Stanley did not wish to meet Paul. He might suspect his purpose in being there. There was no possibility of turning away, however, so he kept straight on, keeping as close to the wall as possible. Paul's head was bent to the ground. He seemed absorbed in thought, and passed by Stanley as though he had not seen him.

"I don't think he saw me," Stanley told himself. "He looked a bit worried, and I don't wonder at it. He can't have a very pleasant time of it."

For an instant Stanley felt inclined to turn back. "Forgive and ye shall be forgiven." Still the words he had just read were repeating themselves. Paul and he had not spoken for so long. A few words might clear up everything. Clear up everything? No. How was it possible to clear up that scene in the sand-pits? So Stanley's heart hardened again, and he went on.

Meanwhile Paul entered the dormitory, and drew from his pocket a note he had just found awaiting him at the porter's lodge. He had read it twice before, but he could not help reading it again.

"Meet me to-morrow (Wednesday), half-past two, at old elm, near sand-pits. Be sure and come. Very important."

This note was scribbled in pencil, and unsigned, but Paul knew the writing well enough. It was Wyndham's. What was it Wyndham wanted with him? What was it that was so important? Had he gained any information as to the missing flag? He was thinking over this note when he passed by Stanley, and it was this which had given to him that "worried" appearance that Stanley had noticed in his face.

He sat for some time musing over this letter, and then, to get away from it, drew from the locker his Bible. It opened, of course, at the place in which Stanley had placed his note. Paul unfolded and read it, with no small astonishment: "Beware! Steer clear of Bedes. Plot on foot to turn you from Garside."

Plot on foot to turn him from Garside! What could the plot be? This note was more puzzling than the other. Like that, too, it was unsigned; but this time Paul was beaten. The writing was unknown to him. He could not guess the writer, but he could see plainly enough that it was in a disguised hand.

Then he suddenly realized that the two notes clashed. The one was an invitation to meet a Bede; the other warned him to steer clear of Bedes. If he obeyed the one, he would have to disregard the other. What was he to do? He did not hesitate long. Wyndham he knew. His friendship had been proved. He knew nothing of this anonymous writer—the writer who professed to warn him of a hidden danger, but did so in a disguised hand, and had not the courage to put to it his name. He would keep the appointment with Wyndham, whatever happened.

So the next day, as soon as the clock had struck two, and he was free, Paul started off for the old elm, near the sand-pits. Punctual though he was, Wyndham was awaiting him.

"I'm so glad you've come, Percival," he said, as he came towards him and shook him warmly by the hand. "I've splendid news to tell you."

"The flag?" exclaimed Paul, speaking the thought that was uppermost in his mind.

"You've made a very good guess. Yes, the flag. I've got some very good news about it—very good news indeed. In fact, I rather fancy I know where it is."

"Where—where? Can we make for it?" exclaimed Paul, excited at the news.

"Wait a bit. Don't be in such a steaming hurry!" smiled Wyndham. "Before I say a word more, I must ask you not to make use of the information I'm going to give you against any of our fellows at Bede's."

Paul readily consented. To get possession of the flag was the chief thing he cared for. That accomplished, he could afford to be magnanimous.

"From the first I suspected that one of our fellows had a hand in it," went on Wyndham. "You remember that day when you were set upon by a dozen or so of the sweet cherubs from Bede's?"

"Only too well."

"Sorry to stir up painful memories. There was one amongst the number said to belong to the amphibia. Do you recollect that, too?"

"Of course I do!" laughed Paul. "Mellor, you mean—once a Gargoyle, now a distinguished Beetle? Recollect it? Who could forget it? It labelled him to a T. You don't mean to say——"

"Yes, I do," smiled Wyndham. "He and another Beetle, whose name I needn't mention, captured the flag between them. It was a plucky thing to do, and when I found out what had happened, I don't think I should have troubled any more about it, only I remembered that there was a fellow at Garside who was standing alone, fighting against the wall."

"Wyndham!"

"Don't interrupt. This fellow was rather anxious to get hold of the missing flag; and so, out of respect for him, and not for any of the mean cads who hail from the same place, I persuaded Mellor & Co. to hand it over. It was not easy work, I can tell you. They felt that I was robbing them of their rightful prey. But at last they came round, and——"

"You got possession of the flag!" cried Paul. "How splendid of you, Wyndham! Instead of getting out of debt, I get deeper and deeper into it. But where is the flag?"

"Can't you guess?" smiled Wyndham.

"Guess?" repeated Paul, puzzled.

"Yes. I've done my part; that's your part," answered Wyndham, enjoying his mystification. "S'posing we go for the old game—'Hot boiled beans and very good butter'? Hallo!" The smile died from his face as his glance went to the roadway. "Here are some of your lot! They haven't got wind of our meeting, have they?"

Paul glanced in the direction of the roadway. Sure enough, there were four Garsiders coming along the road—Newall, Parfitt, Plunger, and Stanley. As his glance went to the road Parfitt caught sight of him; then all four stopped and glanced in the direction where Paul and Wyndham were standing. An animated conversation took place for a minute. It seemed as though they were undecided how to act. Then they came to a decision, and walked quickly on.

"I'm not sorry they didn't come, though I should have been pleased enough to meet them at any other time," said Wyndham contemptuously. "Let's get on with our game. Now, then, are you ready? 'Hot boiled beans, very good butter; ladies and gentlemen, come to supper.' At present you're frightfully cold, freezing, perfect icicle."

He rubbed his hands together, and flung them across his chest, and blew upon his fingers as though he were suffering from the same complaint; and then he laughed again at Paul's mystified expression as he gazed round. There was no sign of the flag. At length Paul's glance rested upon the decayed old elm-tree, near which they were standing.

"You're getting warmer," smiled Wyndham. Then, as Paul walked towards the tree: "In fact, quite hot."

Paul put his hand into the hollow of the tree, and drew out the missing flag, wrapped in a covering of American leather-cloth, just as it had been when Mellor and Crick had taken it to St. Bede's.

"What can I say, Wyndham?" he asked, in a thick voice as he stood there, with the prize in his hand. For the moment there seemed to be a mist before his eyes.

"Say? Nothing, of course! All you've got to do is to get back to Garside as soon as you can, for I shouldn't be surprised if those fellows we saw just now mean mischief."

The anonymous letter flashed into Paul's mind as Wyndham spoke—"Beware! Steer clear of Bedes. Plot on foot to turn you from Garside."

Could it be that the four he had seen were concerned in that plot? It was quite possible to believe it of Newall and Parfitt—they had always been his enemies—but Stanley—No, he could not believe it of him. However, he scarcely cared what happened to him now he had gained possession of the flag. He would be able to redeem his promise. The main thing was to get it back to its old place on the turret.

So he took Wyndham's advice, and started back to the college without further delay.

Meanwhile the three who had started from Garside, under the guidance of Plunger, for the purpose of capturing the flag on their own account, had passed Wyndham and Paul, as we have seen, on the way. They little suspected the purpose of that meeting. They never imagined that it had anything to do with the flag.

Parfitt, the first to catch sight of the two, gloated over the discovery. Stanley's heart fell. He now saw with his own eyes that Paul was really on friendly terms with Wyndham. He had taken no heed of his note of warning. He had treated it with scorn.

"He's playing a deep game," said Parfitt. "I believe he means turning over Garside for Bede's, like Mellor did."

"I believe so, too; but he can't do it before next term, and we must get our blow in before then. It all depends on getting hold of that flag. Now, then, Plunger, buck up!"

Plunger increased his pace, and it was not long before he reached the shed in which he and Moncrief minor had been initiated into the "Noble Order of Beetles." They reached it, as arranged, fully half an hour before the time appointed for Plunger to meet "the mystic brethren." So, as they hoped and expected, they found it empty.

"Now, Plunger, where do you say the flag is? Quick! We've got no time to lose!" said Newall.

Plunger did not answer. He stood dumfounded. There was the place where he had been initiated into the "mystic brotherhood." There was the place where he had stood and looked up at the "mystic emblem," and had discovered to his amazement that it was the missing school flag. He rubbed his eyes then; he rubbed them now. The flag had gone! Gone! Had it ever been there? Was that scene, after all, as it had more than once seemed, only a dream?

"Wake up, sleepy!" cried Newall, kicking him on the shins to rouse him. "Where's the flag?"

"It was there, just over my head," answered Plunger, pointing to the roof above him; "but it isn't there now."

They searched the shed, but could find no trace of the missing flag. There was a large box in which it might be hidden, but that was locked, and there was no time to force it.

"You're not making fun of us, Plunger, are you?" demanded Newall, clutching him fiercely by the arm.

"Really, I'm not."

"Well, look here, you'll have to meet these fellows again, just as though you'd turned up in answer to their note, and see if you can worm out anything about the flag. If we're seen here it'll spoil the game. But we won't be far off. If you want any help, yell out, and we'll see what we can do for you. Do you understand?"

Plunger understood perfectly, but, all the same, he did not like the prospect of meeting the brethren of the mystic order again. However, there was nothing for it but to give in, so he gave in with as good grace as possible.