"Anybody else, Lovell?"

A discreet master would not have asked this question, but Dirty d.i.c.k was the last man to waive an advantage. Now, the Caterpillar had quietly left No. 15, as soon as Rutford entered it. Not from any cowardly motive, but--as he put it afterwards--"because one makes a point of retiring whenever a rank outsider appears. One ought to be particular about the company one keeps." It says something for the boy's character, that this statement was accepted by the house as unvarnished truth.

Lovell glanced at the other Fifth Form boys, as Rutford repeated the question.

"Anybody else, Lovell? Be careful how you answer me!"

"n.o.body else," said Lovell.

"On your honour, sir?"

"On my honour, sir."

And, later, all Manorites declared that Lovell had lied like a gentleman. Rutford and he stared at each other, the boy pale, but self-possessed, the big, burly man flushed and ill at ease.

"You will all go to my study. A word with you, Lawrence."

The boys filed quietly out. Rutford looked at John and Fluff. Large, fat tears were trickling down Fluff's cheeks. Somehow he felt convinced that John was involved in a frightful row.

"Run away, Kinloch," said his house-master. "I wish to speak with Lawrence and Verney."

He turned to Lawrence as he spoke. John glanced at Scaife. His eyes were open. Silently, Scaife placed a trembling finger upon his lips. The action, the expression in the eyes, were unmistakable. John understood, as plainly as if Scaife had spoken, that silence, where expulsion impended, was not only expedient but imperative. Kinloch crept out of the room. Rutford examined Scaife, who feigned insensibility. Then he addressed Lawrence.

"Go to Lovell's room, Lawrence, and inst.i.tute a thorough search. If you find wine or spirits, let me know at once."

Lawrence left the room.

"Now, Verney, I am going to ask you a few questions." He a.s.sumed his rasping, truculent tone. "And don't you dare to tell me lies, sir!"

John was about to repudiate warmly his house-master's brutal injunction, when the habit of thinking before he spoke closed his half-opened lips.

Immediately, his face a.s.sumed the obstinate, expressionless look which made those who searched no deeper than the surface p.r.o.nounce him a dull boy. Rutford, for instance, interpreted this stolidity as unintelligence and lack of perception. John, meantime, was struggling with a thought which shaped itself slowly into a plan of action. He had just heard Lovell lie to save the Caterpillar. John knew well enough that he might be called upon to lie also, to save not himself, but Scaife. If he held his tongue and refused to answer questions, Rutford would a.s.sume, and with reason, that Scaife had been made drunk by the Fifth Form fellows.

Then John said quietly, "I am not a liar, sir."

"Certainly, I have never detected you in a lie," said Rutford.

"All the same," continued John, in a hesitating manner, "I _would_ lie, if I thought a lie might save a friend's life."

Rutford was so unprepared for this deliberate statement, that he could only reply--

"Oh, you would, would you?"

"Yes," said John; then he added, "Any decent boy or man would."

"Oh! Oh, indeed! This is very interesting. Go on, Verney."

"Scaife said he _felt_ as if he was jolly well screwed, sir; but he isn't. I'm quite sure he isn't. He may feel like it; but he isn't."

John could see Scaife's eyes, slightly blood-shot, but sparkling with a sort of diabolical sobriety. At that moment, one thing alone seemed certain, Scaife had regained full possession of his faculties. Rutford stared at John, frowning.

"You dare to look me in the face and tell me that Scaife is not drunk?"

Very seriously, John answered, "I'm sure he's not drunk, sir."

Rutford eyed the boy keenly.

"Have you ever seen anybody drunk?" he demanded.

"I live in the New Forest," said John, as gravely as before, "and on Whit-Monday----" He was aware that he had made an impression upon this big, truculent man.

"Don't try to be funny with me, Verney."

"On no, sir, as if I should dare!"

"Well, well, we are wasting time. Trieve sent you to Lovell's room to fetch Scaife?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what was Scaife doing when you went into the room? Be very careful!"

John considered. "He was laughing, sir."

"Laughing, was he?"

"But he stopped laughing when I gave him Trieve's message, and then he said what Lovell told you, sir."

"Never mind what Lovell told me. Give me your version of the story."

"Scaife asked the other fellows if Trieve had any right to f.a.g him, now that he had got his 'fez.' If he had been drunk, sir, he wouldn't have thought of that, would he?"

"Um," said Rutford, slightly shaken. John described his return to Trieve's room, and Trieve's threat.

"Lovell and you tell the same story."

"Why, yes, sir." John made no deliberate attempt to look simple; but his face, to the master studying it, seemed quite guileless.

Just then, Dumbleton ushered in the doctor. To him Rutford recited what he knew and what he suspected. He had hardly finished speaking, when Scaife opened his eyes for the second time. By a curious coincidence, the doctor used the words of the house-master.

"Well, sir, how do you feel?"

And then Scaife answered, in the same dazed fashion as before--

"I feel as if I was jolly well screwed, sir."

Rutford nodded portentously.

"I feel," continued Scaife, "as I did once long ago, when I was a kid and got hold of some curacoa at one of my father's parties."

"Just so," said the doctor.