"You and my niece have been having quite a concert," said the doctor.

"I hope I did not disturb you, sir. Miss Violet was so kind as to play some accompaniments for me while I was waiting for you."

"You want to see me. What is it, Smedley?"

Smedley till this moment had forgotten the object of his delicate mission, and now, suddenly recalled to business, felt less taste than ever for his task. Still he must go through with it.

"It was about Mr Railsford's house, sir."

"That, Smedley, is not a subject for discussion."

"I know, sir. All I mean is that the whole school will suffer."

"That increases the responsibility of those who can rectify all by owning their misconduct."

"Won't it be possible to make some exceptions, sir? Our School sports will go all to pieces without Ainger and Barnworth and some of their fellows."

"You must see they do not go to pieces, Smedley," said the doctor; "it would be unworthy of the school if they did. As for Mr Railsford's boys, I have said what I had to say to them, and have nothing more to add."

"But Mr Railsford himself, sir," began the captain, desperately playing his last card; "we hoped he--"

"It is a most unfortunate thing for everyone," said the doctor--"I include myself and you and Mr Railsford. We are called upon to make a sacrifice, and there should be no question about our being willing, all of us, to make it for the good of the school. Good-night, Smedley, good-night."

Smedley walked back, humming "Cherry Ripe" to himself, and feeling decidedly depressed about things in general.

CHAPTER TEN.

ARTHUR PUTS TWO AND TWO TOGETHER.

Sir Digby Oakshott, of Oakshott Park, Baronet, was down on his luck.

His heart had been set on saving his house single-handed by a brilliant discovery of the miscreants to whom it owed its present disgrace.

It had been a busy week for him. He had had three or four fights a day with outraged suspects, and had not invariably got the best of them.

Besides, in his devotion to the public service his private duties had been neglected, and the pile of impositions had grown with compound interest. Worst of all, his own familiar friend had lifted up his heel against him, and had openly gibed at his efforts. This was "the most unkindest cut of all," and Sir Digby felt it deeply.

"What's the use of going on fooling?" said Arthur, one evening, when the tension was becoming acute. "Why can't you shut up making an a.s.s of yourself?"

"Look here, Arthur, old man," said the baronet deprecatingly, "I don't want to be jawed by you. It's no business of yours."

"What I can't make out," pursued his friend sarcastically, "is why you haven't tried to smell the chaps out by means of Smiley. Now, if you let Smiley have a good sniff of that bit of rope on your watch-chain, and then turn him out into the square, he'd ferret them out for you."

"I tell you what, old man, if it's coming to a regular row between us two, hadn't you better say so at once, and get done with it?"

"Who says anything about a row? All I say is, you're in a precious good way of getting yourself kicked round the house, the way you're going on; and I don't much mind if I'm asked to lead off."

"You'd better try to kick me, that's all," said Dig.

"I'll see what I can do for you some day. But, I say, Dig, can't you see what a howling a.s.s you're making of yourself?"

"No, I don't know so much about a.s.ses as you do," responded Dig.

"Daresay not. If you were in the company of one all day long, as I am, you'd soon throw it up. I tell you, my--"

Here the speaker suddenly broke off and looked affectionately at the troubled face of his old chum.

"Look here, Dig, old man, I don't want to have a row with you, no more do you. I vote we don't."

"Hang a row," said Dig. "But it seems to me, Arthur, you don't care twopence whether the chap's found out or not."

Arthur's face clouded over.

"Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't. I don't see we're called upon to show them up."

"But look what a mess the house is in till they're bowled out. We'll never get hold of a bat all the season."

"Jolly bad luck, I know, but we must lump it, Dig. You must drop fooling about with your clues. Don't get in a wax, now. I've got my reasons."

"Whatever do you mean? Do you know who it was, then? Come in! Who's there?"

The intruder was the Baby Jukes, who carried half a dozen letters in his hand, one of which he presented to the two chums.

"One for you," said he. "They're all the same. Wake gave Bateson and me a penny a-piece for writing them out, and we knocked off twenty. He says he'd have sent you one a-piece, only he knows you've not two ideas between you. Catch hold."

And he departed, smiling sweetly, with his tongue in his cheek, just in time to avoid a Caesar flung by the indignant baronet at his head.

"Those kids are getting a drop too much," said Dig. "They've no more respect for their betters than Smiley has. What's this precious letter?"

The letter was addressed to "Messrs. Herapath and Oakshott," and was signed by Wake of the Fifth, although written in the inelegant hand of Master Jukes the Baby.

"'Central Criminal Court, Grandcourt. The a.s.sizes will open this evening in the forum at 6.30 sharp. You are hereby summoned on urgent business. Hereof fail not at your peril.'"

"What do that mean?" again inquired Dig. "What right has Wake to threaten us?"

"Don't you see, Wake, whose father is a pettifogging lawyer, is going to get up a make-believe law court--I heard him talk about it last term-- instead of the regular debating evening. The best of it is, we kids shall all be in it, instead of getting stuck on the back bench to clap, as we generally are."

"He's no business to tell us to fail not at our peril," growled Dig.

"What will they do?"

"Try somebody for murder, perhaps, or--why, of course!" exclaimed Arthur, "they'll have somebody tried for that Bickers row!"

"By the way," said Dig, returning to the great question on his mind, "you never told me if you really knew who did it."

Arthur's face clouded again.

"How should I know?" said he shortly. "What's the use of talking about it?"

There was something mysterious in Herapath's manner which disturbed his friend. It was bad enough not to be backed up in his own schemes, but to feel that his chum knew something that he did not, was very hard on Sir Digby.