden walls comfortably taking pot shots at the defenders. Look there, there's a hole in the tower right opposite. Bet you the cannon smashed the stones in. That old cove couldn't have got to the garden."

This seemed probable enough, and therefore the movement forward was proceeded with. They skirted the moss-covered foot of the tower for some fifty paces, and though all observed that the battlements above them had been much broken, and had disappeared altogether in parts, yet the height of the walls was still so great that climbing was out of the question.

"A flying machine'd be the thing," said Clive. "Looks as if we'd be beaten."

"And have to go back. Don't like that," reflected Bert.

"Only we'd get there in time for lunch," Hugh reminded them. "That's one consolation."

A complete circuit of the tower at length convinced them that entrance was more difficult than they had anticipated, if not utterly impossible. Clive inspected the padlock on the postern and declared it to be unpickable. Hugh gazed aloft as if he expected to discover a dangling ladder waiting conveniently for them. Then Bert made a movement.

"I'm going to get into that tower whatever happens," he said obstinately. "Even if it takes me a week I'm going to get inside."

They would have cheered him if there had not been need for silence. As it was, Clive slapped him approvingly on the back and then asked an all-important question.

"How's it to be done? Creep in through one of those slits for firing arrows?" he asked in bantering tones. "Or dig a way under the wall? That sounds the most likely."

"I'm going to climb by that ivy," was the steady answer. "You chaps can hang about down below to pick up the pieces. There's a window fifty feet up, just beneath the battlements, and the ivy goes right up over the top, and's as thick as my leg. I'm going to chance its bearing."

When his friends came to inspect the place they were bound to admit that the idea was practicable. At the same time it was risky, particularly for Bert. One would have thought that Hugh would have made the attempt with greater chance of success, seeing that he was a gymnast. But Bert was an obstinate fellow. He seldom shone in adventures entered upon by the Old Firm. His comrades had come to look upon him as an excellent follower, an untiring though sometimes absent-minded listener, and as a youth with caustic and satirical wit, who at times roused them to the height of anger. To hear him now obstinately declare his intention of undertaking this difficult and dangerous task was rather staggering.

"Think you'll do it?" asked Clive doubtfully. "Awfully steep, eh?"

"Walls usually are steep," came the grim rejoinder.

"Ivy might be rotten. You ain't much good at climbing," ventured Hugh.

"Because I'm never the one to show off," said Bert quickly. "I'm not much good. That I'll admit. At the same time I'm going up to that window, or be smashed to a jelly down here. Naturally, as I dislike the thought of being smashed into a jelly, I shall hang on for all I'm worth, so, after all, the matter resolves itself into a question of the strength of the ivy. I'm going."

They watched the obstinate and foolhardy fellow commence his attempt, and more than once shivered as he appeared to be falling. Presently he had reached a point high overhead and was still mounting. Indeed, in less than three minutes he had actually gained the window for which he was making and was seen to be entering.

"What one chap does, another can," said Clive. "I'm going to follow."

"And I'll be after you in a winking. There's Bert waving to us. Up you go. Who'd have thought the thing could be so easy?"

But when he came himself to make the attempt Hugh found it none too light a task. True, there were plenty of ivy stems to grip at, and an abundance of niches into which to thrust the feet. But the mass of leaves clinging to their stems thrust one away from the wall. Sometimes, too, one of the stems proved elusive, and broke away from its fellows. But Clive at length reached the safety of the window, and Hugh after him.

"Done it!" ejaculated Bert enthusiastically. "Now for a look round."

"And the treasure," Hugh reminded him. "Those chaps who searched before may not have been able to get into the place. The doors were locked, perhaps."

"I say," interrupted Clive, "wonder where that well is?"

That set them thinking deeply. They stood at the edge of the window looking into the dark interior of the tower, wondering which way to turn, and where they would find security.

"Beastly to fall into a well," reflected Bert. "Jolly dark in here, I think. Wish we'd brought candles."

"Come on," said Hugh. "What's the good of funking? We're here, inside the tower, and may as well make the most of our opportunities."

Very gingerly indeed did they set about the exploration of the interior. Common sense told them that care would be needed. For the results of damp and decay and neglect were everywhere apparent. There were even bushes growing on the stone floor upon which they now stood. A tree of quite respectable proportions had taken root on the roof overhead, and its boughs dangled toward the window by which they had entered.

Beyond, at the far side of the chamber to which their climb had brought them, there was a doorway, of stone like the rest of the building, though one of the blocks which went to make the roof of the arch had tumbled from its position and lay broken in pieces on the floor. Hugh led the way towards it, peered through, only to find that he was looking into another room of vast proportions. Then he made for a narrow opening in the wall to his right, and began at once to ascend the steps constructed, as one could see, in the interior of the wall itself.

"Leads to the roof," he whispered over his shoulder. "Let's have a look round first."

Perhaps they stayed ten minutes on the giddy perch to which their climb took them. They gazed over the broken battlements. They peered down through those apertures through which the defenders had been wont to drop uncomfortable masses of rock on their attackers. They even clambered to the summit of a tiny tower set up in one corner where, without doubt, the sentry in bygone days had taken up his station. It commanded a grand view of the surrounding country, and from it Clive was able to look down upon the domain which his father had owned, and which should have been his one day but for the coming of those strangers. Then they turned from the roof, descended the steep flight of steps built in the wall, and searched for an outlet to other parts of the building. Clive was the first to find it. Led by him the party descended to the next floor, only to discover that here time and decay had done its work more thoroughly. The floor was almost gone. One had to cross to a doorway opposite by walking on the top of the wall which had once supported the edge of the floor. He gained the doorway, devoid of door like all the rest in this building, peered through it into a place which common sense told him must have been the upper part of a chapel, though the roof was gone in one part. And then, of a sudden, he lifted a finger to his lips.

"Voices," he whispered incredulously. "I can hear men talking."

"Certain! Sure!" agreed Bert. "Three different people, I think."

"Down below too," chimed in Hugh, having joined them. "What's it mean?"

After waiting there for perhaps five minutes, the three gently stole across the floor of what had probably been a gallery. Peering cautiously over the broken balustrade of this they looked below them. Then they withdrew their heads suddenly. For four men were seated below about a fire which blazed brightly in the ancient hearth of the old dwelling. Who they were or what they were none could guess; but this was certain: they were disreputable-looking, and one had a face which was familiar, while in the case of a second his head and shoulders were hidden by a portion of the masonry.

"The fellow who chased us away once before," whispered Clive.

"I'm certain," agreed Hugh, jerking his head decisively.

"And—and, do you know, you fellows," said Bert, with great deliberation, "do you know that there have been a series of robberies round these parts lately?"

Hugh shook his head. Clive looked the question he wished to ask.

"Well, there have been," added Bert, "and I wouldn't wonder if those are the beggars."

"Burglars?"

"Yes," Bert answered curtly to Clive's question.

"Then—er don't you think——?" began Hugh. "Don't you think it'd be wise for us to——?"

"I don't," Bert responded abruptly. "I've got in here after a bit of a climb. I'll see this thing to a finish. If they're burglars, all the better. Let's get back to the balustrade and listen."