Plunger's bewilderment was shared by his companions as they saw the old flag fluttering on the turret. What had happened? How on earth had it got there? Newall's hand went out to Plunger's ear.

"Thought you said you'd got the flag, ass?"

"Oh, oh, oh! Le' go my ear!" roared Plunger, as he gazed first on the turret, then on the mysterious parcel in his hand. He firmly believed that the Mystic Brethren had given the flag into his care, that it was inside the parcel when he had set out from the shed, but that by some magical influence it had managed to transfer itself from the parcel to the turret. Yet there was something still inside the parcel without a doubt. What was that something?

"Yes, bounder!" exclaimed Parfitt, helping himself to the other ear. "Got the flag—that's what you told us! Presented to you in honour of your initiation! What's your game, blockhead?"

"Oh, oh, oh! Le' go my ear! That flag up there must be a beastly fraud, or there must be two of 'em! Le' go my ear, will you!"

Plunger began to think that the sympathetic attention he had received at the hands of the enemy was only to be equalled by the polite attention of his friends.

"Didn't you say you'd got the flag in that parcel, Plunger?" asked Stanley, in a quieter tone, because he detested bullying himself, and did not like it practised on others.

"Yes, I did, Moncrief!" persisted Plunger. "That's a twin up there, or an imitation, or something of the sort. Get Hasluck and Leveson, and I'll prove it to you."

"We're not going to wait for Hasluck or Leveson! You've gammoned us enough! Give it up!"

Newall snatched the parcel from Plunger's hand. It was carefully bound round with cord. Too impatient to untie it, Newall severed the cord with his knife. As he did so a small bundle of "swishers"—long sticks, such as were used by the boys of St. Bede's for "beating the bounds"—fell from the cloth. They were bound round in turn with a sheet of white paper, and on this paper was written in a bold hand:

"Your dull ass will only go with beating. You've provided the ass. We've provided the swishers. We deliver both safely into your hands. Times to be called by the Gargoyle—Leveson—with the stop-watch."

Disappointed though they were, the boys standing around Plunger burst into laughter. Plunger had been skilfully hoaxed. Under the impression that he was carrying the flag, he had delivered into their hands the formidable-looking swishers, with precise directions as to the method in which they were to be employed. Plunger's self-assurance for once gave way. Where was he standing? He scarcely knew. The ground was crumbling under his feet.

"Well, Plunger, if you don't take the cake, and the bun, and the biscuit!" came the cutting voice of Newall. "My word, how the Beetles must be sniggering at you! The flag, didn't you say?"—holding up the swishers. "Oh, oh, it's too funny! Given in honour of your initiation to the Mystic Order! Oh, oh! Help yourself, Parfitt; help yourself, Moncrief!"

He tossed them a swisher each, and selected one for himself, the quality of which he tested by flipping it in the air, much too near the crestfallen Plunger to be pleasant.

"Thanks, Newall!" said Parfitt, putting the swisher he had received to a similar test on the other side of Plunger. "Wasn't to be opened till you got to the school, was it, Plunger, in the presence of Leveson—eh?"

"Yes, in the presence of Leveson!" repeated Newall grimly. "Cut and find him, Plunger, and tell him to be sure and bring his stop-watch."

Down came the swishers—twice, thrice. Plunger did not require any second bidding. He did "cut." His speed would have astonished himself had he had time to think about it, but he hadn't. His one great desire was to put as great a distance as possible between himself and Newall and Parfitt. Moncrief major had been more considerate of his feelings, and had not made use of his swisher.

"Where can I hide myself," panted Plunger—"where?"

He was not only sore and wounded in spirit, but in body as well.

And here perhaps it is necessary to add a brief word of explanation as to how it was Plunger came in possession of the extraordinary parcel which had drawn upon him so much ridicule. When, with much reluctance, Mellor and his friends had given up the flag to Wyndham, they decided, by way of compensation, to prepare a parcel that closely resembled it. If the flag had been taken from them, they did not wish to be defrauded of their due share of sport at the hands of the enemy. So the note had been sent from the "Mystic Brethren," which, by a roundabout method, had drawn Plunger to the shed. What followed has been seen.

To return to the scene outside Garside. So soon as Newall and Parfitt had ceased chasing Plunger they turned to Stanley.

"You don't seem to be enjoying the fun, Moncrief?" said Parfitt.

"No; can't quite see where the fun lies," answered Stanley gravely. "Seems to me that Plunger's not the only ass that wants beating. We might use those sticks very well on ourselves. We've been just as much sold as he has. We've been on a fool's errand. We were going to bring the flag back, and the flag's come back without us."

"Yes; the flag's come back, sure enough," answered Newall. "And how the dickens did it come back?—that's the puzzle. Hallo! There's your young cousin. He ought to know something about it. Moncrief—Moncrief minor!" he shouted.

Harry, who was crossing the grounds at the time, turned in answer to the shouts and came towards the three boys.

"Got the flag?" he asked innocently.

"No cheek, kid, else we'll trounce you like we've just trounced your friend Plunger!" retorted Newall sharply.

"Who brought the flag back? How did it get there?"—glancing to the turret.

"Oh, it got there by a friend of yours—Paul Percival," answered Harry, hitting back. "He's beaten you, just like you've beaten my friend Plunger."

Newall scowled, and would have treated him to a taste of the swisher, only he recollected that he was Stanley's cousin.

"Be serious, Harry," said Stanley. "Percival, did you say? Do you really mean that the flag was brought back by him?"

"I am serious, Stan—never more so in my life. The flag was brought back by Percival, and put in its old place on the turret by Percival."

He then told them precisely what had happened. The three boys listened in silence. Percival had stolen a march upon them, that was quite clear. Stanley wondered whether his note of warning had put him on his guard. The thought that it had been of some service might have pleased Stanley, but the memory of Percival talking to Wyndham hardened his heart against him once more. He smothered the old feeling of friendship that would keep trying to assert itself, in spite of himself.

"I told you that we should have to meet craft with craft!" cried Newall, breaking the silence. "But so far Percival has beaten us. Plunger's an ass, but he was quite right for once when he said that we'd have to get up very early in the morning to score off Percival. What's our next move?"

As neither Moncrief major nor Parfitt responded, Newall went on:

"We saw Percival talking to a particular friend of yours, Moncrief." Stanley winced at the cold, cutting words. "That was a couple of hours ago. At that time the flag was not on the turret. We can all answer as to that, I think?"

Stanley and Parfitt nodded assent.

"What happens? In the interval Percival returns to Garside with the flag. Where did the flag come from? I think the answer's simple enough—it must have come into Percival's possession by the help of your particular friend, the Beetle who was so kind to you at the sand-pits, Moncrief."

Every word had its venom, and distilled its poison in the breast of Stanley.

"Well, well, what of it?" he demanded hoarsely.

"What of it?" repeated Newall, raising his eyebrows and regarding him with feigned astonishment. "It's all clear enough, I should think. The whole business is an artfully-concocted plot between Percival and Wyndham. The flag disappears. How it disappears is a mystery. No one knows—least of all Percival. But he makes use of some high-sounding words in the presence of a few of the fellows—flag gone, by Heaven's help he'll bring it back again! The fellows cheer him to the echo. A short time elapses, during which the mystery deepens; then Percival turns up with the flag. He has kept his word. More cheers. Oh, yes, it's all clear—clear as day! Don't you think so, Moncrief?"

"One moment," answered Stanley, passing his hand over his forehead. "I'm a bit dazed somehow. Let me understand. You believe that—that——"

"That the hand which brought back the flag is the same hand that took it away."

"Of course!" assented Parfitt. "As you say, Newall, it's as clear as day. Nothing could be clearer."

"Nothing could be clearer," echoed Stanley, as his head fell to his breast.

Harry was silent. Like his cousin, there had always been deep down in his heart a real affection and sympathy for Paul. He had always hoped that he would be able to reinstate himself in the good opinion of the school; so it was he had cheered with the rest when Paul returned with the flag. It was all very mysterious, it was true; but Harry had shut his eyes on the mystery. The flag had come back to the school. Paul had brought it. He had made good his word. That was enough. He would be again the Paul he had once known—the Paul Stanley had known and loved.

"What's to be done?" demanded Stanley.

"Well, we can't do anything to-day. Let's wait developments to-morrow. Mr. Weevil's bound to take some sort of action."

"Oh, there you go again!" cried Stanley impatiently. "Putting things on. Yesterday it was the same."

"How do you mean?"

"I wanted to make straight for Percival. 'No,' said you; 'don't be in a hurry. We mustn't show our hands too soon.' And so on, and so on. Oh, I'm sick of it all—sick of everything—sick of waiting!"

Harry looked up at his cousin. There was a note of passionate revolt in his voice, a fierce light in his eyes; both hands were clenched, and he seemed to sway to and fro, as though no longer master of himself.

"For that matter, so am I," said Newall softly. "Perhaps I was wrong, Moncrief, in putting things off. I dare say I was. You gave in to me yesterday, I give in to you to-day; that's only fair. What do you want, old fellow?"

Newall placed a hand quite lovingly on Stanley's shoulder.

"Want? No more of this wretched waiting game! Let's go to Percival straight—straight! Do you hear?" came hoarsely from Stanley's lips.

"Yes, I hear; and I am with you."

And Newall exchanged a swift smile of triumph with Parfitt.