Failing to get an answer to his appeal, Mr. Weevil tried another plan.

"Did any boy leave his dormitory after lights were out last night?"

A struggle went on in Paul's breast for a moment. Should he speak, or should he remain silent? If he spoke he would bring upon himself the terrible suspicion that he had broken open the master's desk, and had torn out the leaves in which were recorded the punishment of Stanley Moncrief. It was well known also that he was one of the compet.i.tors for the essay prize.

And then if he confessed the real reason of his absence from his dormitory, who would believe him? Certainly not Mr. Weevil. How could he convince him that he was in Dormitory X that night, for had he not crawled under the bed at the time he looked in? Should he speak--should he speak? Again and again Paul asked himself the question. Why should he? What had his absence from his dormitory to do with the theft from the master's desk? He had been nowhere near the master's desk, so what was the use of speaking? Looking up, he caught the glance of Parfitt.

"What the deuce is Parfitt glaring at me for?" he thought. "Is it possible that he could have seen me leave the dormitory?"

As he put to himself the question, the voice of Mr. Weevil once more broke the silence:

"Does any boy know whether any of his companions was absent from his dormitory last night? Don't let him keep silent under any false notion of honour. It is for the honour of the school that he should speak. If he speaks, I will take care that no punishment falls upon him."

Paul sat rigid as stone. If Parfitt saw him leave the dormitory, now was his time to speak; but no voice broke the silence.

"Very well; I had hoped that the culprit would own up to his fault, or that we should have had a.s.sistance from some of you to find him out. I am disappointed in my expectation. As I have been unable to find the culprit with your a.s.sistance, I must do so without it. And be sure I will," added Mr. Weevil firmly.

Prayers were said and a hymn sung, and the boys were on the point of filing out to the different cla.s.s-rooms, when Newall stepped up to Mr.

Weevil's desk.

"I hope Moncrief isn't to be kept in Dormitory X any longer, sir," he said.

"What's it to do with you--eh?"

"You forget, sir. I was in the row. I ought to have spoken at the time; it was I really started the row--not Moncrief."

"You, was it? Let me hear how it all happened."

"Well, I was chaffing a new boy, and the new boy happened to be Moncrief's cousin. It upset Moncrief, and I ought to have left off; but I didn't. I kept it up, and that's how it was Moncrief came to strike me."

"Well, it's very honourable of you to own up to it. If every boy in the school was as honest as you, Newall, we should soon find out who was the culprit who went to my desk. Moncrief was guilty of a Quixotic act of disobedience, as it turns out, and I think, in the circ.u.mstances he has been sufficiently punished. It is due to you that he is released."

Newall was quite the hero of the school that morning. He had done a manly thing in speaking up for Moncrief. That was the general opinion.

Paul thought the same. He had scarcely expected Newall would act up to the promise that he had given him, but he had carried it out to the letter. He had, somehow, never liked him, but he couldn't be such a bad sort of fellow, after all.

"I must try to get over my prejudice against him," he thought.

So Stanley came back to his form, looking none the worse for the night he had spent in Dormitory X.

It was not, however, till he and Paul were in the grounds that they had the chance of speaking together.

"I thought Weevil meant keeping me in that wretched dormitory another day and night," Stanley said, as Paul cordially greeted him. "How did he come to let me out, I wonder?"

"Guess."

"Have you been speaking up for me?"

"No; Mr. Weevil wouldn't listen to me yesterday, and he wouldn't have listened this morning. Guess again."

"My young cousin, I suppose," answered Stanley, after a moment's reflection. "Has he been crying to Weevil?"

"Wrong again."

"Oh, bother! I give it up, then! Who was it?"

"You would never guess. Newall!"

"What?" Stanley stared at Paul incredulously.

"Fact--Newall. And he did it very well, too. He owned up frankly before the masters and all the school that it was he who commenced the quarrel."

"Why, I thought he told you that he wouldn't speak?"

"So he did; but he has altered his mind, you see. He told me he was going to speak, but I couldn't believe my ears till I actually heard him. A night's reflection has done him good, though he hadn't the benefit of a change of air in Dormitory X. It's really very decent of him, and I rather fancy if I were in your place----"

He paused, as though reflecting on what he should do if he were in Stanley's place.

"Well, if you were in my place--go on."

"I should go up to Newall and shake hands with him."

"Would you really?" said Stanley haltingly. "I--I--don't think I can do that, Paul. There's so much bad blood between us."

"All the more reason you should shake hands. It's wonderful what a shake of the hands does for bad blood. It's the finest leech in the world--takes all the bad blood out."

"Oh, you're a better fellow than I am, and can do that sort of thing. I can't!"

"Nonsense! It's like a plunge into cold water--quite nice when the plunge is once made. Come along! I'll go with you."

He tucked his arm in Stanley's, and together they went in search of Newall. They found him with Parfitt and another companion. Stanley walked up to him.

"I hear that it's through you, Newall, I've got out of that den I was in last night. You've done me a good turn, and, if--if--you don't mind, I'd like to shake hands with you."

He held out his hand as he spoke, but Newall took no notice of it. He looked straight at Stanley.

"I really didn't know that I'd done you a good turn. What was the good turn?"

"Speaking up for me this morning to Mr. Weevil, and getting me out of that wretched dormitory."

"Oh, that"--he broke into a mocking laugh--"that! You call that a good turn?"

A wave of scarlet came to Stanley's face. The extended hand fell to his side. He looked to Paul. Had his friend deceived him? Was this only a ruse on his part to make him shake hands with Newall, or had Newall taken leave of his senses? He could learn nothing from Paul's face, except that it looked just as mystified as he was.

"Certainly it was a good turn. I thoroughly upset Weevil yesterday, and goodness knows how much longer he would have kept me a prisoner if you hadn't spoken up for me, as Percival here tells me you did."

"Of course he did," put in Paul cheerfully. "He spoke up to Weevil like a brick. It's no use trying to hide your light under a bushel, Newall."

"Yes, it's true enough I spoke up to Weevil"--the mocking laughter had died out of Newall's eyes, and there was now a cruel, vindictive light in them, just as there had been when Paul had spoken to him the day before--"and it's true enough I wanted to get you out of that hole in the roof. But it wasn't to shake hands with you. Not at all. I got you out of that den so that I might meet you squarely face to face."