He was on the point of retreating when the sound came again to his ears.

"No; I wasn't mistaken," he said, stepping softly into the room and closing the door after him. "It was somebody, but who?"

He looked round, puzzled. There was no one visible. He stood perfectly still and waited. A few seconds more, and the groaning was repeated. But this time he detected whence it came. It came from under one of the cubicles. He crossed to it and looked underneath. A boy was huddled up on the floor. One glance was sufficient to tell him who it was--it was Master Plunger.

"Here. Plunger, come out of that!"

Plunger did not attempt to move.

"Come out of that, I tell you!"

As Plunger still refused to move, Paul took him by the leg and hauled him out.

Such a woebegone Plunger it was! His wiry thatch was more dishevelled than usual. The eyebrows seemed to have made a more desperate attempt than ever to invade the territory of the forehead. The self-a.s.surance which had been the distinguishing mark of Plunger's manner had gone.

"Le' me go--le' me go!" he groaned. "I want to die!"

"Die!" Paul could scarcely refrain from laughing. "There's not much of that about you! You're not one of those whom 'the G.o.ds love,' so you'll never die young, Plunger. What have you been up to? I believe you've been smoking."

This accusation brought Plunger to a sitting posture on the bed.

"I haven't been smoking--I haven't been smoking! It's the flag!"

"What about the flag?"

"I angled for it, and thought I'd hooked it; but I hadn't. Some other fellow had; so instead of hooking the flag I got a beastly swishing.

That's not all. I shall get roasted all round, and, of course, the Two J.'s will be poking fun at me in the 'Gargoyle Record.' I'd like to know who the fellow was who got the flag. Have you heard?"

"I have heard, but I haven't time to go into it just now. Your friend Moncrief minor can tell you all about it. Cheer up, Plunger, and don't talk any more about dying."

Paul hurried off, leaving Plunger to digest the scanty information he had given him as best he could.

"Now for Stan!" he said, as he made his way to the common room, but little dreaming what was there in store for him.

CHAPTER XLIII

THE STORM BREAKS

As Paul approached the common-room, the sound of voices came through the open door, and clear above the hubbub rose the voice of some one making free use of his name. He knew the voice well enough. It was Stanley's.

Why were they discussing him?

On entering the room, the voices ceased as by magic. Every eye was turned in his direction. Several boys were gathered round the fireplace.

Foremost in the group were Newall, Parfitt, and Stanley.

"I thought I heard my name?" Paul exclaimed, as he stepped into the room.

"Quite right," said Stanley, coming from the group and confronting him.

"I've been looking for you."

Paul was on the point of saying that he also had been looking for Stanley, but the silence that followed Stanley's words, the concentrated gaze of that group of boys, and, above all, the face of Stanley himself--white, yet with a burning, feverish light in the eyes--kept back the words.

"Looking for me?" he repeated.

"Yes; I did hope that I should never have to speak to you again, but one or two things that have just happened make me. All the fellows here know how much it's against the grain."

Paul's face fell. He had come in search of Stanley with the hope of bringing about a reconciliation. That hope receded in an instant to the far distance.

"If it's against the grain, I wonder you should trouble," he could not help answering.

"Oh, we have to swallow things we don't like sometimes." Then he broke off into a tone of banter. "So you've brought the flag back to Garside?"

Paul did not answer. He was only conscious that the group had drawn closer to him, and that Stanley's eyes were burning at a fiercer heat.

It seemed some other than Stanley who was speaking. He had a.s.sumed the tone and manner of Newall; but he was forcing himself into a part which did not suit him, so that he acted it badly.

"The worst of Percival is that he's so modest. He doesn't know what a smart thing he's done," went on Stanley. "It isn't to be wondered at that the kids of the Third and Fourth have been cheering him like mad.

Why should we be left out in the cold, eh?"

"Why?" echoed Parfitt. "Let's give him a rouser."

Parfitt led off the cheers--cheers which fell with a hollow sound on Paul's ears, for he knew well enough they were only mocking him.

"When we hear about a smart thing, we're naturally anxious to know how it was done," jeered Parfitt.

"Naturally," echoed Newall, followed by cries of a.s.sent from the rest.

"Order! Order for Percival!" exclaimed Stanley, holding up his hand for silence.

Silence instantly reigned. You might have heard a pin drop as they waited for Paul to speak; but they waited in vain. He neither spoke nor moved. He was not thinking of himself, nor of the boys that stood around him. He had ears and eyes for Stanley, and no other. It was a transformed Stanley--not the Stanley he had once known.

"Lost your tongue?" cried Stanley, breaking the silence. "Come, out with it. We can't wait here all day! How did you manage to get hold of the flag? Who had it, and how did you get it back to Garside? Don't be so awfully modest? You've hidden your light under a bushel too long."

"The flag is back at Garside," answered Paul firmly, ignoring the taunt.

"For the rest you had better ask Mr. Weevil. I don't owe any explanation to you or any other fellow in the Form!"

He turned away, but Stanley sprang between him and the door.

"That won't do? You do owe us an explanation, and I mean having it!"

"You?"

There was more of sorrow than anger in Paul's voice, but to the sensitive ears of Stanley, strung to the highest tension, it sounded strangely like contempt.

"I! What were you doing with the Beetle we saw you with near the sand-pits this afternoon?"

"The Beetle you ran away from, you know," added Newall. "The Beetle you left Moncrief to fight for you!"