Time waits for no one, and that statement was as true of Ranleigh boys as of any others. Clive Darrell, in a mere twinkling as it seemed, had become quite an old stager at the school. Since that momentous match when Sturton had led his eleven to victory, thereby stimulating Clive to declare the most ambitious of sentiments, two and a half years had slipped by, two and half years which had seen great changes at Ranleigh.

"But always the Old Firm hangs on and exists," reflected Bert, as he sat on the table in Upper Sixth and stared into the fire. "I remember the term when Harvey left."

"One of the best," interjected Susanne, now no longer a gawky, ill-dressed youth, given to smoking cigarettes on every occasion, but spick-and-span, as immaculate as Rawlings, very English in appearance, and looking quite twenty-one years of age, for the great Susanne sported a moustache, and could, had he wished it, as he often declared, have grown a beard even.

"Better than any of the masters, too," he had said. "Awful bore, don't you know, you fellows. A chap has to shave regularly now every day. That means getting up half an hour earlier——"

"Draw it mild," Hugh had cried. "Half an hour. That's enough for a dozen shaves."

Whereat Susanne had crushed his friend with a withering glance and an air of superiority which made Hugh blush.

"What do you know of shaving?" he had asked satirically, closely inspecting his friend's smooth chin. "Not much. You're a baby."

But the subject under discussion was the change which had come to Ranleigh. Harvey had swayed the destinies of the school. Then Sturton had come upon the scene with his new ideas of exercise for all every day. Clive remembered the success of that innovation. Then Lawton, an Upper Sixth fellow, had followed, and held the post for more than a year. Later Franklin had ascended to the giddy height to which Clive ventured to aim. As to the Old Firm, as Bert had said, it still clung tenaciously together.

"As big friends as ever," reflected Susanne. "That's something. Of course, there have been rows, eh?"

"Some. That one between Masters and Clive was a bad un. Remember it?"

Susanne did. It was back in a past age. It had taken place long ago. But in those days it had appeared excessively severe, and had threatened the break-up of the partnership. And the cause was really so very simple.

"All about a cricket ball," laughed Bert. "Masters had lost one."

"Yes, Masters always does lose something," agreed Susanne. "Of course, he discovered the exact article in Clive's locker."

"Of course! And claimed it."

"Refused all explanations. Almost went to the extreme of accusing Clive of theft. In the end said he must have put the ball there himself in mistake. They fought it out."

That was where the seriousness of the thing came in. And yet, looking back upon the event, there was little doubt that the tussle which had resulted cleared the air wonderfully. For Clive and Masters went at one another with their fists, and having struggled through half a dozen rounds were declared to have made a drawn battle of it. Of course they shook hands. In fact, within ten minutes of the finish of the contest they were chatting in the old amicable manner and demolishing a cake which had arrived at the school for one of them that very morning.

"And the funny thing about it all was that the cricket ball—the one Masters had lost—was discovered tucked away in a corner of his own locker, where, no doubt, he himself had placed it," laughed Susanne. "That's Masters all over. Flares out in an instant. Licks the dust afterwards when he knows he's wrong, and makes the most ample apologies. By the way, Bert, I wish that fellow Rawlings would take himself off. He spoils our happy family here. No one wants him, and precious few trust him. Besides, he's too old to be at the school any longer. He ought to have gone up to the 'Varsity long ago."

It may be said with truth and fairness that Susanne was by no means prejudiced. He didn't like Rawlings, and never had done so. More than that, Rawlings was decidedly unpopular, and had been so from the day when the ranks of the Old Firm had been recruited. Had he been different, more friendly and less underhanded, he would most certainly have been captain of the school. As it was the Sixth voted en masse against him, a fact which Rawlings did not fail to perceive. It made him furious. He hated his fellow prefects, detested the masters, and was stupidly and outrageously jealous of them all. And the presence of this unpopular fellow, older than any of the others in Upper Sixth, was a damper to their enjoyment. He was a damper elsewhere. In East he was head prefect, and a martinet. He seemed to air there all the high-handed manners he loved so much, and which were forbidden in his class-room. Why he remained on at the school was a problem which none could solve. But there he was, barred by the Sixth, detested by the juniors in his dormitory, and disliked by not a few of the masters.

Clive, too, had ascended to the Upper Sixth. It may be said, indeed, that his rise had been meteoric. Of a sudden he had taken most seriously to work, had developed an acuteness hitherto unsuspected, and much to the delight of Old B., who coached him, had rushed his way up the school till now he was the youngest fellow in his form. A prefect also, he was senior in his old dormitory, reigning where Sturton had once held sway.

Masters had managed to crawl to the Lower Sixth, and was noted in the school more for games than for lessons. His sturdy, genial figure attracted the admiring eye of many a junior as he tramped the corridor, and when we admit that he was still as much a boy as ever, we do no harm to his reputation. Trendall, now an excellent fellow, was with Susanne and Bert in the Upper Sixth, while Hugh, now Ranleigh's chief exponent of gymnastics, was in the Upper Fifth.

It seemed, in fact, that nothing more could be wanted by the Old Firm and their fellows at Ranleigh to complete their happiness, and that something approaching an earthquake would be needed to upset their equanimity. However, it is the unexpected which always happens, and one night Ranleigh was stirred to the very depths of its foundations.

"Darrell—I say, Darrell," whispered a tremulous voice somewhere near the hour of midnight, while a ghost-like figure bent over him. "Darrell, please, are you awake?"

Clive wasn't. He stirred uneasily at the touch of this junior's hand, for Parfit, the boy who had stolen across from his bed to wake him, was hardly eleven years of age. Naturally timid at the thought of disturbing so august a person as the head prefect of his dormitory, Parfit quaked as Clive rolled over on to his other side and snored. Then, as if forced on by desperation, the lad shook him with a heavy hand.

"Darrell, please," he called. "I—I——"

"Hullo!" Clive sat up, gaping and rubbing his eyes. "Bell gone! Eh? Then what the dickens——! Why, it's Parfit."

"Please, Darrell," said the youth, "I'm awfully sorry for waking you, but——"

"You'll need your sorrow, young un," came the none too friendly interruption, for Clive, like others, objected to be roused in the middle of the night without due reason. Not that he was hard with his juniors. Indeed, he was always jovial with them.

"Well, what is it?" he asked, hearing the boy's teeth chattering, and at once speaking to him kindly. "Been scared, eh? Been dreaming something that's disturbed you? Well, cut along, young un, you'll be all right."

But Parfit had no intention of cutting. "It's not dreaming, Darrell," he said eagerly. "It's fire."

"Fire!"

"Yes, I—I think. I'm next to the door, and I feel sure I can smell smoke. Please, Darrell, I hope you won't be angry, but I felt bound to come and wake you."

Clive was out of his bed like a shot, and getting into his dressing-gown and slippers before Parfit could believe it.

"You get back to bed, young un. I'll go and see. And don't talk of being sorry. If you smelled smoke, or thought you did, why, of course, the thing to do was to wake me. I'd have licked you if it had been a piece of foolery. But, right or wrong, you can expect only thanks for what you've done. So cut, there's a sensible fellow. I'll hop downstairs and see whether there's anything in it."

He slipped down the length of the dormitory while Parfit was thanking him, and swiftly pulled the door open.

"Yes, smoke," he told himself, sniffing. "And thick. I can see it coming up the stairway."

There was a gas jet on the stairs, kept burning all night, and sure enough, by the light it gave, smoke could be seen filtering up the stairs and whirling in thin wisps over the banisters. Clive shut the door behind him, gathered his dressing-gown about his body, and ran downstairs.

"I can hear crackling," he told himself, stopping for a second or more to listen. "That means a fire. George! This is serious!"

It was more, as he discovered when he reached the foot of the stairs. For there the smoke was dense and suffocating. It was swirling from the opposite side of the wide corridor passing between the two staircases leading to the South Dormitories, while beneath the one giving access to Two and Three South the flash of flames could be seen through the dense haze.

"A fire under the stairs. Spreading fast, by the look of it," Clive thought. "It'll reach the gallery above, perhaps, and then the fellows in South Dormitories would be cut off and would have to clear out through the door to West landing. What ought a fellow to do?"

His inclination was to go tearing off up the stairs to his own dormitory, there to awaken the boys, while he rapped hard at the door of the room leading out of One South, occupied by Mr. Branson. And then he thought of the excitement which would result once the alarm was sounded.

"Make sure that it's a bad thing first of all," he said. "I'm going to squint in through that door and see what's happening."

His eyes were shedding streams of tears by now, for the pungent smoke attacked them remorselessly. Then, too, he was choking violently. To cross the wide corridor below and open the door beneath the far stairway, behind which the fire lay without a doubt, meant encountering denser and still more choking fumes. But Clive did not think of the discomfort or of the danger of the act. He thought of the welfare of Ranleigh, of the commotion there would be were he to give an alarm, and of the fact that action on the part of himself and others of the prefects in South Dormitories might put an end to the fire, and that without disturbing others. Wrapping the tail of his dressing-gown round his mouth, therefore, he darted to the bottom of the stairs and raced across the corridor, diving into a swirling cloud of choking vapour through which he could not see. But the reflection of the flames within the door he aimed for caught his eye. He felt for the handle and pushed the door open. Instantly flames blazed out at him, while hot smoke poured into his face, enveloped him completely, and went swirling up to the roof. There was a perfect furnace beneath those stairs. He could hear the woodwork all around crackling. It was clear that the conflagration was of a serious nature and most threatening. Instantly he banged the hot door to, and raced across for his own stairway. And in the short time it took him to ascend he had made up his mind how to act.

"Wake Susanne first. Let him do the same for the other prefects. Then take towels, blankets, and water. If the thing can't be beaten out, we'll wake Mr. Branson, and turn every fellow out of the dormitories. Here goes for Susanne."

But a violent fit of coughing doubled him up at the top of the stairs, and for a while he was helpless. "Please, Darrell," he heard in the midst of the attack, while Parfit's voice came feebly to him, "is—is it smoke? Is there a fire?"

Clive did not deign to answer. He shook off the fit of coughing with an effort and raced into Two South. He knew exactly where Susanne slept, and soon had that worthy along with him. In fact, in less than two minutes every prefect in South was mustered. Taking their bath towels with them and bearing cans of water they dashed down the stairs, while Clive himself reached for the extinguisher kept on every landing.

"We'll give it a trial," he said to Susanne. "If we don't make any sort of effect on the fire we'll sound an alarm, collect all prefects, and man the hoses. In fact, as only three or four of us can work below, I'll get Slater and Gregory to mount the nearest there is. Come on, you fellows."

A word to the two junior prefects, Slater and Gregory, sent them off post-haste to the nearest stand-pipe, near which a hose was coiled, while Clive led the way down the stairs to the site of the fire.

"Tie your towels round your faces," he gasped, for the smoke was even more irritating now, and was denser even. "Now, we've half a dozen cans of water between us. I'll open the door. Let my extinguisher play on the flames for a while, and then finish the business with water."

But though an extinguisher may be an excellent invention, and will extinguish a fire swiftly, its successful action depends entirely on one point. The contents must be delivered on the fire direct, and to that end the one who grips it must approach sufficiently close to the flames. Here, as it happened, that was almost impossible. For when the staircase door was thrown open the improvised brigade was swept back by an appalling gush of flame and smoke. Clive ducked his head, turned his face away, and set the extinguisher going. But the effect was nil, for the actual fire was situated round the angle of the door. Clive forced his way nearer till he was within two feet of the entrance, and endeavoured to direct the jet round the corner. And then Susanne dragged him backward.

"THE IMPROVISED BRIGADE WAS SWEPT BACK BY AN APPALLING GUSH OF FLAME AND SMOKE."

"You can't do it," he said peremptorily. "Your clothes are on fire already. Here, you chaps, help to beat them out."

The effort to say as much set him coughing violently. But the words were heard distinctly, and Martin and Fellows, two of the helpers, at once attacked the flames which had taken hold of Clive's dressing-gown. A moment later the whole party was forced into the outer corridor by an even fiercer blast of flame, accompanied by pungent smoke.

They gasped for breath, and then looked desperately at one another.

"We must rouse the school," declared Clive.

"Certain," came from Susanne.

"Then let's do it. I'll take South. Susanne, will you go to North? Martin can take East and Fellows West. Don't shout. Wake the chaps quietly. I'm going to shut that door first, though, and see what Gregory is doing."

There was no time for discussion, for it was clear that they had a serious fire to contend with. And though Ranleigh, like every other well-managed school, where thought is taken for such a happening, was equipped with extinguishers and hoses, while the boys were given fire drill at regular intervals, it looked as if this outbreak might prove too serious for them. Clive looked grave when he thought of what might happen.

"Couldn't expect much help from the village," he told himself. "The whole place would be on fire before they could possibly get here. We've got to fight this thing out ourselves. Ah, there's Gregory. Got it fixed?" he asked, as that youth came panting through the smoke towards him.

"Nearly," came the answer. "We shall want another length of hose. I'm going for the one at the end of the corridor. We'll have it ready in two minutes."

"Then I'll get up to the fellows in South. Look here, Gregory, I'm going to shut that door now. When you've got the hose going, break the place open and play direct on the flames."

He dived through the smoke, his towel pulled up to his eyes, and, led by the red glare of the flames, was soon near the door. But the heat was now overpowering. Though Clive tried twice, he could not get near that handle, while at the end of the second attempt his gown was again in flames and he had to beat hard with his hands to extinguish them. Meanwhile, the peace and tranquillity of Ranleigh's night was swiftly being disturbed. A hum was coming from the dormitories. Clive found One South in a condition of animation.

"Turn out, you fellows," he said, as if this was the most natural thing to expect them to do, and as if it were the usual time for rising. "Stay here till I give you permission to move. I'm going into the other South Dormitories. I shall want Peart and Godfrey and Offord when I get back. You other fellows had better make a bundle of your things. There's a fire below. I'll kick the first fellow who makes a shindy."

One by one he awoke the dormitories, commanding the boys in Two and Three South to gather their belongings at once and pass out through Four South. By the time he reached his own dormitory again every boy was ready, while those he had called for were standing in the gloom by the door.

"You others skip," said Clive, still in his ordinary tones. "Peart, go along to the Head's house and ring till he answers. Tell him what's happening. Godfrey, you get off to the Matron, and knock at her door. Tell her not to be alarmed, but merely to make ready and warn the maids. Offord, your job is to rouse the butler and the beakies, and tell old Sant to cut the gas off at the meter. There, off you bundle."

He seemed to have been giving directions for an age, whereas from the commencement, when Parfit had wakened him, till this moment, but very few minutes had elapsed. But those few minutes had made all the difference to the conflagration. When Clive dashed out of the dormitory, having wakened Mr. Branson, and descended the stairs, the opposite staircase was blazing, the flames sweeping right up to the roof of the corridor. The crackle of flames could now be distinctly heard, mingled with a curious sizzling. In the far background, through the doors leading to the quad, as a rule kept firmly fastened, he imagined he could make out a group. Then thick volumes of smoke hid everything. He felt someone step down beside him, and then heard Mr. Branson speak.

"It's serious," he said. "You've called the Head?"

"Everyone, sir," said Clive. "Gregory's out there, I think, with one of the hoses. Fancy we could do something from here. I'll see."

Unceremonious at such a time, he bolted up the stairs again and so to the West landing. Five minutes later he and Susanne held the nozzle of a second hose, and from the point of vantage which the stairs gave them poured a torrent of water into the blazing mass on the opposite side of the corridor.

Meanwhile, it may be imagined that Ranleigh was in a condition of disturbance, though thanks to the example which Clive had set in the first place, and which Susanne and the others had so naturally copied, there was no panic, nor even shouting. Perhaps five minutes after the first alarm, when it had become obvious that the whole school must be roused, every Ranleigh boy was assembled in the quadrangle, where, pressing as close as possible, they watched Gregory and his friends directing water upon the flames. They would have hampered the workers even had not Masters and Trendall promptly taken a grip of the situation.

"Look here, you fellows," cried the former, "you'll all get back to this line here. That'll give the brigade every chance to do their work. Trendall, send along anyone who breaks the rule. I'll deal with 'em."

There was something sinister in the speech, and hearing his voice Ranleigh obeyed on the instant. For Masters was accustomed to speak in jovial tones. With him an order came always as a request, such as, "Oh, I say, Parker, just cut along like a good chap and bring down my cricket togs," or, "You fellows here in Middle, there's a beastly noise. Go on with your prep., do."

And his requests were obeyed with promptness as a general rule. If not, on rare occasions, Masters could become very insistent. But he was seldom threatening, and hearing the threat in his voice now small boys slunk back to the quad steps and, with bulging eyes, watched the fire over the heads of their seniors. Fellows in the Upper School shuffled backwards, eyeing Masters askance, while even those in Upper Fifth, fellows soon to be prefects and perhaps a trifle jealous of the Sixth and of those in authority, quelled their inclination to push to the front.

At this moment the familiar figure of the Head arrived on the scene.

"Who's directing matters?" he asked of Mr. Branson, who stood beside the group of boys plying their hose from the entrance to the quad.

"Well, I am partly, and Darrell is mostly," came the answer. "Of course, I haven't had time yet to learn how the thing was discovered. But when I was awakened Darrell had made all arrangements. He and those with him, FeofÉ and others, have behaved splendidly. There hasn't been a sign of panic. Boys in South have cleared out with all their belongings."

"Good. Where is he? What other directions has he given?" asked the Head.

A gust of wind at that moment went swirling through the centre corridor past the fire, sucking long tongues of flame along with it and carrying them toward the chapel. But it also had the effect of sweeping the smoke away, enabling those in the quad to see their comrades grouped on the staircase opposite the one beneath which the fire raged. There they were, sheltering behind the blistering woodwork which formed the closed banisters, the heads of three of them, wrapped in towels saturated with water, just appearing above the rail. A nozzle between two of the heads gripped by a pair of hands sent a jet of water sizzling across the corridor into the centre of the fire. The Head thought he could recognise in one of those towelled faces the features of Clive Darrell.

"Can I get through?" he asked, stepping toward the entrance of the corridor.

"Too hot, sir," Mr. Branson told him. "You must go round by West. I'll stay here and direct matters. I think we are getting the better of the flames."

At once the Head of Ranleigh turned and hurried away, the boys collected in the quad making way for him. And we must state it now with no small degree of pride that he set as fine an example as had any of the prefects.

"Might easily have been a panic, with all the boys rushing here and there shouting and shrieking," he told himself. "Everything is wonderfully orderly. I must back these boys up. Coolness is what is wanted. But I must also learn what steps Darrell and his helpers have taken in other directions. That's essential. One has to consider what to do supposing the flames beat us."

It was therefore, in spite of his hurry, with measured tread and an appearance of unconcern that Ranleigh's Head stalked through the assembled boys and reached West landing. A minute later he was amongst the prefects on the South staircase, watching that descending jet of water pouring into the flames.

"Which is Darrell?" he asked coolly, and at the sound of his voice one of the group turned. Clive, for he it was, tore the towel from his face at once and smiled at the master.

"Getting it down, sir," he said.

"Ah! You could leave for a moment? The smoke here makes one cough."

Clive handed the nozzle to his friends and went up the stairs two at a time. At the top the two stopped to discuss matters.

"Now, tell me how the thing was discovered and what steps you have taken to warn people," asked the Head.

"Parfit smelled smoke," said Clive hurriedly, anxious to get back to his task. "I came down and found the fire. Then I turned Susanne—er—FeofÉ, you know, sir."

"Yes, I know as well as anyone," smiled the Head.

"I turned him and all the South prefects out. We tried to stop the fire with an extinguisher and cans of water. But the thing had got too firm a hold. It was really serious. Then we decided to call up the school and man the hoses. Gregory and Martin did the last. I sent prefects round to the various dormitories. Fellows from One South were told to call you, the Matron and the butler and his men. Er—that's all, I think."

"All? Then you haven't——?"

"Oh, I forgot," said Clive hurriedly. "Of course, I told 'em to turn off the gas, so as to save an explosion, and I sent for the butler. One of the men got on to his bicycle at once and went off to call the village brigade. But we'll be able to do without them, sir. Can I return now, sir?"

He was eager to get back, and the Head dismissed him with a hearty shake of the hand.

"You've done splendidly, Darrell," he said. "There really was no need to call me. I shan't interfere. I shall watch, and if you get the fire down, it will be all of your own doing. I'm proud to have such prefects."

Well might he be proud too. The seeds which Harvey and Sturton had sown two and more years ago were now bearing fruit with a vengeance. Perhaps at no previous period had Ranleigh been blessed with such a set of prefects, and here was proof of it. The orderliness of the school under trying circumstances was extraordinary. The coolness of those who had taken the fire in hand, and their measures to warn all and sundry, were really remarkable. No wonder the Head was filled with a glow of pride. No wonder Ranleigh boys went mad with delight as they saw the flames extinguished. And then how they cheered the fellows who had been conducting the fight!

The early morning found the Hall filled to overflowing. Masters were there in full strength. Ranleigh was present without exception, some of the smaller boys yawning widely. Even the village fire brigade had been invited to partake of refreshments. And then they slowly filed off to their beds, a whole holiday with late breakfast having been proclaimed from the dais. But that holiday was one only in name for Clive and Susanne and a few others. They collected in the Upper Sixth when the school was almost empty, and Susanne shut the door and turned the key.

"Now, Clive," he said, "you tell the fellows."

At once eager glances were cast at our hero. Masters sat up abruptly. Bert stood looking almost fiercely at his old friend, while Trendall was obviously puzzled. Clive went to the fireplace, leaned against it, and slowly glanced at each of his comrades in succession.

"It's a beastly thing to have to say," he began, somewhat awkwardly. "But I'm bound to tell you. That fire was started on purpose. Someone wanted to burn the school down. I'm positive."

"What! Positive! Surely there's a mistake," gasped Bert.

"None. Susanne will tell you. I'm going to show the proofs to everyone present, but only on a pledge of secrecy. You give it?"

They nodded at him one by one.

"You can trust us to a man," said Masters.

"Then come. Ourselves and the village sergeant are the only people aware of the business."

"And, of course, the beggar who carried out the job," said Susanne bitterly.

Never before perhaps had a group of the school seniors looked so serious. Jones Quartus, happening to meet them as they issued from the Sixth and passed along the corridor, positively shrank away from them. The group of curious youngsters gathered near the site of the fire shuffled backwards.

"Here, cut!" commanded Masters abruptly, and at the word they bolted, as if only too eager to escape from the presence of their seniors. Then Clive led the way. When he and his friends returned to the Sixth some five minutes later, accompanied by the police sergeant, not the smallest doubt existed in their minds that some miscreant had successfully attempted arson, and that the fire had been started for some sinister reason.

"We've got to get to the bottom of the mystery," said Clive.

"Yes," agreed Susanne. "But how? That's the difficulty."

It was, in fact, an absolute necessity, for the two weeks which followed saw no fewer than three other outbreaks of fire on the school premises, all, however, happily extinguished after causing little damage. It was no wonder, then, that the prefects of Ranleigh set themselves seriously to work to discover the incendiary.