For one who had professed himself as beastly hot and fagged, Waterman did a strange thing after he had left the Forum. He walked with a speed that was simply amazing for him in the direction of St. Bede's; and what was still more remarkable, he did not stop until he had reached it. None of the Beetles were about at the time, but he had not long to wait before he caught sight of one of the junior form.

"Will you tell Wyndham I wish to see him—as quickly as possible."

The boy stared at him, as Murrell had stared at Paul when he had visited St. Bede's. It was not till he had repeated his message that he seemed to comprehend.

"Quick, there isn't much time to lose!" exclaimed Waterman, as though it were a matter of life and death.

Then the boy hurried off, and a minute or two later Wyndham appeared. Waterman was unknown to him; so that he was just as much astonished at seeing him as the smaller boy had been.

"I'm a Gargoyle, you can see that. My name's Waterman, and I've come here about a fellow named Percival. Spare me the fag of explaining too much."

"Percival! What about him!" demanded Wyndham, at once interested.

"There's a strong movement on foot to get him expelled from Garside. It's chiefly over the flag. His best friend, or one who was, has turned against him; and things are looking as black for Percival as they can look. I'm afraid that he'll get the worst of it, unless something's done. I can do nothing; so I've come to you. There's some beastly mystery about the whole business. Percival won't explain because of somebody else, and that somebody else is you. I'm certain you won't see Percival kicked from Garside, if a few words from you will set things right."

"Kicked from Garside!" exclaimed Wyndham. "Tell me what happened?"

Waterman, feeling that the time for speaking frankly had come, told Wyndham all that had happened—from the day Wyndham had fought and conquered Stanley in the sand-pits.

They remained a long time in conversation, and when Waterman at length returned to Garside, Wyndham returned with him.

In the meantime an interview of a different nature was taking place at Garside. After the meeting in the Forum, Stanley, feeling very wretched, had retreated to his dormitory, where in a few minutes he was joined by his cousin Harry, who was looking just as miserable and uncomfortable.

"I say, Stan, is it right what I hear—that Percival is to be kicked out of Garside?"

"Well, what if he is? Doesn't he deserve it?"

"I don't know. It's a puzzle. I can't make things out. Look at this letter. I picked it up while the shindy was going on between you and Paul in the common room. All the fellows were crowding round you. No one saw the letter but me. Paul dropped it when he was mopping the blood from his face. I ought to have given it back, but I saw that it was father's handwriting; so I sneaked off with it, and read it; and then—then I knew that I'd done a mean thing and did not like to give it back to Paul."

He handed Stanley the letter—the letter in which Mr. Moncrief had answered Paul's inquiries about Zuker and Mr. Weevil, and concluded by inviting him and Stanley to Redmead at the next vacation.

"What does it all mean?" demanded Stanley, when he had read the letter.

"I can't make out. I thought, perhaps, you might be able to throw light on it."

"I'm afraid not; but you might leave it with me. I'll think it over."

"All right; but I say, Stan, you must do something to prevent Paul being chucked from the school. That's going it a bit too strong. I know whose working that beastly dodge—Newall and his jackal Parfitt."

How could Stanley tell his cousin that it was he—Stanley Moncrief—who had actually moved that Paul should be expelled from the school? If it were possible for Stanley to have felt more wretched than he had felt when Harry came to him, he certainly did so when he was once more alone. "I know the great friendship there is between you and my nephew Stanley." Those were the words which stared him in the face. Friendship? What mockery! How had he proved his friendship? By doing his best to get Paul expelled from the school. What would his uncle say to him when he next visited Redmead? It was to show him this letter Paul had doubtless come to him that day in the common room. And he had met him—with a blow. It was dastardly.

He must do his best to undo the mischief he had done. Stanley started up, and went to the door; then he paused, and his heart began to harden again.

After all, if mischief had been created, Paul was alone responsible. It was he, and not Stanley, who had acted in a dastardly manner. It was he who had run away at the sand-pits, and left him to fight his battle with the beastly Beetle; it was he——

His meditations were cut short by the door being opened, and the entrance of Waterman.

"Hallo, Moncrief. The very fellow I've been looking for. Horrid bore looking for fellows. Phew! Close in here, isn't it? You look a bit off. Come for a little stroll. I've got a fellow who's dying for an introduction to you."

Waterman slipped an arm through Stanley's, and before Stanley was aware of it, had led him through the door.

"A fellow—wants to be introduced to me! What fellow?" he demanded.

"Ah, that's it. What fellow? You'd never guess. It's a pleasant little surprise I've got in store for you. Think of all your rich uncles and aunts, and people of that sort. Ha, ha! A pleasant surprise, lovely, delightful. Mustn't spoil it by telling you. Come along."

Waterman's reference to uncles at once reminded Stanley of the uncle whose letter he had been reading. Could it be that his uncle Moncrief was paying him a surprise visit? But Waterman did not take him to the visitors'-room. He took him out of the grounds to some elms which flourished not far from the school. Here a boy was leaning against one of the trees. Stanley glanced at him; then turned white. It was Wyndham.

"Told you I had a little surprise," said Waterman. "Wasn't I right? I like little surprises—don't you? Explanations are an awful bore. I never like explanations if I can get out of them. Wyndham's got something to tell you. You'll find him very decent for a Beetle."

And Waterman vanished with a speed which was really marvellous for him, leaving the two together. The last time they had met face to face they had met as antagonists, and had fought hard. The memory of that time was present to both of them, for neither seemed anxious to break the silence.

"Do I understand that you wish to see me?" Stanley presently asked.

"Yes; it was kind of you to come."

"You needn't compliment me, for I mightn't have come had I known whom I had to meet," answered Stanley coldly. "Waterman misled me."

"Anyhow, I'm glad you have come, and so will you be, I think, before you go back. I hope you don't look upon me as an enemy?"

"How else can I look upon you? Have you sent for me to mock me?"

"That's my last wish. I've sent for you to prevent you doing a great wrong to a friend of yours—Paul Percival."

"A friend of mine!" repeated Stanley, scornfully.

"Well, one who was your friend, and who, I hope, will soon be your friend again."

"You have more reason to be thankful to him than I have," laughed Stanley, bitterly. "He ran away from you, and left me with the work he hadn't the courage to go on with. I know that I didn't come very well out of it, but I didn't run away."

"No; you did well—much better than I did. I'm sorry, very sorry, I fought with you. More so, as by fighting you I separated two friends. Often and often I have prayed to be forgiven. It has all been a ghastly mistake."

"Mistake? Percival running away—there wasn't much mistake about that, I'm thinking."

"That is the greatest mistake of all. All of you put it down to fear of me; but it wasn't—far otherwise. I don't believe that Paul Percival knows what fear is; and you, who were his friend, ought to have known that as well as I do."

"So I thought—up till then. After, what could I think? What could any of us think?"

"Your best of him, instead of your worst. Haven't you ever suspected the reason why he would not stand up to me?"

"Never! Why?"

"Blind—blind! Do you remember that Percival on one occasion—during last vacation—helped a gentleman in distress by acting as his messenger?"

"Quite well, seeing that that gentleman was my father."

"Your father? Yes, that was the gentleman, I believe, for whom Percival did this kindness. He was set upon by the way by two ruffians, but managed to escape. Did he ever tell you how he managed it?"

"By hiding down a well."

"Right! But there was a boy who helped him to this queer hiding-place. That boy was me!"

"You?"

"Yes. On the day Percival came to the sand-pits to meet the champion of the Beetles, he little knew whom he was to meet. I knew as little whom I was to meet. He looked upon me as one who had saved his life. How could he fight me? So he turned away."

"Why didn't he explain?" asked Stanley.

"And give away his secret, or, rather, your father's secret, before that mob of boys? You—you ask that?"

"But after——"

"After? From what he has told me, he made more than one effort to explain to you, but you would never listen to him."

It was true enough. Stanley remembered it all—the effort Paul had made to speak to him immediately after the fight, and later. Everything was now clear. How noble Paul had been! How he had wronged him! He covered his face with his hands. He could not speak. Wyndham respected his silence.

At length he placed his hand upon the bowed shoulder. Stanley did not shrink from it.

"I'm sorry if I've caused you pain; but it was the only way. Mischief is being done. You must prevent it from going any further."

"I will—I will! You can trust me," cried Stanley, fervently. "Paul, Paul, how I've wronged you!"

"I'm glad you see that. You will make it up with him—you will be friends with him once more?"

"Yes, yes; if he will have my friendship. But I don't deserve it. I deserve kicking. It was kind of you to take so much trouble."

Wyndham turned on his heel, but as suddenly turned round again.

"Would you mind taking my hand, Moncrief?" he said.

Stanley took it in his, and shook it heartily.

"Thanks; I am very sorry it was raised against you. But we understand one another better now."

Stanley wiped away the mist that had somehow gathered in his eyes, and when he could see clear Wyndham had gone.

Then he went in search of Paul, anxious to ask his forgiveness, and undo, as best he could, the mischief that had been done. But he could not find him.

He searched everywhere with the same result. And, what was still more astonishing, his cousin was also missing.

Night came on, and still Paul and Harry were missing from the school.

Mr. Weevil began to get alarmed. It was past ten, and still no news of the missing boys. What had become of them?